Crap.

I just went on thesaurus.com to look up a synonym for “poop.” Because when I was thinking of one word I could use to describe this week, the only word that could come to mind was “poop.” But I didn’t want to title this post “Poop.” I wanted to sound more mature, so instead, I settled for the more accepted synonym above. Now there are many literal and figurative ways why my week could be fittingly described by this word.

1. To start, I got my second stomach bug of the quarter on Monday. Though it wasn’t as bad as the one I previously got (which I described in great detail in this post), it did result in some digestive troubles for the next few days.

2. Second, I had a pretty shitty (pun) weekend. I, once again, was holed (second pun) up indoors for most of this gorgeous weekend writing the second chapter of my honors thesis. And now, my brain is pooped (third pun?) and that explains the theme of this post.

One of my goals on the list is to write up a draft of all three chapters of my thesis by the end of this quarter. Now, considering that the quarter is going to end in two weeks and I have final course papers to write in those two weeks, I will make an amendment, because I really believe I can finish all three chapters of my thesis not at the end of this quarter but at least before the beginning of next quarter. (This means during Spring Break.) I say this because I really don’t want to be holed up in my room writing my thesis when it’s gorgeous outside everyday during Spring Quarter. I’m a senior, goddamnit! So there, AMENDMENT MADE.

3. But(t, I’m really stretching–haha– the theme here), the ONE good thing about this weekend was really good. Despite the frustrating car-less commute to the city, I had a wonderful date night with Tony on Saturday night. This time, it was my turn to host and I decided to take us to a Spanish tapas restaurant called Bocadillos.

 

FullSizeRender (2)

We  made a reservation for 6:15 but because public transportation sucks, and because there was a parade unexpectedly worming through the streets and closing down walkways, and because I was wearing wedges we arrived later than 15 minutes after the reservation time, and that’s not very good restaurant etiquette. Anyway, though we lost our reserved booth, we got seated at a counter— not the counter— but a secondary counter. It was all fine anyway. We got a bottle of Isastegi cider to share, which was made from fermented apples and it tasted weird but what alcoholic beverage doesn’t?

Am I the only one asking this question? Does this mean I’m not an adult?

And because we were starving from the 20-minute walk from the BART station to the restaurant, we ordered the recommended number of dishes to share between two people. Starting with an endive salad and following that with a succulent squid dish that was too delicious to even take a picture of.

And then we ordered more, like a whole plate of jamón serrano, which I never really learned to like (even when I had the really good ones from studying abroad in Spain). But I knew Tony would like it.

 

Jamon Serrano
Flesh.

Side note: maybe the reason why I never learned to like this Spanish delicacy was that when we went to a jamón tasting in Extremadura, they thought it would be a great idea to first, introduce us to the pigs.

But those pigs...
But those pigs… And of course I’m wearing black…

But I digress.

This next dish requires special recognition because I think it goes quite fittingly with my now sufficiently-developed theme for this blog post.

4. We also ordered the chorizo (or as Tony would say “choritho”) with an added poached egg for $2 because, apparently, poached eggs cost $2. It was delicious, though.

 

Get it?
Get it?

P.S. I’m very sorry about the immature jokes made in this post, but I just wrote a 20-page chapter on a food-based performance art piece that did NOT, in fact, include food (imagine that!). I think that’s enough of an excuse.

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