Weekend

In the summer my work slows down and offers a different schedule which means 3-day weekends for me for the next couple of months.  Awesome!

 

Friday

The weekend kicked off with happy hour and boy, did I get happy.  We've met some awesome people at one of the local watering holes, one of whom reads this blog.

 

 

He is holding an RTD EcoPass for the bus.  The slogan on it is, "Get it.  Tap it.  Love it." because the marketing department is apparently run by a frat boy.  High five Eric and I am glad your Blackhawks won.

 

Saturday

Bobaloo and I kicked it at home on Saturday just hanging out in the yard and enjoying the beautiful weather.  Our neighbor invited me over to feed his chickens again which was awesome.  Bobaloo has been sprucing up the backyard so now we have a cool little hangout area back there.

 

 

Sunday

Sunday was another mellow day, we woke up and went out for breakfast.  We lucked out being heathens and all because there was no wait to be seated.

 

Later in the afternoon, we walked over to our buddy Aaron's house for a delightful Sunday barbecue that included corn on the cob and watermelon.

 

Monday

I didn't realize that my 3-day schedule started yesterday so I went to work for 45 minutes before heading home.  Bobaloo and I took the train into Denver and went out to lunch at the Tilted Kilt where I enjoyed watching a monster truck show on TV in air conditioning.  The evening was capped off with a few episodes of The League.

 

 

A good time was had.

 

 

Midweek Shuffle

I was over at Coffee Lady's blog this morning and her post got me thinking about the days of the week.

I have worked a lot of customer service jobs.  A lot.

My first full-time job was being a cashier in an office lunchroom (lunch lady!).  I got to see my friend Adam everyday because he was a security guard at the front desk.  After a while we noticed all of the workers would have the same responses to the dreaded yet expected question, "how are you?"

Here are the responses:

Monday  "Ugh.  It's Monday." or "Pretty good for a Monday, I guess."

Tuesday  ...

Wednesday  "It's hump day!" or "We're halfway through the week!"

Thursday  "Well, tomorrow's Friday!"

Friday  "It's Friday!  The weekend's almost here!"

Day after day.  Week after week.  Person after person.

The only day nothing was said was Tuesday.  So when we'd see each other on Tuesday mornings we'd look at each other and say "It's Tuesday" and crack up.

Adam, his wife, and I would go to Denny's every Tuesday as a celebration of sorts.

Now I am hungry for a Moons Over My Hammy.

Friday

Friday was a mellow evening at home. I attempted to cook dinner (eggplant ziti) and the house is still in one piece. I am trying to save moolah for some future fun so Bobaloo and I just stayed in.

 

Saturday

The last Saturday of every month Bobaloo volunteers at Red Rocks. While he was busy with that, I cleaned and did a little bit of yard work. Hopefully, we can get some plants started in the yard soon. It was a beautiful day so we had a couple of friends over, drank beer, and listened to tunes. There were also some buzzed up craft projects taking place but that's a post for another time. All in all, a great day.

 

Sunday

We shook off the cobwebs Sunday and headed to the Holiday Bar for the annual deviled egg competition. Bobaloo made his eggs Greek-style for this event. The day was gorgeous so we chilled out on the patio and had a few beers. Bobaloo's friend Billy came with and we were Bobaloo's egg groupies, called The Eggheads.

 

A great weekend was had and I was sad to see it come to an end but am looking forward to some fun plans ahead.

 

 

This and That

I recently learned how chickens lay eggs without needing a rooster.  This was the most confusing, yet informative tidbit of widely known knowledge I have received in a while.

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I found my iPhone intact in the yard right after I hit up AT&T for a cheapie replacement.  I dropped the phone when I was chasing after the dog.  This is my favorite picture on the camera roll:

That’s my bro, his gal, and I rocking out in my parent's living room.  Bro is consistently awesome when choosing tunes, whether it be at home or on a jukebox.  It’s a great quality to have and I love him for it.  When he was born I wanted to name him Elvis, I wonder if his life trajectory would have been different had my parents agreed.

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Speaking of the trip back to the frozen North, I was nicely surprised when I ordered a bloody mary and it came with a snit.  Remember that whole deal?

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I enjoy a good tourist trap. And gift shop.  Ooh, I am a sucker for a good gift shop.  I am trying to think of some new ones to visit over the summer.  I desperately want to make it to Dollywood one of these days.

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I recently read an article on tinybuddha.com (which I can’t find now) about simply adding the word meditation to the end of your frustration.  Frustrated in line at the grocery store?  Take a deep breath and practice your grocery line meditation.  Frustrated and stuck in traffic?  Take a deep breath and practice your traffic meditation.  Weirdly, it works.  Bobaloo and I have been having fun with it.  At this very moment I am practicing my I-forgot-my-breakfast-and-could-eat-the-north-side-of-a-horse-going-south meditation.

Om.

Tommy K on Everything

I was once tasked with having to draw a picture for my dad in the first grade for father’s day.  We were supposed to draw something that we had in common or an activity we enjoyed doing with our dad.  My drawing was two stick figures sitting at a stick kitchen table that had on top of it, a giant bottle of ketchup.  We both really liked ketchup.  For a long time, that was the art he kept in his office.

Not ever really being a “joiner,” I did the bare minimum of extracurricular activities in high school to get into college.  I participated in the literary magazine contributing a profound and moving ode to ketchup.  I read it recently and it is only matched in ridiculousness by absolute and affected teenage suffering.  I showed it to my parents and they asked if I was on drugs.

A girlfriend of mine used to joke that I didn’t like food.  I only used the food as a vehicle for ketchup.  It would look gross if I sat down with a bowl of ketchup and a spoon.

My husband loves to cook and is terrific at it.  Frustration would overpower the accomplishment he felt whenever I slathered oodles of ketchup on whatever he had just cooked up.  He doesn’t take it personally anymore.  I love ketchup.

Ketchup on eggs, ketchup on macaroni, ketchup on everything.

A while ago I bought a beautiful piece of art to add to the dining room that fully expresses my thoughts:

 

Egg Salad

My "weekend" now falls on Tuesday and Wednesday so there's not always a whole lot going on. I have turned to Netflix and have been enjoying a bunch of Audrey Tatau movies. Somehow I don't feel like I am being lazy if I am watching a movie in a different language.

Also, I have been watching the first season of "Man v. Food." I want this dude's job. Today, while wolfing down a Jimmy John's sub I got to thinking...

If you entered a food-eating contest where you won by out-eating a competitor in an hour, what kind of food would you make you a champion?

I'd probably go with egg salad. Not necessarily because I like it, I just think I could eat a ton of it without getting sick.

Weird. Somehow writing this post has led me to Wiki Brain Salad Surgery. Interesting stuff.

On Coffee

The perfect cup of coffee does not taste like coffee at all. It is filled with caramel, chocolate, and topped with whipped cream. It comes in a white paper cup with a hole in the black lid. The whipped cream oozes skillfully out of the hole delightfully tempting my taste buds.

On Friday mornings, my husband and I drive separately to the local coffee shop. It gives a chance to smoke a couple of cigarettes, enjoy the delicious goodness that is Kona coffee and most importantly, we get a chance to have a nice chat before heading off in our separate ways to face the day.

The smell inside the coffee shop is superb. The shop is not too bright too early. Occasionally there is a line although it is not so bad because everything smells so delicious. The baristas are pleasant but not overly cheery; they have started to use my first name. This is nice. There are brunette coffee beans for sale in candy machines that are lined against the chocolate colored wall. Animal paintings are for sale and surround coffee and teapots that are scattered on shelves.

Every so often, we will make coffee at home and I do not indulge in a cup during the workday. Fridays are an indulgence, a delicacy in our world of hurried breakfasts and Coca-Cola. This Friday morning ritual is a great reminder to take time out to enjoy the morning and a great cup of caffeinated splendor.

Ode to Perkins

I am a fan of breakfast, a huge fan at that. If I could, I would eat breakfast for every meal, which I am sure my husband would not appreciate.

We love to go out for breakfast on the weekends. We usually find out-of-the-way gems of diners to check out. Sometimes though, if we are too hungry or hung-over we end up just going to the Perkins that is a few blocks away.

This is always an experience.

Mushroom and Cheese omelet, hash browns, wheat toast and iced tea. After a late night, we ventured out for an enormous breakfast. We were seated next to the most hilarious group of older people. There were probably twelve of them and every other word was “yeah” or “wow.” Seriously, it sounded like a recording because of the dishes clanking with intermittent “yeahs” and “wows” at different intervals. A symphony of yeah-yeah-wow-clank-yeah-clank-wow. I have never laughed so hard in my life.

Two eggs over easy, wheat toast, fruit, and orange juice. We were seated across the room from an older couple. The restaurant was packed and we were just finishing our delicious breakfast. All of a sudden, the old man across the room decides to pick out a new ring tone on his cell phone. Therefore, he goes down the list of every single blaring ring and serenades us. This went on for many minutes and was sidesplitting. Everyone in the room seemed to mind except for the old man, his wife, and Bobaloo (because he was laughing so hard).

Eggs Benedict with pancakes and iced tea. Now, when you eat out for breakfast it is pretty much agreed upon that you order an obnoxiously large plate of food; a feast. We sat behind a couple on their first date. What does the guy order? Cereal and fruit. Cereal? Cereal. That is all I need to know about a man before it is the last date.

The Veggie egg scramble, a muffin, and sprite. I am willing to surmise that Bobaloo offer our brand of comedy to other patrons, especially on nights like these. You know them. We closed down the bar and were starving so we made a very rational decision, Perkins! We stumble in and sit between philosophical college students, stoner high school kids, and other rambunctious bar-closers. The next morning it is always agreed that for once, maybe breakfast was not the greatest idea.

On Breakfast

Sunday mornings are a source of weekly enjoyment in my life. While the masses are busy shaking off their hangover in order to get to church on time for repentance, my husband and I have breakfast. Sundays of yesteryear were merely the day before imminent Monday imposes its gloom upon the nine-to-fivers of the world. Until I met him, a modern day Saint of Sundays who replaced the doom and gloom of yore with delicious divinity manifested as pancake stacks, French toast, and my favorite, the breakfast skillet.

In times like these it is very important to be thankful for the good things in our lives, and I for one, am thankful to be married to a man who is a breakfast skillet connoisseur. Who, for the sake of anonymity shall be referred to as one of the following: The Bacon Authority, The Sausage Link Specialist, The Eggspert (saw that one coming), The Brunch Buff, or most preferably, the Breakfast Ninja.

The most favorable time to start breakfast on a Sunday is around eight thirty. This hour allows for a little sleeping-in yet it does not feel like you have wasted the entire morning. This is preferable timing in our dwelling because the actual eating of breakfast can then coincide with the end of The Sunday Morning Show when Bill Geist is on, allowing for some mellow, yet cheery tunes beforehand. Breakfast is the only routine we have in our lives and it is an endearing occurrence amidst the hustle and bustle of opposing workweek schedules.

Breakfast Ninja usually begins the meal with a lot of banging around in the quaint u-shaped kitchen, a symphony that fills the entire apartment with a reassuring racket. Cabinets are clamoring, uproarious plates are blundering around in the blaring dishwasher, plates clanging against each other, the general stirring around of kitchen items. Taking things out, putting things away, rearranging. I am not sure, but I have to believe there is a process behind all of this commotion. To add to the ruckus, Bacon Authority cooks with his music on and kind of bops around the kitchen while cooking. It is an endearing quality.

Eggspert usually starts the coffee next adding a Drip! Drip! Drip! to signal the beginning of something great. He is quite scrupulous in his preparation with each step carefully mapped out. The cooking begins with potatoes because those take the longest to heat through. While the tiny finger potatoes are sizzling in the skillet, the other vegetables are primed.

A typical breakfast skillet is pretty much a veg fest due to my vegetarian ways. A robust breakfast includes bell peppers, onion, mushrooms, cilantro, and potatoes. Bacon Authority is exceedingly methodical when he is chopping the vegetables. I know that there is a reason for such diligence. Vegetables should be sliced small so that they will cook thoroughly, yet large enough so you are able to pick them up with your fork. Crunchiness is also a factor to consider when contemplating vegetable dimension.

Because I am a vegetarian, breakfast on a Sunday usually consists of an element Sausage Link Specialist and I refer to as Facon. Fake bacon for the layman. This product is made from soy and has similar coloring, taste, and texture as bacon. It is somewhat eerie upon first taste but an excellent substitute nonetheless. The facon is put in another pan and started shortly after the veggies are added to the skillet.

Around this time, the smell is very big in our tiny apartment. I sometimes wonder if the neighbors are as envious of our breakfast aroma as we are when they barbecue outside. I like to think so. Brunch Buff adds the eggs around this time and starts getting the necessary tools (forks, plates, juice, ketchup, etc.) for eating. These next few minutes are the most unbearable because everything smells so good and you do not realize how hungry you actually are.

Last, Breakfast Ninja smothers the skillet with a hearty dumping of Colby Jack cheese. The skillet is skillfully plated up and the appearance is nothing short of stunning. The reds, yellows, greens light up the plate and boast the assortment of flavors and textures. The whole moment is both glorious and exciting.

The taste is magnificent. It is as if your mouth deprived itself during eight hours of sleep and all of your taste buds woke up. I personally enjoy each bite doused in a glutinous layer of ketchup and some green chili on the side. The colors and textures are splendid, you just feel happier and healthier after this breakfast.