"This Isn't Chinese..."

I'm getting ready for a big weekend of awesome (which I'm sure I'll blog about) featuring a party for my wonderful friend who I can now call Master Laura.  Afterwards, the immensely entertaining former roommate, David, will be here for our tradition of eating pizza, watching questionably-good sci-fi movies, and playing through an entire computer game in a twenty-four hour period.  It's our own personal way of distilling our two year rooming experience at William and Mary into a weekend of carefully selected memories.

This week was a good one.  I continued my daily jogs, am almost 100% over whatever illness I caught from Tommy Wiseau last week, and did some music and business work with varying degrees of success.  On Monday Kayface was here and we did some work on a video audition piece for her.  For dinner, she expressed the desire to go to a Chinese place.  I said "I know a Chinese place!" and immediately took her to a Chinese place I had been to a few months before.  It wasn't until the end of the meal that she informed me the Chinese place was actually a Japanese restaurant with two stereotypical Chinese entrees which I had fixated on to the exclusion of the real menu.  After actually looking at the menu I realized she was exactly right.  Clearly my semester in China was well spent.  Sometimes, when I start to get too big of an ego, karma strikes back.

Tonight I went and got dinner with Liza and Kendra (necessary parenthetical explanation to stave off e-mails or phone calls: yes that Liza, no we aren't dating again, yes it's fine, no it isn't awkward) at a new sports bar that opened up nearby (as a further parenthetical expression, Liza helped me come up with the first parenthetical expression while at dinner in order to get me to mention her on this blog, which she has been stalking.  Because who wouldn't stalk this blog, really?).  Afterwards we walked through 5 and Below, where Liza did her typical buying-things-she-doesn't-need-just-because-they're-pink thing.  Some things never change.

Now I'm watching a TV show on hulu which I really shouldn't be watching called Switched at Birth.  I would describe it, but if you just imagine a show titled "Switched at Birth" and further imagine the exact content of what might be in that show you'll probably get it 99% correct.  It is such the typical ABC Family schlock that has a 100% predictable plot and I am shocked and appalled with myself for how fascinated I am by it.  I have a theory though.  The show is SO overly-sentimental and SO predictable as to make it almost surreal... as though the world presented within the show is just slightly different from the real world in some bizarre ways and it's a fun game to figure out exactly why it weirds me out.  It's not bad enough to qualify as a Room-esque guilty pleasure.  It mostly makes me feel guilty and provides no pleasure, but for some reason I feel compelled to watch it.  Orientation in August can't come soon enough....