Every now and then, someone in the office will bring their child(ren) to work for whatever reason. And they tend to be very well-behaved, so no one minds them being around.
This morning, the woman on the other side of the cubicle decided to bring her two young children to work with her for whatever reason. And for the past half hour and change, I’ve been treated to the following: “<screeching and whining> That’s mine! That’s my *something unintelligible*!”, take the kid(s) out into the hallway, pause a few minutes, repeat.
Look, I can appreciate whatever situation led you to bringing your kids to work with you this morning. But this is a place of work, first and foremost, not a Kinder-Care. Control your kids, or work from home for the day. I didn’t sign up for this.
That’s right—it was my birthday over the weekend. But you had no way of knowing that, so don’t feel too guilty about not getting me anything. This time. And what did I do to celebrate the occasion? Not much—which is exactly what I wanted.
Summary: Got out of bed late with my sweetie. Ventured down into Addison to try (again – *) to hit Royal Spice for lunch. Ended up at Magic Time Machine instead—if you’ve ever been there, you know that we had a good time (for the record, Superman was our server). Went furniture shopping—got the last remaining piece for our bedroom set. Got some cool DVDs from my sweetie. Had dinner at Osaka Sushi. Discovered that Osaka apparently doesn’t give away a free sake set on your birthday anymore. Stuffed ourselves at the sushi buffet anyway.
But just as a reminder that the world doesn’t stop revolving for me on my birthday, I spent most of the next day pulling weeds and mowing the lawn.
(*) Ah, Royal Spice. A very highly recommended Thai spot down in Addison Circle. We tried to go there two Sundays ago, only to find a handwritten sign on the front door saying “We (sic) not open Sunday”. Well, crap. So, as mentioned, we tried again this past Saturday afternoon… only to discover that they only do dinners on Saturdays. Crap again. (Guess we should have paid more attention to the hours sign the first time around, but oh well…) C’mon, Royal Spice—we really, really want to give you some of our money, but you’re making this awfully difficult for us!
There are 600 some-odd muscles in the human body.
If I had to take a guess, I’d say every single one of them that resides in my legs hurts this morning, the result of a gung-ho weekend of yard maintenance.
But have the beds out front been weeded? Yup.
Were the broken (*) shrubs by the front walk cut down? Mmm-hmm.
Did the new beds out back get a metric buttload of compost added to them? You betcha.
Was the former fish pond in the backyard leveled off after the recent rains settled some of the original fill dirt? Well… errr, no, not yet.
Did the lawn receive its first cutting of the new year? Ummm… well…
Did those new beds out back get mulched as well? Not exactly…
(Memo to the muscles in my upper body: You’re next.)
(*) We have… that is, had these two shrubs flanking the front walkway, just off the sidewalk. Mysteriously, just before the Christmas holidays, I discovered that both of them had been damaged beyond repair, pretty much split right down their trunks. They weren’t run over (no tire tracks, plus you would have had to plow over our mailbox to get to ’em). I’m pretty certain that lightning didn’t strike both of them. My guess? One of the neighborhood skate punks—who have this tendency to use the neighborhood’s walkways as their personal jump ramps—launched themselves off the steps on our walkway, ate it, (repeat), landing in each of the bushes in turn. Then ran off without so much as a knock on the door. Assholes.
A pitch-by-pitch account of our recent dining out experiences at three local restaurants (our first time at each)…
First offering: Texas Stardom (formerly Tejas Grill) (Frisco). We were out shopping near the mall recently and decided to try this place that we’d driven by so often. What resulted was a decidedly mixed bag: My choice of carne asada was OK, her choice of the “Lone Star Sirloin” was overdone and flavorless. Disappointing considering the decent reviews of the place. We may have just caught them on an off day, but with a yummy alternative like La Hacienda Ranch nearby that offers up a similar menu, we’re not champing at the bit to find out.
Result: Call it a foul tip… strike one.
Next: Ivy’s Bayou Bistro (Plano). It’s hard to miss this garishly decorated place along 75/Central, and we decided to give it a try after returning home from Houston a couple of weeks ago. I tried their etouffee, and my sweetie had a blackened mahi mahi—and neither of us ended up with anything to write home about. I didn’t think it was possible to make bland Cajun/creole food, but they somehow succeeded in doing so. Pappadeaux, here we come!
Result: Slider looking, right at the knees… strike two.
Uh-oh, down 0-2, and here comes the third pitch: Gloria’s (Frisco). Another place that we’d been hearing a lot of good things about, and since neither of us felt like cooking last Friday night, we finally decided to try out their Salvadoran/Mexican fare. And as they say: “When in Rome…”, so we each ordered from the Salvadoran half of the menu—churrasco tipico (charbroiled skirt steak and Argentinian sausage) for me, mar y tierra (surf and turf, with charbroiled skirt steak and grilled shrimp) for her. The result was a wonderful dine-out experience: well-prepared and delicious food—including the regional side dishes (I love grilled plantains)—and attentive service. We’ll be back.
Result: *CRACK*… it might be… it could be… it is—a HOME RUN! (with apologies to the late Harry Caray)
Eagerly awaiting our next at-bat…