a not-so-laborious weekend recap

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

Hellooooooooo and happy Tooooooooosday! Anyone else suffering from a major long weekened hangover? I sure am. No matter how long the weekend is, I could always use just one more day off to fiddle-fart around our townhouse. But I sprang out of bed surprisingly chipper this morning and was ready to take on the work week. I think it's probably because I took a sleeping pill the night before ...

Anyway, ready for a weekend recap?!

I don't know about you, but I've grown a little weary of chronicling every painstakingly mundane detail of my weekends. It feels tired, and sometimes it's hard to write. Contrary to popular belief, my weekends aren't typically 72-hour, party-til'-you-drop, don't-stop-til-you-get-enough type of affairs. They're more like a I-slept-a-lot-and-drank-a-lot-and-did-a-few-occasional-interesting-things-in-between-all-of-that kind of affairs. So moving forward, instead of listing out every single thing I did, I think I'm going to just give you the highlights and need-to-know-information.

Kapeesh?

Kapeesh.

And how I spent my Friday was certainly not newsworthy. I don't know what brain malfunction I suffered, but I absolutely could not keep my eyes open. I came home from work and immediately laid down for a 2 hour nap. Then I woke up briefly to eat dinner, watch a little bit of TV, and dive into a bottle of champagne Clayton brought home for me. In a half-buzzed haze I made my way back up to bed, muttering something about the American Dream and fell asleep again.

Thanks to Hurricane Issac, our Labor Day weekend was mostly gloomy and drizzly. I didn’t mind the excuse to stay indoors and curl up in front of season 6 of Dexter, but the rainy weather sure didn’t do much for my running. Both my long run and recovery run were taken indoors to the treadmill and even though it’s a stretch to say 6-miles is a “long run”, running 6 miles inside feels like running 20 miles outside. It’s boring and it takes FOREVER. I almost passed out from boredom. Sunday’s 3-mile recovery run wasn’t too terrible simply because I was eternally grateful it wasn’t 6 miles.

But I should count my blessings. 6-mile long runs are going to be nothing but a fond memory because I am now officially in training mode for my next half marathon. On deck for this weekend? 8 miles.

Monday afternoon I finally caught a break and was able to run outside. Feeling so antsy and restless from running in our tiny spare bedroom all weekend, I was ready to spread my wings and run some hills. I chose an extra hilly route that made my thighs burn like the heat of a thousand fiery suns, but it was totally worth it.

Never one to trust the weather, I took my running pack along with me to store my Garmin watch just in case it should start raining again. And what do you know? I was right to be skeptical. About 2 minutes into my run, a refreshing sprinkle began to fall and it stayed with me for my entire 4-mile run. It was refreshing and kept my cool. I only had one complaint about the run ...

There was chaffing. My goodness. So. Much. Chaffing. Though the rain certainly didn’t help the rubbing situation betwixt my thighs, I think the pair of shorts I was wearing is actually too short for me which confirms my suspicions that I am in desperate need of some new running clothes. Only, I’m not willing to pay $30 for one pair of shorts anymore. I’ve grown bitterly frugal in my old age, so if anyone has any suggestions on where to purchase good quality shorts for under $20 (name brands not important), let me know. TJ Maxx used to be my go-to store for athletic shorts, but as soon as September hit, I feel like they ripped anything summery off their shelves and replaced it with pants and jackets. It could be -15 degrees outside in January, but I will still insist on wearing shorts.

Luckily the weekend’s rain held off for a bit on Saturday so we could enjoy the 4th Street Festival of the Arts and Crafts with Colby, Ireli and baby Nico. The 5 of us wandered around the shutdown street and admired dozens of white tents set up for local and regional artists. I love art (and certainly crafts), but I have to admit that even after taking an art history course in college, I'm not too well-versed in the different forms of art. But I can certainly appreciate it! The festival had every possible kind of artist you could imaginepainters, sculptors, metal workers, glass blowers, photographers, jewelry makersand they were all experts in their craft. I saw so many pieces I would have loved to have in my home, but Geeze Louise! The art was expensiveI know a lot of them could very well have been starving artists, but I came to the conclusion that if I shelled out $1600 for an original water color painting, I’d be both starving and homeless.




But I didn't go home from the art show empty-handed. Both Ireli and I purchased small photographs taken with a 30 year-old camera. I chose a collection of pink, red and white daisies and hung it in a simple black frame over my nightstand. The small touch of feminine color looks amazing against our gray bed accessories!

I also met my ice cream parlor soul mate. Feeling almost delirious with hunger and thirst after my 6-mile run that morning, we made a pit-stop at a small ice cream shop a few blocks away from the festival so I could get my glutton on. When I ordered a large Diet Coke (it was technically Diet Pepsi, but I refuse to acknowledge I actually drank that) to accompany my MnM ice cream concoction, the cashier said, “Our large is like, ridiculously large. Is that okay?”

“Bring it on,” I blurted out, my dehydration making me a bit more mouthy than usual.

He brought me my trough of Diet Coke and when he was about to put the plastic lid on the cup, he frowned. “Hmmm," he mumbled, "it looks like I can fit some more in here. Be right back.”

I couldn’t help but respond with, “Bless you, sir.” 

Best tasting Diet Pepsi Diet Coke of my life. 

While we ate our ice cream and I slurped happily on my bucket of diet soda, I became increasingly thankful for my new, space age-y cell phone. The camera on my HTC One X is so good, I captured some of the most adorable photos of little Nico eating a vanilla ice cream cone. For whatever reason, he refused to use his hands and the end result was some precious photography at my feeble hand. 
         


There was a Courtney First in our kitchen this weekend (And no, it wasn't because I dishes for the first time, smart a$$es.)—I made pesto! I know, I know, how can I call myself a true wannabe chef or an aspiring foodie when I’ve never even attempted to make the cornerstone of Italian sauces? First of all, in my defense, I don’t care all that much for Italian cuisine and secondly, pesto looks straight-up like baby poop. I’ve been around numerous friends and family members who have eaten the stuff, and the fact that their pasta comes to the table covered in what can only be described as a “diaper explosion” never left me chomping at the bit to try it for myself. However, once I learned that pesto doesn’t actually include any ingredients that could be found coming out the backside of a person and is the leading lady in several popular Italian dishes (that my hubby loves oh-so-much), I decided to give it a go.

Making pesto is a snap. It’s finding a local grocery store that isn’t sold out of basil that is a complete time suck. Clay and I went to three different groceries stores on Sunday looking for enough fresh basil leaves to yield 3 cups for the recipe, and we only managed to find one, single 4 oz. package. I clearly don’t buy basil on the regular, but I’m guessing it’s pretty popular since virtually every grocery store was sold out. I reckon there is a whole slew of families in this town whipping up some fresh baby stool in their food processors right this very second.

Okay, that’s the last time I’ll reference baby poop. Not the last time I’ll reference it for the rest of my life (or even this week), but certainly for this post.

Pesto ingredients are simple: basil, grated Parmesan cheese, garlic cloves, pine nuts, and olive oil. De-stem the basil, toss in your food processor with the rest of the ingredients, and blend until your heart’s content.  I’ve read other recipes and if you’re feeling fancy, feel free to add a splash or lemon juice or some parsley.

Now, the real question is, “What to do with all of this delicious, garlic-y pesto?”

I opted to take the Mexican-infused route and created what could simply be called Pesto Chicken Quesadillas. I browned a tortilla shell in a skillet with a smearing of pesto and more grated Parmesan. Then I filled the shell with slices of grilled chicken breast before adding another tortilla on top to flip and finish the quesadilla. The end result?

Party in my tummy!


How was your long weekend?

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