I turned 24 on Monday. I wish I was one of those people who grew more graceful with age, but I fear that I am actually regressing as a human being. Case in point: I can no longer be in our apartment for more than 10 minutes without changing into sweatpants. No more real pants for me, folks. Part of the blame belongs to our apartment for being so ridiculously chilly, and part of the blame should go to the makers of skinny jeans and their desire to prevent women from bending their legs.
Anywho, let’s get back to my birthday. Let me tell you about what a wonderful husband I have been blessed with. This fella biked home during his break between classes and washed the dishes, made the bed, bought me flowers, and decorated the bathroom mirror with a ‘Happy Birthday!!’ sign made of sticky notes (this appears to be the place that we decorate the most often with celebratory signs). It is clear that we are soul mates because he understands that cleanliness is the way to my heart (and chocolate, of course, which he provided in the form of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream). He’s a pretty stellar guy.
We decided that we would go out to eat for my birthday. We haven’t really tried many restaurants in Eugene due to the fact that we have yet to win the lottery, but there are a bunch of places that we really wanted to try. So after spending a great deal of time taking suggestions from friends, perusing Yelp reviews, and consulting menus, I decided on Belly, a restaurant that serves local, seasonal food, and changes its menu each month. So we got all dressed up (i.e. I straightened this mess of hippie hair), and Eric checked the website for the address. Somehow, in all of my research, I neglected to check if Belly was actually open on Mondays. Turns out they aren’t. Restaurant number 1 fail. So while I sat around pouting that my choice in restaurant was closed, Eric looked up a few more options, and we settled on restaurant number 2. So I changed out of my dress and put on a less festive birthday ensemble. We drove to restaurant number 2, only to find a sign informing us of a location change. So we drove to the new location. It was still under construction. Restaurant number 2 fail.
So we ended up at our third choice for the evening, The Fisherman’s Market. It was open, so that made it the winner for the night. This place is a total dive, but the people were friendly and the food was pretty darn tasty. We split a crab cake sandwich and some Cajun prawn sandwich (which I will say did not taste Cajun at all, but it was still quite delish). It was the best third choice restaurant meal I could have hoped for.
When we got home, there was still a bit of daylight left, so I thought we should take a birthday photo (one, to commemorate my birthday, and two, to prove that this hippie hair can be somewhat tamed). We headed out to our balcony, where I set up the tripod and camera. It was as we were posing for photos that our neighbors (who park directly below our balcony) came out to get in the car. I don’t know why I feel so awkward when someone sees me taking a self-timered photo, but that’s just how it is. So I’m feeling super awkward and trying to avoid eye contact as I fumble with the camera. Then they drive away and I almost knock the camera and the tripod off of our second story balcony. Whoops. So that’s my excuse for the terrible, out-of-focus birthday photo. I was just too flustered to do any better.
Luckily, we soon changed into sweatpants and ate ice cream.
On Tuesday evening, we gave Belly a second try, extending my birthday celebration for another dinner. A bunch of the reviews I read mentioned Belly’s “cool” atmosphere. Perhaps it was too “cool” for us, as we both felt a little out of place. It didn’t help that we didn’t recognize most of the foods on the menu. Eric ordered a pork chop, and I ordered a burger. It tasted pretty good, but it definitely wasn’t the local food dream I had in mind. Perhaps I had built it up a bit too much in my head (for those of you in Lexington, I was hoping for something similar to Alfalfa’s, but this was not the case). Kind of a bummer. And to end the dinner on an awkward note, when we got up to leave, one of those “cool atmosphere” decorations somehow got caught in my mess of hippie hair and I walked a few feet with some beaded thing stuck to my head until it pulled me back. Of course, the hostess watched all of this happen, which only added to my feeling of complete awkwardness.
Luckily, Voodoo Doughnuts was along the walk back to the car, so we were able to redeem our lackluster dinner with some deliciously unhealthy donuts. Eaten in sweatpants at home, of course.