Sometimes It’s Better When Someone Else Does It

So there I was … one-hundred and thirty-two hours later and a sandwich in my hand.

As a parent, the end of the week hits hard, and by dinner time on Saturday night I’m exhausted. People with two full-time jobs understand what I’m talking about. The week sucked up my patience and my awesome culinary skills. When I was single it was take-out night. Thai food. When I was in college it was Cup-O-Noodles night. But seeing how I have a three-year old Pad Prik King, Pad Thai, or Cup-O-Noodles may not be great ideas.

So it was pasta for my three-year old kid, sweet potatoes for the baby … and for me … well I had to wait until after their bed time to eat. At nine o’clock at night I didn’t much feel like cooking up a storm and leftovers, well I wasn’t feeling them. So I turned to my deli meats.

Club Sandwich (Photo credit: SocialMediarts.com)

I sat there on the couch eating a sandwich. I always pride myself in what ever I make. Even my sandwiches are pretty tasty. Got the turkey, mortadella, ham, havarti cheese, avocado, deli mustard, etc… But something was missing.

It looked good. It tasted good. But still something was missing … 

Someone else didn’t make it for me. 

I don’t know if it’s just me, but sandwiches always seem to taste better when someone else makes them for you. I don’t know if it’s because my dad was an awesome sandwich maker, or I enjoyed club sandwiches at delis, but something is always tastier when the sandwich is made for you.

Maybe it’s the way they spread the deli mustard, or cut the tomatoes. Maybe it’s the way they leave the french bread in the toaster oven five minutes instead of four. Maybe it’s the Vlasic pickles. Maybe it’s because it’s accompanied by those awesome deli potato chips — the Kettle Chips and not your kid’s Goldfish Crackers.

I don’t know what it is, but it happens. It’s tastier.

But I was hungry, so I had to make do with my pickle-less sandwich and Goldfish Crackers.  

 

 

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Three Packets, and I Still Got My Ass Kicked … But Jet Li Helps.

It didn’t turn out the way we thought it would.

A nice dinner in a trendy Big-Bad-Voodoo-Daddy restaurant/bar, followed  by an evening of relaxation. Simple, yes?

No.

Not for the Guat.

There was nothing Big Bad Voodoo Daddy about it … Just bad.

The service was slow, the food was bad, the dinner was overpriced, and the wine glass was not half full. Not cool, man.

Once again “me time” bites me in the ass. “Me time” … time away from your kids so that you’re not a parent for five seconds, time away from your job so you’re not working for “The Man” 18 hours a day, time away from school so you’re not having a nervous breakdown from all the stress of a higher education. This is “Me Time.”  And once again it bit me in the ass.

First it’s my near-death Pinkberry experience, then it’s my mission eight o’clock falling up the stairs (yes I said up) experience, which resulted in a bruise the size of a watermelon on my hip area, and now this. Me time is being challenged by forces of the universe.

Sal De Uvas Picot...didn't help me this time.

Three packets of Sal de Uvas Picot and I still got my ass kicked. One packet usually does the job when I have an upset stomach, but this food entity inside me was cruel. It just laughed at my efforts.

It laid me out…I’m down for the count, still. I went to the porcelain thrown and had that not so good feeling rumbling in my stomach and esophagus. I was grossed out. I literally grossed myself out.

Oh-oh.

I knew it was coming.    

And then there it was … I threw up the sad three-course dinner. I don’t like throwing up, I imagine most people dislike this experience. But the stomach is a powerful thing. It’s part of the digestive tract. It’s in charge of phase two. Apparently the enzymes and acids did not agree during phase two, tragically for me.

So needless to say it took me a while to recover. I was down for the count.

So here I am feeling wretched and hoping it’s not food poisoning, because I sincerely don’t want to visit the porcelain thrown all night.

After my episode, I laid down on the couch, curled up on my side, flipping through the channels.

image via ma-collection.com

Then my dude found him on TeleFutura. He was kicking ass and he made me feel better.

I mean I didn’t imagine I would end up watching a 1994 Jet Li movie dubbed in Spanish:  Puno Legendario. Fists of Legend.

Ahhhhh … nothing like watching Jet Li kick ass to help keep my mind off my stomach kicking my ass.