Wyatt's First Blog (and Photo Montage)!

Although I have now figured out how to solve Fermat's Last Theorem, I can't be like Dad all the time. So I am going for the 'best dressed kid' award, already informally awarded to me by my Mom and her friends. But I am a loyal consumer, and so here is my Gap photo montage. Enjoy!




Special thanks goes to my Mom, my Uncle Davy, my Uncle Derek, and esp. my Auntie JoAnn, all of whom are keeping GapKids afloat on their very own. [Legal Disclaimer: Monkey hat and green socks are model's own, and not provided by Gap, Inc.]

One Nation Underdog!!!

Coming soon...to a theater near you (or not so near you if you live in France, Auntie Amy)...the...best...movie...ever...with, if I don't say so myself, the most gorgeous star in it!!!

UNDERDOG!!!

But what I bet you didn't know was that Underdog is a BEAGLE!!! Well, neither did I, but you can't deny it! Look closely at the at the long ears, the beautiful jowl line, the solid frame, the strong forward gaze looking, seeking, searching for trouble (or peanut butter cookies). Hot diggity dog! Underdog, my personal hero, a beagle!!!

This must be why when Joe walked me this evening (pee, but no poop), a bunch of women across the street started cat-calling (how ironic to use the word 'cat'...sigh) "beagle! beagle! beagle!" Joe got scared and ran away (after all, who wouldn't be scared of a bunch of women trying to get near you because your dog is so cute -- Dina, by the way, rewarded Joe with a biscuit when he got home for "leaving it."). Beagle...dog of steel, the first dog of Krypton, dog of tomorrow! Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's Underdog!!!

Damn, I look good in spandex

Don't forget to check Underdog out, coming Summer 2007!

P.S. Like father, like dog. Dad loves Superman, I love Underdog. Go figure.

C*ckblockers

WARNING: This blog may not be age appropriate for those under 17, or in dog age, 2. Or really, anyone else who doesn't want to "go there."

In case you don't know, a c*ckblocker is typically known as a guy that interferes with another guy's attempt to hook up with a woman. You know, let's say GuyA is eyeing Girl1 and has been chatting her up the whole night (what do you like to do, where are you from, what did you study, did you like "The Notebook" better than "Terms of Endearment," and all that kind of junk that guys don't really want to hear, but are willing to forge through if there's a chance of hooking up). Well, even after putting all that QT into Girl1 and as GuyA is really about to close the deal, GuyB rolls in, makes a move, and leaves with the girl -- effectively, as they say, c*ckblocking.

But I started thinking about this, and c*ckblocking doesn't just apply to guys, there are all forms of c*ckblocks, and here are just a few:

* Dina and Joe finally return from their trip to Laguna Beach, and I'm as excited as hell to see them. I've been staying with Auntie Di and Uncle Ken, sleeping in the kitchen with Kona. Well, Dina and Joe roll in, I run up (to do my usual lickfest on their faces), and Kona jumps in the mix, and c*ckblocks me from them!!! Not only can't I lick their faces, but I'm also getting whipped in the face with Kona's 20 foot long tail!!! That's lick-blocking, and here's the lick-blocker herself.* Dina goes to the buffet at the Wynn Hotel & Casino in Vegas. Now, we all know we shouldn't get between Dina and an unlimited amount of food. But did you ever notice that there's always that one guy, that one jerk (or jerkette) that is always in your way? Walking too slowly towards the food, but meandering in such a way that you can't get around him. Or, you turn around to get in line, and whoa! Who slides in before you and then can't make up their mind on whether they want their prime rib cut medium rare or medium? Same guy! And then, you move towards the frozen yogurt dispenser, and voila! Same dude blocking the machine, and to boot, the chocolate jimmies and crushed oreos. That's buffet-blocking.

* Or you're Joe at a conference, and you're trying to get into the tent. And there's some dude on his bluetooth in front of you that keeps speeding up and then slowing down, in a pace rhythmic with his conversation, but not rhythmic with walking forward. And as you try to dodge around him, he raises his hands in emphasis, and not only are you still behind him, but your face is now meeting his hand. That's tent-blocking.

* Or like an old friend of Dina used to point out, what about the guy at McDonald's waiting in line to order. And when he finally reaches the front, he's wondering out loud "hmmm...what do I want?" Uh dude? You've been waiting in line, a perfect time to figure out what you want. Oh, and by the way, we're still at McDonald's, where the menu is the same, has been the same, and will be the same for eons! That's burger-blocking.

So I'm just sayin', that c*ckblocking is an awfully good word with lots of applications. Just think about it. And don't get me wrong, I'm not a hater. Heck, I'm a c*ckblocker myself. You have to remember, I sleep in Dina and Joe's bed.

Guest Blog from Dina: A Sad Statement

I thought it was hard turning 35. You know, feeling much closer to 40 and kissing 30 goodbye. But that wasn't hard. What was hard was tonight.

Tonight, I went to a dinner/concert hosted by some investment banking joint throwing a big conference in Laguna Beach. Dinner was fine -- In N' Out burger trucks outside, plus the usual seafood spread and lots of free booze. The theme of the night? Moulin Roth (Roth being the name of the investment bank). Okay, sort of cheesy.

So why did I go? Well, of course because the food was free (I am Chinese, people). But also because Ludacris was the concert portion of the night. And at first I was excited. But after I entered the tent, a little part of high school Dina died.

Important Statistics:
Number of near naked go-go dancers: 12
Number of beer stations: 4
Number of dessert options: 6
Number of times I visited the buffet: 3
Number of times I visited the dessert buffet: 2 (plus I made Joe go once more)

Even More Important Statistics:
Average age of attendees: 48
Percentage of white male attendees: 89%
Percentage of people who have actually heard of Ludacris, or for that matter, rap music: 7%
Percentage of old white people trying to dance to Ludacris: Oh, I can't even go there. But let's just say it was enough to ruin one of my former favorite songs "What's your fantasy"

Yet despite all of this, I moved up towards the concert stage to get a glimpse of Ludacris. And wouldn't you know it? I got stuck behind the one and only rice rocket Asian guy with a pound of gel in his stick straight hair (and I'm sure, some souped up Honda with a spoiler in the parking lot). Then, to my left was a 50 year old white woman dancing (and I use that word liberally because usually dancing implies rhythm) throwing her hands up in the air (and waving them like she just didn't care). And to my right? Some 20-something year old couple grinding on each other and making out.

At one point in the concert, I could swear that Ludacris and I met eyes. And I couldn't help but convey my disappointment to him -- 'Really Lud?' I besought. 'Was the 100 grand really worth this?!' And when he began singing "Shake Your Moneymaker" as some Investor Relations cougars grinded up against him on stage, I think I saw a little tear roll down from his eye and I knew my answer.

All I could think was "How did this happen? and "Where the hell am I?" So I squeezed my eyes shut, clicked my shoes, and said "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

Call Me TicTac Tso

Once again, we go down to L.A. and visit the family to celebrate Dina's 35th (that's right folks, our girl has entered the mid-30's and she's not going down without a fight). But we're really in L.A. because Joe has a conference in Laguna Beach (also home to the show Laguna Beach, and a testament to Dina's sad, pathetic attempt to recapture her youth -- although she was never that skinny, never that rich, and certainly never, ever that white). And while those yanks stay at some ritzy hotel, they leave me with my Uncle Ken, Auntie Di, Cousins Alyssa, Aaron and Kona, collectively known as "The Tso's" (pronounced "So"). In other words, I've morphed from TicTac To into TicTac Tso.

By the by, Joe and Dina also visited Derek while they were in L.A., and even watched the most recent episode of The Apprentice at his house (which coincidentally, is across the street from Dina's high school and no, no, she swears it wasn't that 'hood' when she went there). Anyway, when Derek brought out the Ben and Jerry's ice cream for the boardroom scene, they thought he was doomed. But thanks to his excellent Spanish ("Vamos hacer un 'how do you say drawing?'") and his Priceline enthusiasm, his butt got saved.

Oh, and no, Dina was not able to finagle any information that would have been in violation of the severely expensive non-disclosure that Derek signed, although she can say with certainty that Wyatt is not Derek's lovechild.

Wyatt's First Hot Tub

A couple of things to note here, folks:

One: Notice how Wyatt is now a sufficient size such that in the future, Dina can use him to effectively block out her stomach in any bathing-suit-type photo?

Two: Notice how oddly dark Joe is compared to his wife and son, which has led some to say to Joe "hey, do you know you're son is white?".

And three: Notice how I am not in the picture?! C'mon people, this is my friggin' blog, after all!!!

My Brush with Fame

If I were hobnobbing in L.A. like my cousins, then I'd expect to, of course, have famous friends -- or at least know Cesar Millan (Okay, I'm not a "red alert" case, but I do still shit on the carpet from time to time).

But I'm not in L.A., I'm in San Francisco, where our mayor is checking into rehab after having an affair with his campaign director's wife (who wasn't as hot as Kimberly Guilfoyle Newsom, but I bet this chick wasn't pigeon-toed like ol' Kimberly -- oh wait, I bet you didn't know that! You never see her feet on CourtTV and by the way, maybe that's why she was a catalog model as opposed to a runway model...).

Anywho, much to my surprise, one day Derek Arteta comes walking into my house! MY HOUSE! Oh c'mon people, Derek? Current star of The Apprentice(masterminded Aimee's attack of that dog-eyed kid Aaron from Harvard?), previous star of $10,000 Pyramid (and he won because unlike most game show contestants, he's SMART), laywer sidekick to Jimmy and Adam, AND the key to Dina passing Federal Courts in law school (hey, that class sounds hard because it IS hard!).

Well people, he's just as nice as can be. Fame has not gone to his head (yet). And he tasted good...real good...like honey.

A Dog and Her Boy

This is my boy. He likes to suck on his thumb, which makes him drool a whole lot. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, he spits up. And then I go in...and lick his face. Or his burp cloth. You might think that's kind of nasty. But you have to remember, I'm a dog. I eat my own vomit.

Too Cute

So when Dina had Wyatt, she said it was like joining a cult. She suddenly was a member of this club (a not-very-exclusive-club, mind you). But she said that you are all-of-a-sudden bonding with other women for no other reason than having a child. You don't have to talk about your past, your job, your spouse, your dog (ahem!), nothing. Just talk about poop, tummy time, boobs, and sleep schedules. Sounds FABOO, doesn't it?

Well, Dina seems to like it enough, and she thinks it's been a great way to meet friends. Or I guess, it's really Wyatt meeting friends. Lots of friends...See Wyatt on the right? He's wearing this crazy fur vest thing...I guess he's embracing that San Francisco culture early! But before you start saying 'awwwww' at how cute this is, don't forget me:
THE CUTEST EVER, PERIOD!

My Family

We had a very merry Christmas. But check out the size of my lil' bro's noggin'! It's HUGE!!! Not a shock he can't lift it yet!

Oh, No You Didn't, Gillian!

So it's Christmas eve, and the whole immediate Wong family is at PoPo's (my grandmother's) house. We're all waiting for dinner, and my cousins are milling around the table (that's Alyssa, Aaron, Taylor, Gillian, and Jessica, by the way). Gillian and Jessica are now 7 years old and in second grade -- getting older, but that doesn't necessarily mean wiser...

In the meantime, I'm waiting for my dinner -- some nice hypoallergenic kibble. Joe's put it in my stainless steel bowl on the table, and I'm sitting around drooling waiting for him to put it on the floor.

Next thing I know, Uncle Kenny yells "Hey! Is this TicTac's food?" as he points to my bowl. Dina says "Yup!" To which Uncle Kenny replies:

"WELL, GILLIAN JUST ATE SOME!!"

Oh, no she didn't! Oh, yes she did!! The girl thought they were nuts, so she popped one in her mouth!

I didn't know whether I should pee on the floor from laughing so hard or bite her leg for eating my food.

Damn kid.

Hathy Holithays!

In a shout-out to "A Christmas Story", Wyatt pays homage to Randy (Ralphie's little brother), whose winter dressing also didn't allow for much movement:

Randy: I can't put my arms down!
Mother: Well... put your arms down when you get to school.

Hathy Holithays!

Hugh Does Joe Look Like?

Ok, when something happens once, it's like an accident, an aberration, a single incident never to occur again (duh, 1 means 1). But when something happens more than once, what does that make it? Or when something is said more than once, what does it mean? That it's the truth? That it's likely? That it's a certainty?

Well, get this folks. On more than one occasion (making it NOT an aberration), someone has commented to Dina or Joe that Joe looks like Hugh Grant. I'm sorry, did you say Joe? The Mexican/Filipino/but supposedly Chinese Hugh Grant? Now, I understand if Joe looks like a famous Korean actor (as he was told when he last visited Korea), or that Joe is Latino (as many people, including a nice abuela, mistook him for by speaking Spanish to him), or that Joe might be Laotian (hairstylist said so), Cambodian (by folks in Cambodia speaking Cambodian to him), or Filipino (as my cousin Taylor still believes him to be), or Hawaiian (too tan to be from the mainland), or that Joe is from any other country where the people are remotely tanned...
But Hugh Grant. Really people?


I don't know folks, but my dog eyes just don't see it. Well, I guess may be...if you squint real hard...it could possibly be...seen as...a little resemblance...to this?:

Wedding Crasher

Move over, Owen and Luke. I found a new wedding crasher. Sure, he only weighs about 6 pounds. Sure, he's smaller than the smallest hobbit. But this guy's got game. He's only a month old and homey already crashed 2 weddings.

Wedding #1: Age, 2 days
That's right folks. I got put in doggy camp that weekend, but Master Wyatt got to crash his Uncle James and Auntie JoAnn's wedding 2 days after his birth. The little guy wasn't even invited! Heck, the little guy wasn't even supposed to be born until 4 weeks later! But no siree, he's not one to miss a party and hog some of the glory.

Wedding #2: Age, 1 month, 1 day
This one was black tie!! But do you see Lil' E in proper clothing? No way. The dude attended wearing what HE wanted to wear, cried when HE wanted to cry, and demanded to be fed when HE was hungry (limiting his Mom's ability to consume alcohol, thereby making no friends whatsoever). The gall! But make no mistake...The ladies were lining up for him!

But let's hope as he gets older, Lil' E waits for actual invitations and generally learns some manners. I did hear from a very good source that the little guy was ripping some mean farts at the black tie dinner -- he claims he can't help it, but que rude!!!

QT with Lil' E

The jury is still out as to how I really feel about this little guy. On the one hand, he smells pretty good and looks like he could be a good source for dropped food someday. On the other hand, he wakes me up a lot during the middle of the night and looks like he might smell pretty bad someday as well.

Until I figure the situation out, I'm putting up with his insistence on spending QT with me (and I like his body heat).


P.S. Wyatt's real due date is today, 10/25/06. So much for that!

There's Always Time For Fun

In case you were wondering whether Wyatt's arrival has impeded Dina's ability to make me do stupid stuff, guess again.P.S. Thank you, Aunty Di, for knitting Wyatt this cool hat. Unfortunately, it fits my head better than his right now.

Family Update

In case you were wondering how we are all getting along......We are getting along just fine.

Sound the Horns! The Little Emperor is Here!

Introducing my new best pal/arch nemesis:

Name: Wyatt David To
DOB: September 28, 2006
TOB: 9:43 AM
Weight: 5 pounds, 2 ounces
Length: 18 inches
Hours of Labor: 12 but less than 30 minutes of pushing
Number of times Dina yelled at Joe during labor: 0
Number of times Dina hit Joe during labor: 0
Who cried first: Joe

Guest Blog: One Week to Freedom!!!

It's official. I only have one more week of bedrest (can you hear the angels singing)! I'm so excited I could pee on myself. Well, not really. I'm so excited I could pee on you, maybe, but not me. The doctor told me that once I hit 36 weeks, I'm off bedrest (mark the date, that's September 27th). And I can't believe by the end of this, I'll have been on bedrest for 7 weeks total (ok, not a lifetime, but that's like almost 2 months of my life where I've basically laid on my side for 23 hours each day. You're suprised I didn't shoot myself -- or Joe -- but I'm not allowed to get up to retrieve firearms. I'm only allowed to get up to pee and shower -- oh, and take the occasional photo.).

What has been cool during bedrest is how cool everyone has been. Friends have come over to help me pass the time, brought DVDs, food, sent books, the whole shebang. And that's really cool, because it's totally unecessary. On the flip side, I'm also surprised by some of the people who have not called or stopped by (you can see their names on my shitlist in bold, all caps).

But this last week is moving painfully slow. Now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I'm getting more and more anxious. Watching my dog perform a lobotomy on a stuffed bear is no longer as entertaining as before.

Other than hearing angels singing, all I can hear is the inevitable scolding when Lil' E gives me some lip "I did not spend 7 weeks on bedrest for this bullshit! Now go to your room!" Payback's a bitch.

Gimme Yo' Cookies

I'm a hungry doggie. Joe and Dina brought me home at 5 pounds. I now weigh 26 pounds. I can't help it. I love food. You already know that I love peanut butter. But I also love rice (I'm Cheanglinese, remember?), cheese (just plain ol' American slices will do), bread (particularly foccacia), ice cream (I've only had vanilla), and my newest most favoritest thing in the whole wide world? Joe-Joe's Cookies from Trader Joes (vanilla, not chocolate. Chocolate will kill me.).

Gimme, gimme, gimme. I will stalk you if I smell even a crumb of one of these cookies on you. No seriously, I don't care if you're an infant, elderly, disabled, or pregnant. I will step all over you for a cookie. I will stalk you. I will hunt you down. With Joe, I don't have to wait long. He just takes off half of the cookie, and I get the cookie part, he gets the other half with the cream and cookie. But Dina, what a wench, she makes me work for it. She'll split the cookie, lick the creme off in front of me. Do a little Joe-Joe cookie dance, swinging it by my nose and over my head, sing-songing a la Rod Stewart "do you want my cookies, do you think I'll let ya, come on baby let me know." I climb on her, I jump on her, I even drool on her, and she still has the nerve to tease me with them! All I can think is what comes around, goes around, my pregnant friend...what comes around goes around...

P.S. For those of you worried about the increasing junk in my trunk, Joe got word this week from my vet that he should 'keep an eye' out on my weight. Needless to say, I'm now being starved, limited to 2 cups of kibble a day, and only low-fat doggie snacks. What's happening to my life????

Guest Blog: Tales from the Bed by Dina

Answers to common questions:

How are you?:

I am essentially a prisoner in my home, but I'm allowed to eat whatever is in the fridge (right now, there are Costco chimichangas and french bread pizza). Kind of like bubble boy (or girl, I guess), except I can't run around outside in a smaller bubble built to my proportion that still serves as protection from all the harms of the world. Oh, and my first kiss wasn't plastic, poor John Travolta.What do you do all day?:

I'd like to say that I've read every single parenting book needed, or every classic (including Dickens), or even watched all the DVDs in my Sex and the City collection (like me, that DVD collection is still wrapped in plastic). Instead, please meet my new best friend:
This, my friends, is the Nintendo DS Lite. And if I were you, I would keep these very very far away from my children, especially adolescent boys who will ruin their minds and never get into college (and certainly not the number one university in the country) as addiction is certain and my only excuse is that I'm 34 and already got into and went to college. Of course, I might have gotten into college but I will likely be a horrificly unprepared parent since I can't manage to pick up anything remotely looking like a parenting book because my hands are occupied with the Nintendo.

How much longer do you have to stay on bedrest?:

Your guess is good as mine. But in a couple of weeks (when I will have officially been on bedrest for 5 weeks), I'll email you for your signataure to my electronic petition for Dina's freedom.

How is Joe handling all of this?:

Who the hell cares? Joe gets to wake up every day and leave the house!

(Ok, I should be a little more generous. Joe is taking it like a champ. Mostly because I think guilt overpowers him, as he's watching his pregnant wife (yes, folks, we all know that Joe did this to me -- not put me on bedrest, but you know, got me pregnant!!!) lay on her side for 23 hours a day. But we all know Joe's a good guy. Of course he's taking it like a champ!).

How are you feeling feeling?: (translation, are you emotionally stable?)

Generally, I'm taking it like a champ, too. As far as pregnancies go, I've had a great one. As far as blips on the pregnancy screens, this one has turned out not to be major (just a major inconvenience). And really, as long as the baby is healthy, that's all I really care about.

Ok, let's step away from the party line for a second (of course the priority is the health of the baby, what do you think, we're sick-os?). But let's take a Type A personality who 1) has a baby on the way; 2) is moving into a new house; 3) is overseeing the renovation of that house; and 4) requires near-daily exercise for her sanity's sake, and put that Type A on bedrest. I would, in my most PC way, just like to say that while I've been shockingly optimistic and positive about all of this, I've been damned salty, too.

What gets me is when I talk to people, most people ask "how is the baby?" Peeps. The baby is fine. As long as the baby is in the belly, the baby is fine. But how about asking me how I'm doing? Really, people aren't actually that interested in how I'm doing. I'm really just a pod. Just the outward shell that will be peeled away at some point to reveal a miraculous beautiful baby boy. And I will be there, still a shell, but this time, a fat saggy shell with engorged breasts and grown-out highlights.

But as long as the baby's healthy!!!

Shower Dina with Love

So the baby (whom we have named the Little Emperor, but we call him by his hip hop name, Lil' E) is coming soon. Very soon. So soon that I think his head is still pushing towards the exit door, which is why Dina is still on bedrest. And so it's supposedly a cause for celebration (not Lil' E's anxious run towards the exit door, but just the imminent arrival of his majesty). Happy new baby, woohoo, and all that jazz.

So Dina's girlfriends threw a shower. Dina, of course, is still on bedrest, so she laid on a chaise lounge like an empress (which sounds about right) and I had to wonder why they didn't hire a cabana boy (or Joe) to fan her and feed her grapes during the party. Dina was pretty excited to see her friends, who told her what it is like to walk around outdoors, breathe fresh air, and you know, generally how it feels not to be a prisoner in your own home kind of thing. She managed to get off her fat ass, though, for a couple of pictures.And I got pretty excited because they all made me t-shirts...
But then I looked at the t-shirts and they were kind of funky. They all had snaps on the butt, and don't they know I need my houha free so I can pee? No one likes to pee in their pants...unless their hopelessly drunk and passed out on some random couch...but generally speaking, no one likes to pee in their pants.

I'm ONE!!!

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear meeee, happy birthday to me. Here's how I celebrated:Dina spent one of her 30 minute 'sitting up' reprieves from bedrest so that she could force me to take a picture when, really, all I wanted was my birthday biscuits.
I'm not sure what smelled stronger. This peanut butter cookie or Joe's finger...

WANTED: Alternative Entertainment From Me

I can't handle the pressure. I'm with Dina all day now that she's on bedrest. There's no reprieve. It's too much. There's only so much singing, barking, and interpretive dancing a dog can do (and really, I'm not that good at singing). I've got to find other things to entertain her, less she start using that masking tape lint-roller on me every hour, as opposed to every day...

I've already started to bring in the troops, but this little one couldn't handle the pressure.So please! Visit, call, write. Teach her how to knit, needlepoint, crochet! Or for you doctors out there, if there's a drug that will help pass the time a little more quickly (for her or me), then by all means! - it's your duty to help (and prescribe)! I don't really care what you guys do, just save me!!!

Woe is Me!!!

Dude. I knew this baby was going to screw me. Somehow, I just knew it. But I thought it would happen after he was born, not 2 months before!!! But he wants out and apparently he wants out now! He's got his big ol' head angling to get out, and he doesn't give a hoot that it's too early. So he's ruined my life in the meantime by putting Dina on bedrest.

The doctor says Dina needs to keep the bun in the oven and to make sure that he does, she's on bedrest and not allowed to do anything. That means, folks, that she's not allowed to walk me, play tug-of-war with me, take me to Crissy Field, bathe me, pick me up and carry me, nada, nothing, zilch!

But what do you do when you can't beat them? You join them.

So it's official. I'm on bedrest, too. Oh, I'm sorry, you want me to fetch that? No can do. Oh, did you want me to bark at strangers? Sorry, that's a little strenuous. Pee on the pad or outside? Wow, sorry, not really allowed to move around too much here.

Just going to lay here, because as we all know (but won't say aloud), I'm the real victim here.

Happy Anniversary!

Today is Joe and Dina's 2nd anniversary. Wow, already 2 years, some might say. Or wow, only 2 years?? Feels like it's been a lot longer (others, who shall remain nameless, say). In any event, it's a banner event, I suppose. The last anniversary before the last shreds of freedom are finally extinguished (and no, that's not my fault. I'm a dog. You can leave me at home alone for a few hours, and it wouldn't be considered child abandonment or endangerment. I'm not saying it's fair to us dogs, but it is what it is). Yup, the baby is only a few months away. Dina is in her third trimester and now has a pair of drawstring pants that no longer need to be 'drawn.' Joe and Dina have already started to neglect each other (as solid preparation for the baby) by not bothering to get anniversary presents (it's "cotton" this year anyway, what are they supposed to do? Get each other underwear? And if Joe is buying Dina cotton underwear, then folks, we have an evey bigger problem). Instead, they are going out to dinner with each other to Fleur de Lys, which I'm sure will be very enjoyable to Dina (who is not allowed to eat soft cheeses, foie gras, anything raw, or drink any exorbitant amount of wine) and Joe (who doesn't really care for fancy restaurants, as a five dollar burrito would suffice as well). But the occasion has to be marked somehow, I suppose, and they certainly can't do it by ordering a pizza from Giorgio's and calling it a night. And what they hey, leave me home alone for another few hours -- what trauma could that possible cause?!

So anyway, a quick shout out to my folks. Happy anniversary! You only have about 50 more years to spend with each other! Good luck with that!