Well, our patio party for engaged friends was fun for us and we hope for all who attended. It was great to be outside and the weather has been unseasonably wonderful. We got to see folks we haven’t seen in an age, and stayed up until 3 a.m. (that’s an hour after everyone left, and about 5 hours after our normal bedtime) and then proceeded to lay around all day Saturday until I had to go to work. It was like we were on vacation, but we never left our home sweet home.

Also, Tim won his first case! To celebrate, the firm took him out to lunch to a Japanese Hibachi Steakhouse. Not that he didn’t appreciate the gesture, but he said everything tasted fried and it wasn’t very good. To make matters worse, the chef that is supposed to give you a little show at your table seemed bored and very no-nonsense, while the next table’s chef was like a stand-up comic, flipping shrimp tails into people’s shirt pockets and writing their names in Japanese with zucchini bits. Tim came home that day deciding that he was fat. Not fat as in obese, just a little too soft around the edges. He also decided to start calling his imaginary love handles “hibachis.” I don’t know if this is better or worse than its predecessor, “fundas.” Fundas was coined as a term to describe belly fat after we’d seen an article on cricketer Harbajan Singh in India. It was peppered with large, shirtless pictures of this hulking, powerful Sikh that appeared to be showing off his physique, only he looked just awful. Flabby with no definition and lots of, well, fat. And he’s a professional athlete. One of the quotes from the article over the most offensive of these photos said something like, “I just stick to my fundas. Everybody’s got them, yaar.” Fundas, in Indian English, is apparently a diminutive of fundamentals. (Why does fundamentals get a nickname?) But Tim decided it was much more suited to describe fat rolls.

Last night, we had to use symantec to help us get rid of a virus on our computer. Our representative’s name was Ashwarthy. We had to wait for a long time, and Tim told her as much. He typed that he waited in some chatroom for over an hour and no one ever contacted him. Ashwarthy replied: “Do not worry Timothy. I will help you.” She certainly had her fundas straight: customer care. While waiting in this queue, we looked up home remedies for acne. The first sight that came up was, of course, Indian. In great detail, it basically told us to go to our kitchen, mash anything that we saw into a paste, and apply it to our faces. My favorite sentence was: “Apply fresh juice of raw papaya on pimples and get a good result.”  Pimples; everybody’s got them, yaar.