A good weekend. It gets an A+ in fact.
First, I have another book review in the LA Times. Hooray for me! They lopped a bit off, but the editing was so sensitive -- and sensible -- I can't complain. I love those folks. Honest, I do. They should only read this and know how much I love them and give me many more assignments, because they are such smart, sensible people. Ahem.
And I also did something amazing last night. I can't hardly believe it. You'll be amazed when I tell you. Ready? You sitting down?
I found a babysitter.
Incredible, I know! I found a babysitter and she didn't even charge us any money. We paid her in chocolate chip cookies. No, you can't have her phone number. She's MINE, dammit.
Actually, she's a co-worker of the hubby's and we love her too. We love you, Diane! Babysit for us again, please. Please. Please.
The monsterling had a great time at Diane's house, about halfway between our home and the city. Plosh and I had a singular treat -- kosher Chinese food with a bunch of bloggers.
We dragged the baby along because we didn't think it fair to inflict Milkula, the lacto-vampire, on someone whose mammaries weren't set on Overflow. The restaurant was in a very Jewish neighborhood in LA called Pico-Robertson, near where we lived when we first moved west.
It's a peculiar fact of my life that I was very Not Jewish when I lived in Jewish places, like New York and West Palm Beach and Pico-Robertson. And that I'm a little More Jewish now that I don't. Maybe living among so many ardent Christians these days has made me reach a little further for my own spirituality, or maybe too many brain cells have atrophied from disuse.
Kidding! Please don't send me hate emails. I hate that.
So there we were, Plosh and myself, frazzled from hauling through horrendous traffic with a screaming baby, to meet this group of bloggers. Jewish bloggers. Orthodox Jewish bloggers. Really funny Orthodox Jewish bloggers.
The occasion was the whirlwind visit from the incandescent, almost rabbinically wise PsychoToddler, who is neither psycho nor a toddler, and who was momentarily escaping the chilly Midwest with his warm, lovely wife, Mrs. Balabusta. What did you expect me to say? That I'm deeply envious that someone who bore six kids is slender and lively and still allows her husband within 10 feet of her?
They're an affectionate couple, all lovey-dovey and huggy, which makes me wonder if they really have six kids together. Then again, maybe that's why they have six kids. Okay, you knew that was coming. Sorry.
We met PT's doppelganger, Dr. Bean, who is much handsomer than Rowan Atkinson, even for the unnerving resemblence. He has a wife too. Everybody does, except me.
Well, technically, Neil no longer has a wife, Sophia, but she showed up anyway.
So there were eight of us, not including the baby, who was quiet and happy and not particularly hungry, which meant I got to keep my top on for most of the meal.
What did we talk about? PT remarked on how great blogging is, that it brings together such different people. I looked around the table and saw eight hardcore dweebs. What's so different?
We talked about our families, our allergies, our Judaism. It was like the food in front of us -- we all shared, but we only got a little taste of everything. A nibble here, a change of topic there. I was still hungry afterward.
But I left with the warm fuzzies. Company is good. Intelligent company is better. Fascinating company over edible, not-too-greasy Chinese food is the best, even if I left feeling I hadn't partaken enough, and didn't know when this particular feast would ever be offered again.
And the baby slept the whole way home.
UPDATE: It's Monday and I just got word that there are three more books on their way home to me, via my special courier/husband. I'm to review one of them for January. Yaaaay!