Friday, August 26, 2011

You "Know Exactly Where [My] White Ass Is Comin' From"

It’s Friday, Friiiiday! (Where’s Rebecca Black when I need her?)

I work from home on Friiiday.

I forget if Liam went out to the garden with me this morning. No, wait—he didn’t, ‘cause he was sleeping in our bed again and I got up because I needed to because I…I don’t know why. I had a real hard time falling asleep last night. 11. 12. 12:30. I kept getting up. Tossing. Turning. But ultimately, I slept. And Liam ended up in our bed. It’s hard to complain when you look over and see a little piece of you sleeping peacefully at your side, or reaching over and draping its hand on your arm…or your chest.

Ellipses: I like ellipses…. (Ellipses = 3 dots. Ellipses at the end of a sentence = 4 dots [ellipses + period] That’s my outlook, at least….) I probably use them wrong. I surely overuse them.

I’d watered some last night so there wasn’t much to do in the garden—I just perused. I woke up bitter—bitter about work. It’s something I can’t—or maybe just won’t—explain…like my love of em-dashes and ellipses. The garden was a bit of pleasure, though, and I came back in and drank the remainder of a big jug of Naked Juice.

~~I wonder how high Naked Juice ranks in my blog keywords. Or Blue Machine. I’m an unintentional advertiser, I’ve realized. Bella Bru: I actually noticed that as a keyword in my blog. By the way, google analytics adds fun to this whole thing. Who are you in or near Yakima? I’m not sure. But you’re reading this. Thank you.~~

I didn’t only have Naked Juice (Blue Machine)—I made me and Liam some steel-cut oats. (Angie left for work. NO OATS FOR HER!) I put brown sugar in them. I French-pressed the Mexicans, which I’ve been grinding through slowly. I drank my coffee (black, two cups) while Liam and I ate oatmeal, and it was good. Liam used his spoon to eat, which was also good. That’s not to say I didn’t have to clean up afterward, but….

Not my best mood day, at least ‘til later. I generally like my job and my projects at work, but I’ve recently been pulled back into something I’d escaped and it’s a constant annoyance. The details aren’t important. Me ceasing to complain about them to specific people (persons…a person) is. I need to exercise control. But it’s SO fucking annoying. Done.

I’ll skip work today, then. Just know that I did it. Too much. So much that I felt guilty not giving my boy much attention, but sometimes he’d sit in my lap and otherwise he played or napped, and I got a lot done.

Fucking work.

Lunch…what’d I do for lunch? Oh, right: green beans from the garden, steamed with butter then salted and peppered, and miniature corn that I boiled, and I never boil corn because you lose nutrients, but I was in a hurry and firing up the grill wasn’t the right choice. Miniature corn: I’ve promised a picture. I took one. Notice the quarter in the photo for scale.

I ate all that stuff, minus what I tried to get Liam to eat, plus one ear I tried to get him to eat but he just mouthed up and I’m not so proud to turn that down. It was good. It’s fresh corn, after all, even if it IS tiny. I buttered some, but not all. It was sweet.

Liam went down for his nap, which I already mentioned but am now putting in its proper narrative place.

Worka worka worka. Complaina complaina complaina. (Sorry, you, if you’re reading this.)

And then? Aaaand theeeennnnnn?

And then Liam woke up. I tried to get him to eat all sorts of things he wasn’t eating today, which resulted in me eating a bit of pear, which I don’t tend to eat. Okay, I NEVER eat pear. But I’d cut a bit off a pear and didn’t want to waste it and wanted to set an example so I ate it, and although the flavor isn’t horrible pears, in my experience, have a gritty or sandy texture and I just don’t dig it. But I ate some pear. I ate a whole wheat cracker or two while Liam did the same.

Liam and I did the dishes.

Angie got home. I ate corn chips because I was hungry.

My knee feels normal again and the photocopied info the doctor gave me on patellofemoral pain syndrome says I can go back to my normal activities, but I have some new Superfeet insoles on the way (shout out to Superfeet!) so I’m trying to wait for them before I run again. I might bike Monday, or at least ride the exercise bike if I don’t have my insoles then. Anyway, I swam again today.

I could feel the swim from yesterday. I’ve never swam so much before in my life, especially in succession. A bit over a mile two days in a row, plus however many times I’ve swam in the last 2 weeks, which have tended to be a mile or so. It’s weird, but I’m sorta enjoying it, which is good. I could feel my lats (latissimus dorsi) and pecs (pectoralis) and core muscles (too many to name) all being worked and tired.  I could also feel the horrible cramp I sometimes get from swimming: usually on my left leg, in the front, shin-ish but on the outside, and it coincides with foot/toe cramping. It’s fairly unbearable, but I try to bear it and sometimes that results in regret. I made it through. I’m alive. I soaked in the hot tub.

The steam room is down for repairs. BOOO! (But that’s not infrequent. I imagine it’d be hard to battle the mold and possible health effect [i.e., lawsuits] of mold in and around a steam room.) I did sit in the sauna, though.

I like to sweat when I’m not dressed to not sweat (i.e., when I'm dressed for work or to go out).

There was one other person in the sauna, a guy, and he was sitting on the bench below me but looked up a couple of times. He surprised me with a question and resultant comment I won’t pretend wasn’t flattering or anything: “Are you training for something?”

-Nah, just my health.

“You look really fit.”

-Thanks. I work at it. Are you working toward something?

He looked at me blankly. He was a pretty average-looking guy. I wouldn’t call him fat or skinny or hot or ugly.

-Training for something?

“Oh, no. Just trying to get in better shape. If I could get back to the 14-year old version of me, that’d be great, but that’s a long way off.”

My blog felt so relevant, but it’s not like I can just flash a card: Here, you should check this site out. It’s AWESOME.

-Eh, it’s just a bit at a time. It all takes time. Doesn’t happen overnight.

“True. Whu’d’you do?”

-For workouts or to work?

Work talk ensued. He’s in computer programming. He probably makes more money than me. Most people do. But not everyone gets that ego boost I got from his initial question/comment, so I’ll take it. My life is good.

I got home and Angie was showering after a run and my shirted, bottomless boy came running out. He’s so darn cute. I got video of him playing with Elba (the big pup) earlier today, but not video of the best parts when he was laughing so heartily and Elba was playing right back. These things just warm my heart so.

I started some brown rice on the stovetop. It was stir-fry night, and we hadn’t had such a night in a while. What went into it? Well, brown rice for one thing. But it was a TON of vegetables and a bit of chicken. What vegetables? Okay: snap peas (from the grocery); farmers’ market broccoli and carrots; green onion, zucchini, and gypsy pepper from the garden; and sauce. The vegetables, before cooking, looked like this (minus the snap peas):

The sauce is one of those things that never tastes quite the same, partially ‘cause I never measure anything for sauces, but it consisted of a mix of orange juice, soy sauce, paprika, garlic granules, fresh-ground pepper, red pepper flakes, and corn starch. When it was all in the wok, it looked like this:

I burnt the rice a bit. No matter. When it was all plated up, it looked like this:

And it was tasty. I’ve been drinking wine. Zin first, from Montevina, and now a red blend from Kenwood. I’d really wanted to get drunk tonight before I went swimming. Now I’m buzzed and happy, but I don’t generally like drunk. I don’t want to get drunk. I just want to get buzzed. Mission accomplished.

I’ll finish this glass and I’d bet on one more while reading before I go to bed. I feel like I’m forgetting something. I feel like I had a witty title for this entry while I was swimming, but it has escaped me. It’s not like I’m witty, anyway. Who are you, Yakima? You can tell me, even if it’s in private. I wish everyone reading would start to “follow” this blog. You can do that to your right. Right now. To your right. You might have to scroll up a bit, ‘cause I’m wordy. You’ll see seven other followers. There’s no shame. People are even starting to come across this crap I spew through google searches. Who’da thunk it? Not me.

So good night, people who are reading this but I don’t know…or likely DO know but am not sure who you are. If I REALLY knew how to use google analytics, it would probably tell me your name, address, social security number, PIN, and show me a picture of your house, possibly that one time you were out getting the mail in your skivvies. But I’m not that savvy. So you remain a mystery. How True Romance: “Now see…we're sittin' down here…ready to negotiate…and you've already given up your shit. I'm still a mystery to you. But I know exactly where your white ass is comin' from.” Yes, you do. And you are. Damnit.  

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