Everyone kept telling me I needed some hobbies.I have hobbies! C'mon! Going to grad school again? Memorizing Top 40 hits during my commute to work? Flossing? Paying bills? Drinking wine? Watching Jack cook? Those all count as hobbies, right?
Ehm, no.
So Jack has recently re-taken up the guitar. He's good and is mastering a lot of our "beach hymns" by people like IZ and Jack Johnson. And he rocks "Hotel California," my favorite acoustic song. That counts as a hobby, but he also added cycling.
Luckily, when Jack decided to buy a bike and start riding, he took my measurements and bought me one, too. AND he bought me rollerblades to replace my neglected, dead rollerblades. He reasoned, "you like this. And you need a hobby."
Back to the hobby talk, eh?
So anyway, we've become weekend warriors on the cycling front- he organizes "boy dates" during which the group rides 20-30 miles and stops a brewery halfway through the ride to "refuel." I get sick of the treadmill and agree to try to keep up with him on these epic rides.
Well, they're really not epic, but for this wannabe-cyclist, they're pretty rough. Last weekend, we rode about 30 miles. This weekend, we did 36.
My calves are huge and threatening to burst out of my pantsuits.
[Charming image, no? I'm, like, the Hulk. A non-green, female, non-cyclist Hulk-ess.]
But it's been fun. Every weekend's been fun because we always ride somewhere.
Yesterday, we served at our annual parish festival. It's actually a requirement as parishioners, that you serve in some food tent, game, ticket sales booth, or carnival ride.
Us? We were bartenders. Would you expect anything different from us?
SO Jack got carpal tunnel from pouring about 300 cups of beer and I did the stylish-trying-to-be-cute-bartender and had lots of the guys seeking me out and flirting. I was getting this! I could get everyone the right beer and pour a mean margarita! Yes, plan D! If the hospital administrator gig doesn't pan out, DQ isn't hiring, and my dog-walking business fails, I will become a bartender! I'm GOOD at this and customers are SEEKING me out!
Then my colleague and fellow parishioner came up to say hi. Then she said, "did you realize your fly's down?"
#(*&$@^&^!
Serves me right, I guess, for thinking I was just that popular of a bartender!
We had a great night at the festival, but after being soaked with beer and ruining my favorite pair of fancy sandals, Jack and I left to celebrate our anniversary.
Our anniversary! 11 years of marriage. We celebrated with a big, fancy dinner a few weeks ago because we knew we had to serve at the parish fest. The first year of marriage is celebrated by paper, the second year as cotton. The eleventh year? Bartending at a parish fest, I guess!
For the record, the 11th year is steel and we're investing in the best knives we can find. With Jack as Head Chef, his chief complaint about our kitchen is our dull knives. I cannot have a chef disgruntled by poor knives.
Otherwise, work's been going well. Summertime always ushers in a slower pace, solely because half the world takes vacation and progress stalls every time I receive an "out of office" reply on urgent emails. I've been feeling like the administrator again lately, working through patient complaints, patient safety issues requiring immediate intervention, and collaborating on system-level projects that will, some day, make a serious difference for our patients. It's an equal mix of short-term and long-term projects that keep me hoppin'.
And when I'm not hoppin', I'm cyclin' now!
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