August? We didn't have one.

Pancakes make the world go 'round.

Fact.

Pancakes with sprinkles make my world go 'round.

Also fact.

 Sometimes I get up before the sun.  And always before Wilberforce.  Sometimes I go out for a run.  Sometimes I go to the gym.  And sometimes I bake.

I've never accused myself of being normal.  I have genetics to thank for that.

Although, my genetics don't give me an overwhelming desire to bake at 4:30am.  Genetics just give me the overwhelming desire to do random things that make others say "you're so weird".  Ahhh, thank you.

 This is shicken.  Not chicken.  Shicken.  Much more fun to say.

This is Lemon Thyme Stuffed Shicken.  It was going to just be plain ol' baked shicken for meal prep.  But I have this thing about touching chicken.

I don't like to.

So I use a kitchen shears to stab the chicken in the package and put it in the pan.  Yes, a fork would work, but that sounds like doing the normal thing.  We all know how I feel about normal stuff.  Un-fun.

Anyhizzle, I stabbed that shicken and put it in the baking dish.  I stood.  I stared.  I pondered.

There's a hole in my chicken, dear Liza, dear Liza.  There's a hole in my chicken, dear Liza, a hole!

Then stuff it, dear Daisy, dear Daisy.

You would not imagine how much happier life is when nursery rhymes are constantly playing on repeat in your head.  And so helpful sometimes!

So I stuffed those shicken holes.  Stuff them, I did.  With lemon thyme. That Liza knows what's up.  The shicken was delicious.

 Don't tell Mom, but I may have accidentally walked out of her house with a baby spoon last time I was home.  That baby spoon isn't complaining, though.  I eat every single meal with that spoon.

Unless a spoon is considered unwieldy for a particular meal.  In which case I use a cocktail fork.

Adult-size utensils are so overrated.

Also, since I enjoy using this baby spoon so much, I've been on the hunt for more baby spoons like it.  I cannot for the life of me find metal baby spoons!  They're all plastic and bright colored and stupid.  Stupid stupid stupid.  As if children these days can't handle biting a metal baby spoon?  I still have decent teeth and I'm assuming the baby spoon found in my parents' house was once shoved in my face full of mashed up peas and carrots.

Kids these days.  Such wienies.  Can't even handle metal spoons.  That's the problem with the world today.

Sometimes I eat in my car.  I'll pretend it's not while driving in Denver traffic.  But ya do what ya gotta do.  And this kid has gotta eat.  All.  The.  Time.

 This peanut butter.  No words.  Wilberforce loves it.  I love Wilberforce.  So I walked across Boulder in 100+ degree heat to find the stuff.

The things I do for that boy.


Aaaannndddd....the things he does for me.

Like the time I slammed the ice bucket back into the freezer, causing an ice cube to drop into the motor, chip the fan blade, and pretty much put our entire fridge out of commission.

Wilberforce spent the entire afternoon performing surgery on the freezer, dissecting the entire thing.

 These are freezer guts.  And it wasn't until all the guts were removed that he discovered I chipped the fan blade, which requires the fridge guy to come replace.  Whoops.

Guess he earned that peanut butter.




I'm impressed with many things in this world.  Libraries.  TVs.  Cell phones.  Can openers.  Handyman husbands.  Toilets.  Smith machines.  Lululemon.

The postal service is not on my list of impressive things.  Here's why:

This is a box of Christmas cookies we sent to Joshypants in Seattle.  In Decemeber 2012.

It was in our mailbox last week.  Return to sender.

Where, oh where, have you been my dear cookies.  For the past nine months. 

Good thing it wasn't anything important.  And no, we didn't open them.  We were scared of what might be growing in the box with the cookies.  Of course, they were just oreos we had covered in melted candy coating and decorated with sprinkles.  I'm pretty sure none of those things are considered real food...so they were probably still edible.

You know that saying "If it can go bad, eat it.  If it can't go bad, don't eat it."  I think oreos fall under the latter.  Meh.

The point is this: Post Office FAIL.



Another thing on my list of impressive things is Martha Freakin Stewart.  GENIUS.  Few things make me happier than seeing her Halloween Special Edition Magazine at the checkout every year.

And my new skull phone case also makes me pretty happy.




PS.  Wilberforce and I are going to Cabo this fall.  Happy Honeymoon!  Four years late...but whatever.   Not sure if you're aware, but we are totally world travelers.  I can't even count how many international trips I've been on in my 28 years.

28? 29. 28?  Stupid old age.  Potato, potato.  Either way you say it, it's still spelled potato.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  

I still got it.  Even if I'm not sure how old I am.

What were we talking about? SQUIRREL.  ADHD sucks, man.

Travel.  I lied.  I've never left the good ol' U S of A.   Hell, I had hardly left Iowa before I went to college.  And that is not a lie.  I think I had been to Florida, South Dakota, Nebraska, Wisconsin, and Minnesota before I graduated high school.  That, my friends, is impressive.  And if you grab a map, you'll notice that all of those states border Iowa.  Except one.

Guess which one.


Sooooooo.  I had to get a passport.  Mexico is not part of the United States.  I will not make any smart ass remarks about the city in which I work, nor the town near where I grew up.

mmphhasdflkajskdfnlaksfjlaksjdfslkajfs. 

That was tough to hold in.

You would not believe the drama incurred on Instagram when I posted my passport pic the post office took of me.  How dare I smile????!!!?!?!  Some lady even said I needed to get my picture retaken and send another application because my first one with this picture was sure to be denied.

People.  The post office does this.  As in, this is part of their daily routine...the taking of passport photos.  They have signage on the doors and stuff.  If they said I could smile, I'm pretty sure I can smile.  If it's against the rules to smile, they would have said "no" when I asked "can I smile for this?"

People.

I was going to wear my aviators and throw up some gansta signs with the duckface.  That might have caused some problems with the passport peeps.





My dad is like a little fat, cynical Buddha.  So wise.  So full of insight and advice.  So "the glass is not half empty; it's shattered on the ground and I'll probably cut my foot on a piece of it and exsanguinate before I die of thirst".  He lives by Murphy's Law.  I can't blame him.  He's been cursed with the Lenz Luck.

I married out of it.  But sometimes it forgets and follows me.  But for the most part it just hangs out with Dad, making his life difficult.  Like non-stop rain and flooding during planting.  Then non-stop drought during the growing season.  And probably snow by the end of September.  Farmer problems.

During one of our phone chats, he recommended the movie "Olympus Has Fallen".  He said the movie was good, the story was good, the acting was good.  Good.  If Dad says it's good, I'll give it a watch.  He recommended the series "Longmire" which is now on our list of favorite TV shows.  I may not take fashion or food advice from him, but I'll listen to his advice about life in general and entertainment.

Actually, I take that back.  He has great taste in food.  Pizza Ranch, anyone?  Pork burgers?  Sweet corn?  Liver and onions?

 We rented "Olympus Has Fallen" on DirecTV.  He was right.  It was good.  I watched the whole thing, which usually means it's good.



Wilberforce got new glasses.  They make me cross-eyed.  Now I know how Loogie feels.

 They also make my tongue stick out.  That was totally involuntary.

 I brought Wilberforce some coffee one day while he was working.  We sat on the staff patio in the sunshine.  My little clinical pharmacist.



Usually I call Mom and Dad when I'm in the car.  Larry has that hands free calling thingy, so it's pretty safe. Unless I'm driving into Denver traffic...then no talking is safe.

 Denver traffic sucks.  Hard core.


We are gym rats.

 Everybody needs bright shoes for Leg Day.  These shoes are so neon pink that I cannot get my camera to take a decent picture of their color.

 See?  Wilberforce doesn't wear neon pink shoes.  He wears black Nikes.

 I wear neon pink everything.  Especially when running.  Don't wanna get hit by a semi.  That would ruin my day.

 I also like to wear every color of the rainbow, just so no colors feel left out.  Sad colors make the angels cry.

 Huh.

 This day I ran three miles to the gym.  It is exactly three miles from my front steps to the McDonald's drive thru in town.  Coincidence?  I think not.

I shall start running to McDonald's to order a Big Mac at the drive thru.

It's also not a coincidence that McDonald's is right next to the gym.  It is funny.  And it is a test.  And I pass.

I have a feeling that these folks do not pass that test.  Ever.

 This is real life.  I took this picture.  I literally stopped my car in the middle of the road to take pictures of these people riding on the sidewalk.  Then they rode in front of my car.

So I kept taking pictures.  They didn't see me taking pictures, but I don't think I would have felt bad if they did.

Seeing things like this make me want to go the gym even more.  So I go.

 Smith Machine.  Be still my heart.  I love this thing.  Chair squats.  Sumo squats.  Split squats.  Donkey kicks.  Calf raises.  Do allllll the squats!


Wilberforce loves the cable machine.  His arms are monstrous and this is why.

 And then he does rack pulls with light weight like this.

 These are my legs.  I like working legs.  Wilberforce hates working legs, but he does it because it needs to be done.  Ain't nobody wanna have little ol' chicken legs.

 I talked Juan from work into joining us at the gym for Leg Day last week.  I wrote up a starter workout for him.  He killed it.  Or it killed him.  Either way.

Afterwards, he said he hated me.  I think that's a good sign.

 Two is company.  Three is a crowd.  Juan makes a party.

Ha.  Hahahahahaha.

 Happy Friday from the ClarkPharm!

Go out for a walk before the sun comes up.

You'll thank me.

And remember to thank God for his beautiful creations.  And that you're alive.

Cause that's always nice.