To catch you up, our beloved iMac crashed beyond repair, which made posting here difficult. My blog has been on pause. There! You are all caught up now.

Mr. Pennington: The sabbath is over! I can order the new iMac!

Me: Excuse me? 

Mr. Pennington: From a store in New York run by Orthodox Jews. They shut down the website sundown until sunup on Saturdays. I couldn’t place my order until... NOW!!!!!

Me: This will be a very devout iMac. 

Mr. Pennington: I got a great deal. No sales tax. Be proud of me, I did not get the highest-end iMac. You know I wanted to.

Me: Your tremendous restraint does me proud. All these years together, I have successfully worn you down.

This year, for our anniversary and Valentine’s Day, we got each other essentially the same cards. How is that for co-dependent bliss.

I never tell anyone this because it perhaps would be the most misleading bit of advice offered on my blog, worse than suggesting you inject yourself with loads of ascorbic acid, worse than suggesting you run, jump and lift weights and never ever do yoga or pilates, worse than suggesting you embrace every miserable aspect of your rotten disabled life and yourself, but here it is: Mr. Pennington and I got married a few weeks after we met. And, no, we were not friends before that. We had no friends in common. We had nothing in common and still have nothing in common.

Even worse, I was ready to marry him in the first 30 seconds of our first (was it? I wasn’t sure) date. I kept that thought to myself and tried not to get too involved. It took him a couple of weeks to figure out he felt the same. I was simply done looking, and fairly certain nobody better for me would ever come along. Plus I was willing to get a divorce in six months if it turned out I was totally wrong.

We went to Las Vegas and I got married in the clothes I had worn to work that day. The whole production cost $85, including the marriage license. The Las Vegas marriage license office is open 24 hours. It was sure funny to tell my friends I had gotten married. Were you seeing anyone? was the response. If you move in with a guy you just met your friends will tell you what a mistake that is, but if you marry someone you just met, no one knows what to say. At least that was the case last century. And before you feel sorry for me for no white dress, no bridal shower, no gift registry, no ceremony, please read what I have written about my parents. I would never want a wedding. 

Here it is, the New iMac!

Before Mr. Pennington powered it up, added RAM and tricked it out in many ways I am incapable of understanding. 

Ta-Da! 

Mr. Pennington is so tech-saavy, and always willing to get me an ice pack in the middle of the night. Plus, he has great style. This is the basis of a lasting relationship. Don’t ever marry a stranger.

And don’t bother trying to steal the new iMac. The cameras inside and outside our house, the alarm system, motion detectors, my lovely neighbors and Fat Cat will get you first.

I have missed you! What have you been up to? I have kept myself busy:

Relationship Building with Fat Cat

Since I deeded our backyard to Fat Cat, he stopped yelling at me and running away in disgust. Now, he shows me affection in public. It was worth it.

Fat Cat was enormous when he was rescued, which is how he got that name. 

Dancing 

Wedding season has begun. Yay!!

I got a dance with the best looking groomsmen.

What a cutie pie!

Then Mr. Pennington and I danced until the DJ packed up. All I want in life is a well-dressed man who will take me dancing. That is the basis for a lasting relationship.

Doing Tai Chi in the Park

With my weighted vest and wrist weights on.

Enjoying Fine Dining

Attending the Theater

Mr. Pennington and I find the local theater scene in Los Angeles to be highly stimulating. We will go to anything.

Sometimes we are the only people there who are not friends of.

Sometimes the play is so bad we must stay because it will make the car ride home more fun.

Sometimes we see something so out of this world good, we are speechless.

We try to find a hidden bar afterwards, to unpack the drama. By that I mean, a place without a sign. Very LA.

I Finished Another Term at Fuji School

I started learning Japanese to fix my battered brain, which had been demolished by Ehlers-Danlos and long-term opiates. I have not met another student at Fuji School who took up studying Japanese for that reason.

I wanted to learn a new instrument to help my brain recover, maybe the cello or an upright bass. But my hand impairment is significant. So I settled for studying the delightfully percussive, impossible to read, even more impossible to understand language of Japanese, which I plan to torture myself with for the rest of my life.

Here are my flashcards for all the kanji for JLPT N3. I will need another year to memorize these.

One needs a treat after Japanese class. Have you been to Demitasse in Little Tokyo? You must go.

As a substitute for the cello, Japanese will do. In my dreams at night I am playing a large stringed instrument. I gave away all my piano books at the suggestion of my hand therapist (shrug) but I kept my keyboard and I play chords to practice listening. Mr. Pennington also installed Garage Band on the new iMac. We have to work to find things in common.

We have had the new iMac for a while, but I did not get around to posting, as I was so busy having even more adventures.

I will be telling you all about them.