This weekend was most disconcerting. I got so much sleep it was nearly absurd, and had a lot of fun, considering the circumstances. If you’ll recall, last Wednesday heralded the beginning of my thoroughly modern convalescence, which is to say, continuation of the rat-race albeit medicated. I haven’t had a drop of liquor, wine or beer since my diagnosis, and yet have been utterly loopy due to hydrocodone-based cough-suppressant. Meanwhile, my respiratory bothers are in full retreat in the face of carpet-bombing by fancy, up-to-the-minute, semi-sythetic macrolides in a five day dose that stays in the system for ten days. The only problem I’ve experienced with said regimen is extreme semi-conscious crankiness where Orpheus’ nighttime habits are concerned. Apparently, on Saturday night I was foul-mouthed in my sleep when I wanted him to turn down ‘Drawn Together’ on his computer, and pushed him off the bed with my feet when he dared to snuggle me.
Friday was, perhaps, the oddest day of all. I was feeling done-in, and O. called to see if I wanted to hang out with Basso. Fortunately, Orpheus worked until 8 PM, so I had plenty of time to nap beforehand. We met downtown after O. and I had dinner at a kind of cruddy Italian place frequented by poor students which serves huge salads. We ended up going back to my place, and snuggling like warm puppies all night long. Basso really wanted to doink, but neither Orpheus nor I were feeling any sort of love that night, as we were both so overstretched from last week’s exertions. So, we just ended up making breakfast together and snuggling in a pile for a good bit of the next morning, then we dropped him off at a friend’s place, where I’d assume he went for the sex he’d tried to source from us. At four, we went over to BakedAlaska’s apartment to visit he, his wife QuakerNoOats, and their daughter, EvilGenius. I’ve talked about them before. They are my only close friends with a living, breathing child for whom they’d consider letting me baby-sit. BakedAlaska is named thusly not because he likes the green weed, but because his parents were hippie druggies from way back who raised he and his older brother in a crack-house, then slowly weaned themselves back to whacky-tabaccey only. In Anchorage. QuakerNoOats is so as she is 1) a Quaker (and the most fascinatingly non-judgemental religious person I’ve ever met,) and 2) is allergic to almost everything under the face of the sun, including oats. EvilGenius? More on that in a bit.
They brought Orpheus and I over in order to slake their joint lust for adult contact. Because EvilGenius is freakishly intelligent, she is commensurately demanding of time and attention. Add this to her age of one and a half years, and you get the basic idea. This problem, they figured they’d throw O. at, since he is a bit younger, has less in common with them than I, and has experience working with children. I was to cook dinner after shopping with BakedAK on his docket so as to pick ingredients that wouldn’t kill QuakerNoOats. We settled on fresh pork loin stuffed with chives, dark sweet cherry, black walnut and loganberries (they look like raspberries, but are very tart). I also dumped quite a bit of the fruit into a pan with two tablespoons of olive oil, and over a quarter cup of dextrose, which is a super-sweet substitute for beet sugar, which QNO is allergic to. I’d have used honey if given a choice. We butchered the loin so it unrolled lengthwise into a good foot-wide blanket of meat, stuffed it, tied it in a roulade, then browned it on all sides. We then placed it in a 375F oven, with part of the cherry/berry/walnut reduction over it as a glaze, until the internal temp. was 155F. After letting it sit for juice redistribution, we cut the ties and sliced the roulade into tournedos. The remaining glaze, further thickened on the stovetop, was served over top of said tournedos. The rest of the evening, like dinner, was delicious.
EvilGenius took to O. right away, and took a bit longer to warm up to me. I was the first person to see her aside from her parents and hospital staff, as their family is all in Alaska. It was neat to be there and interact with her, as she’s just picked up basic speech, and exited screeching baby phase. Everybody had a grand time, and though the original plan called for movie rental, we just ended up googling over the baby all night long. The whole rigamarole had me thinking most warm and wholesome thoughts about Orpheus. Rather more warm and wholesome that either of us is ready for, yet. But it was nice to borrow the glow for an evening, and pretend to have a family, even if I probably never will have one of my own. It was nice to feel that way about O. in a way that was deeply satisfying albeit a bit embarrassing, too. Perhaps embarrassing because I know it’s far too early to think thusly, perhaps just out of queer propriety. I mean, aren’t fun-bois too busy having sex and popping pills to have kids? Still, it was nice, just the same.
Sunday was perhaps the most surreal day of all. I had an experiment of attempting to live without the vaunted cough-syrup, and it went rather well with the aid of mucinex. I bought a new 11.5” LeCreuset frying pan, which is the last you’ll hear of it until tonight (its’ maiden voyage). We had a nap, a rousing little dinner, and a hard and fast doink, then got dolled up and went to the Jens Leckman (sp?) concert on campus at the UW. Unfortunately, nightfall and thickening mucous necessitated the lowering of the hydrocodone veil. We took Orpheus’ little sister along to see Jens, and had a grand time. The show was at the old music hall, which is a converted church that served as the university’s first school of music and performance space. The opening “band” were the HoneyDrops, or, in this case, the HoneyDrop, a Swedish group represented by only one of their members, and his Mac. He simply sang, backed by the recordings his band had sent him with, holding Jens’ hollow-bodied guitar as a prop. Afterwards, when the main show came on stage, energy built quickly, and the show was fairly short. Everyone left with a light, happy look on their faces, and a bounce that had no right to be in their steps, at 10:30 PM on a Sunday.
All in all, a really cool weekend. I just wish that I could have forgone the cough-syrup for most of it. I’ve titled the post after a lovely bumper-sticker that I saw today while depositing my check at the bank, amongst other errands… Wish me luck with the LeCreuset, and bon appetite, mes enfants!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Double-meh Friday, Tussionex-style
Well, it turns out that the effect of prescribed hydrocodone (I just want to make that clear, I DO have a prescription, for a damned good reason, for Tussionex,) on orgasm is to make it frustratingly difficult to finish, but to keep one more or less ready for the act until such time as one pops. No wonder sickos love it! I, on the other hand, was not rated for such orgiastic gymnastics last night, and since O. and I had only settled in for a wank, it just got bloody frustrating. In the time it took me to bring myself, Orpheus came twice. This is something of a rarity for him. He was also very kind and supportive, and didn’t complain when it took me an hour. This speaks volumes to his strength of character, frankly.
Other than that, there are quite a few other things that I’m rather un-fond of regarding the Tussionex. The first is that it puts a buzzing pall over my entire day. I have to concentrate very hard on even the simplest of things in order to get anything done at all. It makes me very sleepy, to the point that I had to drink twice as much coffee as normal this morning to be functional. But it completely clears my sinuses, and stops all but the lightest coughing. My nostrils are slowly beginning to put themselves back together from the bloody ruin they had become by Wednesday. And I’ve gotten the best sleep the last two nights that I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Opiates do a very good job zonking one out.
There is a price for anything good, and that price is sometimes quite bad. But the fact that I haven’t had to be home sick is to the good, as far as my bosses are concerned, and the fact that they’ve watched me suffer like a trooper is also good. What isn’t good is the fact that work is making me sick in the first place.
Other than that, there are quite a few other things that I’m rather un-fond of regarding the Tussionex. The first is that it puts a buzzing pall over my entire day. I have to concentrate very hard on even the simplest of things in order to get anything done at all. It makes me very sleepy, to the point that I had to drink twice as much coffee as normal this morning to be functional. But it completely clears my sinuses, and stops all but the lightest coughing. My nostrils are slowly beginning to put themselves back together from the bloody ruin they had become by Wednesday. And I’ve gotten the best sleep the last two nights that I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Opiates do a very good job zonking one out.
There is a price for anything good, and that price is sometimes quite bad. But the fact that I haven’t had to be home sick is to the good, as far as my bosses are concerned, and the fact that they’ve watched me suffer like a trooper is also good. What isn’t good is the fact that work is making me sick in the first place.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Holy Cough-Syrup, Batman!!!
Today has been very odd. For the first time in a long time, I slept quite well last night. The reason, however, is a touch sinister. It turns out, you see, that the freaky-deaky cough syrup I was given by the doctor isn’t a codeine concoction, but rather a vicotin cocktail also containing a powerful antihistamine. I’m higher than a kite, and if that’s the price for not sneezing constantly, having a head stuffed full of acid-green mucous, and coughing until my throat feels as if it is bleeding, then I’ll just be loopy, thanks much. Having said this, though, I think it important to also mention that once I don’t need the crap not to feel like the world is ending, I’m taking it back to the pharmacy for proper disposal. Honestly, I’m a little scared of the stuff. Mom pops it (in pill form, without the antihistamine,) like candy, but she has real pain issues that have nothing to do with the common cold gone bad.
The last time I was on vicotin, it was probably the worst possible choice of painkiller for the situation. I had double dry socket after a wisdom tooth removal, so the problem wasn’t really pain. There was going to be that whether or not I was on an opiate-derived narcotic painkiller. No. What I really needed was upwards of 1000mg of ibuprophen at a time to reduce swelling, make tiny the engorged flesh of my mouth, pressing outward where raw and missing the bone that used to back it. Now, things are different. The discomfort I am in is so much less, and yet so unassailable using the good ‘ol anti-inflammatory analgesics… So viola (the French, not the instrument)! I feel like about $750,000.00 to my usual million, and that’s far more than I can say for the last time I was ill. Plus, there’s a pleasant buzz going which is keeping me from getting truly angry at anything. The only suckage is the low-grade headache that seems to accompany my use of Tussinex. Well, that and the light sensitivity. Small prices to pay, after everything.
What’ll really be interesting, though, is to see if I can stay awake long enough after my evening dose to have sex with Orpheus. I’ve heard weird things about vico and doinking.
The last time I was on vicotin, it was probably the worst possible choice of painkiller for the situation. I had double dry socket after a wisdom tooth removal, so the problem wasn’t really pain. There was going to be that whether or not I was on an opiate-derived narcotic painkiller. No. What I really needed was upwards of 1000mg of ibuprophen at a time to reduce swelling, make tiny the engorged flesh of my mouth, pressing outward where raw and missing the bone that used to back it. Now, things are different. The discomfort I am in is so much less, and yet so unassailable using the good ‘ol anti-inflammatory analgesics… So viola (the French, not the instrument)! I feel like about $750,000.00 to my usual million, and that’s far more than I can say for the last time I was ill. Plus, there’s a pleasant buzz going which is keeping me from getting truly angry at anything. The only suckage is the low-grade headache that seems to accompany my use of Tussinex. Well, that and the light sensitivity. Small prices to pay, after everything.
What’ll really be interesting, though, is to see if I can stay awake long enough after my evening dose to have sex with Orpheus. I’ve heard weird things about vico and doinking.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Five days of soberness...
So, for the last couple of days, I’ve felt a bit under the weather. Last night, I was so overcome by the solid blockage of my sinuses by rubber-cement-like goop that I only slept for about three hours, and that interrupted by frequent hot showers and hot, citrus-y caffeine-free tea breaks. Today, I did my damndest. I showered for about twice as long as usual, attempting to clear my sinuses and head. I got to work early. I hunkered down. I made a doctor’s appointment for during lunch, when I’d normally take a nice nap. And, it turns out, I have either sinusitis, or developing bronchitis, which means no booze or fun of any other sort for five days, until done with the antibiotics. Meh. Why must one always be punished for being ill? It’s already miserable enough in and of itself.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
BF sucks ass (not mine, you idiot, BF!!!)
Aphrodite’s BF is a completely unacceptable human being. I don’t think he has a soul. To make a long story longer, one must start at the beginning, but I’m going to short-circuit so as to waste the least amount of energy possible on that walking abortion. Try, if you will, to remember that Aphrodite has had a long, tortured, on-again-off-again thing with BF, the loathsome toad. There was only one major intervening sub-relation, named Kouros, who was a god carved of flesh, but too nice to A. to be taken seriously by her. She would say of that fiasco that she wants a “challenge,” which is just a dressed-up way to say that she likes to be degraded.
Last night, I wasn’t feeling terribly tip-top in terms of shape. I asked Orpheus, who was staying at my place yesterday whilst I was a-work, to decline any and all requests for our presence out. Unfortunately, Aphrodite called, and she was out of her mind with the need to escape BF for a few hours. Normally, I love hearing her complain about the bastard. So, I gave O. permission to respond in the positive, under the assumption that BF wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, he was. Furthermore, we had to meet at Maduro, a great bar, to be sure, but one that was abusing my poor lungs. It is one of maybe two places in Madison where it’s still OK to smoke indoors in public, legally. Hooray for cigar bars! We moved to a better venue re: my health, the Opus, which I believe that I’ve mentioned before.
At the Opus, everything started well. BF retreated into himself for a bit, waiting for the sushi he ordered to be served, and the sake to be warmed. Then he began complaining about everything. And speaking animatedly about work with Aphrodite, as to solve her rampant unemployment, they created a new HR position for her at his company. She hates it, and it shows, but she bore up well, considering. All the bile and stupidity that came out of his mouth just made me so cranky. I did well, myself. I didn’t give him a good reason to bite, but niggled him just a little all night long. I socialized with the help. (This is one tactic that really gets him, as he actually thinks himself better than the folks that are working their butts off to put his fat, arrogant ass at ease.) I ceaselessly turned the conversation to (more) interesting things, taking over when he truly believed himself the end-all and be-all of entertainment... I gently rebuffed the more absurd of his opinions with fact. Attack BF outright, and he flies into a rage. Poke at him while he’s self-assured, and he becomes confused, retreats a little. I kept him in retreat most of the evening. It was awful. Terribly rude. But he didn’t understand what was happening, and it honestly made me happier than listening to his constant bullshit.
When we finally left the bar, I’d drunk twice as much as intended... However, the second drink was an experiment, a collusion between the bartender and myself. She didn’t charge me, and I believe that she also undercharged for the appetizer that O. ate, as well. I told Orpheus that I didn’t want to hang out with BF ever again. Apparently, Aphrodite agrees... With everything. Including the bit where BF was a douche. I love being right. I hate being right at the cost of my soul.
Last night, I wasn’t feeling terribly tip-top in terms of shape. I asked Orpheus, who was staying at my place yesterday whilst I was a-work, to decline any and all requests for our presence out. Unfortunately, Aphrodite called, and she was out of her mind with the need to escape BF for a few hours. Normally, I love hearing her complain about the bastard. So, I gave O. permission to respond in the positive, under the assumption that BF wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, he was. Furthermore, we had to meet at Maduro, a great bar, to be sure, but one that was abusing my poor lungs. It is one of maybe two places in Madison where it’s still OK to smoke indoors in public, legally. Hooray for cigar bars! We moved to a better venue re: my health, the Opus, which I believe that I’ve mentioned before.
At the Opus, everything started well. BF retreated into himself for a bit, waiting for the sushi he ordered to be served, and the sake to be warmed. Then he began complaining about everything. And speaking animatedly about work with Aphrodite, as to solve her rampant unemployment, they created a new HR position for her at his company. She hates it, and it shows, but she bore up well, considering. All the bile and stupidity that came out of his mouth just made me so cranky. I did well, myself. I didn’t give him a good reason to bite, but niggled him just a little all night long. I socialized with the help. (This is one tactic that really gets him, as he actually thinks himself better than the folks that are working their butts off to put his fat, arrogant ass at ease.) I ceaselessly turned the conversation to (more) interesting things, taking over when he truly believed himself the end-all and be-all of entertainment... I gently rebuffed the more absurd of his opinions with fact. Attack BF outright, and he flies into a rage. Poke at him while he’s self-assured, and he becomes confused, retreats a little. I kept him in retreat most of the evening. It was awful. Terribly rude. But he didn’t understand what was happening, and it honestly made me happier than listening to his constant bullshit.
When we finally left the bar, I’d drunk twice as much as intended... However, the second drink was an experiment, a collusion between the bartender and myself. She didn’t charge me, and I believe that she also undercharged for the appetizer that O. ate, as well. I told Orpheus that I didn’t want to hang out with BF ever again. Apparently, Aphrodite agrees... With everything. Including the bit where BF was a douche. I love being right. I hate being right at the cost of my soul.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Slick as snot, I slide...
Salaam and good morning to you, worthy friends! It’s been a heck of a weekend. Weird, slow, sick, and just plain odd. Wonderful, at moments, and yet running against some sort of grain. This might herald the slow recovery from Orpheus’ internet malfeasance, it might just be because what has come out of my mouth in terms of forgiveness isn’t quite in step with what’s in my heart, or it could be the fifth encroaching cold of the season slowly creeping up on my respiratory system. Either way, I’ve had some fun, but overall there is still some sort of pall over everything in my memory that I can’t quite put a finger on.
On Friday, I’m actually kind of at a loss as to what the hell we got up to. O. worked until 8 PM, we had our chat, and spent a lot of time naked, clinging to one another. I don’t remember much of what we watched or did, except that we went out to do dinner at a place that serves trad. Bachelor food… Burgers and fries. It was good, but the environ was so unsettling that I wanted out of my skin. All cheap tile interior in black and white check with fluorescent lighting will tend to do that, especially when you get the idea that everyone currently dining in the restaurant would rather you were dead than look at you.
Saturday, Orpheus worked a double shift with a three hour break between… This meant four hours in the morning, lunch, and four hours in the afternoon/evening, again until eight. It was terrible. I felt quite sick, and took a couple naps, waking up cranky before we went back to my place so I could pay attention to my slut-cat. We did go to an excellent Indian buffet for lunch, but I overate. Furthermore, I followed up getting uncomfortably full by watching ‘Alien vs. Predator.’ Blech. Fortunately, we had a good dinner, then spent a very memorable late night having some surprisingly rough but very intimate sex. If nothing else, the threeway has us trying new things with each other. Things we wouldn’t have thought up before on our own. We’re far more attuned to one another right now than we were before. It’s kind of neat, and rather necessary.
Sunday started off with a negative bang. As per usual, I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, and couldn’t’ get back to sleep. O. was very cranky, because it was so bright in my room, and he didn’t want to snuggle as he was cranky, leaving me cranky, too. We didn’t go to church, but instead met his family out for lunch in Old Middleton at a neat little restaurant that has gone downhill in the last year or so. All in all, after we left the apartment, it was nice. It was good to see his entire family at once. Up until now, I’ve only met them in fits and starts, one or two at a time. This was all of them at once. His mother is a dear. His dad, if I didn’t know any better, I’d take for a mute, but just kind of sits there and lets the family happen around him. I think that P. is aware that nobody pays him much mind, and the kids tend toward active dislike, at times. But he loves them, and they comfort him just being there. I’ve spoken of Orpheus’ middle sister before, and it’s always fun to have her around. O.’s youngst sister is kinda creepy, but that I was prepared for. Unfortunately, she’s also a mega-Christian, which made it more difficult at times.
We finished off the night, which was a near-whiteout, by the by (damn snow!!!), visiting with Basso and making easter eggs. There was no sex this time, which I was very proud of. I think he’ll work out as a friend. I hope. If not, we’ll have to jettison him, and he needs people too, possibly more than he’s admitted to date. One just hopes he stops getting all touchy-feely when he knows there is to be no sex in the future. This time, it was Orpheus who seemed a bit jealous. Talk, talk, talk… I like to do it, and I think he’s finally ready to admit that it’s necessary to speak about ones’ feelings almost as often as I’m wont to. Anyway, that’s my weekend in a bucket. Just like the cat-puke I had to clean off one of my fav. insulator-tees this morning before work.
On Friday, I’m actually kind of at a loss as to what the hell we got up to. O. worked until 8 PM, we had our chat, and spent a lot of time naked, clinging to one another. I don’t remember much of what we watched or did, except that we went out to do dinner at a place that serves trad. Bachelor food… Burgers and fries. It was good, but the environ was so unsettling that I wanted out of my skin. All cheap tile interior in black and white check with fluorescent lighting will tend to do that, especially when you get the idea that everyone currently dining in the restaurant would rather you were dead than look at you.
Saturday, Orpheus worked a double shift with a three hour break between… This meant four hours in the morning, lunch, and four hours in the afternoon/evening, again until eight. It was terrible. I felt quite sick, and took a couple naps, waking up cranky before we went back to my place so I could pay attention to my slut-cat. We did go to an excellent Indian buffet for lunch, but I overate. Furthermore, I followed up getting uncomfortably full by watching ‘Alien vs. Predator.’ Blech. Fortunately, we had a good dinner, then spent a very memorable late night having some surprisingly rough but very intimate sex. If nothing else, the threeway has us trying new things with each other. Things we wouldn’t have thought up before on our own. We’re far more attuned to one another right now than we were before. It’s kind of neat, and rather necessary.
Sunday started off with a negative bang. As per usual, I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, and couldn’t’ get back to sleep. O. was very cranky, because it was so bright in my room, and he didn’t want to snuggle as he was cranky, leaving me cranky, too. We didn’t go to church, but instead met his family out for lunch in Old Middleton at a neat little restaurant that has gone downhill in the last year or so. All in all, after we left the apartment, it was nice. It was good to see his entire family at once. Up until now, I’ve only met them in fits and starts, one or two at a time. This was all of them at once. His mother is a dear. His dad, if I didn’t know any better, I’d take for a mute, but just kind of sits there and lets the family happen around him. I think that P. is aware that nobody pays him much mind, and the kids tend toward active dislike, at times. But he loves them, and they comfort him just being there. I’ve spoken of Orpheus’ middle sister before, and it’s always fun to have her around. O.’s youngst sister is kinda creepy, but that I was prepared for. Unfortunately, she’s also a mega-Christian, which made it more difficult at times.
We finished off the night, which was a near-whiteout, by the by (damn snow!!!), visiting with Basso and making easter eggs. There was no sex this time, which I was very proud of. I think he’ll work out as a friend. I hope. If not, we’ll have to jettison him, and he needs people too, possibly more than he’s admitted to date. One just hopes he stops getting all touchy-feely when he knows there is to be no sex in the future. This time, it was Orpheus who seemed a bit jealous. Talk, talk, talk… I like to do it, and I think he’s finally ready to admit that it’s necessary to speak about ones’ feelings almost as often as I’m wont to. Anyway, that’s my weekend in a bucket. Just like the cat-puke I had to clean off one of my fav. insulator-tees this morning before work.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Eh...
There’s been a bit of e-unpleasantness over Orpheus’ blog, again. It was more hurtful, this time, though, because instead of mean-spirited unpleasant things coming up about me, he lied about what he’d said, tried to cover his tracks, and when he finally gave me permission to read what he’d alluded to over the phone, I found him out by reading the comments. Coming on the heels of our first three-way in quite some time, this is just a very bad moment at which to need to question my trust in O.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
Eh...
There’s been a bit of e-unpleasantness over Orpheus’ blog, again. It was more hurtful, this time, though, because instead of mean-spirited unpleasant things coming up about me, he lied about what he’d said, tried to cover his tracks, and when he finally gave me permission to read what he’d alluded to over the phone, I found him out by reading the comments. Coming on the heels of our first three-way in quite some time, this is just a very bad moment at which to need to question my trust in O.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Baby steps toward…
I got a call today. It was Orpheus, sounding rather excited. He and Basso, our effulgent (read: pale-skinned and auburn-haired,) friend from Sunday night, made plans to meet for happy hour this evening. I, of course, am encouraged to attend. Normally, Tuesday would be our night off. As interested as I am, I’d have never made plans to hang out yet without O. present. I get the idea they’d have met whether I’d been able to go or not. While Basso is certainly more than worthy to be one of our first joint friends, and quite possibly a sometimes-spice in our sex lives, I’m a little unhappy about these plans. I trust Orpheus, but I don’t know B. well enough to do so. I admit to being quite clingy, sometimes very possessive, and a little hurt by O’s boldness in this matter. I’ll go with bells on, though, because I love him, his spontaneity, and the tingly possibility that hangs in the air with Basso. We’ll have fun, and this won’t bother me. But it will come up in conversation with Orpheus, later.
Monday, March 17, 2008
A thousand little difficulties…
Orpheus and I had a neat little weekend, though penetration-free. There was flirtation with the idea of a three-way with a very good friend (and ex-f-buddy,) of mine who came to town, but his incessant, nervous conversation at dinner on Friday kinda ended that idea. On Saturday, I played Dungeons and Dragons, and it was the first session where my character, by herself, saved the party from near-certain Total Party Kill (TPK). We did lose one player, but he was given a true resurrection, which made it a pretty nice day for him, overall. Let’s just say this… Cunegonde Deepaxe dominated the battlefield but good.
On Sunday, we started off saying goodbye to my nervous friend from out of town by taking him to breakfast. We made a lovely dinner, one O. had wanted to make for awhile (home-made pizza), and had a great side-salad with some leftover ginger dressing I’d made for Friday. Also, we had a speculative date with a new prospective sex friend. It was a meet and greet session, so there were no pants removed, but it was pretty clear to everyone at the table that there is at least room for a good friendship. Given the amount of strained fabric in the front panel of our collective pants, naked friendship is a distinct possibility. However, after our first abortive attempt at occasional playing together, Orpheus and I both agreed that we’d really have to get to know the person before clothes came off in the future, so… In the meantime, we’re both kind of amazed at how much we enjoyed ourselves last night.
Tonight, it’s pork loin roast and the bars for a single drink. Hooray for St. Patrick, the man who purportedly drove the snakes from Eire and all, but really. How dumb do you think I am? It’s Tuesday tomorrow, and that spells “beginning of the week.” Wish me well!
On Sunday, we started off saying goodbye to my nervous friend from out of town by taking him to breakfast. We made a lovely dinner, one O. had wanted to make for awhile (home-made pizza), and had a great side-salad with some leftover ginger dressing I’d made for Friday. Also, we had a speculative date with a new prospective sex friend. It was a meet and greet session, so there were no pants removed, but it was pretty clear to everyone at the table that there is at least room for a good friendship. Given the amount of strained fabric in the front panel of our collective pants, naked friendship is a distinct possibility. However, after our first abortive attempt at occasional playing together, Orpheus and I both agreed that we’d really have to get to know the person before clothes came off in the future, so… In the meantime, we’re both kind of amazed at how much we enjoyed ourselves last night.
Tonight, it’s pork loin roast and the bars for a single drink. Hooray for St. Patrick, the man who purportedly drove the snakes from Eire and all, but really. How dumb do you think I am? It’s Tuesday tomorrow, and that spells “beginning of the week.” Wish me well!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Yesterday TOTALLY sucked. Today's not far behind.
Pall over day. Horrible depression about working in general, especially here. A bit of a nasty night last night with Orpheus, and a touch of sadness about that, insecurity. Feeling like the wind has been whipped out from under me. Can’t make calls. Can’t go home. Can’t quit this place, no matter how much I want to. Heh. So few “can’s” to brag about, so many cannots it doesn’t even make sense to mention them all. Being an adult sucks. If I’d have known it was going to be this bad ten years ago, I really would’ve tried something with the 500-count bottle of ibuprophen I kept under my bed through those angst-ridden teenage years. These days, there are too many people who rely on me for something. Even the thought of trying a thing like that is sickening, and terribly stupid. Here’s a “can’t” for you… Can’t do it, ‘cause what if it didn’t work properly? Besides which, I’m far too sparkling a personality to succumb to the planet. Please.
Today, though, is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and not come out until a proper stench has developed. At least last night I made a fair approximation of a mojito sauce that O. and I really liked but has been discontinued at Trader Joe’s. I made chicken soft tacos with the sauce (just two limes skinned, de-rinded, and sliced into small chunks, 1 cup of sliced tomatoes, a whole sweet onion chopped coarsely, about a quarter-cup of lemon juice, 3 Tbsps. of olive oil, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, a sprinkling of “Italian seasoning”, 2 cloves garlic minced fine, 2 small hot peppers, all cooked down a bit), and a can of Cuban-style black beans. With chicken, it was a touch runny, like Qdoba’s marinated meat, but the effect was quite similar to (though less salty than) the Trader Joe’s sauce. It was my only pleasing triumph in the last 24 hours. There was some decent live jazz thrown in before dinner, too, so maybe I should try harder not to malign yesterday so much. I had half the day off to see my new doctor for the first time, and got a nasty surprise on the scale when I weighed 10 pounds more than I should. It’s only 10 pounds less than I weighed when I got married. Nevermind. Yesterday TOTALLY sucked.
Today, though, is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and not come out until a proper stench has developed. At least last night I made a fair approximation of a mojito sauce that O. and I really liked but has been discontinued at Trader Joe’s. I made chicken soft tacos with the sauce (just two limes skinned, de-rinded, and sliced into small chunks, 1 cup of sliced tomatoes, a whole sweet onion chopped coarsely, about a quarter-cup of lemon juice, 3 Tbsps. of olive oil, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, a sprinkling of “Italian seasoning”, 2 cloves garlic minced fine, 2 small hot peppers, all cooked down a bit), and a can of Cuban-style black beans. With chicken, it was a touch runny, like Qdoba’s marinated meat, but the effect was quite similar to (though less salty than) the Trader Joe’s sauce. It was my only pleasing triumph in the last 24 hours. There was some decent live jazz thrown in before dinner, too, so maybe I should try harder not to malign yesterday so much. I had half the day off to see my new doctor for the first time, and got a nasty surprise on the scale when I weighed 10 pounds more than I should. It’s only 10 pounds less than I weighed when I got married. Nevermind. Yesterday TOTALLY sucked.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Roast Lamb... Don't say I've never given you any recipes
Roast Lamb with a red wine and roasted red pepper eggplant sauce
Serves 8-10 (small portions)
This recipe is fairly intense, and needs prep in stages, over two to three days. I will begin with the recipe for the baba-ganousch-like sauce, move on to the min. 24-hour marinade for the lamb, and finish with the final stages of prep. Each section will have its’ own ingredients listing and directions.
Step I: Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
Ingredients:
• 1 large eggplant
• 1 small red sweet pepper
• 2 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced very finely
• ¼ c. extra virgin olive oil
• “Splash” lemon juice (1 tsp?)
• Salt, pepper and paprika to taste
Directions:
Preheat oven to 400F. Poke holes all over eggplant’s skin with fork… If you don’t do this, it might explode in the oven. Place on baking sheet with the red pepper, whole. You may wish to cover your baking sheet in foil, as it’ll make cleanup easier. Roast for 45 min. to an hour, at which point the pepper’s skin should be mostly blackened, and the eggplant should be browned and collapsing slightly. Remove from oven, and let cool for 10-15 min. Remove stem, and peel eggplant, keeping as much flesh as possible intact. Throw into food processor with garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and paprika. Remove stem from roasted pepper. You may peel off skin if you find it unappetizing, but I find that the dip is better with the blackened skin. Throw it in, too. Process, stirring occasionally, until you have a fine, creamy-textured glop. Store, covered, in refrigerator for at least 24 hours. This dip is better if it sits for one or two days before use.
Step II: Red-wine marinade for lamb
Ingredients:
• 2-2½ lb. lamb roast, boned, tied (either leg or shoulder will do fine)
• 1-1½ c. bold red wine (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• 2-3 oz. extra virgin olive oil
• 2 large cloves garlic
• Salt and pepper to taste
Directions:
Remove the lamb from packaging, pat dry. Salt and pepper the roast to taste, and tie if not already strung up. Put in strong freezer bag with wine and garlic, chopped into thick slices. Refrigerate, turning every 6-12 hours, for 24 to 48 hours. (Alt. method: pound lamb out flat with and thin with meat hammer before marinating. Do not tie up. Marinade as described above.)
Step III: To cook or not to cook?
Ingredients:
• Marinated Lamb, described above
• Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
• 1 lg. sweet onion, sliced thin
• ¼ c. pine nuts
• ¼ c. crumbled feta cheese
• 1-1½ c. red wine, same as that used for marinade (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• Approx. 1 “portion” plain couscous per four diners, prepared as listed on package
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F, pat roast dry with paper towel, and pan-sear in a hot pan, preferably iron, steel or copper (not non-stick, though enameled iron is fine,) on all sides. Remove from heat, and rub with a small amount of the baba ganousch. Place in a large, tight-lidded casserole, and cover with sliced onion and pine nuts. Place in oven for about 25-30 min/lb, checking meat’s internal temperature after about 30-40 minutes, and every 10 or so thereafter. Cook to an internal temperature of 150-155F for medium-rare meat and maximum flavor sans-gaminess. Once meat is done, remove from oven and casserole, and let sit for about 15 minutes to give juices a chance to redistribute on cutting board. Reserve cooked Add wine to roasting casserole, and deglaze pan at no higher than med-high heat, scraping all meat drippings from bottom with rubber spatula. Transfer remaining baba ganousch into saucepan, and slowly incorporate deglazing wine into it, stirring constantly, over medium heat. Reduce for about fifteen minutes until good sauce consistency. Slice lamb thin, and arrange a few slices on each guest’s plate on a bed of couscous. Sprinkle with reserved feta, ladle red wine pan sauce over top, and put a small stack of reserved onions and pine nuts on top of the whole mess. Serve immediately. (Alt. method: If you chose to pound out the roast and do a roulade, congrats! Get ready for some work. Pat dry, spread a thin layer of baba ganousch over the internal surface of the roulade, sprinkle with feta and pine nuts, roll, and tie. Skip pan searing, and place directly into casserole, following directions above for rest of recipe. Watch temperature very carefully! Also, you needn’t necessarily deglaze the roasting pan, as it should be full of liquids to start. Just pour the wine directly into the dip, and reduce. One may add a few spoonfuls of jus from the roasting pot to the sauce if one wishes, however.)
Serves 8-10 (small portions)
This recipe is fairly intense, and needs prep in stages, over two to three days. I will begin with the recipe for the baba-ganousch-like sauce, move on to the min. 24-hour marinade for the lamb, and finish with the final stages of prep. Each section will have its’ own ingredients listing and directions.
Step I: Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
Ingredients:
• 1 large eggplant
• 1 small red sweet pepper
• 2 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced very finely
• ¼ c. extra virgin olive oil
• “Splash” lemon juice (1 tsp?)
• Salt, pepper and paprika to taste
Directions:
Preheat oven to 400F. Poke holes all over eggplant’s skin with fork… If you don’t do this, it might explode in the oven. Place on baking sheet with the red pepper, whole. You may wish to cover your baking sheet in foil, as it’ll make cleanup easier. Roast for 45 min. to an hour, at which point the pepper’s skin should be mostly blackened, and the eggplant should be browned and collapsing slightly. Remove from oven, and let cool for 10-15 min. Remove stem, and peel eggplant, keeping as much flesh as possible intact. Throw into food processor with garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and paprika. Remove stem from roasted pepper. You may peel off skin if you find it unappetizing, but I find that the dip is better with the blackened skin. Throw it in, too. Process, stirring occasionally, until you have a fine, creamy-textured glop. Store, covered, in refrigerator for at least 24 hours. This dip is better if it sits for one or two days before use.
Step II: Red-wine marinade for lamb
Ingredients:
• 2-2½ lb. lamb roast, boned, tied (either leg or shoulder will do fine)
• 1-1½ c. bold red wine (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• 2-3 oz. extra virgin olive oil
• 2 large cloves garlic
• Salt and pepper to taste
Directions:
Remove the lamb from packaging, pat dry. Salt and pepper the roast to taste, and tie if not already strung up. Put in strong freezer bag with wine and garlic, chopped into thick slices. Refrigerate, turning every 6-12 hours, for 24 to 48 hours. (Alt. method: pound lamb out flat with and thin with meat hammer before marinating. Do not tie up. Marinade as described above.)
Step III: To cook or not to cook?
Ingredients:
• Marinated Lamb, described above
• Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
• 1 lg. sweet onion, sliced thin
• ¼ c. pine nuts
• ¼ c. crumbled feta cheese
• 1-1½ c. red wine, same as that used for marinade (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• Approx. 1 “portion” plain couscous per four diners, prepared as listed on package
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F, pat roast dry with paper towel, and pan-sear in a hot pan, preferably iron, steel or copper (not non-stick, though enameled iron is fine,) on all sides. Remove from heat, and rub with a small amount of the baba ganousch. Place in a large, tight-lidded casserole, and cover with sliced onion and pine nuts. Place in oven for about 25-30 min/lb, checking meat’s internal temperature after about 30-40 minutes, and every 10 or so thereafter. Cook to an internal temperature of 150-155F for medium-rare meat and maximum flavor sans-gaminess. Once meat is done, remove from oven and casserole, and let sit for about 15 minutes to give juices a chance to redistribute on cutting board. Reserve cooked Add wine to roasting casserole, and deglaze pan at no higher than med-high heat, scraping all meat drippings from bottom with rubber spatula. Transfer remaining baba ganousch into saucepan, and slowly incorporate deglazing wine into it, stirring constantly, over medium heat. Reduce for about fifteen minutes until good sauce consistency. Slice lamb thin, and arrange a few slices on each guest’s plate on a bed of couscous. Sprinkle with reserved feta, ladle red wine pan sauce over top, and put a small stack of reserved onions and pine nuts on top of the whole mess. Serve immediately. (Alt. method: If you chose to pound out the roast and do a roulade, congrats! Get ready for some work. Pat dry, spread a thin layer of baba ganousch over the internal surface of the roulade, sprinkle with feta and pine nuts, roll, and tie. Skip pan searing, and place directly into casserole, following directions above for rest of recipe. Watch temperature very carefully! Also, you needn’t necessarily deglaze the roasting pan, as it should be full of liquids to start. Just pour the wine directly into the dip, and reduce. One may add a few spoonfuls of jus from the roasting pot to the sauce if one wishes, however.)
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Rite of Spring (kind of...)
So, minus any and all ritual doinking or riotous outbursts based upon musical excesses committed upon morally repressed peoples, dinner last night was a smashing success. Sister missed out, as she had a volunteer shift in New Glarus at the EMS, though Terra Firma did make it for part of dinner. Bulgaria and Mr. Hockey brought dessert in the form of baklava, made from an original Turkish recipe, courtesy of a Bulgarian cookbook. They also brought a bottle of wine, which bumped the total number consumed in the evening up to 4. This was rather a feat, as poor Mr. Hockey had a liver flare-up, and couldn’t drink any at all.
We started with cored mission figs, wrapped in procciutto and stuffed with a mixture of crushed pine nut and pistachio, crumbled feta, finely minced shallot, pepper and paprika, then sprinkled with fresh-squeezed orange juice and run under the broiler. They were fantastic. Next was an invigorating garlic soup. I know it sounds dicey, but #1, it didn’t taste like garlic, and #2, was drop-dead delicious. I served this with a Spanish Albarino, a stout, dry, fruity white wine which also paired well with the next course, a couscous salad with minced onion, a touch of shallot, and chopped green bell pepper, tomato, fig and fresh mozzarella, seasoned with paprika, pepper, sea-salt, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a splash of the Albarino for good measure. Next was the lamb. It didn’t work out as a roulade, but rather as more of a roast. It was marinated for a full day in red wine and garlic, then spread with roasted red-pepper, eggplant and garlic spread (baba ganoush), couscous, pine nuts and crumbled feta, and a whole mess of thin-sliced onions and roasted. It was sliced thin and served on a bed of couscous, with a red wine/baba ganoush reduction as a sauce, and onion from the roasting pan piled on top. The pairing for this was a bold Spanish Grenache, the same wine used for the reduction sauce and marinade. Damn, was that fine lamb.
Finally, we had the baklava paired with a Mondoro Asti… Not the finest of dessert wines or anything, but the demi-sec was a great match for what can be a cloyingly sweet dish. Most of us had second helpings. The best part was that, though this was about a five-hour kitchen job, I got to do it over three days, and cleanup was a snap. Loaded the dish washer, did about five dishes by hand, and was done. Easy-peasy one-two-threesy. Also, even though she’s a vegan and HATES the smell of cooking meat, Terra’s GF came in and complimented me on the way the apartment looked during the dinner. She was wincing a little at the time, but did make google-eyes at the couscous salad, at least. ;-)
All in all, GREAT dinner. And because it went off with nary a hitch, I’m expecting tender green shoots any time, now. I mean, I didn’t sacrifice a lamb for nothing… J/K, I left that to the good people at Artemos Meats! Hope there were good readings in the entrails. Incidentally, I also had a very convoluted dream about being arcanely related to Julia Child last night, and getting to talk to her father almost as an ancestor spirit. I think it was the interaction between all the wine, the touch of coffee before dessert, and the camomile tea I had just before bed. Any way you look at it, I'm taking it as a smashing omen. Spring, HO!!!
We started with cored mission figs, wrapped in procciutto and stuffed with a mixture of crushed pine nut and pistachio, crumbled feta, finely minced shallot, pepper and paprika, then sprinkled with fresh-squeezed orange juice and run under the broiler. They were fantastic. Next was an invigorating garlic soup. I know it sounds dicey, but #1, it didn’t taste like garlic, and #2, was drop-dead delicious. I served this with a Spanish Albarino, a stout, dry, fruity white wine which also paired well with the next course, a couscous salad with minced onion, a touch of shallot, and chopped green bell pepper, tomato, fig and fresh mozzarella, seasoned with paprika, pepper, sea-salt, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a splash of the Albarino for good measure. Next was the lamb. It didn’t work out as a roulade, but rather as more of a roast. It was marinated for a full day in red wine and garlic, then spread with roasted red-pepper, eggplant and garlic spread (baba ganoush), couscous, pine nuts and crumbled feta, and a whole mess of thin-sliced onions and roasted. It was sliced thin and served on a bed of couscous, with a red wine/baba ganoush reduction as a sauce, and onion from the roasting pan piled on top. The pairing for this was a bold Spanish Grenache, the same wine used for the reduction sauce and marinade. Damn, was that fine lamb.
Finally, we had the baklava paired with a Mondoro Asti… Not the finest of dessert wines or anything, but the demi-sec was a great match for what can be a cloyingly sweet dish. Most of us had second helpings. The best part was that, though this was about a five-hour kitchen job, I got to do it over three days, and cleanup was a snap. Loaded the dish washer, did about five dishes by hand, and was done. Easy-peasy one-two-threesy. Also, even though she’s a vegan and HATES the smell of cooking meat, Terra’s GF came in and complimented me on the way the apartment looked during the dinner. She was wincing a little at the time, but did make google-eyes at the couscous salad, at least. ;-)
All in all, GREAT dinner. And because it went off with nary a hitch, I’m expecting tender green shoots any time, now. I mean, I didn’t sacrifice a lamb for nothing… J/K, I left that to the good people at Artemos Meats! Hope there were good readings in the entrails. Incidentally, I also had a very convoluted dream about being arcanely related to Julia Child last night, and getting to talk to her father almost as an ancestor spirit. I think it was the interaction between all the wine, the touch of coffee before dessert, and the camomile tea I had just before bed. Any way you look at it, I'm taking it as a smashing omen. Spring, HO!!!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Buck up, little camper...
Please disregard yesterday’s post. I think I’m suffering from male PMS… This morning, one of my two big bosses actually ducked into a meeting I was having with my direct superior and told me how well management thinks I’m doing, how much smarter than anybody else on the floor I am, etcetera. This naturally gave me a little boost, though it didn’t decrease my desire to walk home with the lotto jackpot anytime soon, or change jobs. And the stupid fluff I keep airing about O. is just that… Stupid fluff. I can’t help but think that there is a transition coming, but it should be pointed out that I don’t believe it will amount to anything more than an internal change to the relationship. So, in all, I’ve learned two big lessons today. #1, keep smiling. It’s a lot more effective than frowning. #2, shut up until a smile is fixed on your face, rictus-like. Even if it makes your face hurt, it’ll turn the ol’ attitude up a couple notches.
I’m also SUPER excited, because I’m to cook my first really complex, uncompromisingly sexy gourmet dinner this weekend, and did my wine shopping during lunch. I ended up with a couple real steals, and a good idea of what I just may buy for dessert, depending on what the guests are bringing. Additionally, there’s finally a clear idea for the amusee bouche (sp? – no hablo frog,) forming in my mind. Mission fig, stuffed with crushed pistachio, feta and onion, wrapped in prosciutto tied up like a bag with a long string of candied orange peel. After spritzing with just a touch of juice sqeezed from a fresh-cut orange, putting under the broiler for about a minute so the prosciutto gets crisp and the feta molten. I think I want it to eat me.
I’m also SUPER excited, because I’m to cook my first really complex, uncompromisingly sexy gourmet dinner this weekend, and did my wine shopping during lunch. I ended up with a couple real steals, and a good idea of what I just may buy for dessert, depending on what the guests are bringing. Additionally, there’s finally a clear idea for the amusee bouche (sp? – no hablo frog,) forming in my mind. Mission fig, stuffed with crushed pistachio, feta and onion, wrapped in prosciutto tied up like a bag with a long string of candied orange peel. After spritzing with just a touch of juice sqeezed from a fresh-cut orange, putting under the broiler for about a minute so the prosciutto gets crisp and the feta molten. I think I want it to eat me.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Seppuku or bust
I. Am. Mind-numbingly. Tired.
No, I’m not really gonna try to commit ritual suicide. That would take too much energy. Though, I may just end up boring myself to death. Call, call, voicemail, call, call, conversation, call… It never ends, here. And the conversations are all about how nobody has money, and budgets are being slashed, and people being let go. If I can’t make budget this month, I’m pretty sure some harsh words are going to come my way from management, too. The only mitigating factor is that nobody is really making budget, but that’s not exactly a good excuse these days.
O. and I are doing well, but seem to be in kind of a weird floating place, waiting for something to happen. We went out to a very nice dinner on Friday, but were patronized by the waiter, who I in turn patronized with a frightfully average tip. The bastard didn’t even bother asking when he had to find a substitute for the wine I ordered with dinner, he just brought it out. Now, I can’t say it wasn’t good. Rather the opposite. But it certainly wasn’t as good as the one I asked for in the first place. And the coffee! Blech. I find it funny that decent restaurants here are far more snobbish than better places in Chicago. At least there, they’d stop looking down their noses as soon as I ordered well. And poor Orpheus was a bit intimidated. Overall, I’d call it kind of a good metaphor for the place we are right now. Neither of us able to force something out that we probably need to say or do, but nothing is bad or boring. Just slightly too comfortable, and yet not.
Anyway, tonight is a night off for us, and I’m going to put a tiny meatloaf in a rammikin into my broke-ass oven (to be fixed on Thursday, thank you rental company), cook it up (or burn it, the outcome is not yet clear), and fall the h-e-double-hockey-sticks to sleep early tonight. Wish my mental health well.
No, I’m not really gonna try to commit ritual suicide. That would take too much energy. Though, I may just end up boring myself to death. Call, call, voicemail, call, call, conversation, call… It never ends, here. And the conversations are all about how nobody has money, and budgets are being slashed, and people being let go. If I can’t make budget this month, I’m pretty sure some harsh words are going to come my way from management, too. The only mitigating factor is that nobody is really making budget, but that’s not exactly a good excuse these days.
O. and I are doing well, but seem to be in kind of a weird floating place, waiting for something to happen. We went out to a very nice dinner on Friday, but were patronized by the waiter, who I in turn patronized with a frightfully average tip. The bastard didn’t even bother asking when he had to find a substitute for the wine I ordered with dinner, he just brought it out. Now, I can’t say it wasn’t good. Rather the opposite. But it certainly wasn’t as good as the one I asked for in the first place. And the coffee! Blech. I find it funny that decent restaurants here are far more snobbish than better places in Chicago. At least there, they’d stop looking down their noses as soon as I ordered well. And poor Orpheus was a bit intimidated. Overall, I’d call it kind of a good metaphor for the place we are right now. Neither of us able to force something out that we probably need to say or do, but nothing is bad or boring. Just slightly too comfortable, and yet not.
Anyway, tonight is a night off for us, and I’m going to put a tiny meatloaf in a rammikin into my broke-ass oven (to be fixed on Thursday, thank you rental company), cook it up (or burn it, the outcome is not yet clear), and fall the h-e-double-hockey-sticks to sleep early tonight. Wish my mental health well.
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