Today I had a fun sort of day (truth be told, I don't get out much and I'm involved with a hermit, so this may not impress you).

I put in a couple of slow hours at work, conversing with my Southeast Asian boss. The topics ranged from the architecture of Hindu temples, Hindu past influence and current presence in the world, Muslim takeover, extraterrestrial visits to us using advanced flight technology 10,000 years ago, long before our first primitive airplane was ever created, and written about in the Bhagavad Gita, a look at the Sanskrit alphabet and a demonstration of the crazy and multitudinous sounds therein, learning that the word, "Christian" really comes from the word, "Krishnanita," (which made me ask what "nita" meant, and I was told "rules," so "Krishna Rules," which left me screeching with laughter at the irony if true), and that the houses of Krishna, Rama and Buddha still stand today. (No, I haven't researched any of the quirky stuff. I'm just reporting.)

So, all interesting enough to make me lose track of time and arrive five minutes late to pick up Psycho Santa, so he could go demonstrate basic stick fighting skills to a group of karate students.

I pissed myself off really badly trying to make up the time, melting down into a few tears (while Santa beseeched me to dry them so no one would think he had hit me), because I had been successfully cultivating the habit of not speeding until I made myself late today, and was perhaps overly proud of my one-week-plus of success at slowing down, without breaking my new record, rather than the speed limit.

So, after getting to the dojo on time anyway, and not speeding any more after that, I didn't know if I should be granted amnesty by the new habit gods or if I needed to start my 45-day driving-at-speed-limits count down all over again.

Yeah, I know, that didn't deserve any tears, and what's a week of good behavior matter when I've been speeding-and-cursing for years—though it was handy when I made some dindus jump back toward the sidewalk who were planning to intimidate me, except that I never slowed down or even noticed, so the joke was on them.

Then, after Santa finished showing folks a mere tidbit from his arsenal of stick tricks, and class was over, I had the serendipitous pleasure of speaking to some of the students in both Spanish and French. Then we went to lunch at a cozy little bar with a few older clients, which made about eight of us there in total, including the bar lady and the cook and was almost too much fun in one day at that point; so I had a bit of time to listen and observe, noting how the bar lady had a round face, similar-sized head, and an easy smile like mine. As we disbanded, I looked at the men around me, noticing in particular, of Santa and the other boxer/stick fighter he has coached, the size of their craniums.

"You know," I told him, "I was noticing the other lady's head and face were like mine in size, small and round, and then I looked at Rick's head and yours, about the size of gorilla skulls, and I wondered where in the world the feminist idea could have come from, that women can do anything men can, when if you just open your eyes, you can see the disparity between our skull and bone size, and that there's just no way we could perform equally..." (Unless you believe in gender equality to a degree that makes it logical to allow a she-male to compete against females in sports and still find it mystifying when said she-male wins.)

After Santa finished laughing at my gorilla analogy, he said, "You ought to write an article about that and use gorilla skulls in the title." Of course, that's his answer to everything...