Someone once said, “We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”
This past weekend, my parents celebrated their 30th anniversary with a vow renewal ceremony followed by an open house for our friends, family, and church members (most of whom fall into the previous two categories). There was SO much cake. Too bad we weren't around during the French Revolution, or Marie Antoinette would've probably said "let them go to the Forsters' house." Overall, the day was amazing, and I don't believe I have ever seen mom so pleased with herself.
She and dad had a lovely time, and hosting this event forced them to finish up our new room we just added to the house. And by "we", I mean "they", b/c I've been at school. So I basically just get to enjoy the finished product, but I didn't have to work any. It's pretty great, I'm not gonna lie.
Aside from the driving home and back, the only bad part was that I ate TONS of food this weekend. It's sad, really. I'm on this, for lack of a better term, 'weight-loss kick' right now... I'm working at the beach next month, so I'm sure you can understand. So, if you see me around, eating something dense with calories, give me a firm stare. Being at the pool so much does help. I swim b/c there's nothing else to do. I need to pick back up the marathon training.
Anyway, the most interesting thing that happened: I got to drive home a drunk man. In a six speed Jeep Wrangler. (Which, btw, is my favorite vehicle.) He was a friend of the family, and had a little bit too much at the place where my brother works... and by a little bit too much, I mean 20- ish shots. It was great. So I drove his car, and my brother followed with a friend. Good times.
I was pretty pleased with myself. I knew my driving a manual abilities would come in handy someday!
