So, one of the problems with blogging (or rather, keeping an online journal that happens to be visible to most of the world, or any journal for that matter) is that if you don't write about something right away, the memory starts to fade. Capturing the details, the emotion, the mood of the memory is difficult if it isn't done immediately. Instead of a free-flowing mix of words that convey the enthusiasm or depression of the moment, stilted words come out.

Take, for example, this past weekend.

On Saturday, Kris asked me what I wanted to do on Sunday. We pretty much hadn't spent any time together for a month, and time together is what we needed. I answered, "I want to mooooooove!" That month we spent nominally apart, I had spent sitting on my butt, and I desperately wanted to exercise. A hike, ultimate, pickup, throwing, walking the dogs for hours, anything to be moving!

So, on Sunday, we slept in, then went over to the elementary school around the corner to throw. Chookie, Stephanie (I think I'd never get used to calling her "Petra"), Wade and Doyle showed up, too. We've been working on our low release, typically break-mark, throws, using the hurdles as 6" off the ground markers. Kris worked with me this week, which helped me considerably on my breakmark forehands.

Since we had six people, we had enough for hotbox. My team of Wade, Chookie and me managed to lose like 15-0 to Kris, Doyle and Petra. I had some great D's, including a forearm block of a forehand zinger from Doyle (and it hurt!).

Kris and I had to dash after that, as we needed to get to Heidi's art show before it ended. We thought it ended at 5, which it did on Saturday, but it ended at 3 on Sunday.

We did a mad dash and arrived at 2:40 and couldn't find Heidi. Turns out, she had left early to attend a college reunion, but hadn't quite made it out of the parking lot. We caught up to her, and John, Heidi, Bridget, Kris and I spent the remaining afternoon in downtown Palo Alto.

We had a mid-afternoon dinner at Plutos, and were wandering to the gelato place across the street from the Aquarius when I spotted the Cheesecake Factory on University.

Somehow, visions of White Chocolate Cheesecake Truffle danced in everyone's head (yes, I planted those visions), and soon we were jaywalking across University (a first for me!) to the Factory. While waiting (well, while hovering like rabid dogs over people in the bar area), I told everyone of my Beverly Hills Cheesecake Factory stories: how I would drive from Pasadena to Beverly Hills via Glendale and Mulholland to get there in less than 25 minutes, so that I could get my cheese cake fix before they closed at 11. I have no idea how many times I did that. I think that drive, with my driving it, was the only time I ever scared Determan with my driving...

We went shopping at Restoration Hardware after rolling out of the Factory. Lord only knows how we managed to actually leave without being carted out in a wheelbarrow, we were so full. As Heidi said, "This place makes you want to paint your room green, no, blue, no, pink, as you walk through it." A brief jaunt through Z Gallerie on the way back to the cars, including a 23 to 22 "1000 Places to Visit Before You Die" places visited win by Kris over Heidi, and we were back home by 7:00pm.

So, the day was full, but it was also full of many jokes and entertaining quips. I didn't write about it at the end of the day, so now I've lost all but the overview of the day, and hints of how much fun it was. Maybe a better camera phone, or a less obtrusive camera would help capture the moments better.

Communal dinner tonight was dee-lish-us group-made pizza, sponsored by Vinny. We pretty much showed up, threw everything on pre-made stretched dough, waited 15 minutes, and chowed down.

Usually, when half of us are here, Tyler gives a call to Heather, to ask what he should bring. Tyler generally shows up late, so having him bring the missing items works very well.

Well, today, I received the call.

We were all shocked.

Apparently, I'm Tyler Tier Two.

Update: Crap! Crap crap crap! I'm not tier two! I'm tier three! Oh, boo!

Tyler called Chookie first, and didn't get through. Sigh.

Grrrr...

I have all of my mail sent to my P.O. Box. Long story, not relevant to this one.

I used to have a large box, 12" x 12". I started renting it about six months before I moved up from Los Angeles. Instead of full forwarding of all of my mail, I forwarded just the mail I was interested in continuing to receive: bills, magazine subscriptions, alumni notices. Since the box was big, I could pick up my mail every two weeks when I was up visiting, and check my local P.O. Box for anything I wanted to keep receiving.

Worked like a charm. When I did move up here, there was little mail that needed to be forwarded.

Fast forward to four years later. Mountain View had a fancy new post office, and the annex where my post office box was located was being shut down. All the boxes were moving to the new post office, and, get this, renumbered.

Yes, I could keep my box, but to match the numbering system in the new building, the size of my box would change. Instead of a 12" x 12" box, I would get a 4" x 6" box.

There is a reason why I rented the 12" x 12" box in the first place.

And it's not because I like giving the government extra money.

If I don't pick up my mail more than once every four days or so, the box fills up, and the clerks have to pile it all in a basket under the box, inside the post office. On the other side of the wall. Where I can't get to it.

Instead, I get this lovely, yellow card that says, "You have too much mail for your mailbox. Please pick up your mail at the window." Which means I can't pick up my mail at my convenience (which is admittedly 11:00 at night), but have to stop by during the day. When everyone else is at the post office.

Lines. Ugh.

Well, I tried to pick up my mail last Saturday, but I was one day too late picking up my mail, and had to wait until yesterday, Monday, to pick it up, handing over the yellow card. Which I did. Yesterday.

Because I'm anxiously waiting a delivery, I stopped by again today.

To find another yellow card.

Not even one day.

That freakin' tiny, itty, bitty, little mail box didn't even last me one day.

So way not fair.

For years, I've noticed my right hand has more blood flow in the morning than my left hand. Every morning, when I compare the color of my two hands, my right hand is always redder than my left hand. Always.

Well, not exactly that. When I'm in the shower, I notice the difference in colorings. And for years, I've puzzled about it. I wonder if the difference is because of the lighting (nope, same thing happens at my parents' houses), or the season (nope, occurs in summer as in winter), or the time of day (nope, happens in when I wake up early, wake up late, or just stay awake).

I'd be lying if I said I haven't puzzled over this for years. Typically, only in the shower, though, and only in passing.

Well, this morning, I finally figured it out.

Finally!

Turns out, as most right-handed people do, I primarily use my right hand for most things. I noticed when I was standing in the water this morning, after also noticing my right hand was darker than my left, that I stood with my arm bent, and my right hand at shoulder height.

In the hot water.

Yes, I take long showers. Long, long, loooooooooong showers. They always bothered my mom. They sometimes bother Kris. They don't bother me at all.

Before I turned up the water heater, I would shower until the hot water ran out. Cold water? Shower's done.

Now, though, with the water heater cranked, I can stay in the shower until I'm done, which is sometime after my finger tips have pruned.

Turns out, my hand in the hot water was turning it red/reddish. By the time I woke up and noticed the difference in coloring, I had already been standing with my hand up, apparently a natural, comfortable position for me.

To verify, I, of course, finished the shower in a reflection of my usual stance, with my left hand up in the warm, warm water. Sure enough, my left hand was darker than my right by the time I finished my shower.

Another mystery in life solved.