Oy, I'm sore.
And apparently I also speak Yiddish. HAHA. (It's funny only if you know my full dating history.)
Anyway, pull your minds out of the gutter, I'm sore because I've started playing tennis again with a vengance. A vengance, I say, as evidenced by my poor sore muscles and the scrounging around for athletic socks because hi, it's been three long months since I've done anything more strenuous than pilates and going shopping (do not try to argue with me, shopping is exercise. I can walk miles if I have pretty trinkets to look at, and then carrying packages is totally like lifting weights). And interesting how all my athletic gear seemed to have magically disappeared mid-transit between Boston and here.
Back to my sore muscles. I've been playing again with a large group of guys, which is great because I always like being the only girl in a group of guys because then I get special nice treatment. (I also like being the youngest in a group of friends, for the same reason. I like being special and unique, you see, but not in that special and unique way. I am all sorts of demanding.) Plus, it's great, because playing against guys means you get to hit the tennis ball HARD and that's great for releasing stress (what stress? I don't do diddly squat) and they're so nice with helping me improve my game, even if I start to zone out, because that's my automatic response whenever a male tries to tell me to do something. It's like, oh yes, paying attention payi --- zzzzzzzzz.
The best part is that we play in the evenings, which means that when we're done? I CAN GO HIT UP TACO TRUCKS (obviously, everything revolves arounds food). Unfortunately for me most of the time, taco trucks are NOT OPEN during the daylight hours, and please, once the sun sets the only thing that can drag me out of the house is alcohol. But! Now! At least once a week, since I'm already out past sunset playing tennis, I can take a circuitous route home in order to pass by a taco truck. And that makes me just so happy, you don't even know.
I forget the name of the particular taco truck from where I got these tacos. Of late, I'm really partial to lengua, which is, yes indeedy, tongue. It is good when they chop it up so that you can't tell it's tongue. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. (I have to admit, though, that when they leave the tongue in large identifable chunks, it's just a little gross.) I'm quite fond of al pastor and carne asada also. And note for those who like spicy sauces: make sure you get the radishes, and lots of them, because they totally neutralise the burning sensation in your mouth after you've had a mouthful of some random deathly hot hot sauce. Mmm.
Tennis and taco trucks. Such a harmonious combination! I highly recommend it!