When weekends fall on Tuesdays and Wednesdays
I almost feel guilty reminiscing about how wonderful the last two days have been.
Almost.
Monday afternoon found me racing out of class and straight over to Steve's apartment, where Andrew and I conspired to make Jessie move here, then I promptly passed out at 5pm-- only to awaken at 8pm demanding sushi and insisting that there was a cheap alternative. After much interwebbing, Steve and I finally found the spot way down 3rd Ave, and ate at the place that bragged the title, "best way to serve octopus to a first-timer." So of course we had the octopus, a tantalizing martini, and 3 kinds of sashimi, and 2 rounds of Sake, and the spicy tuna roll, and Chemame (which is like buttered edemame), and then more of the delicious spicy tuna roll. Drunk and exhausted, Steve and I retired to do what young, drunk, exhausted lovers do.
Tuesday morning was the perfect opportunity for a Crackrina feast, of hazlenut swirls that were just sweet enough to be a breakfast pastry but not a dessert, Verdura quiche, orange raisin scones, and fresh fruit and yogurt and granola. I went out bike-map searching and shopping, Steve paid his goodbyes to Zillow, and then we met up for a fabulous afternoon bike ride. We explored the path running north along Elliot Bay, seeing the "cleanest" grain processing plant in the USA, getting a local totally lost with Steve's GPS, then making our way up the worst hills in Seattle along what should be renamed "mansion ridge" in Magnolia all the way to Discovery Park and the old lighthouse at its western peninsula. There, while snacking on goat cheese and sesame crackers and grapes, we watched the sun setting on the Puget sound, kayaks buffeted in the waves, barges running in and out, and even three seals calling and playing with each other. It was a scene out of a movie, until 5:00pm hit and 30 joggers and bikers and couples descended on our perfect spot. So, we continued on to the Chittenden locks, saw the fish ladder, and walked across to Ballard, where happy hour and delicious sweet potato fries awaited us at King's Hardware. Full and sore from battling 15 miles of hills, we caught the bus home, robbing the same local we had gotten lost earlier of a spot on the bus's bike rack-- we hid our faces when the bus passed her.
Today was lovely as well. I woke up very rested to a business phone call for Steve-- who had forgotten that 10am is really 7am Seattle-time-- and spent the rest of the day in and out of sleepiness. Profuse cuddling, reading a good novel, insisting Steve send out emails, pitas and hummus, napping and more cuddling, and finally at 4pm I roused for real. I made the demanding 1.5-mile-uphill bike ride to my own home, where I did a bit of cleaning and some working out and catching up with my roommates and general life-organizing. Now I'm showered and rested and ready to go pick up Steve, make some quesadillas, and go back to bed early in honor of a 4:30am airport run I'll be making. Yes, he's heading down to Santa Barbara to make one month's rent in 6 days of working. I'm trying to be very supportive, but I'll miss him bunches.
So sue me if the last two days have been amazing. Shouldn't everyone enjoy 2 days off in the middle of the week as much as any old weekend? Even if it's because your company laid off 25% of their employees? I refuse to feel guilty over so much happiness, regardless of where it came from.
Almost.
Monday afternoon found me racing out of class and straight over to Steve's apartment, where Andrew and I conspired to make Jessie move here, then I promptly passed out at 5pm-- only to awaken at 8pm demanding sushi and insisting that there was a cheap alternative. After much interwebbing, Steve and I finally found the spot way down 3rd Ave, and ate at the place that bragged the title, "best way to serve octopus to a first-timer." So of course we had the octopus, a tantalizing martini, and 3 kinds of sashimi, and 2 rounds of Sake, and the spicy tuna roll, and Chemame (which is like buttered edemame), and then more of the delicious spicy tuna roll. Drunk and exhausted, Steve and I retired to do what young, drunk, exhausted lovers do.
Tuesday morning was the perfect opportunity for a Crackrina feast, of hazlenut swirls that were just sweet enough to be a breakfast pastry but not a dessert, Verdura quiche, orange raisin scones, and fresh fruit and yogurt and granola. I went out bike-map searching and shopping, Steve paid his goodbyes to Zillow, and then we met up for a fabulous afternoon bike ride. We explored the path running north along Elliot Bay, seeing the "cleanest" grain processing plant in the USA, getting a local totally lost with Steve's GPS, then making our way up the worst hills in Seattle along what should be renamed "mansion ridge" in Magnolia all the way to Discovery Park and the old lighthouse at its western peninsula. There, while snacking on goat cheese and sesame crackers and grapes, we watched the sun setting on the Puget sound, kayaks buffeted in the waves, barges running in and out, and even three seals calling and playing with each other. It was a scene out of a movie, until 5:00pm hit and 30 joggers and bikers and couples descended on our perfect spot. So, we continued on to the Chittenden locks, saw the fish ladder, and walked across to Ballard, where happy hour and delicious sweet potato fries awaited us at King's Hardware. Full and sore from battling 15 miles of hills, we caught the bus home, robbing the same local we had gotten lost earlier of a spot on the bus's bike rack-- we hid our faces when the bus passed her.
Today was lovely as well. I woke up very rested to a business phone call for Steve-- who had forgotten that 10am is really 7am Seattle-time-- and spent the rest of the day in and out of sleepiness. Profuse cuddling, reading a good novel, insisting Steve send out emails, pitas and hummus, napping and more cuddling, and finally at 4pm I roused for real. I made the demanding 1.5-mile-uphill bike ride to my own home, where I did a bit of cleaning and some working out and catching up with my roommates and general life-organizing. Now I'm showered and rested and ready to go pick up Steve, make some quesadillas, and go back to bed early in honor of a 4:30am airport run I'll be making. Yes, he's heading down to Santa Barbara to make one month's rent in 6 days of working. I'm trying to be very supportive, but I'll miss him bunches.
So sue me if the last two days have been amazing. Shouldn't everyone enjoy 2 days off in the middle of the week as much as any old weekend? Even if it's because your company laid off 25% of their employees? I refuse to feel guilty over so much happiness, regardless of where it came from.