The Village Idiot

The Doobies get their Guju on.

We flew back from Florida two days ago. Per Mike, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone via FB we were going away.

We'll get robbed. Don't you read the news anymore?

My page is private -- only friends view it! (And, no, I don't read the news. I rely on Jon Stewart for everything.)

Oh, so all those people are your friends? How well do you really know all 238 of them?

Crap. I hate it when Mike's right. That's my job. So, I changed my FB status from "woohoo packing for Florida so excited to leave tomorrow at 5am and our security code is 9312" to "doing laundry...again." I also wrote two incredibly lame blog posts that would be published in my absence, to cover my tracks. (Did you really think I gave a shit about how to make a robot from a cardboard box? C'mon! Y'all know me better than that.)

So, we were away. The West Palm Beach wedding/vacation was fun. The Doobies had a blast. And, I got blasted in front of my relatives + 300 other people. My cousin tried to twirl me around the dance floor at warp-speed, in my saree. But, the vodka tonics won and I bit it. Twice. I learned to say, "My ass hurts." and then "My ass feels better." in Gujarati. My grandmother was so proud. As Mike always says, "Every town needs an idiot." Luckily, this one never disappoints.



My cousin, "The Twirler"


My grandma, Ben!