artykins

So I'm sitting at my dining room table at the moment with my hair up in a towel and a big, fluffy white robe on.  I got this robe on honeymoon and it has to be one of the nicest ones I've ever worn.  Matt got one just like mine, except his is a chocolate brown color.  I like to think of him as some kind of bear when he wears it, but I'm sure that's only my overactive imagination at work.

I've been a busy girl as of late!  Shows, movies, markets, shopping, laughs (there are always laughs) and some rough patches.  You can't have the good without something not so good to compare it to.

Last week I had the pleasure of going to see Spamalot with my brothers, mom, uncle and Chrissy.  It's playing in the city currently at the Golden Gate, which meant that we had some fun walking there.  We all hopped BART, met up at the City Center for dinner and some window shopping (all except me, who bought my mom some very nice Jo Malone perfume that strongly resembles the smell of pikake blossoms).  My mom and I love and adore the scent of pikake blossoms, my mom because it's one of the first presents my dad ever bought her (a small bottle of pikake perfume) and me because it reminds me of the story behind it.

Since pikake is hard to come by and can be prohibitively expensive for the good stuff, my mom and I were pleased to find so close a match at a reasonable price.  The plus side is also that there's nothing synthetic in Jo Malone's stuff.  At least the base of the perfumes aren't synthetic, which pleases me immensely because I have such sensitive and finicky skin.  Come to think of it, my hair and my skin are picky.  I have tried and true methods by which to keep them both happy.  For my hair, that means a daily dose of leave-in conditioner creme with a UV block in it followed by an anti-frizz serum.  For my skin, it means Aveda products for main care and Neutrogena daily moisturizer with an SPF of 45 in it.  Naturally, it's paraben-free and doesn't have any nasties.

But all that aside, the main enjoyment of Thursday night was the show.  I didn't know what to expect, really.  I mean, I love Monty Python.  I was introduced to British humor through my uncles, who gained an appreciation for it themselves long before I was born.  I grew up watching Monty Python and Fawlty Towers.  I grew up laughing at Edina Monsoon and Patsy Stone.  Of course, my appreciation for British humor at a young age was fortuitous in many ways because of Matt.  He's got an amazing sense of humor and the fine art of sharp-witted comedy isn't lost on him, so the two of us can sit and watch an episode of Fawlty Towers and laugh at all the nuances together without having to explain anything to one another.

To be fair, though, I don't think I'd keep company with someone who had the personality of a gym sock.

Saturday, Matt and I went to meet up with Uncle Benny in Walnut Creek.  We went to Plaza for breakfast and then meandered over to the farmer's market across the street from where Diana lives.  She wasn't there that morning.  She and her parents had gone into San Francisco for some soul food at a famous place there.  It's the only place Diana has eaten grits that she likes.  And when Diana likes something, it's gotta be good.

The reason for the farmer's market in the past has been the kettle corn tent.  Sweet, salty, crunchy goodness sold in three different sizes, guaranteed to bring joy and joyness to all who eat it.  Last week, though, I discovered the citrus tent.  It sells other things too.  I saw tomatoes (which I had to stop myself from buying all together because if I had bought some I would have eaten them right then and there like apples, they were so delicious).  There were also peaches and nectarines, almonds, walnuts and some honey, but the real stars were the oranges.

I love oranges.  I hesitate to buy them, though, because the ones at the stores are usual flavorless spheres of melancholic feelings.  It's true.  Every time I buy some, I'm sad because they really aren't worth the money spent on them.  But two weeks ago there was a day of magic.  Plane tickets to Hawaii and amazing oranges.  My life, with the addition of a small bag of kettle corn and prospects of seeing a baseball game with fireworks to follow, was complete.

Well, this past Saturday I made special arrangements to meet up with Uncle Benny specifically for the purpose of going back to the citrus tent of glory and buying more oranges.  I had to buy more because the other ones didn't last more than a day.  I bought four the first go around and within 24 hours they were all gone.  It was beastly and I say that because I shared them, which was stupid of me.  I shared every single one and then was left with none and sadness abounded.

But lo and behold, the citrus tent was back this past weekend and I bought oranges for the week!  I didn't really talk to the orange man, but if I had, I would hope the conversation go something like this:

Orange Man: Good morning!

Me: Hello!

Orange Man: Can I help you with anything?  Perhaps grab you some tomatoes from the other end of the tent?

Me: No, thanks, as tempting as that is, I'm here for other stuff.

Orange Man: Are you a local?

Me: Not for this particular farmer's market, no.  I'm visiting my uncle.

Orange Man: Weren't you here last weekend?

Me: Yes.  I drove out then too.

Orange Man: I remember the curls.  You came all this way just for my stand?

Me: Yes, sir.  I'm addicted to your citrus.

That conversation would have been amazing.  But as it is, I have an orange with me right now, sitting on a plate in front of me, waiting to be peeled and eaten before bed.  And here is where I leave you for what, I'm sure, is going to be an equally amazing experience.

I think I may even share some with Matt.