Friends from Home

One of my oldest friends is in town this week. We met when I was in first grade and she was in second. Not only is she one of my oldest friends, she's one of the few who still lives in Alaska. Now she works as an engineer for BP. When I tell people I have a BP engineer visiting they look as if they want to ask if she has a gotee and a long black cape. But actually she's more bubbly than evil. 

I had a nice long chat with my dad Sunday night, something we haven't done in awhile. We talked about the state of world affairs and the state of my affairs:

"I have to ask the same question I ask every time we talk: Has James gone the way of the buffalo?"

Ah, the question on everyone's lips. Or minds, really. People hate to ask. No, James hasn't made it into the history books yet. I threaten to break up with him bi-weekly, but I think he's catching on that I'm all talk. The first three months were especially hard. But moving into month four there isn't much left to fight out. We talk every day. Yesterday we had a riveting discussion about Wedge Antilles' claim to fame in the Star Wars universe (hint: He's the only rebel fighter pilot to survive both Death Star attacks).  That's what happens when your relationship becomes trans-pacific: You've got to keep the conversation fresh somehow.

Tomorrow morning my cleaning lady comes. There are a lot of things that annoy me about living and working in China, but being able to afford a cleaning lady makes up for half of them. Another 30% of China-annoyances are compensated by the fact I can order pumpkin spaghetti and beet root salad to my door and there's no delivery fee. Toss in the work freebies (including lunch at the Hyatt this week) and I really don't have much left to complain about.