Coming up: DINKs last stand runs with rainbows and phones aflutter, while Auntie Adella cowers in convalescence. Blood is shed, but only after much angst and starvation. Will our Evil Associate find succour in her madcap maniacal office milieu? Will blood gush freely or stay abnormally normal in the Patient Portal of no return? Nukes and zukes, oh my the kitchen carnival returns. Will senescent baking powder rise to one last stand or collapse with the summer squash. And birthday brewing, but at what cost the ascent to mid-early-thirties? Can the DINKs withstand one final front of naif's office insanity to meet their madder family anomie's reward??
Affix your shades, break out those fasts, and tread carefully in the lawyer's din, and ye shall find the answers you seek therein
Eclectic Electric Interim Eye of the Storm The Final Frontiers of 31 Years Old
With the family in foreign lands, and the external commitments siphoned back into work/work-out/and volunteerism, Gramma Pam and Aunt Adella are taking a much needed nap so that mom-boss and Associate Thompson can emerge for a short rampage. The DINK is back and only somewhat beleaguered by prior rushings about.
Needless to say, it was crucial to celebrate our ascendancy to primary DINKiness appropriately this weekend. To wit (and witlessness, given my addled mental "equipoise"): we started our Sunday with a run-romp around Padden. In power gear! My goal is to melt the trails with my chromatic calescence. Andrew may have the green and orange shoes, but I've got some follow through with accessories. Yes, I wore entirely black basics from Rockstar wide-brimmed cap to my clinging capris. Makes more of a pop, you know.
The rest of Saturday was spent in desultory dithering over groceries, punctilious procrastination of playlist building for this weekend's tango event, and moments of wild wall-staring. Somebody has got to keep an eye on that darned thing.
Oh, and we went off in search of a ghost pepper tropical burger at Boomer's - some sheer roving about downtown looking for alternative joints occurred before Boomer's cleared up. I'm now learning that perhaps Boomers is just kind of a minute-by-minute boom bust of a seating area. If they're packed to the gills and garters the first attempt, try again in fifteen minutes. Good to know, since we'd nearly written it off due to the perma-crowds that didn't exactly greet us on prior attempts.
Sunday, I ousted us from bed at the lark's hour of 6:30 a.m. to get the blood test I thought had been pre-ordered by my PCP (which is a waaaaay more fun acronym than GP to utter). It was not. At least not officially. At least according to "the computers" that govern our medical lives. I discovered this dearth of directive only after fasting for twelve hours and making my snoozy husband drive me across town at the crack of dawn. I guess I'll be calling the PCP's office today and clarifying if maybe they should put in that stupid paperwork and/or just give me paperwork next time. Electric records are so convenient until they're not.
We recovered over some Brylane home-decor catalog excitement and some even more terrifying "best of" catalog that seemed to be targeted at Angry Conservative Old Men and their Hippy Dippy Alcoholic Wives. Possibly also their lonely alcoholic cat-crazed elder sisters. Or something around that area.
To further the DINKiness I spent the remainder of my morning in kitchen carousings and culinary capers. I had a fair bit of pent up energies after a week behind Aunty Shades. I also had a lot of summer squash and zucchini. It was on sale. I couldn't help myself. I started buying a few zukes (as we in "the biz" used to mark them back in my produce stand/fruit basketeering days) because they're tasty and then I thought surely I could do something with all these delectable summer squashes.
And do something I did. As usual "something" entailed scouring the internet with various keywords of ingredients that I actually had on hand. Since the supply of food blogs is infinite, I found more than enough suggestions of things that sort of mostly worked, although I never actually had all the ingredients listed and had no desire to go back out to the grocery store. On the agenda:Yellow Squash Bread and Spicy Zucchini Slow Cooker Stew.
The bread was a tad challenging as I rarely have appropriate cooking ingredients. For one, I have some kind of knee jerk distaste for adding white sugar to anything, but I'm equally opposed to most of the "all natural" alternatives. I usually make do with some kind of variation on fruit pulps and juices from my fridge. I also mostly keep whole wheat flour on tap (mmmm kegs of flour and a separate pastry faucet!), which can seriously confound a recipe that expects white flour. And, I'm stubborn about using olive oil or avocado instead of butter. In the end, I lucked into recalling that I had one antediluvia apple left in the fridge and that it would be just sufficient to make into the 1/2 cup "apple sauce" if I just threw it into the microwave and food processor with the summer squash.
Thusly, squash bread was sired! To sweeten the deal ever so slightly, I added a fair helping of the blueberry chia jam I had made a ways back. It's since been blended in with some pluot chia jam I made more recently. So all kinds of fancy exotic ingredients. Because I'm lazy and lack a mixer, I just added the wet ingredients to the food processor (it being out already), and then added everything to a larger bowl with the dry ingredients.
Turns out that my baking soda hails from the dark ages (circa 1000 A.D. I think) and has lost its pep. I realized this afterwards by following a recommended "test" in which you add some baking soda to hot water and see if it does anything. Unless "anything" means "lay completely inert as spookily pale sediment, I'd say it's time to toss it or get it to consult its doctor about some little blue pills. Actually, I kind of enjoyed the result: almost brownie like. Savory veggie brownies. Oh yeah. Very dense. Very perfect for Mr. (W)right somehow. Clearly, I'll have to try again with real baking soda for a taste test comparison. Maybe Baking Soda and rising bread is just overrated!
The remaining several pounds of zucchini went into the slow cooker with olive oil, lemon juice, jalepenos, onions, broth, tvp, and the five billion later minute additions. The original recipe was more of a cold soup with bread crumbs, crisp citrus tones, mint, and cilantro. I didn't have mint or cilantro. I also didn't feel like wasting bread. About four hours in, I immersion blendered the crap out of the zukes. About five hours in, I added some amaranth to thicken it up. A brief spell later, parsley, italian seasonings and some bell peppers splooshed in. About seven hours in, I added a little bit of red rice from a nearly-depleted package.
Slow-cooker: for when you want to be able to leave a dish alone all day, but also can never leave well enough alone!
In between such gustatory feats of fancy, I chopped up any and all remaining vegetables, cycled out several hundred pyrex snap-ware thingies, and updated the ingredient inventory list that so horrified my visiting companion of the Pink Beard (it takes a pantry door to track appreciably). On the seventh hour, I rested.
Just in time to further our DINK excellence by discussing loan options for student debt, cell phone plans (yes, the bike-and-chain has now composed a thoroughly detailed excel spreadsheet of all possible options through Verizon's cabalistic "phone plan" offerings) and retreated into the air conditioned bedroom for the evening's retreat.
Down side, we had a bumpy start to our Sunday morning. Bright and/or Brite Side, it bumped to a fairly productive and pleasant weekend overall. And I still have all my blood for a few more days at least!
Thoroughly Stuffed Associate Adella and the Ex-Sanguines A Tale of Minor Bloodshed and a Sample of Sturm und Drang (but mostly Sturm)
Well, new diet plan is working great!* Started with a twelve hour fast, thus foregoing my usual nightly yogurty victuals and my immediately-upon-rousing breakfast. Then, just to hurry the progress along, I shed an ounce or two the medical way: didn't need all that blood anyways.
* Note: Adella is not actually on a diet. Referring sentence was a tongue and cheek introduction into her blatherings about her morning blood test. She is still half-heartedly trying to gain weight, or at least maintain it, and is not sinking into some kind of bizarre and benighted eating disorder (please put down the phone, my kibbitzing darlings). Take comfort that losing weight would entail purchasing new clothing and one can be assured that though she be a mite dilatory about future weight gains unless absolutely ordered, she has every incentive to avoid anything as wretched as "the misses section" in any shop.Blood! Sanguination in the Sangui-Nation! WOOOO. Yes, that's how I would advertise my medical laboratory. On a billboard.
After ascertaining that my paperwork was genuinely processed and ready at the lab, I began preparations for my endless fast. Seriously, I have no idea how people handle fasting. I know it's theoretically healthy even, but my body freaks out on me if I don't eat every few hours. Granted this is a habit cultivated by years of small-meals, shrink-a-dink tummies, and a body ringing salient starvation alarm bells left and right... but nonetheless. I am the sort who genuinely does sleep better if I eat right before bed, advice to the contrary be damned.
As a planner, this was quite the endeavor for me. I make most of the food in the (W)right household. By which I mean, when I make food (and this may well be a large portion of why I'm so happy to be the "food-maker") I nibble and graze liberally straight into at least one or two additional unrecorded meals a day.
...You know, to "test it out" and make sure it tastes ok. Really. That's why I just emptied several tablespoons of peanut butter into my mouth and then took a swig of the blueberry chia jam to wash it down. I had to be absolutely sure it hadn't fermented into some kind of weird PB&J-liquor that would endanger my sweet loris by rendering him inadvertently intoxicated around all those heavy machines at EI(EEEEIIIIIIOOOOO).
Since I make both breakfast and lunch before the loris rouses from his slumber, the opportunities for breaking my breakfastless fast were rife and roiling.
I recognize that: (1) I was perfectly willing to make Mr. (W)right suffer a little by asking him to take me to the blood place on Sunday morning before breakfast, and (2) Ancient Chinese Secret: Andrew is perfectly capable of cooking for himself. BUT, I dunno. He already drove me out on my fruitless blood-quest once. I do also enjoy having the morning time together that a readimade breakfast creates. Plus, I've seen the bike-and-chain in the morning. He's not usually "awake" exactly. I worry about him falling face forward into a swan-snooze on the stove top. Just a little.
Besides, it gave me a chance to break out the planning prima-donna that is Evil Associate Adella Thompson.
Yeah, actually, this was hardly my tour de force. Nor my Tour de France, for that matter. But I did make the fellow's lunch last night, thus allowing ample pre-fasting sampling to occur before the cut-off period. I prepped my own coffee-flavored milk for the coming day. I then spent much more of the evening/morning meal time "tidying" (shoving everything on any cleanable surface into the pantry and other drawers) for the impending visit from the cleaners.
Cutting off my nightly dessert was tough. It's both my "whoops need to eat more, better get this in under the wire" calorie chaser, and a vital component of my evening ritual. Usually, I take yogurt, a banana, some cocoa nibs, and some ceylon cinnamon and idly spoon the parfait into my maw over a thirty minute evening crossword-come-down. Since the "fast" duration was supposed to be 11-10-12 (I was unclear, as different people gave me different instructions) hours, I tried cutting myself off entirely at 7 p.m. This wasn't going to work for my rumbling stomach, so I did down a half glass of milk around 8. As long as I finished it by 8, I figured, I'd at least hit the 10 hour mark when I went in at 6 a.m. this morning. Sorta counts, right?
I am exceedingly proud of my restraint this morning. I had the juiciest peach in the world pre-cut for Mr. (W)right and didn't even take a bite. I wiped off the knives with a paper towel immediately after each use to resist licking. And I didn't touch the coffee beyond emptying the coffee grounds, until my little vial was full and off for analysis.
Needless to say, I shall be in a restive snacking frenzy for the rest of the day to make up for all the bits and nibbles of meal that I never count as food when making sure I'm eating "enough." I warn coworkers and restaurant patrons alike... if I see crumbs on a plate, I shall be diving for them screaming BONSAI! Plan accordingly!
At any rate, due to the blessed competence of the PeaceHealth Medical Arts staff, I was in and out of blood within five minutes. I even made it to work on time, with seconds to spare for cramming a couple of bars and a large thing of milk into my shriveled stomach. I'm now a bit glutted and slooshing, but feeling much less ready to bite faces or collapse in a corner.
And it's raining!!! WHOOOOOO! It was an inclement 90 degrees yesterday evening, and all day I felt like I couldn't get a fresh breath. Thank god for our air conditioned cave, but work was a bit of an ordeal. As it shall be again today, no doubt. Since we're cramming all of August's emergencies more or less into this one relative-free week, it's not exactly a tranquil time at Englettlaw. Papers are flying, files are exploding, clients are crying in our lobby (well, I think they're clients... could be one of the Englettlaw staff all told...). It's not bad. We're getting stuff done. But restful it is not.
And, it may be raining, but it's still steamy here. I'll be taking it as easy as I can for the rest of the day (between dive-bombing leftovers and constantly carousing in the kitchen area - leave no aliment unnibbled!)
Have a lovely day all. Hope the blood that pumps through your veins is full of elan and enchantment.
Life Could be Dream If I could IV myself up to some heavy strength nyquil all day long... as it is, we'll just gather some wool and glance at our lovely omphali
So, last night I had a dream in which I ran into my mother-in-law outside the downtown city library. She hadn't told us she was coming and seemed fairly non-chalant about whether we were informed or no during her stay. Upon inquiry, she said that she'd "closed a really big deal" and "wanted to celebrate by staying at the Waldorf." Oneiric Bellingham, apparently has one of these. With suites. Not super posh, necessarily, but more like the cluster-dorms of UW with swankly sterile bedding of the kind you generally see in catalogs. An overabundance of square white corners under a plethora of purple pillows in all shapes but standard.
There were a few different rooms, but the real key feature was the oriel, or should I say carefully contrived cockpit. In a little pop-out fenestrated half-room, there was a small cockpit bed, which was something of a child's bed but with vintage jet plane controls at the end facing the window. And little aviator hats.
Needless to say that I leapt into that bed and hope to redecorate my dream home soon. Also, I may have blended in receiving a package from said mother in law with my impending voyage to Wolf Creek Lodge with the nephews.
And with that, I'm flying straight from slumberland to the sleepy sludge of a thundering day. Having offloaded my blood, I am now fully able to nibble nibble like a mouse at any and all houses along the way. Some of them definitely taste better than others, but generally, I have to say that I prefer sandwiches and cookies. And/or the delicious hippie food that routinely manifests in the DRC fridge for sharing with "staff" (and, I am sure, interns). Quinoa salads with walnuts, roasted root vegetables with goat cheese and balsamic, various fruits... I often scalp a compostable (ECO-GUILT!!!) plastic cup from under the sink and leave my shift laden with pelf.
Hey, I'm a valuable asset to the team. I obsess over forms, I clean crap up. And I make sure that leftovers don't rot in any fridges! Thank god they found me!
Today, the unseasonable heat has mellowed into a warm and humid bluster. Overcast, dotted with rain, and forming condensation at random in little air pockets. I could do with cooler rain but I'll take this over blazing summer heats. I have started to suspect that on warm days, my sodium levels get a little wonky, given my tendencies to (1) walk all day in a warm office that probably contributes to an increase in maidenly "glow" (2) drink a substantial bevy of liquids throughout the day, (3) eat a diet of mostly unprocessed foods and not much care for the salt shaker. Guessing this has something to do with the onset of certain seasonal heat sensitivities. So, guess I'll be adding a salt lick next to my hamster wheel for incalescent days.
And with several non-sequiturs yet to be blazoned, full sails ahead into the eye of the torpid tempest I go.
Flight of the Potbelly Porkers Expect Anything! (Except the Spanish Inquisition)
Well, although I was ready to wish the folks at the DRC a "Good Weekend" on my last shift, apparently two days ago was notThursday. Apparently, actually, today is Thursday.
Let's just say, it's been kind of an action packed week. What happens when, again, "you" (if you are the perpetually torn mom-boss/gramma Pam) attempt to cram in three weeks of work into a single week so as to accommodate having time off with family during what is historically a roiling time of unexpected emergencies.
To wit: a nearly settled upcoming trial that we were oh so certain would not be going to trial... well it's not going to trial BUT the reason it's not involves nearly as much scurrying and last minute panicking as a trial itself would entail (confidential of course, but it's possible that Edward Snowden was involved, as were Trujillista cells and some kind of post-cold-war coalition of villains called something like SPECTRE, I think? Yeah. Complicated case, you could say!). So, thank you Mr. Monkey Paw of life. Noted that our wish was granted.
To witless: the discounted rate emergency potential client with the epically complex and bizarre case history came back after we'd all but written him off as no-show. And with new folds.
To Wittgenstein's Musings on whether the color white can be transparent: We've also had a mediation (draining little buggers), a potent pow-wow of professionals over what to do with associated professionals and the clients who hate them (or is it vice versa), and several other clients crammed into available edges to fully caulk any cracks in the madness.
And it's only Thursday.
And once Thursday is over, and once Friday work-day is over, the family is back! No rest for the wickedly awesome grammas and aunties who maybe misunderstand the concept of work-life balance by trying to amplify both in equal turns of shrieking insanity.
My blood tests have been posted to the patient portal. Although I have not returned the call from my Doctor's office about these little things, I can report that they are extensively and surprisingly NORMAL. What? Me? I didn't think I had a normal cell in my body. This is all quite disturbing.
Perhaps my interpretation and subsequent fatherly-kibbitz of relevant results is highly misguided by the little lab notations of what "normal" ranges are and how I generally fall into them, but given how casual my doctor tends to be even when results are slightly abnormal, I am guessing no glaring House, M.D. interventions shall be forthcoming based on this little blood-letting. Nice to know my anemia is almost cleared up and my cholesterol is fabulous (whether or not cholesterol is actually a causal, correlative, or otherwise relevant cardiovascular result after all the meta-studies are done and redone).
In other news, Andrew has accomplished phase one of GRAND RETAIL MIASMA 2014 (August edition) and purchased a phone. At full price. After much research and several sleepless nights (only some "shared" with a pretty zonked out Adelia). This shall be the perfect phone. He's looked into carriers, but is as yet undecided.
All this got jump started when I commented that we were both due for upgrades on our Verizon plans and maybe we should look into combining our services into a single plan. Turns out that's actually economically disadvantageous, but once we sussed that out the floodgates had been irreversibly unlocked.
Me, I'm just going to dither about until I observe how Mr. (W)right's epic educational quest concludes. I looked into changing plans a few years ago and found all the homework involved to be head-spinning enough to leave me happily in the arms of my pricy but reliable Verizon service and a familiar S3 phone. Not sure what I really want this time around. Happy enough with the S3, although it would be nice to have a hardier phone for all my shenanigans. Maybe one with a homing signal that starts crying if I'm ever more than five feet away from it in a public location. Preferably one that is programmed to fly great distances (maybe hitching a ride on amazon drone) to reunite with me after I inevitably leave it somewhere it oughtn't be! But mostly, I want one that is easy to acquire and doesn't complain too much. Hence the dilatory approach to upgrading and/or reevaluating service plans.
But enough about phones. It's time to pitch the porcine aloft and hammer out yet another dredge of a day on our sludge to a different kind of madness.
I am so earning that damned mid-mid-thirties upcoming milestone (Monday, baby!)
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