It's coming on toward sunrise, and our sleep is all crazy, but it's not even synched-up crazy. How well I remember, seems like a few hours ago (OH, WAIT), telling Mike we should use our expires-today buffet coupon for breakfast this morning. Now I'm thinking that, at best, come six a.m. I can run down to the corner for a bag of salted bagels.
Salted bagels. Oh my goodness. Salted bagels. I have spent years missing these so much. Oh, weep for a world that doesn't seem to love salted bagels, at least not in the 'burbs.
On Saturday, I was in the mood for doughnuts, so we drove around looking for a good doughnut place. Krispy Kreme was out of the predetermined driving circle (plus Mike hates glazed-style doughnuts), and Dunkin' Donuts made my head hurt. You can't even see what all the flavours are behind the cashiers. We tried to stand to the side and cock heads and squint and squat to read those labels, but this kept throwing off the brisk traffic of people who wanted to queue up for joe. So, I'm mad at DD. Put your doughnuts in a glass display case I can point at, like the Bible says to do. (I think it's somewhere in Thessalonians.)
So then we drove around some more. It was turning out to be one of those kinds of expeditions. Where are the independent bakeries? We eventually found ourselves at Panera, where Mike spied a giant cheese loaf that he wanted to hold in his arms and gnaw on the spot. But, hello? Prices? Where were they?
Already in a snit with DD, plus very tired (because morning is night and all that), I decided I couldn't patronize Panera at that moment because I don't like having to ask the price of things. My need to stealthily gather all information before making a public, decisive movement is an unshakable part of my persona.
By now my tastebud signals had flipped from sweet to savoury, so bagels sounded good. But the local Einstein's Brothers staff is terse/unfriendly 75% of the time (I am keeping track), and I didn't think my nerves could take it. Oh, wait, what about the bagel shop down the street from home?
So we went there, and that's what I saw in the display case (please note that there was a display case and it was not behind the cashiers nor was any part below squatting level): Salted Bagels. Sold! They were entirely delicious, and this is now our new go-to place for bagels. Also, they have a scallion schmear that beats anything Einstein Bros. has, and their honey walnut spread is as good as Panera's. Salted bagels. So happy.
Other things on my mind this morning:
I have some butt-ugly scrapbook paper from my early days in the hobby. If you, whoever is reading, live in Las Vegas and want it, you can have it. Except I really can't be bothered to schedule anything right now (see crazy sleep comment), so I don't think we can coordinate a meet-up. (Jamie, I haven't forgotten about going to eat some Mex food. I'm just... me?) So, I guess I will keep the paper for school. (Mind draws blank. Paper is too ugly for decor. Hm.)
Ferrero-Rocher chocolate boxes, the clear plastic kind that seat 12, make excellent ribbon storage containers for Club Scrap fibres. (Or any ribbons that you have wrapped around a 3"ish card.) I will demonstrate more later. The top two shelves of my craft area look super-spiffy at the moment. Just don't look at the floor where everything else is dumped while I organize.
I did make the El Dia de los Hammies dip last week, and it was very nice. (I don't think it's as good as Trader Joe's, but Mike liked it better.) Photos and reckoned-out recipe to come...
Remember when I dropped the soup bowl last week? (And lost all of the beautiful paneer and sauce Mike made for me? And the sauce was red, so when I looked down, I went a bit speechless and funny at the sight of so much "blood" coming out of my hurt feet?)
I had a few cuts from that incident, bandaged by Dr Hubby, but something must have gone weird with one of the cuts or the bandage, because when the Band-aids came off, there was a tiny blister next to one of the abrasions. (And I've been wearing flip-flops pretty exclusively these last few weeks, so nothing else was touching the cut.)
Anyway, want to hear something gross? So, I'm playing with Sherman, and he's running around my lap as I sit on the floor. When suddenly, OW!, there's Sherman, tearing that blister off.
EWWwwww. I know.
It was just a little blister, but it wasn't ready to leave, and it hurt. And now, instead of a tiny slice-line like the other cut on that foot, I have a dime-sized purply-red raw spot that, I swear, seems a little puffy. Maybe. So now I'm paranoid about that. "What did you do over your summer vacation, Miss?" "Oh, I had to get my foot amputated because a hamster ate the blister off of it." Doesn't that sound like just the sort of story someone would tell?
I'm keeping an eye on it. This isn't on my list of Acceptable Ways to Go.
What else? The midsummer festival is all aglow in World of Warcraft. Mike solo'd the Exodar and Darnassus with my character, stealing those cities' flames for me so I wouldn't have to put down National Geographic's Stonehenge issue. When I gave up on sleep, I finished the job by raiding Ironforge and Stormwind. Yes, all by myself! *strut* (And all of this comes on the heels of Mike and I successfully summoning the Frost Lord in Zangarmarsh yesterday. He killed us, sure, but we completed the quest chain all the same. Retribution paladins do not suck.)
So now I have the special midsummer dress that sparkles like fireflies when I dance, and the elite glowy-crown. I have 200 summer blossoms left to spend, so maybe I'll get the sandals, too. Am I not such a warrior princess?
(And some people think World of Warcraft is such a guy-thing. Ha.)
Mike is up, lauding praises upon my becrowned noggin', and now you know just how pathetic we are. Between the crown and the salted bagels, if I do die from Sherman's blister thievery, at least I can go happy.
I wonder who's open for breakfast?
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