She drug me to a three-hour yoga workshop yesterday, which was about double the amount of yoga that I'd ever done in one sitting, and which kicked my ass in all the best ways. (When the instructor sends you into down-dog for a rest, and you're thankful for it, you know you're getting your ass kicked.) I felt good that I was able to hang in there with people who have a lot more yoga experience than me, most of whom were instructors or instructor trainees. (That said, she went back for another three-hour session today, and I did not, mainly because I could not.)
After that we went to a reception, where I met a ton of people, about half of whom tried to scare me to guage me reaction. My reaction was almost uniformly to stare at them, grin sardonically, and take another sip of my wine. I also practiced paying attention to their names, as I can be very, very bad with names. I think I'll see most of them again tonight, so I'll learn shortly how well I did.
Today, I proved myself a True Born Son of the Republic by making a pot of vegetarian, black bean chili that I would put my name on and serve in Texas.
Tonight, all of Portland is in mortal danger because the natives are voluntarily taking a Texan (me) and an Australian out drinking. Should be fun.