On a lighter note . . .

Pete and I went out on something that could be traditionally termed a "date" this weekend. It went really well. We had dinner and went to Laffs Comedy Caffe. Laffs is usually a good time--they generally do three comedians in ascending stages: somebody local who's kind of starting out, somebody who's well into the stand-up circuit, and then the headliner. Two out of the three were really good. The headliner in particular amused me because some of his act crossed the anglo/latino boundary in both directions, and there was enough Spanish thrown in that there probably aren't too many places you could perform this particular routine and everybody would get it.

I feel all stupid and girly. We held hands during the show. I am absurdly tickled by this.

I'm still amazed by our ability to have conversations that hit on anything and everything. I think we ranged from computer upgrades all the way to the significance of the fish hook as a symbol among some of the Pacific islanders.

Pete drove down from Phoenix, and it's a damn long drive back at 11:30 at night, so I'd offered crash space. We got home after the show and just sat on the couch being cuddly for awhile. I don't believe I've had this experience before. It bounced off a memory, a journey I wrote up in my LJ. Being held with someone else in the arms of the Mother of All Worlds. It was kind of like that. Really comfortable.