10 56 pm pdt [ fragments ]

On Friday night we had a fight. Our fights are always identical. I tell him I am upset about something, or I want to discuss something, and then he decides he doesn't like how I said something. I'm not joking -- it's always the same.

Last weekend I wanted to discuss if he really though we should live together, and it turned into a discussion of how I said something "mean" to him. On Friday night, I wanted to discuss if he felt there was something else we should be working on or if everything is great. It turned into a discussion of how I said something "mean" to him.

He conveniently could not remember what I said that was mean to him on either occasion. He could not think of one example. I was very angry.

On Saturday morning, we sort of stayed out of each other's way. We got dressed for dinner. We were both determined to have a nice day.

We went to a party, much later than I had intended to arrive. We met a ton of lovely people, including Trish of 380 280 and Satya of Toasted Spiral. Lunesse of House of the Moon and DLJ (of atomicboy were perfect hosts, and Matthew and I both failed to resist snacking on their scrumptious goodies.

We had to leave the party, though it was so perfect, to make our dinner reservations at The French Laundry in Yountville.

The meal was a gift from Matthew's boss. It took four hours and came to a little over one hundred dollars an hour. Matthew tried foie gras and hated it.

The evening was lovely, but we both felt the restaurant was too expensive to every eat at again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event. There were some problems with the service that I would rather not mention, since you will probably have a wonderful time there if you ever go (this means you, Lunesse). I have concluded that I don't especially care for French food, even though I loved the food I had while in France.

Our reservations were for indoors, but the seated us in the garden, which was fine with both of us. As the evening waned, I got very cold.

This morning, we saw and enjoyed Moulin Rouge. Afterward, we strolled arm-in-arm in the sunlight through the farmer's market at Jack London Square. We may make this a weekly ritual.

This afternoon we rented Some Like It Hot (1959), which I have seen numerous times, so that I could introduce him to it. Before meeting me, he had never seen a Marilyn Monroe film. Here's what he has now seen, plus the one last "must-see Marilyn Monroe film" I will make him watch:

Don't Bother to Knock (1952)

Niagara (1953)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

The Seven Year Itch (1955)

Some Like It Hot (1959)

The nectarines and sugar snaps we got at the farmer's market are perfectly sweet.

He has spent the evening watching Formula 1 with some of his former and current roommates.