Still snotting

Last night I made up a tea concoction, hoping it would be the magic sickness-defeated bullet.  In an assorted teas box, I found some crummy orange spice bag, steeped it, then added honey, lime juice, and Tabasco.  It's good to have something spicy to get the sinuses cleaned out.  Right?  Really, I don't know if it is or not.  The drink wasn't bad, believe it or not.  I don't know if it worked, but I assume downing hot tea of any kind when sick has to be helpful.  I had a hard time staying warm all night.  I couldn't find the only pair of wool socks I've got, so I grabbed a pair of wool gloves and stuffed them on my feet.   

The ex and I had a little thing this morning.  LH's school doesn't allow him to bring cookies in his lunch.  The explanation I've received is that they want to avoid having the children fight over them.  My answer, as an ex-teacher, is to actually practice classroom management in order to achieve not letting the kids fight over cookies.  I figure I pay way to much to jump through crazy, short-sided hoops for this school, especially when I want to do something neat like leave a piece of candy in my kid's lunch.  Plus, you're not really teaching the kids anything in pretending cookies don't exist at lunch.  Someone's going to have cookies somewhere, someday.  Taking LH to school this morning, I was on the phone with the ex when I told her I'd almost put a treat in the kid's lunch, to which she replies, "Well they'd take it from him.  They won't let him have candy," like I don't fucking know that and we haven't talked about it thirty-four fucking times.  So the same discussion/disagreement that we've had thirty-four other times ensues.  She doesn't care about the rule.  She doesn't see a problem.  She actually said to me at one point, "Weah," like I'm throwing a fit.  What the hell is that?  I mean, what the hellshit is that?  What an asshole.  Who the shit does that?  I mean, what kind of person would address someone else's issue with "weah?"  Really though, that's been her mode of reply throughout the relationship.  Once it becomes clear that I've got a real, legitimate point, there's some bailout like, "Well, we just see things differently," or "weah," or some other b.s.  An inch cannot be given in any disagreement, it seems.  You will never, ever, see immediate recognition from her that you've made a rational point.  It's a little frustrating.        

Under the weather

This time of year, it's hard for me to tell if I'm sick or if it's just another day in allergy world.  Today, it seems, I am sick.  This morning I was going through the normal hocking and snorking, but recognized during my run that my body was not right.  I laid down at my parents' house to watch the Giants game - I have no cable/satellite and thus, no ability to see it at my house - and felt like crud.  I've determined that the worst part is that my nose is running like a faucet, but there's a zit or pimple or whatever inside my nostril.  Not too pleasant.  I've got the kid tonight, so we'll see how things go.  

The ducks - I've had two ducks for about a month - got their first taste of meat today.  They found a snail while rooting around the garden.  Mmmmm mmmm, good.        

The Sunday Letdown

Oh, this was the weekend I had the kid.  Baby-mama and I switch every other weekend.  He's really very fun to spend time with, so when he heads back to his mom's on Sunday night, I'm left with the depression of not only facing a suddenly quiet house, but really missing my buddy.  It's hard.  Harder than staying married to his mom, I think.

Title here

I replaced my kitchen sponge yesterday afternoon.  I'd like to say I replaced it because it was old (it was) or that it had that too-used sponge smell (it did), but really it was because I'd cleaned up raw chicken excesses I'd cut and I'm a little worried about salmonella getting on things, so I chucked the sponge.  That is one of life's real underrated pleasures.  A new sponge.  You get to the point with the old one where you really have to grind to get shit off of plates when doing the dishes.  Suddenly, with the new sponge, leftover, sometimes crustified, food wants to leap off the plate.  You are happier.  As a result, the people around you are happier.  Food tastes better.  It's like when you hang in there as long as you can with weed-eater string.  You know you've pretty much exhausted the string you've got on there, you've been getting diminished results, so you give the little self-feeder a tap, and bam!  It's like now you've upgraded from a Sentra to a Ferrari.  And you love weed-eating for a few more minutes.  So I'm pretty happy about the new sponge.  Incidentally, my weed-eater is out of string at the moment.

BH's Authoritative and Comprehensive Underrated Pleasures List (BAaCUP(l)):

- a new dish sponge (see above)

- replenishing weed-eater string (see above)

- celery salt (seriously, have you tried this shit?  It's so good on pretty much anything.)

- skipping rocks     

Errands

I had to go to Raley's for red beans and rice ingredients.  I've got red beans.  And rice.  But having recently moved into the new house, I've got few spices or perishables.  I'm not very good at staying on top of the whole perishable game.  The more delicate ones, that is.  I'll buy celery or leeks or lettuce, but if I don't use them quickly, I've wasted money.  Potatoes, carrots, artichokes, pssh, they can sit in the refrigerator for days.  So, I needed the spices, celery, ham hocks, other shit.  Cereal, I guess.  I really like the Kashi cereals.  Strawberries Fields is amazing.  Does anyone remember Team Flakes?  Damn those were good.  The flake part of Strawberry Fields taste just like Team Flakes.  

I know a few people at the local Raley's, whether they were classmates, they know me through my parents, or we've just become familiar over the years.  Upon finishing my shopping, I stood in Gary's line.  There were shorter lines, but sometimes I like my life outside the house to be more than some rush to get back to the house.  So I stood in Gary's line.  Now, my Raley's just put in new self-scanners.  I've used them a few times.  The problem is, the store makes a checker stand in the middle of all four self-scanners - to approve alcohol sales and answer questions, etc. - and if they're not helping someone , they're encouraging those in other lines to use the self-scans.  Of course, the lady monitoring the scanners walks over to me and informs me I can use the scanners.     

"No, thanks," I reply.  "I'll wait for Gary."  And she doesn't know what to do.   

"Okay then, well...Stacy can take you down on 2."

What the fuck?  Did she not hear me?  Did she not wait to actually comprehend my response?

"No, I'd kind of like to wait for Gary."

And I feel uncomfortable.  Was I crazy to want to wait for Gary?  I wonder, did she just think I didn't like her?  Do I have to be totally fucking explicit when someone asks me a fucking question so there are no misunderstandings, hurt feelings, or awkward situations?  I know you're there, scanner monitor.  I got into the line I did because I wanted to.  I know the scanners are there.  How could I miss them?  They are the giant, lit-up, abortion of a centerpiece of Raley's checkstands.  Fuck.      

Easter and the calorie shitload

I run a fair amount.  I'd say I have a maintenance schedule of three to four days per week, with  specific race-training adding a day per week to that.  Holidays encourage me to run a little more, at least until the specific holiday's candy is gone.  Fuck there are a lot of sweets around the house right now.  I don't generally like candy very much.  Reese's Peanut Butter Cups are, of course, rad, but I don't really eat them at all anymore.  Other than that, everyday candy annoys me.  What the fuck does anyone need with nerds ropes or any of that shit?  Easter candy though, specifically the Cadbury Cream Eggs, is great.  My family knows this, so I get quite a few every Easter.  I've got five in the cupboard right now.  I suppose that's one of the real secular meanings of significant days, be they holidays or birthdays or whatever; the idea that you bust out the things you generally can't afford in the name of celebration.  And by can't afford, I mean financially or physically or, more biblically, the fattened livestock you'd never waste on a normal meal.  

  

It's a mystery

I forgot to put out the garbage last Friday morning so I had quite the can-full today. For me, anyway. I don't produce a lot of garbage. Most of what I use goes in the recycling container, most of the rest goes in the compost pile, and whatever's left after all that goes in the regular garbage can. As you can imagine, since the can takes a while to reach take-out potential, it gets to stinking pretty good under the sink. Most of my two-weeks full can had random stuff left behind by my former tenants and not too much of my stuff.

I've got issues with the local garbage collectors. I do some yard work for my grandparents. On two occasions the yard waste I'd left out for the garbage guy to pick up did not get collected because the cans were too heavy. Now, I don't lift garbage cans for a living, yet got them to the edge of the street. The first time it happened, my grandma told me the guy just looked in their window from the street, pissed, then did nothing. The second time, there was a note saying the cans contained rocks and dirt. Bullshit. The cans contained leaves, raked from the grass. Granted, I got a shitload of leaves in the cans on both occasions, but bullshit. The moral is, I'm always a little apprehensive about what goes to the curb. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to jump through hoops for the garbage company, but I sort of do. I don't know what can and cannot be picked up. An old VCR? Any metal? Wood shavings? And yard waste cans cause a little extra worry, since I, as I've written, shove those cans pretty full.

Today I arrived home after buying a coffee to find the garbage truck three doors down. I went inside, got on the computer, and waited. The truck finished with my neighbor's, pulled in front of my house, waited a minute, then moved on to the next house, leaving my garbage and yard waste in my cans. Baffling. I mean, what the fuck? What the serious fuck? Thoughts, of course, raced through my head. Maybe I forgot to pay the bill. I called the garbage company, but no I hadn't forgotten. The lady on the end of the line told me they'd have the truck return. I left for a run and upon my return found both cans empty. Happiness for me. Went inside, cooled off, hopped in the shower, got out of the shower, opened the bathroom window, watched a guy hop out of a different garbage truck than the first one load my garbage can onto the back and drive off. What. the. fuck? I just got around to calling the company again to see if maybe, they were bringing me a new can, but the lady had no idea why they'd taken mine, nor whether they were planning to return with a new one. It'd become apparent, it seems, the universe wants me at war with garbage men.