kbarkume

Jason and I are coming up on 18 months of togetherness, 5 months of betrothal. Doesn't sound like much, but when I met Jason I felt like I had returned to myself. Being with him, even on our first date, I felt like I was finally home again, finally me again. And thus it feels like we've been together a long time, forever even.

But now the foreverness is the pain of being separated - he still in New York, and me, finally home, my other home, of Oregon. It feels so good, so right to be back here. And it is agonizing to be away from Jason. Soon (but not soon enough), we'll be home and together again.

For now I keep myself buried in my books - learning about and memorizing muscles and structures like the splenius capitus, longissimus, and thoracolumbar aponeurosis. Fun!

It's over. This year's wedding season. Already have one on the books for next season. It involves camping and barn-stomping. I hope there are goats.
Saw Woody Allen's newest little film. It was ok, though nothing home to write about. I admit though it was refreshing not to perceive Allen's goddamned voice through each and every character. And it was equally refreshing to see Scarlett Johanson play somebody besides her lovely, demure self. Instead she played a self-absorbed, artsy-fartsy floosie and I kind of liked it.
Barcelona seems like a nice place, just don't fuck a stranger and fall in love and expect things to suddenly be better or life's insecurities to be resolved or even find a neat and tidy conclusion. It just keeps going, like when you drive over bird.

What better way to express the sheer enjoyment and satisfaction of eating a rich and delicious ice cream cone of chocolate and peanutbutter than to wear a big brown smudge of it on your face as you walk around in the East Village all afternoon?

I really like when I forget I already put plenty of hot sauce on my soft taco, so that when I bite into double-time hot stuff, it's really, REALLY hot, and when I scream, I scream really, REALLY loud, and when the nerve endings in my mouth explode and die like a super nova in my skull, they really REALLY explode and die like a super, SUPER nova in my skull. Mmmmmm, hot sauce.

I felt like a dirty coal miner tonight as I dug relentlessy for the elusive black chunks of crumbly goo in a quickly-melting pint of cookies 'n' cream ice cream. Oh the glory of a hungry imagination, I can hardly contain myself (let alone my pants.)

Sorry, I know it's been awhile. I still don't have anything to say, I just feel I should say something and be done with it for another long while. It's spring. I know this because I saw crocuses last weekend. They were making an appearance of their own free will. Purple, yellow, but no white. That is all.

How many ingredients can you fit into a cup of hot cocoa? Wish I had some kahlua, the rum alone is so naked. Cinnamon, cayenne, cloves, maple, vanilla, heavy cream, ice cream, milk. Oh yeah, and some goddamned cocoa, too, somewhere, somewhen. I didn't really want to fit into those pants anyway.

If I had the strength to open the olive oil jar, my salad coulda been beyond perfection. As it was, though, I had to settle for merely fantastic:
spinach, sliced carrots, sliced crimini mushrooms, chopped celery, slivers of gorgonzola, dried cranberries and chopped walnuts. Sans dressing, see above, re: olive oil. Had I dressing, it would've been a balsamic vinaigrette, or possibly a mustard-biased dressing. Leftovers will likely involve cooking down the fresh greens into a soup, and adding some rice and leftover turkey. The rest of the cheese (it has a real kick!), cranberries and walnuts will be integrated into a baked apple crumble dish.
I cleaned my house today. Wish I could say the same about the rest of my life.

I can't tell you just how wonderful and full of energy I feel. After coming off the cleanse, life is exciting, food is like an orgasm, every last crunchy, savory bite. Last night I made myself a monster salad, and I want to tell about it:
spinach, sliced crimini mushrooms, chopped celery, sliced granny smith apple, shredded carrot, small diced red onion, and chopped almonds. For a dressing: olive oil, juice from half a lemon, ginger, garlic, honey, salt and pepper. The salad was tossed and I ate straight from the bowl while Bill Moyers kept me company. The salad was playful and zesty, the lemon dressing, apples and celery all giving it a tangy kick, while the mushrooms provided a meaty contrast, along with the almonds.
Sated, but not satisfied with playing in my newfound playground, the kitchen, I then cored an apple and sliced it into rings. Placing the rings in a pyrex dish, I covered the apple with butter, honey, chopped almonds and cinnamon. Wished I'd had raisins, and the almonds had been walnuts, but oh well. After 20 minutes baking in the oven, I would've sprinkled some granola on top if any were available. Might have to revisit this dessert in the near future. Nonetheless baked apples speak for themselves. Eyow!

Bill Moyers says if you don't want to receive catalogs any more, you can end the junk mail at: www.catalogchoice.org. All you need is the back cover of the catalog for your customer number, which is printed there along with your name. 20 billion pounds of catalogs go through the mail every year, felling 55 million trees annually. Of the catalogs that go out, less than 2% actually result in sales of any kind. For crying out loud people, stop being tree-haters and do it!

A month ago I ran my first marathon. It was heavenly, pure bliss. But with the marathon come and gone, 'training' was no longer relevant, and I no longer ran according to routine. Sure I still go running, but tonight, my so called short run, the lower loop around Prospect Park, seemed just as hard as it did a year ago, when I first started running with regularity. I lost it! Where did it go?
Perhaps the problem lies in the fact I ran the marathon, not because I especially enjoyed running, nor was I interested in becoming fit. No, the real reason for running the marathon was pure selfish need: I needed something that was mine, something that only I could control, something outside of work, debt, family, boyfriends, and all else that seemed to ail me. A marathon was bigger than all of that. Well, now I did it, I overcame, I achieved, I climbed my Everest. Now what? I signed up for my first triathlon, next July. Perhaps the tri is my next challenge, my next Everest. But really I hadn't come around to the notion of doing a marathon in the same way I had a marathon. I'm doing the triathlon because I've thought about it for years, and I even have a couple training partners lined up. And I'm doing it for work, actually. Working at a tri store, this is homework for me, so I can do my job better. Hmmm. I'm such a tourist. Always the tourist.