Double-U Tee Eff.


I’m injured, I’m either just about to get sick or just about to beat a severe cold into remission, our investment portfolio has shed some weight already in these last two months, and my parents are separating after 32 years of marriage.

In spite of possibly being in closer proximity to the threshold of hell than I’ve ever been, it’s not THAT bad. It could be a lot worse. My legs could just stop working tomorrow… one or both of my parents could be dying instead of just moving out of the house… the oatmeal scotchie cookies that R made with 1/3 the required amount of sugar could taste like complete dirt (but they don’t – they’re still delicious)… or the Fed could’ve said all IRAs are now taxable retroactive to the day I started investing in mine in 2004 just to try to ‘stimulate an overly pessimistic consumer mindset’. Those are all things that could suck worse.

Which is not to say things don’t suck as they are… just that I’m programmed to always look on the bright side of life (whistling). So let’s all say it together: “Things could be a lot worse.”

There. Don’t you feel better?

Anyway, I’ve been dealing with all of that, which has sapped my ability/energy to blog. I’m sure I’ll write more about it later, especially as events unfold, but for now I just wanted you to have the update.

Oh, also… had brunch on Sunday with a new couple to whom R’s friend Zameer e-introduced us. They’re very nice, seem to be EXTREMELY excited about San Francisco (they’re less than a month into their potentially life-long Bay Area vacation), and we had a great time. Wouldn’t be a bloggable anecdote if there wasn’t an awkward social situation though: we didn’t quite catch his name. Her name is Indhira. His name came out something like “Lount-wing.” Which is particularly troubling, because even if it’s Ludwig, he doesn’t look anything like a typical Ludwig (no white wigs or waistcoats in sight!), and when was the last time you met anyone named Ludwig without being in an Axis country?? But “Lount-wing”… sounds like a move you’d make from the top turn-buckle or a particular weave of wicker created by a Bavarian Martha Stewart. If you’ve any idea what that name might be, let us know, kay? Running out of ways to avoid calling him by name. Seinfeld’s Delores Clitoris fiasco is only a chance meeting or two away from being re-created.