Sunday, Sunday

I just finished my breakfast of saffron yolked poached eggs and thick center cut bacon from pork raised without antibiotics that cost $1.13 a slice (there were eight slices; I let you do the math). It was delicious (better be) - like eating a slice of pork chop. The jewel-toned eggs were topped off with hollandaise and a sprinkle of hot smoked Spanish paprika. Oscar got to clean the plate.

It's Oregon weather again today, and I'm still not complaining. It's cool and well... pretty fantastic in my book. In April, the heat was turned off, the AC on, then back off, and now, in May, I'm contemplating turning the heat on again. I refuse to put the flannel sheet (too hot blooded for plural flannel), back on the bed or take down the winter clothes - that would surely jinx everything. That reminds me, I need to put clothes in the dryer. BRB.

I don't have to clean today. Did that Friday night before friends came over for some pre-dinner refreshments. Dinner was at Dos Perros, in case you were curious. Sweet potato empanada (spell check says... Pasadena) with chipotle fig sauce. Watery, boring butternut squash soup (disappointingly so). Where were the pepitas? The guacamole was excellent though.
As a side note, if I ever cross over to the dog side and get a female dog, I am so naming her Pepita; it is just too fun to say. No name stealing now.

While following a friend through the UNC campus yesterday on our way to see Iron Man III, we stopped at a light. A young man was waiting to cross Columbia, dressed in butter yellow Bermuda shorts, short sleeved blue and white striped shirt, and tan boating shoes. He was probably 6'2", lean, slightly tan, with thick light brown hair, and the carefully manicured facial stubble that is so popular (and annoying). (It was a long light with no turn on red y'all; lots of observation time.). He looked like a Ralph Lauren ad. I thought about how young he was and how his whole life was ahead of him and just in general wondered what in the hell is it like to be so damned good-looking. King of the world.
As we waited for the movie to start, Erin leaned over and asked if I had noticed the young man at the light. She'd been thinking the same things.

There was no point to that snippet, just an ah youth kind of a thing.

Iron Man III was funny, but about 20 minutes too long, which was about the amount of time Goopy Gwyneth was on screen. Coincidence?

I'm going to go rearrange some furniture and then put it right back the way it was.

Enjoy some Jono McCleery on this gray, drizzly [fantastic] day.