I don’t think my body is used to fried or fatty foods anymore. I felt like shit all day yesterday and had stomach craps that were excruciatingly painful. It was either the greasy, homemade corndogs and funnel cakes that I made for the kids or I had food poisoning from the big bowl of menudo that I at Saturday night. Whatever it was, sucked big time. My stomach still kind of hurts, but the upside is that I haven't really been hungry today.
Yesterday, the kids and I went to the gourmet Mecca known as Central Market. If you don’t live in one of the big cities of Texas, you’ve probably never heard of them. There’s no other store that compares to Central Market. You want Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee? They got it. You want fresh mussels from the Mediterranean? They got ‘em. You want Dr. Pepper from the only plant in the country that still uses the original formula and REAL sugar? (mmm, Dublin Dr. Pepper) They got it. You want a 300lb wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano? You can get it at Central Market. Of course, such things cost big dinero (which your author is not in possession of), so I try to stick to the few items that I needed. I still spent WAY more than I needed to in order to make my Brown Puffed Rice Crispy treats and Protein Bars, and Granola Bars.
Laurie and I watched The Woodsman last night. Kevin Bacon plays a recently released child molester. It’s a little weird seeing him in a role like that, but he was really good in it. There’s a reason why he’s in so many damned movies...he’s a phenomenal actor. Although the subject matter’s disturbing, it’s a really good flick. Plus, you get to see Kyra Sedgewick’s breasts-tasez…they are real and they are spectacular.
Tonight the kids are spending the night with my in-laws. I’m going to cook some stuffed chicken breasts (stuffed with kalamata olives and parmigiano reggiano), take my wife to see The Wedding Crashers, come home, ice down a bottle of chardonnay (1993 Little Penguin from Australia—very good and cheap, too!), and then try to get some booty. I’ve been married 10 years, so the operative word is “try”. Then I'll cry myself to sleep.