Friday: Went home, had dinner with my parents, and watched a zillion episodes of TV with two TiVo owning friends. If I ever decide to get a decent television with reception, or fork out the bucks for cable, I think I'll definitely get TiVo. It rocks. We watched a few episodes of the American version of The Office, and although everyone says it's not as good as the British version, it's still quite funny. Some of the characters, like the guy who has a crush on the engaged receptionist, are the same from the British version, but some are different. Steve Carrell is good as the boss, but not nearly as cringe-inducing horrid as his British counterpart, Ricky Gervais.
Saturday: I played with my baby niece and learned and important lesson: if you feed a baby an entire bottle, then pick her up and dance around swinging in circles, said baby will spit up all over you. I played soccer and got my arse kicked, literally, and I know I'll get some strange looks at the gym today when I sport my maroon badges of courage. It looks like someone wailed on my right leg with a baseball bat, but that's what happens when you get drilled in the same leg like five times in one game. After soccer, I went on what may or may not have been a date. It was fun, and I did do a little bit of Nervous Talking, but not too bad. It's not like I told him that until the age of ten or so I was terrified of the reflections of fluorescent lights on tile floors (if you look at them while you're walking through a supermarket or department store, they seem like they are following you, and if you speed up, they chase you, and it freaked me out when I was a kid. Okay, it still kind of freaks me out but at least I don't run screaming until I safely reach the carpet anymore). Then I ended up having late-night beers with my Irish neighbors, who are leaving for San Francisco this week, and it turned into one of those drunken "You're the best." "No, YOU'RE the best" conversations.
Sunday: I saw The Matador, a buddy comedy starring Pierce Brosnan as a sleazy hitman and Greg Kinnear as a nice, regular guy. It was really funny, especially Pierce Brosnan, who plays an absolute scumbag, all gold chains, chest hair, and boob-staring, but he's a hilariously awesome scumbag. The movie also reinforced my belief that Greg Kinnear must be the nicest guy in Hollywood, and Hope Davis was adorable as his wife. After the movie, I went to the New Balance factory outlet and picked up some new running shoes, which I'm hoping will help with the foot pain that has been bothering me ever since I ran the marathon in November. I think I may have either Plantar Fascitis or tendonitis. It's a fairly intense pain in the bottom of my feet, and it's usually worse in the morning, especially when I walk around with bare feet. I got tendonitis last time I ran a marathon, and there isn't much you can do about it, but it eventually goes away. Sunday night I made chicken pot pie and a friend came over for dinner, and we drank white zinfandel from a box, classy gals we are.