After going to dinner at a Thai place, I spent the night at Steve's house in Santa Monica again. I fell alseep on the couch. Passed out. Dinner was good. Whatever he had on TV was boring, so I dozed off. He woke me up at 3AM when he was going to bed after doing whatever he does on the computer. It didn't matter to me whether I slept on the couch or the bed after being asleep for 6 hours.
I woke up and eat the rest of the thai food that was left over and updated my yelp.com page and got on the road back to home by 9am or so. I went to a baby shower on Saturday afternoon. It was a shower for the unmarried daughter of one of the ladies at work. I'm not sure if it was greed or a nicity, but I was invited.
It turned out to be one of those events that might be career suicide if you didn't attend as the boss of my department went... the gal that called me into to the job that I have now. Her and her daughter that once worked for me as well as her two grand babies were there, too. Besides me, only three other people from work showed up... there were more invited. But it will all come out in the wash, now won't it?
I'm not feeling the effects of the time change - yet. I've been waking up early for weeks now. As long as I get my 6, I'm cool.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
More more more
I hate it when I'm driving to work or at work doing something and a blog topic hits me and I can't write it down immediately to put it down into words later. It's a pain. I keep a note pad in my car, but really when do you get to jot down a damn thing while driving on the freeway in the dark at 6am going 70 mph? You don't. I was thinking of getting a personal digital recorder.
Basic
I think if I had to live in a world where there there were no pot roast nor roasted chicken to eat, I would not want to live in that world.
I made pot roast for dinner. I started with a clod of frozen beef shoulder. Add 4 beef bullion cubes, chopped potatoes, carrots, onions, celery, steak seasoning and a cup of water in a roasting bag and at 300 degrees and three hours later, bingo - dinner.
Thirty minutes into dinner, with me and my son consuming the meal, it's half gone. Yum.
I made pot roast for dinner. I started with a clod of frozen beef shoulder. Add 4 beef bullion cubes, chopped potatoes, carrots, onions, celery, steak seasoning and a cup of water in a roasting bag and at 300 degrees and three hours later, bingo - dinner.
Thirty minutes into dinner, with me and my son consuming the meal, it's half gone. Yum.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Cooking again
I cooked a classic dish called "Chicken with 40 cloves of garlic" today. I edited the recipe to allow me to make it in a crock pot with boneless skinless chicken breasts. It was quite basic and very good. The prepared garlic I picked up at my local Korean grocery store. The rest, I already had on hand. And I made some steamed new potatoes for the starch.
Drama
I'm not sure what's worse - the drama that we carry inside ourselves or the unresolved drama in life that effects those around us. Maybe it's a combination of both to some degree.
Version 1:
It's easy enough to find unhappy men. Men unhappy in their marriage, in their unfulfilled career aspirations, in themselves. I guess what's hard is to find the courage inside to move forward and not dwell for too long on the stuff that depresses you. But how long is too long? When the inevitable conclusion is staring you in the face, does delaying the issue make it any less painful?
I've come to the conclusion that the man I've been dating since 8/13 has become a curmudgeon way before his time. I recognize now that he's been on the autobahn to this attitude because he has low self-esteem and that is something I find harder to deal with than his self-absorbed, crabby, opinionated ways. Add to his cocktail a set of health problems he's waking up to and it makes him seem more like a man who's approaching retirement instead of the age of 41 years he actually is.
Rules are for games. And I felt like a looser in the game of life where he carried the rule book. I was sad for about 5 minutes. I know I was stupid to get involved with a man in who was still breaking up with his wife after almost four years of continued co-habitation.
I took the long way home in Friday night traffic from LA. I watched the harvest moon follow me home. This is the first Friday night I've been home in 7 weeks.
Version 2:
My sexual prowess in bed was compared in contrast to a fat, loud, lying cancer infected alpha female diagnosed as clinically bi-polar who took medication in amounts considered overdosing to most. It's always an ego boost when someone under psychiatric care says fucking a crazy person on a mood swing was better than fucking you. Moron.
The fan must be on. The window must be open. There must be at least two comforters or three or more pillows on the bed at all times in all seasons. The door must be closed. The lights must be on and "without candlelight, I don't feel like I can get in the mood". These are the rules I had to play by in order to deal with an ADD/OCD/diabetic man in bed. I closed that play book. I shut the door. I walked away barely shedding a tear.
Version 3:
He eats and he eats and he eats and then he drink and he drink and he drinks. His consumption is out of control and it's due to his diabetes and not much more. He's waking up to the fact that everything he knows is wrong, everything he thought was true is now false and you cannot live life without consequences. It's not a time to start a relationship. I can't fix him nor was I out to in the first place. I only showed him that dietary dilligence allows you to feel better one meal at a time, one day at a time. And now it's time to move on.
Version 4:
When someone from a website I contribute reviews to posed the question, "Any racial preferences?" I almost wrote, "Race isn't as important as employed non-alcoholic, not married and not having to take any mood stablizing drugs in order to function in society." That would have been the cruel, honest facts I was dealing with. Shit, what a walking mess of a man. And that's not even the half of it.
Version 1:
It's easy enough to find unhappy men. Men unhappy in their marriage, in their unfulfilled career aspirations, in themselves. I guess what's hard is to find the courage inside to move forward and not dwell for too long on the stuff that depresses you. But how long is too long? When the inevitable conclusion is staring you in the face, does delaying the issue make it any less painful?
I've come to the conclusion that the man I've been dating since 8/13 has become a curmudgeon way before his time. I recognize now that he's been on the autobahn to this attitude because he has low self-esteem and that is something I find harder to deal with than his self-absorbed, crabby, opinionated ways. Add to his cocktail a set of health problems he's waking up to and it makes him seem more like a man who's approaching retirement instead of the age of 41 years he actually is.
Rules are for games. And I felt like a looser in the game of life where he carried the rule book. I was sad for about 5 minutes. I know I was stupid to get involved with a man in who was still breaking up with his wife after almost four years of continued co-habitation.
I took the long way home in Friday night traffic from LA. I watched the harvest moon follow me home. This is the first Friday night I've been home in 7 weeks.
Version 2:
My sexual prowess in bed was compared in contrast to a fat, loud, lying cancer infected alpha female diagnosed as clinically bi-polar who took medication in amounts considered overdosing to most. It's always an ego boost when someone under psychiatric care says fucking a crazy person on a mood swing was better than fucking you. Moron.
The fan must be on. The window must be open. There must be at least two comforters or three or more pillows on the bed at all times in all seasons. The door must be closed. The lights must be on and "without candlelight, I don't feel like I can get in the mood". These are the rules I had to play by in order to deal with an ADD/OCD/diabetic man in bed. I closed that play book. I shut the door. I walked away barely shedding a tear.
Version 3:
He eats and he eats and he eats and then he drink and he drink and he drinks. His consumption is out of control and it's due to his diabetes and not much more. He's waking up to the fact that everything he knows is wrong, everything he thought was true is now false and you cannot live life without consequences. It's not a time to start a relationship. I can't fix him nor was I out to in the first place. I only showed him that dietary dilligence allows you to feel better one meal at a time, one day at a time. And now it's time to move on.
Version 4:
When someone from a website I contribute reviews to posed the question, "Any racial preferences?" I almost wrote, "Race isn't as important as employed non-alcoholic, not married and not having to take any mood stablizing drugs in order to function in society." That would have been the cruel, honest facts I was dealing with. Shit, what a walking mess of a man. And that's not even the half of it.
Monday, September 6, 2010
My Labor Day Weekend 2010
I went to the Peterson Automotive Museum in Los Angeles, CA during Labor Day weekend 2010. I was happy to see that they still had the "Stutz" exhibit up after so many years.
After, Steve and I went to lunch at the food court at Mitsuwa. It think that location is the smallest one of the chain in Southern California. I ate a cold udon soup and cod roe upon maserated raddish in a miso broth.
The next day, I took a hike in Peterson Canyon on Orange, CA. It was a 5.5 mile hike and I got a mild sunburn. But as I drove Steve back to Santa Monica, a large bank of fog rolled in over Southern California again. Summer is over. I think we had three hot days of it this year.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The detours of life
It's the end of summer and a few days away from Labor Day weekend. It was hardly a summer at all. No sweltering, sweaty days and balmy nights in 2010, my friend. It's my opinion volcanic ash is preventing that from happening for awhile. I just wonder what's in store for winter. The warmest winter ever perhaps?
I went to the Pasadena Jazz & Blues Fest for a good chunk of the day last Saturday which was about the most summery thing I've done to date besides maybe BBQ.
I'm in Santa Monica again. And I say "again" within the notion that I was here before for love and now, yes, again, I think. The last time was about 15 years ago.
All this getting to know each other better business has been pretty smooth, really. Surprisingly smooth. I guess part of that is with age comes wisdom. Mostly is compatibility which was very hard for me to to find. But then he found me when I was looking elsewhere. It's almost a relief to find someone who mostly thinks about things in a similarity vein as I do. We are not very careful with our words with each other and most of the time that's o.k., too.
As I'm writing this blog entry, he's over to my left beyond the keyboard serenading me, sort of, playing licks on his Ibanez. Coincidentally, I also own an Ibanez, but when I play it doesn't sound anything like what comes out of his amp. Listening to him play makes me want to trade to get a bass.
I'm in Santa Monica again. And I say "again" within the notion that I was here before for love and now, yes, again, I think. The last time was about 15 years ago.
All this getting to know each other better business has been pretty smooth, really. Surprisingly smooth. I guess part of that is with age comes wisdom. Mostly is compatibility which was very hard for me to to find. But then he found me when I was looking elsewhere. It's almost a relief to find someone who mostly thinks about things in a similarity vein as I do. We are not very careful with our words with each other and most of the time that's o.k., too.
As I'm writing this blog entry, he's over to my left beyond the keyboard serenading me, sort of, playing licks on his Ibanez. Coincidentally, I also own an Ibanez, but when I play it doesn't sound anything like what comes out of his amp. Listening to him play makes me want to trade to get a bass.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
So you found out you're... I know, "Don't remind me."
It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that eliminating milk from my diet made me feel better. I discovered it about six months after I moved away from home right out of high school. I began an elimination diet taking out one thing and then adding it back in a month later. Butter was the first thing to go.
I enjoy all different kinds of food and I don't want to feel deprived, so it's not easy. Everyday is a struggle to make good food choices for myself. Eating out has been the biggest challenge. I'm glad I now live in an area where I have access to lots of Asian restaurants and it helps that I actually enjoy that kind of food. Where I grew up, that wasn't the case; a writing sample can be found on Yelp when I wrote about buying a stack of pizzas for the office at Pizza Hut when I worked as a contractor. Farmer's markets have also helped me slow down and plan meals in advance I can make so I don't screw up my diet.
Imagine living in a world where you realize latter your mom is poisoning you a little every day because she fed you something that was known to be a nutritious food and yet your body rejects it and in turn when you complain about a stomach ache, she does nothing. I used to writhe in pain on the bathroom floor after eating cheese, ice cream or drinking milk and when the cool floor tile pressed against my lower belly, I found it was the only thing that eased the pain. It's a wonder I graduated from high school because I was out sick probably for the maximum number of days a kid could be and the majority of the time it was for a stomach ache.
You might have noticed I have a vertical scar that runs from my belly button down to the top of my pelvis. It's not from a C-Section. I've had two major surgeries to remove parts of my intestine because Crohn's Disease runs in my family. At this point, I'm missing about 32 inches of gut so when I have to go to the restroom, the feeling is very intense and I have to go NOW. It's really annoying and depressing to have to know where the restroom is all the time, but I've gotten used to it. The other scar is from having a ruptured appendix which lead to the discovery of the aforementioned disease on December 15, 1985. The second operation on June 22, 2000 left me with surgically induced pernicious anemia so I get a B12 shot once a month. There is also a list of foods that just don't digest well anymore, so I avoid those, too. For example, you won't find me eating a salad made with iceburg lettuce because it works like a laxative on me. On top of it, the disease creates a general malabsorption of vitamins and minerals so a lot of the time, I feel a general malaise and not that energized (hence the state of my condo which I bought in 1999).
The doctors told me because of the scaring inside me from the disease, I might not be able to get pregnant, so when I found my first love/boyfriend in 1986 after living a repressed home life because my mom didn't allow me to date in high school, after being being together for five months, of course I got pregnant and decided to go forward with having a baby knowing the odds that I may not be able to again. I had Stephen in 1987, 4 days after I turned 21.
I had to supplement Stephen with soy formula when he didn't thrive while being breast-fed. It's common for infants to not be able to digest regular cows milk based infant formula and I latter found out that the disease skips a generation in my family, so he thankfully has no issues with dairy, but his kids probably will.
So how do you like me now?
Next time you crave something sweet, my diabetic friend, my advice to you would be, even though at this point it probably goes in one ear and out the other or makes you angry, is to grab some fruit and sugar free Cool-Whip so you don't have to feel so deprived and maybe add just a bit of chocolate shavings on top.
To let know know how much of a food 'nazi' I had to be to keep my own diet on track, during stressful times (especially when I was a contractor) I used to Twitter what I ate daily for all the world to see. Gees, I just realized I have even more food stories to write about... jaundice colored catfish - LOL.
I enjoy all different kinds of food and I don't want to feel deprived, so it's not easy. Everyday is a struggle to make good food choices for myself. Eating out has been the biggest challenge. I'm glad I now live in an area where I have access to lots of Asian restaurants and it helps that I actually enjoy that kind of food. Where I grew up, that wasn't the case; a writing sample can be found on Yelp when I wrote about buying a stack of pizzas for the office at Pizza Hut when I worked as a contractor. Farmer's markets have also helped me slow down and plan meals in advance I can make so I don't screw up my diet.
Imagine living in a world where you realize latter your mom is poisoning you a little every day because she fed you something that was known to be a nutritious food and yet your body rejects it and in turn when you complain about a stomach ache, she does nothing. I used to writhe in pain on the bathroom floor after eating cheese, ice cream or drinking milk and when the cool floor tile pressed against my lower belly, I found it was the only thing that eased the pain. It's a wonder I graduated from high school because I was out sick probably for the maximum number of days a kid could be and the majority of the time it was for a stomach ache.
You might have noticed I have a vertical scar that runs from my belly button down to the top of my pelvis. It's not from a C-Section. I've had two major surgeries to remove parts of my intestine because Crohn's Disease runs in my family. At this point, I'm missing about 32 inches of gut so when I have to go to the restroom, the feeling is very intense and I have to go NOW. It's really annoying and depressing to have to know where the restroom is all the time, but I've gotten used to it. The other scar is from having a ruptured appendix which lead to the discovery of the aforementioned disease on December 15, 1985. The second operation on June 22, 2000 left me with surgically induced pernicious anemia so I get a B12 shot once a month. There is also a list of foods that just don't digest well anymore, so I avoid those, too. For example, you won't find me eating a salad made with iceburg lettuce because it works like a laxative on me. On top of it, the disease creates a general malabsorption of vitamins and minerals so a lot of the time, I feel a general malaise and not that energized (hence the state of my condo which I bought in 1999).
The doctors told me because of the scaring inside me from the disease, I might not be able to get pregnant, so when I found my first love/boyfriend in 1986 after living a repressed home life because my mom didn't allow me to date in high school, after being being together for five months, of course I got pregnant and decided to go forward with having a baby knowing the odds that I may not be able to again. I had Stephen in 1987, 4 days after I turned 21.
I had to supplement Stephen with soy formula when he didn't thrive while being breast-fed. It's common for infants to not be able to digest regular cows milk based infant formula and I latter found out that the disease skips a generation in my family, so he thankfully has no issues with dairy, but his kids probably will.
So how do you like me now?
Next time you crave something sweet, my diabetic friend, my advice to you would be, even though at this point it probably goes in one ear and out the other or makes you angry, is to grab some fruit and sugar free Cool-Whip so you don't have to feel so deprived and maybe add just a bit of chocolate shavings on top.
To let know know how much of a food 'nazi' I had to be to keep my own diet on track, during stressful times (especially when I was a contractor) I used to Twitter what I ate daily for all the world to see. Gees, I just realized I have even more food stories to write about... jaundice colored catfish - LOL.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Funny vs. Not Funny
Funny:
"Blowjobs are like snowflakes... each one is unique."
-Sam Kinison
Not funny:
When it takes over 3 hours to travel 42 miles on the 405 Freeway in Southern California. Atleast I had three XM comedy channels to listen to.
"Blowjobs are like snowflakes... each one is unique."
-Sam Kinison
Not funny:
When it takes over 3 hours to travel 42 miles on the 405 Freeway in Southern California. Atleast I had three XM comedy channels to listen to.
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