I neglected to publicly wish my darlin’ a happy birthday. I got her two cards and a wireless headset for the television. Okay, so maybe the headset was also for my benefit, too.
Precious (she’s Precious, I’m Special) had to work that day (Jan. 13th) and I had a major headache so we didn’t go out to eat until the next day. We went to the Longhorn Steakhouse. Not too bad price but the cook for the day was far too fond of the salt shaker. We mentioned it to the waiter (he asked why we had so much left on our plates and why we weren’t taking it home) and we got a free dessert. We didn’t want it but he thought he was doing something nice so we ate some of it.
Our 20th anniversary is coming up (June 23rd). We had hoped to maybe go to the UK this year but international travel kept looking hairy. We don’t know what we’ll do now. The GCLS conference is in May or June in Orlando so maybe we’ll just add some time onto that trip. It’s not that I’m apathetic to where and what we’ll be doing but I really had my hopes set for the UK. Of course, accessibility issues would have made it very difficult but we’d survived.
Speaking of 20 years, I heard from a friend from high school (go Chiefs!) the other day. High school was 27 years ago. We actually also went to college together (go Railsplitters!) but grew apart as graduation neared. She joined the military and I went to NJ. We’ve been emailing back and forth as she reminds me of folks we knew and where they are now. Weird. When she first contacted me, she used my Other Name and I was tempted to not respond. But I knew who it was and I didn’t want to wave her off. Apparently, I am hard to find! When most women change their last name, they do it because they got married. They then become Sandy Jenkins Smith (hyphen is optional). But I didn’t change my name because of marriage so that other moniker just got tossed aside like dross (new word of the day).
I’ve often thought of going to a high school reunion. Our freakin’ 30th is coming up soon. I’ve changed a lot. I’m fat. Really fat. I don’t think so until I see a photo and I freak and want to stop eating for the next month. I’ve got enough fat that I can live off of that until then. Bad genetics bit me in the butt so many times… Then there’s the whole “And this is my partner, Lorna. No, she’s not my caregiver, she’s my lover. Yes, she’s a brave woman for putting up with me.” thing and the “I write books. The genre? Lesbian romance and lesbian sci-fi/fantasy.” And then there’s the wheelchair thing. “No, not Iraq or swimming pool or drive-by gang shooting. I was born a mutant and lived among you as a human.”