Man when the hell did I get old enough to have a friend for 45 years? C’est bizarre, ça.
Anyway, Bonnie has a few grey hairs and perhaps her smile lines are a little more chiselled than I remember, but she is STILL BONNIE, the petite and energetic and outdoorsy and powerfully intelligent friend of my childhood who looks at least 15 years younger than her lying ass birth certificate, and she is a happy person to be around.
We watched pictures of John on the laptop and Bonnie brought a photo album which had pictures of her mom and John and various rellies in happier times. I took some pics but I won’t post them without permission.
The Royal City Thai restaurant is assenkicken. They must get by on the lunch trade, the joint was deserted the entire time we were there but the food was nothing short of spectacular. It was $130 with tax and tip for five hungry adults, there was about one meal’s worth of leftovers, and there was alcohol too… gosh the soup was stellar. Service stellar too. Attentive without being pestery. A find, I must say.
Keith and Kate both came AND I AM SO HAPPY about a) Paul suggesting it and b) how happy Bonnie was to see them and vice versa. Katie got to see the only surviving picture of John on a skateboard. I said to her afterwards that alone was worth the price of admission. Who’da thunk it? Gave Katie and Keith rides home. Jeff’s subpar and didn’t attend but there’s a whole host of gut wrenching bacteria writhing around the GVRD these days; I hope they don’t sink their little pseudopods into him too far.
Ziva is burning lots of oil. I should check levels before setting out tomorrow, and I’m probably looking at engine work. Jeebus, I ain’t paid for the last lot yet. I have to stay alive, I have two dependents, one metal, one furry.
I couldn’t find the god forsaken USB microphone, so I bought another one. If the original turns up I’ll give it to Paul. I tried to buy a slide whistle but they didn’t have one. Twelve on order and no slide whistles, what’s this world coming to. I MUST HAVE A SLIDE WHISTLE. It’s impossible to be a living cartoon character without one.
I can hear Miss Margot’s stertorous breathing. I cleaned her eye gunk this morning and she accepted it with good grace (filled 10 saline soaked qtips with her eye gunk). The second I tried to clean out her ears, World War Kitty was declared and I beat a hasty, but integumentarily intact retreat.
Anyway I have an appt. with Mr. Methocarbamol followed by a long sleep on the complaisant Millie the Mattress. Tomorrow morning I’m going to fire up the computer, get the order of service done, and pray to the shade of Ada Babbage that the server reboot contemplated yesterday at work will make a proper workday possible. Also, I have a one on one with my boss (who is really, really awesome, and I’d say that anyway, thanks) tomorrow. I haven’t exactly told him anything, but I will, tactfully. Hopefully before the half dozen or so coworkers who read my blog rat me out. And no, ratting me out is neither polite nor accurate; I’m just shouldering my responsibilities again, and grace and temperance are threatening to bitch slap me if I don’t stand up straight under the load.
