cindy's world

Toward the end of the workday, Mr. W let me know that he was leaving to go home, but that he was going to drop off his drycleaning first. I said okay, and presumably he left after that conversation. I then spent the next half hour or so on the phone making my ob-gyn appointment with Kaiser. (Earliest available with any doctor in the county: December 10. Ugh.) I expected with the half-hour headstart, that even with his drycleaning (which was on Mr. W’s way home), Mr. W should get home before I did. So I called him as I drove up our street to ask him to open the garage door for me, since our garage can’t be opened remotely right now. He picked up after almost 4 rings, sounding serious. “Are you home?” I asked.
“No, I just got back,” he said.
“Got back to where?”
“I mean, I just finished dropping off my drycleaning and I’m just now getting back home. Are you home?”
“I’m just pulling up. What took you so long?”
“I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’m almost home, I’ll be back shortly.”
“But you left work almost 2 hours ago.”
“Well, I left late, and then I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’ll be back soon, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Odd. And he sounded so serious, almost irate. And so CLEAR. No road noise whatsoever. Plus, he picked up after 4 rings, when his car has the bluetooth connection set to automatically pick up after the first ring. Something wasn’t right. Drycleaning doesn’t take that long, I’ve been to that place with him, he’s in and out in 5 minutes.
“You left late?” I prompted.
“Yes! I left late. And I just dropped off my drycleaning. I’ll talk to you when I get home, I’m almost home now. Okay?”
He sure was in a hurry to get me off the phone.
“Okay,” I said. I went in the front door and opened the garage door from inside the house by myself. After I parked my car in, I closed the garage door behind me. And I locked the front door, too. Hmmph.
Less than 15 minutes later, Mr. W called. I actually considered deliberately taking my time to pick up the phone. But I didn’t; I picked it up. “Yes?”
“I’m outside. Can you open the garage door for me?” he asked. I was silent. “Hello?” he said.
“I’m thinking about it,” I grumbled in my best cranky voice, even as I was already pushing the button. He laughed like he understood I was messing with him.

When he finally came in the house, I heard plastic rustling around, and he called out, “I got this for you.” Curious, I walked into the kitchen. He dumped an armload of stuff on the table. “Forty dollars’ worth of chocolate,” he said proudly. I gawked. And then I laughed. Check out this loot:

Ben & Jerry’s ice cream singles in Cherry Garcia, Strawberry Cheesecake, Mint Chocolate Cookie, Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Breyers dark chocolate ice cream. Claim Jumper’s infamous 6-layer Motherlode cake. I’m not a comfort food person, but I was TOUCHED. He brought home dinner. We each had a portion of the Motherlode cake (I couldn’t finish mine) with some ice cream for dinner, washing it down with tea. Mr. W did offer to pour alcohol over our dinner, too.

Apparently when I had called and he let slip that he’d “just gotten back,” he WAS back, in the neighborhood, across the street at the grocery store.
(If you’re thinking, “What’s with the chocolate?”, read the previous post.)

Last Saturday, Mr. W and I attended our first Progressive Dinner. Commenter Maggie is on the board of a community service organization called the Skills Foundation, which raises money and sponsors afterschool programs for kids and teens to further their educations, prevent drug abuse, teach them life skills. So here’s how the dinner works:
All the people attending the event meet at a restaurant, check in, receive color wristbands to split into two groups. Each group then hits up a series of local participating restaurants and other business establishments on a schedule, eating appetizers at one, main course at another, side dishes at the next, on and on until we end with coffee and dessert at a final meeting place for the two groups to re-converge. All the restaurants donate their one or few dishes, get people to try out their food and maybe come back, and participate in a good cause. The diners’ $50 ticket goes completely to the Foundation. Since this took place in the Uptown Whittier area, we were very excited for good food.

For Mr. W and myself, we started the evening at Maggie and her hubby’s house. I got out of the car and looked ponderingly at a sign on their fence that said “wolf xing” or something like that. Since the decor of the yard seemed very Native American, I just figured it was a fun sign. And then, barks filled the air and a silver wolf approached me from the backyard, humming a low warning growl. A brown similarly-sized dog followed the wolf, also growling. I stood still and kept my hands to myself to show that I’m not a threat. The two canines calmed down enough after inspecting me and Mr. W (who stood behind me, the wimp) to stop growling, just sniffing curiously. I slowly offered my hand to the wolf. She sniffed it, the dog sniffed it, and seemed okay. Right around then, Maggie came running around the back saying, “The dogs! I forgot about the dogs!” That wasn’t comforting, considering the main reason I didn’t jump back into the car and slam the door in horror was that I assumed Maggie wouldn’t leave the dogs loose knowing we were coming over unless she knew they weren’t going to eat us. But by then, I was already friends with the animals, and the raised line of silver fur down the back of the wolf was already smoothing down. We then got a tour of the gargantuan outdoor property and its many fruit and veggie growths (with the two happy dogs bounding beside us, Maggie playing fetch with Kenai, the half-wolf, with a dropped avocado) and then a tour of the renovated house. Maggie’s hubby Tom is quite the visionary architect and do-if-yourselfer.

And THEN we started our tour de force with food. We ate and drank our way through appetizers at Sage Restaurant and Lounge; a ballroom called RMH Dance Center that had bacon-wrapped stuffed dates and fancy mac-and-cheese catered from the restaurant Phlight next door (where we ordered “wine flights” that had nearly full pours); healthy sandwiches at a deli called Fenix 5-4; pitas, hummus, roasted red pepper dip and cucumber yogurt dip, chicken and beef skewers at Uptown Kabob; and ended with champagne, coffee, and cupcakes hosted at the Bluebird Art House. At Uptown Kabob, we were already overfull and Maggie’s husband Tom wandered unenthusiastically to our table and blew his cheeks into big bubbles as he looked at me, alluding to the overabundance of good food. I laughed. He turned and looked at the growing crowd of guests at the table grabbing mediterranean food. “I guess I’d better get in line,” he said flatly, “Or I might starve to death.” It might’ve been the Armenian coffee I was drinking at the moment, but that was the funniest thing I’d heard all night. (That demitasse of Armenian coffee kept me up all night, btw.) My stomach was so distended by the time we got to champagne and cupcake that I attempted to try on some cute tops at the vintage shop attached to Bluebird Art House, but I barely fit in them.

I bought one anyway because it was too cute to pass up. I guess I’ll just have to work my way into that top. The rest of the night, though, I was gasping for air and wondering whether pregnancy would be this painful given the stretching at the same area.

Maggie took this photo at the second location, the bacon- and mac-and-cheese serving ballroom. Also, where we all ordered flights of wine only to be surprised that the pours were nearly full 5-oz pours instead of the normal 1.5 oz tasting pour.

Maggie thought it was blurry, so she tried again.

She started wondering if maybe it wasn’t blurry and she was just wine-goggled. Haha! But then hubby took this and it came out the same, so whatever the issue was, was contagious.

It was a lot of food and our conscience was also appeased knowing we were helping kids in the Whittier area. AND…I met a WOLF! That made my week. =)

So apparently, someone (perhaps Father Time) played a joke on Mother Nature this week and put her calendar back a month. She now thinks it’s deep summer and the temperatures on the West Coast have been blazing since the weekend. I thought last Saturday was bad at the Boot Camp Challenge — but Monday, the high in SoCal flew to 114 degrees Fahrenheit. Tuesday was supposed to cool down, and did so with a high of 107. Today, the high dropped to 95, which is much more comfortable, if we ignore the fact that it’s a day and a half from October. Old Man Winter gets to procrastinate more, and I also found a way to benefit.

Mr. W and I went to Disneyland after work yesterday and because it’d been so hot, nobody wanted to attempt an outdoor amusement park outing, so the usually crowded Disneyland and California Adventure were ghost towns. We discovered nooks and crannies and storefronts and other stuff that we’d never known existed. Stuff like…did you know Disneyland has a PETTING ZOO?

‘Scuse the unflattering photo, but I was being licked to death by overly friendly baby goats. They’re sooo cute! They must’ve had a good life, because they weren’t afraid of people at all. They came right up to me and nuzzled me. Actually, one nuzzled me as another licked my leg and yet a third tasted my purse.

Have you ever wondered what my Dodo would look like if he were a goat?

I can’t eat goat anymore, not that I was an avid goat eater to begin with. As I petted the head of a 4-month old pygmy goat, I whispered reassuringly to him, “I always root for you when I watch National Geographic Animals in the Wild Specials.” I want a pygmy goat. It’s amazing how they jump right up onto those barrels. I can’t do that, and I’ve been doing Insanity’s plyometrics for WEEKS. I wonder what fitness program the goats are on.
As we were leaving, the caretaker of the animals said that if we wait on the bench, they’re about to do a “running of the goats,” when all the goats go from the petting corral back to their homes for the night (apparently a staging area behind a wooden gate). So we sat, and soon, this little herd of goats, collars bells jangling, ran in a group in a beeline for what they knew to be home. They were followed by the one larger goat, a mountain goat, and then the sheep. Sooo cute!

We rode a few rides after waiting in very short lines, wandered around a bit, shared a candied apple, then had dinner at The Jazz Kitchen, a N’awlins style restaurant at Downtown Disney. Enjoying the atmosphere and anticipating great food, I turned to Mr. W and observed that we live like we’re on vacation on the time. He seemed plenty pleased with that arrangement. A live pianist entertainer, a filet mignon muffaletta, 2 mint juleps, a triple sampler of jambalaya/seafood gumbo/potato cheese soups, Andouille crusted yellowtail, 4 beignets, and a chicory coffee later, Mr. W and I set out for home as a fat, dumb and happy couple. I fell asleep in the car on the way home. I remember waking up as he pulled into the driveway, turning to him and saying, “I am pooped,” and next thing I know I woke up in bed. Perpendicular at the foot of it. I think this may have been the first time I went to bed before the hubby since we’d lived in this house.

So the much-anticipated (i.e., dreaded) Boot Camp Challenge has come and gone, and I live to blog another day.

Although the Southern Californian weather has been nice and autumny for a month or so now, clear and cool in the 70s, suddenly the Boot Camp weekend comes and temperatures were predicted to spike into triple-digits. It happened. The morning of, Vanessa came by my house at 6am and the two of us set off for San Diego. It very quickly got very bright and very warm. We made good time getting there, turning off our exit at 7:20a for a 9:20a start time. Immediately, we came to a standstill along with lines of cars coming from different directions all going into the Marine Corps Recruitment Depo. A girl who got out of her car and jogged ahead to see what was going on up ahead came back and reported that Marine security was doing thorough car/trunk checks on each car before allowing anyone on-base. We sat in that ridiculous line for an hour and a half to move 2 blocks. Dwaine and Claudio, who had driven from San Diego to do the race for the first time, complained to me via cell phone that this was crap and that they were NEVER going to do this race again. They pulled out of line, parked on some random street, prepared to walk the nearly 2 miles to the start point on-base and happened to run into us in the car security line, so they jumped in and I drove everyone there. (The security check even asked for car registration, which made me a little nervous since I was driving hubby’s car. But it was fine because the registered address matched up against the address on my driver’s license.)

Luckily, because so many people were so delayed due to the checks outside, the race start times were pushed back to give everyone time to get in. We had enough time to get our “goody bags” before the race, except it turns out, hard times have hit the Marines, too, because there was no goody bag this year, no dog tags, just the usual commemorative T-shirt. Oh well. The crazy duo, Dwaine and Claudio, went to the race registration desk as I went to check in my bag. When we all met up again, Dwaine announced, “I signed us up for the elite division, so we’re lining up to start now.” WHAT? They’d never even done this race before and had no idea what to expect. I waved them off and we agreed on a meeting place for after the race. Soon, the elite men and women were off. Then the civilian men runners lined up, time was counted off, then they were off. And then the women. Vanessa and I made our way to the center-ish of the giant cluster of runners at the start line. We saw some men here and there with us and wondered why they weren’t running with men. She guessed they may have been late. She again told me that because she was feeling less-than-perfect, and because she felt under-trained, that if at some point she fell behind, to just leave her. I already knew I was not going to do that. Finishing time on this race (which wasn’t even chipped so the times aren’t accurate anyway) is not as important as being the friend to Vanessa that Vanessa has always been to me.

The gun fired, and we slowly, like cattle, made our way to the start line and crossed it to begin the race. The sun was beaming and we were all sweating before we came out of the corral. No shade, no moisture in the air, the temps must’ve been in the mid-80s already at about 9:50 when we finally got going. I’ve never tolerated direct sunlight well athletically, and I felt the energy sap from my body as I jogged lightly with Vanessa toward the first obstacle. I could hear her, recovering from a cold, wheezing next to me. The first series of bounding over stacked haystacks was surprisingly effortless. After that, we rounded a corner, went under a misting doorway and dripping, hit the first series of true obstacles. 8 or 10 large round logs were placed horizontally, about 3 feet apart, like hurdles that we had to get over. Unfortunately, they came up to about chest level for me so although running momentum got me past the first one or two easily enough, I didn’t have enough space to create momentum for the next ones and couldn’t get myself over. I got one leg up and slid back, then noticed some hay bales down the center of the hurdles to give height. I went to the center and borrowed some height and made my way across more easily, finishing with a 6′ high hurdle that I again used some hay stack to get over, landing easily on my feet on the other side, thanks to the glucosamine+chondroitin supplements I’d been taking recently for joint support. A few steps in later, I noticed that the discomfort on the back of my right leg wasn’t going away. I did a test high-step and realized I’d pulled my hamstring when I hyperextended it on the log I slid off of with my right leg still over it. I forced a quick stretch, pulling my right knee into my chest while standing, and the pain increased, but decreased tremendously when I dropped my leg back down. I did this few more times between obstacles and the pain became very manageable so that’s how I finished the race, doing overs and unders, dropping into and coming out of foxholes, going through speedy pushups (thanks, Insanity!) crouching and running through tunnels (thanks, short-genes!). And then I came to The 6 Foot wall. The thing that had intimidated me for weeks leading up to the race, so much so that I went out of my way and trained on this wall at a nearby sheriff’s academy:

The training there was very discouraging; I was instructed by people who can climb these things, to run toward the wall and to take my next right-foot step onto the wall, which would then boost me up and I’d have the height gained to simultaneously grab the top of the wall and pull the rest of the way up. Sounded good in theory, except this wall was painted and slick. Any step on the wall instantly robbed my momentum by sliding the mounted foot downward, and I’d end up lower on the wall than if I’d just walked up to it, and jumped up. I could still go up the wall by jumping straight up, getting my right forearm over the top, and then pulling myself up by upper body strength alone, but it’s slower than a true step-up. I could do a true step-up if I lodged my stepping foot in the chipped-out foothole in the center of this wall, but that’s cheating, right? I doubted I’d have a foot-hole at the Marine Corps Boot Camp Challenge wall. I left that sheriff’s wall frustrated and bruised, but figuring I’d use the haystacks to “cheat” if I had to, and if the lines there were too long, I’d just do my jump-up instead of run-up over the wall, which I’d practiced a few times on the sheriff’s wall.

So at the actual race, imagine my surprise to see that the 6′ wall is actually a stack of ROUND logs. Hand- and foot-holds galore in the spaces between the logs! There was one haystack against the right side that a bunch of girls were lined up to “cheat” on, and a drill instructor stood at the middle of the wall, facing us as we ran toward it, pointing to his right and yelling, “The hay is a CRUTCH! You do not need to use a CRUTCH! Get up the WALL!” I got up the wall. Aside from the pushup stations, this was THE easiest obstacle in the race. After jumping down, I immediately threw myself on my stomach and did a crawl underneath a cargo net. There are some advantages to being small.

The bad thing was that after this series, I lost Vanessa. We’d separate for the obstacles and rejoin to run together to the next obstacle, and she was usually just ahead of me, so all I had to do was find her and catch up. But this time, I couldn’t find her. I spent the next mile or so running looking back, surprised I wasn’t being yelled at by DIs for it, hoping she’d just emerge in front of me or next to me. Vanessa said she saw me ahead of her rounding a corner, but didn’t have the energy to make the sprint toward me. I ended up finishing the race about 4 minutes ahead of her, just enough time to come back and look for her, see her coming to the finish corral, and get a cup of Gatoraid to hand her as she walked by. I was exhausted and winded, surprised that the race took so much out of me, my hamstring was humming, and I had small jolts of pain on my left side somewhere mid-course where I finally stopped to walk it off, but it was nowhere as horrible as when I ran the race a few years ago. Unfortunately, the time also showed that I’m about 4 minutes slower than before, but I choose not to rely on this time (about 34 minutes) because it wasn’t chipped like it was before, so the time didn’t start at my crossing the start line, and didn’t stop at my crossing the finish line. =P

Claudio and Dwaine were looking for us as Vanessa and I walked toward them, and Claudio snapped this photo, saying something about my looking way more exhausted than I should’ve looked. I’ve never done well in direct sun and by this time, it was close to 90 degrees if not over.

The first thing Dwaine said to me was, “This was fun! We’re gonna train for this and do it again next year!” They did well, btw, finishing the 3 mile obstacle course in 27, 28 minutes. We wandered the booths on premises for a little bit afterwards, loading up on free Myoplex shakes, Cliff Bars, photo ops, then changed and walked back to my car. Speaking of “changed,” did anyone know that Claudio’s really a Thundercat?

I drove the boys back to their street-parked spot (LUCKY that they didn’t get a ticket), and we disbanded. Vanessa and I opted to spoil ourselves. So we went to RipTide for this…

After lunch, we wandered by a Halloween Boo-tique in the same shopping area, where suddenly, Vanessa’s thyroid medication went horribly wrong…

And THEN, the best part…pampering ourselves at my 4th salon pedicure ever! How cute is this, now that I won’t be tearing my feet up in running shoes for at least a few days?

All’s well that ends well (except for Claudio’s injured knee). I’ve missed Vanessa, and it was really great to see the guys, too. I’m glad I did this incredibly uncomfortable race. 🙂

(As usual, rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.)

I am loving this overcast slightly chilly weather! After SoCal reached 100 degrees Fahrenheit last week, and we spent Labor Day long weekend in Vegas last weekend where it heated to 106, this temp in the 70s is luxurious. It also made for the perfect running weather yesterday at lunch. We hit a 3-miler, which was great, because it earned me a guilt-free trip to True Food Kitchen for dinner.

A coworker had seen Dr. Andrew Weil’s (of the anti-inflammatory foods concept) restaurant venture on the news and knowing that Mr. W and I are health-foodies, given us the heads up. I looked up the Yelp reviews and was determined to go. This new branch at the open-air Fashion Island is only a month old, and reviewed at 4 and 5 stars, with a couple of fast-food hicks complaining about its portion size and what-not in barely coherent sentences giving it 1-2 stars (which reviews I disregarded). Knowing that Ann loves a certain Charlie Palmer restaurant/bar attached to Bloomingdale’s, I asked her if she’d like to meet for happy hour drinks at Charlie Palmer and then try out True Food Kitchen for dinner afterwards. Turned out True Food Kitchen doesn’t take reservations for groups under 8 people, and walk-ins have very long waits after 5:30 pm, and Ann had some logistics obstacles that made her unavailable that early, so I thought we resolved everything by arranging to have Ann meet us at Charlie Palmer AFTER Mr. W and I ate first at True Food Kitchen. Ann loves the food at Charlie Palmer and would like to eat there anyhow.

Mr. W and I got to True Food Kitchen right before 5:30p, and as promised by the hostess on the phone, we were seated right away. We walked by the fresh-smelling bar loaded with whole ginger, fruits, kale, and went to the patio seating in the nice sunny (but not hot!) evening, right up against the living plant wall. We had a hard time deciding what to order; the menu looked incredible. The waitress informed us that all ingredients are fresh, healthy and organic whenever possible, purchased from local farmers markets. The restaurant even purifies its own still and sparkling water! We started with a ginger margarita (made with fresh ginger they juice at the bar and limes, not mixers) for hubby, and an antioxidant fresh juice called the Medicine Man (Olivello Juice, Pomegranate Juice, Cranberry Juice, Black Tea, Soda Water & Muddled Blueberries, $6) for me. Hubby is now ruined as to all other drinks, he told me. This was my first experience with olivello juice, made from a highly nutritive sea berry, and it was delicious! Next we shared an herb hummus appetizer ($8). Coarsely ground and flavorful, which we enjoyed, tasting like a less-processed version of other hummus we’d had. Their house-made pita bread was fresh and soft. For entrees, he ordered the Omega-3 Spaghetti Puttanesca (cooked Ahi Tuna, Organic Tomatoes, Capers, Olives, Parmesan, $16) and I ordered the Roasted Garlic, Wild Mushroom & Tuscan Kale Pizza ($11). He was amazed at how flavorful his pasta was, and surprised at the unexpected perfect integration of fish in lieu of less healthy meatballs. As for my pizza, I think my eyes rolled back into my head and stayed there for a few minutes. It was THE most savory pizza I’d ever had, and I couldn’t believe it was healthy, the dough made of organic flour, spelt and flax seed.

I’d never thought of kale as a pizza topping, and it added terrific texture without robbing any of the taste from the wild ‘shrooms. Spinach couldn’t do that. People who complained about portion size, by the way, must be used to supersizing their burger meals and eating entire large fast food pizzas on their own. The sizes here were great, I had to take half of the 8-slice personal pizza home. (And I have it right here for lunch today, I can’t wait!) Dinner turned out so much better than our expectations that we gave dessert a try. I was curious about the lemon olive oil cake with Greek yogurt and strawberries, so I ordered it.

Couldn’t taste the olive oil, but it kept the lemon cake moist and saturated-fat-free. The yogurt wasn’t overly tart like I’d expected, but offset the cake and organic strawberries perfectly. The sauce isn’t syrup, but frothed strawberry puree. Light and delicious. Hubby ordered a flourless chocolate cake (78% cocoa, I think they wrote on the menu), which was topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, garnished with a generous sprinkling of cocoa nibs. The flourless cake was sitting in a small pool of caramel sauce. I thought it was great, the cake melted in my mouth, but hubby thought it was too sweet, not being a dessert fan. He WAS, however, extremely impressed with his organic coffee, which he had black, and it was rich and flavorful with no acidic aftertaste. Total damage given 2 drinks, 1 appetizer, 2 entrees, 2 desserts, 1 coffee: $74 including tax. Not bad!! The stuff was healthy fine dining in a casual clean and trendy environment. Where else can we find all this? The waitress was terrific, too. She was young (they all were), but very competent and knew the food and concept. She was also prompt, attentive, the food arrived dizzyingly fast, and I saw that she’d thoughtfully written on my leftover pizza box “Wild mushroom pizza, 9/8.” How many times have we dug thru our fridge and pulled out mystery boxes and said, “What the heck is in HERE? How long’s it been there? Why’s it so furry?”

Our outdoor dining seat faced Bloomingdale’s across the parking lot, so even though I couldn’t see Charlie Palmer restaurant from where we were, I knew it would be a short walk. I texted Ann as we were finishing dessert that we were nearly done and would be on our way to meet her soon. She texted back that she was leaving her house to Charlie Palmer. I confirmed with her that yes, Charlie Palmer is attached to Bloomie’s, and she soon texted that she was already there, and Mr. W and I started walking. We soon realized we were looking at a Bloomingdale’s Home Store and not the department store, so we entered the mall and checked the directory. A helpful concierge at this rich mall came by and asked if he could help us find our destination. I explained what were were looking for, and he seemed confused for a moment, then pointed us out the two glass doors on the other side, told us to go around the corner, and that the restaurant would be there by Bloomingdale’s department store, but that it was called 59th & Lex Cafe, not Charlie Palmer. I thanked him and walked off with hubby, saying, “Oh, I wonder why Ann’s always called it Charlie Palmer.” Maybe that’s the old name? Maybe the bar has a separate name from the restaurant, like Downtown Disney’s Catal and Uva Bar? We soon walked to Bloomie’s, and then around it, and then hit a parking lot. We went around to another side again. I was confused and called Ann.
“We’re lost, is there a separate story?” I asked her.
“What? Where are you?” she asked. I could hear other patrons happily buzzing in the background.
“We’re right in front of Bloomingdale’s, but we’ve walked around twice and can’t find it. We’re looking at a Yard House.”
“… Are you sure you’re at South Coast Plaza?”
!!! “…no…”
As Ann laughed at me, I wailed to Mr. W, “We’re at the wrong mall!!” These darn outdoor rich people’s malls have always been interchangeable to me. As he was feeling icky from a long weekend of bad eating in Vegas, he asked me to tell Ann we’re sorry we missed her, and that’s how we stood up my friend, Ann, who I now owe at least 2 drinks to for being a putz. I’m sorry, Ann!!

Happy 2 year birthday to our marriage! 5 years ago on this date, it was a long Labor Day Weekend. Mr. W took me on our first date kayaking around Balboa Island. He told me beforehand that I didn’t have to paddle, and I didn’t. He strained and worked behind me, and I sat in the front of the 2-man kayak watching people, boats and seals. We finally loaded up the kayak and hit up Balboa Island again a couple of weekends ago, and this time I pulled my weight. He was impressed that I appeared tireless. I’ve had lots of practice kayaking at our lake since we’d been married, that’s why. Ocean kayaking was slightly harder but not unmanageable.

And then 2 years ago, on this date, Mr. W and I threw a huge dinner party for our closest family and friends. It took a long time to plan, and it was pretty. Everyone, especially us, were dressed up. Oh, and somewhere in the middle of this party, we got married, too.

It took me this many attempts (5) to finally remember to wish him a happy annismurfsary on the morning of the day. I remembered on the way to work this morning.

Last night, we drove to Dana Point Harbor and met up with Maggie and Tom for dinner. They got married on the same day we did, and due to that (which Maggie and I were heartbroken to find out 2 years ago), neither could attend the other’s wedding. Of course we’d quickly gotten over it cuz there was wedding planning to do, and it makes for fun co-anniversary dinners now. The two of them were spending a few days re-honeymooning at the beach, which happened to be about 20 minutes from our house, so we selected a nice award-winning French restaurant with a compromise of surf (Maggie) and turf (Tom) within walking distance from their hotel. Gemmell’s was great! Hubby said his lemon almondine Dory fish was excellent, the escargot and shrimp scampi appetizers were unique and savory, Tom said his black peppercorn filet mignon was perfectly done, and my sea scallops were tastefully seared on the outside and soft and tender on the inside. And all the French sauces! The restaurant looked French-bistro-chic and quaint (although it wasn’t small), the ambiance romantic and cozy. The matronly French hostess/waitress was friendly and warm, and even surprised us afterwards with free anniversary dessert. Maggie and Tom got a blueberry tart, and we got a lemon tart. The photo above is Maggie and Tom’s tart because their photo came out better than mine. It was a very fun evening chatting, laughing, and fine-dining.

And just yesterday, hubby and I confirmed and paid for our upcoming European vacation. We fly into Venice for a weekend (staying at a converted castle in Venice), take a week-long cruise from Venice to the Greek Isles (hitting Bari, Italy; Olympia, Santorini, Mykonos, and Rhodes, Greece; then Dubrovnik, Croatia; finally returning to Venice), then we’re going to take the Eurostar train from Venice to Florence, stay there a night, visiting Pisa in the day, and then take the train to Rome for 4 nights, staying in a 4-star hotel within walking distance to the Colliseum, Spanish Steps, etc. After we come home, we’ll say hello to the baby-making process.

Yay!

Here is a catch-up of some stuff we did for fun in the last few weeks.
One Saturday morning, the weather looked great so I suggested we go kayaking at Balboa Island. So up on the car roof went the two-man kayak that I hadn’t been in since our first date almost exactly 5 years ago, and we had a great time kayaking, watching a seal swim right by us, discovering a great seafood happy hour for lunch.

On another day, we decided to see “Eat, Pray, Love.” It was playing at our favorite very uncrowded theatre in a historic quaint small-town district. When we were in line, we heard two women in front of us complaining about their tickets to the showing that we wanted to catch, wanting refunds or exchanges to a different showing time and location. Turned out that the noon showing we were aiming for was playing in a special theatre. You pay like $16 a ticket instead of whatever movies cost nowadays, and it’s in an upstairs VIP theatre where the leather seats are farther apart, fully reclining, the armrests have swiveling table trays attached, and a pushbutton for service and a wait staff brings you real restaurant food and wine. I had a chardonnay with a Mediterranean curried chicken and cous cous salad. (YUM.) Mr. W had some sort of red wine with a kobe burger and garlic fries. We definitely want to go back to that theatre again, altho we’ll be sure to get in a little earlier next time so we don’t miss movie parts while we’re picking cous cous out of the bed of lettuce.

Earlier this week, our Disneyland annual passes kicked in again after a summer-long blackout period, so we decided to go to Disneyland after work to see the new show at California Adventure, “World of Color.” A friend who works there tipped us off that if we had dinner at one of two restaurants in California Adventure, we could participate in a program that gets us perfect spots for the show without having to line up when the park opens for a Speedpass ticket into the show. The restaurant we chose to go to was Wine Country Trattoria, and the deal is we eat before 6:30 p.m., ordering from a “Preferred Dining” 3-course prix fixe menu at $39 a person, and after eating, we get show tickets to the special section. The food was flippin’ amazing. It was easily $60/pp quality fine dining. Soon we were in our section, from which I had this great view across the water:

Unfortunately, since this was an impromptu trip and I was still in my work dress and high heels, and it’s standing-room only at this show, I had to stand for nearly 2 hours waiting for the show to start and then for the half hour show to end. My feet and back were killing me. Even more unfortunate, an older lady and her friends who were next to us started inching their way in front of me, severely encroaching upon the space of a family of 4 in front of us, so that one old lady was nearly in the father’s lap as he sat on the ground with his kids by him. So when the show started, this, instead, was my view. Story of my life.

On Wednesday, we decided to stop by The District, an outdoors shopping and and restaurant area, for dinner at vegetarian restaurant Native Foods Cafe. I met the most gorgeous, well-behaved Japanese akita there! The owners let me pet him. Turns out he was only 4, so I asked how they trained him so well. They said they’d only gotten him a year and a half ago as a RESCUE. They were unsuccessful in finding out why an owner would let such a gorgeous, mellow dog go, but he ended up at a city kill-pound. An akita dog rescue group saw him, took him, and contacted this family, who’d just happened to put their interest in for an akita the week before. They met the dog and fell in love. Both the akita and the family got lucky! This dog was not territorial, didn’t have problems socializing with other passing dogs and people, and was silent. The owners say that at home, he knows to be a guard dog, and would alert them if someone lingered by their front lawn too long, or a stranger came too close to the house. Petting this large gorgeous animal, I felt like I was playing with the giant wolves in “Twilight.” Mr. W and I hung out over coffee a bit more there, and he said, “I love not going home with you.”

YESTERDAY was WONDERFUL. A high school acquaintance extended an invitation to me for a tequila tasting event, hosted by Tequila Ocho, at Mexican restaurant Olamendi’s in Laguna Beach. We got to the restaurant about 45 minutes before the event, so we walked across the street and stared at this for awhile:

I had never heard of Tequila Ocho before. Apparently it’s a higher-class sipping tequila, made the old-fashioned way. You treat and drink it as you would wine, such as letting it breathe first to expand the flavors, and it definitely has a nose and a palate that sometimes differ from each other. The chef at Olamendi’s created an exclusive menu to pair to each tequila and it was delicious, paired more perfectly than any wine or other pairing I’ve never tried, and the food wasn’t bulky or greasy! The tequila was amazing, too. They take the bitter core of the agave out, so their tequilas are sweeter. We got these nice bottles of 2010 plata to take home as attendance gifts.

On the social networking site where I posted the above photo, this conversation ensued when I got home:
Claudio: I soooo could use a drink right now.
me: I am dizzy. D-I-Z-Z-I-E-E-E dizzae!@#$ I hope I’m not gonna have my first hangover ever tomorrow morning, cuz I still gotta work!
…duuuuude, my fingers feel weird. like I can’t really separate ’em to type.
Maggie: LMAO!!!!
Claudio: If you tequila tasting, you should have at least SOME kind of hangover. Wear it like a badge of honor.
me: they did better than “tasting.” they started with a mixed drink (plata in a mint pineapple margarita — tasted like a tequila mojito; we had TWO each), then did generous pours in wine glasses of a 2009 plata paired with a cheese appetizer folded in some sort of native leaf doused in a tomato-based sauce, then we went to a 2009 reposado with a spicy cream of bean tortilla soup, then a 2010 reposado with an amazing tender chicken breast with baby pearl potatoes in a chipotle mole sauce (hubby had beef and what looked to be some veggies in a dark sauce), and finally a 2010 anejo (not yet released on the market) with a light dessert of broiled mango and another native fruit that tasted like apple/pear over Monterey jack cheese on toasted bruschetta bread.
Claudio: Sounds amazing. Glad you guys had fun. 🙂

I texted Claudio at a little past 10pm, “dude. my mouth is numb. is this normal? the food was flippin amazing tho! omg.”
He responded 2 minutes later, but I’d already konked out. I woke up at 2am to see this from him: “Normal? No. The tequila is prob eating away at ur nervous system. Enjoy the food while u still have the ability to swallow.” Then 5 minutes after that, when I didn’t respond, “Did u go to sleep already????? Geez!” Well GOOD THING cuz he would’ve scared the crap out of me in my buzzy state! I got out of bed, went downstairs for water as Dodo followed me closely, and ran into Mr. W in the kitchen. He had fallen asleep in the cool weather outside and had also come to the kitchen for water. “What are YOU doing here?” he asked me.
“Taking Dodo for a walk.”
Today, no hangover. Nothing. I feel GREAT!

(photos courtesy Tom’s cell phone camera)

Just got home from The Doors concert at our lake. I didn’t get the music; it was just noise to me except for the encore song, which was “Light My Fire,” #1 song on the charts in 1967. It was pretty cool that Robby Krieger (who mainly wrote the song) was performing it live in front of us. Maggie, her hubby Tom, and Mr. W had a great time. I’m glad, because I was mostly distracted and very violently annoyed by three morons standing up in the front nearly the entire time blocking people’s view with their gyrating, despite Lake rules that people stay seated and despite my and other people’s requests to them to sit down or move aside. I had never wanted a slingshot so badly in my entire life. Tom kindly told me after the concert that he’d considered throwing a fork at one of the guys. Judging by the way these idiots ignored angry tugging on the back of one of the guys’ shirt and the crowd’s shouting demands for “down in front” to sit down, they wouldn’t have felt the fork, but it was the thought that counts. According to the people in the know (apparently everyone except for me), the current lead singer sounds like Jim Morrison, looks like Jim Morrison, and has the exact mannerisms and movements as Jim Morrison. Mr. W said he felt like he was watching and living 60s history. At one point, someone even lit up and we smelled the skunky stink of pot. I think the sheriffs were on that pretty quickly because the smell was gone within a minute. But let me back up.

Before the concert, Dwaine came over and hung out, then Maggie and Tom arrived, and we all went to the lake early to get in some kayaking. Dwaine asked as we left the house whether we were gonna take pictures of our adventure. I thought it was a great idea, and asked Mr. W if he had his waterproof camera ready. He answered that it was too much trouble to put the camera in the waterproof casing, so I ran upstairs and got my (significantly more expensive) DSLR camera and met everyone outside. We got to the lake, I grabbed a towel and my camera and we headed to the watercraft rental station. Since we had to wait for Tom and Mr. W who were changing in the restroom, I decided to start a new folder in the camera for this trip. I turned it on, the battery indicator flashed, and the display shut off. That’s weird, I had enough juice in the battery the last time I used it, or I would’ve changed the battery already. But I walked back to the restrooms where Mr. W was walking out, handed him my camera, and asked him to put it with his stuff in the locker because it was out of battery. He looked at me like I was stupid and troublesome, which okay, I was at the moment. I ran back to my beach bag, retrieved my fairly new Android cell phone so that I could at least take photos with that, and returned to the kayak area. Soon we were on our kayaks in the water. I took some photos, and Tom pulled out his cell phone and took some photos, including this one of me:

This is the conversation that followed the photo.
Everyone: Be careful! Don’t fall!
Me: It’s fine, the kayak’s actually pretty steady. I can probably even do this on one foot. *lifting one leg*
Everyone: Be careful! Don’t fall!
Me: It’s fine! *lifting the other leg in another direction* *the kayak rocks toward the weight*
Everyone: *random gasps and yells*
Me: *lowering my foot quickly and restabilizing the kayak*
Everyone else: *sighs of relief*
Dwaine: Nice save! I thought it was gonna tip over!
Me: No, the kayak’s stable. I can actually get it to rock pretty far and it stays upright. *rocking left and right* See, I can rock it back and forth and it doesn’t –”
*flip*
*sploosh!*

When I came back up, my kayak was upside down. Which wasn’t a big deal in the very comfortable water temperature in the hot sun, until I understood what Mr. W was yelling. “Your cell phone! Your cell phone’s in there!” Oh, CRAP. My phone was in a zippered pouch attached to the back of my kayak seat. I pushed on the kayak. It just floated a little away from me.
“How do I flip this back over?”
“You have to get under it,” said Mr. W, paddling toward me. I took a breath and went under and pushed. Again, the kayak just moved away from me across the water. I had no leverage. Soon Mr. W got the kayak from one end and someone else, I think Tom, got it from the other end, and they pulled it up and flipped it. I pulled myself in and checked on the pouch right away. There was about 3 inches of water inside and my phone was submerged. Tom immediately took my phone and examined it, and took it apart to dry. *sigh* I wasn’t worried about it because what I was supposed to do? Besides, it’d gotten wet once before (rather mysteriously cuz I didn’t do it, I just found wetness and steam inside the display) and that time, after it dried and I recharged the phone, it stopped acting weird. So I wasn’t too concerned, altho it did suck that I was unable to entertain myself with it during the concert.

When we got home awhile ago and we walked to the front door, I mentioned to Mr. W that I need to remember to say a prayer of thanks to God (and really, to everyone helping me up there — spirit guides, angels, friends, etc.) for killing the battery of my DSLR camera. “Why?” Mr. W looked at me oddly.
“Because if that camera weren’t dead, it would’ve been in the kayak.” And I definitely would’ve been upset about THAT, because not only is it an expensive camera, it would’ve been resting on the bottom of the lake.
“Oooh,” he said, understanding.
A negative’s not always a negative, that’s why I’m not usually upset when little “disasters” strike, such as when I’m stuck hitting every red light on a drive. In that situation, I’m probably being deliberately delayed for a reason. In this case, it was weird that I didn’t check my DSLR battery before leaving the house, weird that the battery was so dead the camera wouldn’t even stay on which renders the camera completely useless, weird that my kayak was the only one with a seatback that had a zippered pouch cuz otherwise my cell would’ve been sitting in the open on the back of the kayak (where my stuff usually goes). Lastly, it was weird and unusual that Mr. W insisted, before we set out, that I remove everything (my tank top, flip flops, beach towel) from the back of the kayak where I usually keep things, and leave them instead on shore next to the launching area. All those things ended up being VERY lucky things.

Still, it was a stupid, careless move on my part. I should’ve just sat back down, but I wanted to demonstrate just how stable a kayak wasn’t, I guess.

Yesterday evening, Mr. W and I met up with a couple of my coworkers in Seal Beach for another coffeehouse visit with our clairvoyant Rebecca. (If you want to read more on Rebecca, type her name in my “search” box in the sidebar to the right.) First we had a fun, delicious dinner at Cafe Lafayette. Their food is amazing, we happened to hit happy hour so we my raspberry Lambic was nearly 1/3 off, and I now have a new love for string bean fries. Wow, that batter, dipped in their garlic aioli…just, wow. There was something else in the aioli, too. I can’t recall what it was, but it made it kind of green. Curry? Some herb? I guess I’ll have to go back to make sure.

After dinner, we walked down Main Street past the bustling shops, cafes, and restaurant-bars to our little hole in the wall coffee house. The tiny place was ridiculously crowded last night, and there was standing room only inside soon after the four of us sat down. There were already other coworkers there, waiting for our time to take a peek through the veil. Soon Rebecca arrived.

Mr. W asked the question of where she sees us traveling on our upcoming vacation. We’d felt like we were all over the place, first thinking of going on an adventure trip to Australia, but then realizing how difficult that was to plan in our strict 2-week time off window. Rebecca closed her eyes and received information for what seemed like a long time, so of course I got excited. It wasn’t going to be something easy and unexciting like “Vegas again.” She opened her eyes and said, “I keep seeing Greece. If not that, then Europe. The reason I say that is because the two of you like something with more culture, and you seem to like water, something like Aruba, but you don’t like vacations where you just sit somewhere on a beach the whole time, that’s boring for you, and Greece and Europe has more history, there’s more culture and substance there.” We then told her that just earlier that day, we had changed gears and started looking up cruises in the Greek Isles, a dream of mine. We found a cruise that left from Venice to spend a week exploring the waters and islands of Greece, then returned to Venice, and we would still have a week left to discover Italy. We had only that day put Europe on the possibility list. This cruise and itinerary had fit our schedule perfectly (unlike the Aussie cruises we looked into first), but we hadn’t worked out the budget yet to see if it was realistic. As I told Rebecca about our research today, a heard a bunch of “awww”s around me. People approve of Greek Isle cruises, apparently! haha. I think the reason she saw Aruba is because of our recent French Polynesia trip, and Mr. W said earlier yesterday that if we could find another trip with the same cruiseline for that time period for Fiji or something, he’d jump at it. Rebecca then cited us to the crowd as an example of how easy it could be for her to receive specific information if people are open to her and trust her, and she thanked us for our faith in her.

Another spot I’m more and more interested in, but had done no research in, is Ireland. I’ve always kind of felt like I hadn’t been Asian before in a past life (at least not recently), but I had been European. I get overwhelming feelings of nostalgia when I see pictures of certain locations in Europe (strongly in parts of France — so strong I bought a painting when I found I couldn’t walk away from it, parts of Italy), even though with the memories of this life I am unable to identify those places as I have never been to Europe, and for the most post, don’t know much about Europe short of what we learn in a historical context from school. I feel like I was in the US for its Golden Age in the 40s and 50s, and Europe after the Renaissance. So I thought I’d ask. “Why do I feel so drawn to Ireland?” The answer was better than I’d expected with my writer’s heart.

About 3 or 4 lifetimes ago, I was Scottish (hey, like my cat, I just realized!) and there was an Irish man I was involved with. But because of the time period, the strife between Ireland and Scotland made this union very difficult. (When she told me this, I had no idea about any problems between Ireland and Scotland, and Mr. W had told me in the car, “Are you kidding? They had MAJOR problems with each other! That’s what the movie Braveheart was all about!” Well, I couldn’t watch Braveheart cuz I’d kept falling asleep during it. I don’t like violent films.) My love soon left to return to Ireland, and it was expected and talked about that he would come back for me. I waited expectantly; he never returned. I was drawn toward Ireland then, wanting to search it for him, and I am still drawn to Ireland now, although with no clue of what I’m looking for there.
I asked Rebecca when this was, if it was 3-4 lifetimes ago. Hundreds of years, then. She said, 1600s.
I told her I’d always pictured myself there around that time period, but didn’t know if it was just imagination. Thinking back now, it was played out in my little girl’s let’s pretend scenarios (minus the man), and my childhood drawings were full of women drawn from that time, in that period clothing and hairstyle. I guess I’d just assumed it was fairy tale emulation. But I was always more drawn to fairy tales than other girls. Rebecca confirmed that I have vague memories of being there at that time because I WAS there at that time.
I then thought to ask her whether this Irish guy is around me, spiritually or maybe on this plane. Turns out, she says he is. She first asked if I had a brother. I said no. She said he’s a relative with whom I have a sisterly-brotherly relationship. A cousin. He’s 4-5 years younger than me, and it’s someone I’ve had a sense of familiarity with and am comfortable around. She sees a relationship where we playfully kid with each other. I only have 1 younger male cousin. He lives in eastern Canada and we’ve only seen each other in person 3 or 4 times. The second time I met him, I’m not sure how old he was but I was 13. After his family visited us and returned to Canada, I was surprised when I started finding letters in the mailbox from him to me. I still have them somewhere; he was too little to coordinate the pen to paper, so he’d type out his letters to me — long rambling punctuation-less “sentences” mostly listing out the titles of all the Nintendo video games he had, his prized possessions. The envelope was also typed, clearly from a typewriter, so that it was legible for the postman. I’m sure I wrote back, and we were pen pals for awhile. I’d even then thought it strange that my little geek cousin could work a computer word processing program before he could write well, and use that to write to me, and it was also strange that I seem to be closer to him with our big age difference, than I am to his older brother, only a year younger than I am. We “found” each other again once emails and IMs became a regularly available medium, and clicked instantly. We discovered we had a lot of things in common, such as our love for Bill Watterson’s “Calvin & Hobbes.” I’d really enjoyed reminding him of my memories of him and our interactions when he was very young, which he has no memory of and had found to be hilarious. I was always the one who remembered stories to pass on, anyway. Although the regularity of our contact waned or intensified as we both felt the need for, we never really lost touch again. I was pleasantly surprised when years ago, he’d declared me his favorite cousin despite growing up with other cousins closer in proximity to him. I’m definitely most in touch with him than I am with other cousins who live near me and whom I grew up with.
I told Rebecca I could tell my cousin Mark about this and really freak him out. “He’ll think it’s the grossest thing ever,” I laughed. She said to wait a bit before telling him.

I’d always wondered whether relationships feel strange when people incarnate together and go from husband-wife to mother-son, or sister-brother to husband-wife. Now I know. The old relationship doesn’t carry anything with it except for the sense of bond and trust; none of the romantic ties or emotions follow through. I’m sure that would be a relief to Mark, as well. Since he sometimes visits this blog, I’ll let the universe determine whether this is something he should find out about. If he reads this, he does; if he doesn’t, I won’t bring it up. Yet. *snicker*

But, I’ve gotta check on our age difference. My sense is that it’s greater than the 4-5 years Rebecca said. I’ll post the result here in an update.

** Update: Okay, he’s almost exactly 7.5 yrs younger than me. That would make that first letter (the one listing all the video games) typed by a 5 yr old.

I have a dream…

🙂 I want to eat “bad” stuff once in awhile without worrying about the ramifications.
🙂 I want to eat on a whim without planning for it 2 weeks in advance and creating a 3000-calorie deficit first between now and then.
🙂 I want to be ready to go do anything athletic on a whim without having to train for it first so I don’t die out there.
🙂 I want to be able to hit the beach or a formal occasion on a whim without having to drop 10 lbs to look good in a swimsuit or a formal dress first.

The first two statements and the last two statements seem like they should be mutually exclusive. Either I eat what I want, when I want, and be happy with having a few extra pounds on me, OR I’m trim and athletic. But they’re not. I’m gonna force both categories to coexist. I restarted the Insanity program today. It’s been nearly impossible to do at home due to our very small house, but I did Day 1 at lunch today in an empty jury room, borrowing another courtroom’s carted TV/DVD. This was actually Mr. W’s idea, and it worked out well. I was able to do the 40-minute program AND make it to my 1pm meeting, with only some shaky legs to pay for the time spent. Okay, I admit it, I didn’t put in the solid 40 minutes; I took breaks when I needed it to not overexert since my first attempt at Insanity was such an epic fail. Even if I have to half-ass it through my first 60-day circuit, I’d be in better shape than NOT doing it, which will allow me to relax my strict dietary guidelines (because I know I would have either already burned off the calories, or that I will in the next day or so), and be able to just up and do a race or, say, the Marine Corps Boot Camp Challenge next month, without having to do a lifestyle overhaul in preparation. Yes, thorough preparation makes its own luck.

Not that I don’t like the kale salads and the chia seed beverages…

…but there’s a container of white chocolate turtles behind me at work that I don’t want to curse myself out for eating (I only eat 1 a day, and not every day), and I want to sleep rather than lay awake in self-loathing after I attend a Mexican food and tequila pairing event in Laguna Beach next week.

I feel good right now — and I know I should feel better because I’d neglected to take iron supplements the past 2 days (careless me). I’m looking forward to dropping below the next 10s in weight.