Self-indulgent musings of a social retard.

Well, Bink is back. She had a great time in Santa Cruz.

So, our trip is coming up quickly...we leave on the 15th. I can't wait to get out of here. My friend, L., who we're gonna visit in London gave me a whole list of stuff to bring her. She's Mexican and can't get a lot of stuff she wants in the UK. Being in San Francisco, I can get most any Latin/Central American product. I got her cajeta, and her ate de guyabana, but how the hell am I supposed to get her queso fresca? Um, hello? I'll be in France a week prior. I may have to send it via Airborne or something. I don't want to be responsible for rancid cheese for a week.

I finally got Bink's passport. It was such an ordeal because there is a requirement that her "father" co-sign the application, or give written permission. Um, excuse me? I don't think so. Not going to happen. I would never ask his permission for anything having to pertain to my kid. I'm sure he would have done anything I asked, but I wasn't going to ask. Not when I've been the only parent raising her her entire life. Fuck that. Sure, I understand the thinking behind the rule, but it doesn't work for me. Needless to say, I managed to side-track that stipulation.

Tomorrow is my grandfather's 101st birthday! Damn, he's old! We went to his party last year (he lives in Michigan,) but didn't make the trek this year. My mom went, though (it's her dad.)

I was watching coverage of the Queen Mother's funeral. She was also 101 years of age. The broadcaster mentioned that the country was in a "state of shock." I laughed. She was 101 years old, people! How shocking could it be?

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