Weekend Number 12: Saturday

This weekend was particularly kooky. Where do I even begin. Well, let's start with the morning I guess. Saturday John and I woke up, made the bed, un-made the bed (okaay!), and cooked up some breakfast. I love sandwiches, which I've already confessed to you, my faithful bloggettes, so we made breakfast sandwiches. We decided to recreate Jack In the Box's amazing breakfast ciabatta sandwiches . Okay, let's explain these little joyful nuggets: they are warm, soft ciabatta with two fried eggs, melted American cheese and a touch of butter, warmed and made fresh to order. Crap my mouth is watering just thinkin' of them. So we got some ciabatta bread, eggs, cheese, all the goods right? The bread was tough, the cheese wasn't gooey enough and it just wasn't the same--it was good, but not the same. After my tasty yet unsatisfying breakfast we thought to ourselves (outloud), well let's take a walk. Where to? We could walk to the pet store and stare into the windows at all the little kitties and puppies--not enough... we came to a new conclusion: The Zoo.

John lives in Hillcrest and the Zoo is in Balboa Park--not far, not far at all. We took a medium-paced stroll down University Avenue, then Park Boulevard to our destination of the world famous San Diego Zoo. We had a leisurely jont through the park, visiting the petting zoo, the pygmy marmosets and the wolf's monkey exhibit (Kurtis, Matt, Mark and Mike you know what I'm talking about). After dodging strollers and colliding with families no less than 5 strong, we headed to our next destination: The Psychic Fair. My friend Patti at work turned me onto this activity. So freakin' random. It was in like a community center and you pay ten bucks and get two free readings of your choice (permitting availability). First I had my astrology read; she was gooood. I had chills the whole time and everything she said was pretty dead on--she said I was a healer in a past life and I'm very creative and I'm in a relationship right now and I breathe out of my nostrils and I'm so good at blinking it comes almost naturally to me. Amazing. The tarot card lady was next and like "you'll meet a celebrity in 6-months time and you're about to make changes and some things will stay the same and voodoo blah blah"and I just wasn't having her. Lastly they also had free hand writing analysis. This lady pointed at, like a "t" and was like "you're a strong individual" and then would point at a "w" and would be all "you like salty foods" and lastly was like "you're signature is shitty and you push people away." what the hell kind of reading is that!? You're supposed to make me feel better about myself, gypsy whore. I bet her signature is a picture of her shooting up heroine. Bitch.

After the Psychic Fair we were headed back to John's house, but before returning to our destination I ordered a detour. Two words: Cold Stone. oooooh yes, I said it. I love Coldstone Creamery. It's like a vacation to Pleasure Town for my taste buds and oooh was it so well deserved. After all it was reward for walking far and wide. I ordered my ice cream treat (politely if I may add) and sat in front of the store, dining on this confection whilst basking in both the sun's rays and the envious glares of the passer-byers.

One such passer-byer was more like a passer-seller--you know the type: a person of transient status approaches you with the sale of goods. Goods which most likely were stolen or looted and now they are trying to liquidate them into cash so they can buy smack or slick or sluck or whatever it is they buy. Sometimes it's flashlights or radios or Chinese babies or whatever. This particular individual asked if I wanted to buy steak from him. Steak.

Steak.

He tried to sell me steak. Steak that came from Whole Foods. He pleaded that he purchased this steak with his food stamps and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. Is that what steak goes for? How do you meat eaters survive? I mean, no wonder why all you all aren't bitchin' about gas prices as much as I am cuz you're too busy bitching about steak prices. "Come on, buddy. It's grade A, New York Strip [steak]." "No thanks," I quickly and decidedly declined.

I could have said, "Sorry, I'm vegetarian," but that would have been something he would have expected so I just kept it simple. No. Well, the sales person leaves, I finish my delicacy and John and I make our way back to his place, where we play X-men on the PS2 until I cannot even pry my bloodshot, dried-out eyes open any longer. Time for bed. (Continued on next chapter.)