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Three years
Aug. 7th, 2009 10:56 amWhitney and I had our three-year anniversary yesterday. We got each other the same present. And though I can see myself saying exactly this every sixth day of August as long as I live now with the number incrementing by one each time, it's hard to believe it's been three years. I feel barely old enough to get married. Or move to America. Instead of just walking past the estate agent on the corner we've started looking in the window - it's really frightening. We heard from both our parents, but from my dad only very briefly because he said he was in the middle of causing a major conflagration in the back garden.
We took a Zipcar up to Lechmere at the other end of the city to go to the Cambridgeside Galleria, which is an awfully pretentious name for a shopping centre - we actually started out heading to the T station, but after waiting there for fifteen minutes I remembered just how much better life seems on days when you don't have to take the subway, and phoned the automated booking line. This is something that I think is incredible about today, even though we usually don't notice these things because of living through gradual advancements - we can use a phone number I have on a card I carry in my wallet, enter some start and end times, and then walk along the road a bit to a previously prepared Nissan Versa and hold that card to the windscreen. It then communicates with the home base somewhere to see if I'm allowed into it at the time, and unlocks itself, ready to be driven. And though I'd forgotten that the stress of driving amongst the mad and the blind on Boston roads almost equalled that of dealing with the MBTA, I enjoyed that journey a lot - the only issue was when I happily zoomed out of our driveway and turned onto the road, only to be reminded by Whitney five seconds later that Americans drive on the right.
In the evening we went back to Fugakyu to attempt to reintroduce me to sushi - we tried once before when Paulette visited, but I had been put on a clear liquid diet that morning and could only have mushroom soup. This time, we met with success if you could ignore the loudest yuppettes in the world shouting to each other over the table about their mental issues next to us - though my new lifetime nothing-enjoyable diet puts soy sauce on the highly dangerous list, I rationed out a few drops of it anyway and don't feel any the worse for it. I did discover, though, that just putting sashimi in my mouth conjured up rather appalling memories, and had to slice it to pieces as best as I could with chopsticks and bundle rice around it to make it palatable.
I have not brought any home with me to put in the fridge.
We took a Zipcar up to Lechmere at the other end of the city to go to the Cambridgeside Galleria, which is an awfully pretentious name for a shopping centre - we actually started out heading to the T station, but after waiting there for fifteen minutes I remembered just how much better life seems on days when you don't have to take the subway, and phoned the automated booking line. This is something that I think is incredible about today, even though we usually don't notice these things because of living through gradual advancements - we can use a phone number I have on a card I carry in my wallet, enter some start and end times, and then walk along the road a bit to a previously prepared Nissan Versa and hold that card to the windscreen. It then communicates with the home base somewhere to see if I'm allowed into it at the time, and unlocks itself, ready to be driven. And though I'd forgotten that the stress of driving amongst the mad and the blind on Boston roads almost equalled that of dealing with the MBTA, I enjoyed that journey a lot - the only issue was when I happily zoomed out of our driveway and turned onto the road, only to be reminded by Whitney five seconds later that Americans drive on the right.
In the evening we went back to Fugakyu to attempt to reintroduce me to sushi - we tried once before when Paulette visited, but I had been put on a clear liquid diet that morning and could only have mushroom soup. This time, we met with success if you could ignore the loudest yuppettes in the world shouting to each other over the table about their mental issues next to us - though my new lifetime nothing-enjoyable diet puts soy sauce on the highly dangerous list, I rationed out a few drops of it anyway and don't feel any the worse for it. I did discover, though, that just putting sashimi in my mouth conjured up rather appalling memories, and had to slice it to pieces as best as I could with chopsticks and bundle rice around it to make it palatable.
I have not brought any home with me to put in the fridge.
