You Gotta Swing Your Hips Now

[Very short own-horn-tooting: the Legal Writing instructor yelled very thoroughly and at length about how most of our briefs sucked swamp water and would require much reworking. I opened mine and found written "Very Good Work. Just complete the suggested edits and you're all set." A much needed ego boost after royally blowing a Torts practice exam the week before.]

[John H. made a quick and stealthy visit on Thursday. We had a hard time deciding at which Mission District boite to abuse his corporate Amex, but finally settled on tapas at Picaro, in heart of the gastro ghetto. Note to all tapas enthusiasts/Amex customers: like the various events in those Visa commercials, and despite the door sticker, Picaro Won't Take American Express. The pleasant staff gave us a free carafe of sangria while they figured out what to do, since we certainly weren't about to pay for the meal ourselves. My headache the next morning showed that I probably didn't NEED to partake in that free carafe. Oh, well...]

[The boyfriend and I know we've probably been going out a bit too much lately when we think our version of "The Loco-Motion," sung while walking down Polk Street last night in the manner of Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker, is quite THAT hilarious. Picture Beaker doing the backing vocals: it is kinda funny, isn't it?]

[Saffron: "Mum, it's the Betty Ford Clinic. They're confirming your booking for next Thursday."]

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