Stews, stewing complaints averted, surprisingly fun group sex…

So, it’s been a weird couple of weeks. Orpheus and I are still having trouble finding a place. Nothing has worked yet, but we remain hopeful. Last weekend, we bummed around my place, as Terra Firma was, for the second weekend in a row, in Chicago with her gf. It was nice. I made a huge helping of Gumbo Z’Herbes, which, other than being a little too mild, is a great first attempt. I used collard greens, kale, red cabbage, Belgian endive, green chard, and spinach, along with parsley and green onion as “green” seasonings. The prep was traditional, with a flour roux cooked in my trusty Le Creuset enameled skillet, adding the holy trinity (minced bell pepper, celery and onion) to cook in the finished roux, spicing, adding to the boiled chopped greens, then cooking down for a good long time. Delicious vegan lunches!

Anyway, last night, O. and I met an academic tourist in Madison for a conference out for a drink. I shall call him Adorkable, as adorkable he is! Things clicked, and we ended taking him back to Orpheus’ place and pounding him silly. It’s the first time I’ve gotten to really open up on a bottom in ages, as O’s still in a delicate learning place where that’s concerned. We had fun. Jesus, O and I even had more sex this morning before work. If I’m lucky, we’ll screw each other again tonight. Current plan is to meet Adorkable out again on Thursday before he goes back to his bright coastal educational beacon on the weekend. He was a hoot to hang out with, and also quite a team-player where top-top-bottom action is concerned. Hopefully, we’ll get to fuck if we see him again Thursday, but even if not, he’s just a nice all-round guy. If we’re really lucky, we may even stay in touch. ;-)

Meryl Streep is a scary penguin

I feel like I’m waking up after a long nap, and am cranky.

Things have been OK with me. I’m sorry I’ve been silent for so long… The urge to blog is not strong lately. Words after words after more words. Things have felt stagnant, but Spring brings change, and change is life, messiness and all.

Orpheus and I are still together, despite a kind of rocky patch of late getting everything put in place for moving in. We can’t find an apartment, and time is fleeting… It’s a little scary, actually. We’ll pull through, though the sex is practically non-existent right now. As per usual, he’s pussyfooting about where certain sex acts are concerned, and I’m being kind of a bitch about it. We’ve been watching far too much TV, and doing too little cleaning at my current place, as well as far too much eating. I mean, given that my latest culinary success (excepting what I did last night,) was a pinto bean tart, it’s not a given that I have any friends left at all (not if they’ve been within three yards of me in the last three days, anyway).

Fortunately, Terra Firma and I seem to be decamping as far as iciness is concerned. There’s not too much time left together in our apartment, so things have been kind of nice. We used to be friends, and may be able to resume a friendship at some point.

Last night, I had a horrible finish to my day at work. Customers may be how money is generated, but they are also hell itself at times… Especially when only the dumb ones seem to be calling. As you may have noticed, I tend to cook out my aggression. Last night, I prepped a half-chicken for roasting by shoving thyme and garlic under the skin, rubbing with olive oil, salting and peppering, and sprinkling with lemon juice. The thing was then shoved in the oven on a bed of rough-chopped red onions, celeriac, carrots, red potatoes and green beans with extra thyme spread over the veggies, and the squeezed lemon halves were popped under the carcass for steam. I buttered the skin a little under half-way through roasting, and it developed a beautiful, crusty brownness. The chicken ended up tasting like dying and going to heaven, which was nice. Tonight, we’re having leftover chicken breast tacos with pan-seared onion and mild hot peppers, all whilest watching Doubt on DVD.

Damn, but Meryl Streep is scary in a habit…

Wow, that's a lot of bases to cover...

OK, so it’s been a really long time since I wrote. The problem is, nothing that terribly interesting has happened. I made seitan, which sucked, on Saturday. Eating like a rabbit is losing its’ interest, but I’m more or less keeping it up. I don’t want to get as fat as dad, or die young. Although, really, that might be the only way to die without a lot of pain and undue stress, as I’ll be working until I’m 100 years old otherwise. Really, though, I’ve been cooking a lot, Orpheus and I have been cruising along, getting ready to move in, planning, shopping slowly, and in general, well, just living.

Tonight, we’re going to the awful straight bar for trivia after I make vegan chorizo tacos (I know, sounds awful, but Trader Joe’s has a WONDERFUL tofu-based chorizo that you really can’t tell with,) served over brown rice on homemade corn tortillas by O. Yesterday, we used a little bit of “burnt pineapple salsa” as a marinade for a pork roast, and served it with sexy sautéed green beans. I also made a huge batch of linguini with veggie-laden marinara sauce for lunches this week. We bought a huge number of bottles of indifferent wine, also at Trader Joe’s, to wash all the food down with. Overall, we’re trying to conserve where possible. I need new glasses, we have to put money down as a security deposit on a new place, and I’ll need a new phone, all before September first. Money sucks.

The job is good, though I did see red consistently over the course of several hours’ worth of shitty calls last week, Friday. Gaming was cancelled, so Orpheus and I got to spend a really nice evening together, lazing about. Terra Firma was home alone all weekend, and for the first time in awhile, there was a really light, convivial atmosphere between us. This is nice. I remember loving her to death, and I’d like to look forward to seeing her, rather than dreading it, someday.

Oh, I almost forgot! On Friday, I met Aries out for drinks after work! I saw my old (good) boss from the evil old job, and two of the coolest people from there came to the bar to see me, too. It was a great time. Aries and I migrated at about 9 PM to a different bar, where we met up with pretty much the entire group of salespeople who quit or were fired, and we had a grand old time. I’m meeting with her again on Wednesday to get rid of the last of my awful seitan in the form of kabobs, and O. and I are supposed to hang out with a couple of the folks at bar#2 to make dinner together on Saturday. Also, on Tuesday, I’m showing my violin off to EvilGenius, whilest helping BakedAlaska and QuakerNoOats to clean out their fridge of leftovers. They’re about to leave for a month-long trip around Merry ‘ol England!!! I can’t wait until they get back, and I get to see all the pictures... It’ll be fun.

So, I guess the moral of the story is, there’s actually a lot going on, and I have to get off my lazy ass and write more often. Have a lovely day, and here’s hoping my ass is less lazy in the future!

Life Goes On...

It’s amazing how quickly new years, new relationships, new things in general begin to show wear, thin around the edges and eventually decay. Time just seems to be slipping by, and I can’t do much but watch it flow, feeling almost powerless to get even the simplest things done and off my plate! I think the point is, I’m in a rut, and have to find a way to break out of it.

The rut isn’t Orpheus-related, although both of us are rather retiring personalities, and do tend to help one another get into rut-like-grooves. We both know this, though, and so try to do little things to kick each other back out into the real world. Last night was a nice example of attempting to get engaged by going out (not staying in,) for once on a holiday. We ended up hitting a couple bars, having a nice time, and running into one of O.’s all-time favorite work-friends, who left the fold some time ago to pursue a better paying opportunity through her other job. It was fun reconnecting, plus she had a really hot girlfriend with her, and so I spent a nice evening checking out a chick for once, all while getting scoped by the waiter.

The point is, everything was fresh, and I think I have some new impetus that has been noticeably lacking since my accident… I’m quite glad I pushed Orpheus to get his sexy ass dressed after dinner and go out, even if I am still a little hung-over as of 5:30 PM!

Wouldn’t It Be Nice If…

Wouldn’t it be nice if… The worst five words in the English language, to be sure. I think these words at least fifteen times a day, all in relation to inane people or questions or situations that take a little more energy or time or soul than they should to deal with. After a great deal of thought, hoping to see the truth elsewhere, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never be economically capable about making said five words go away forever.

Here’s the deal. Rich people can pay somebody else to sweat details. My job is sweating details for idiots, average Joes (read: people who can’t afford their own staff), which means that I repeat myself a lot until said idiots get what they should’ve understood all along. I try to do this respectfully, but often catch myself feeling not only superior for knowing how much better I obviously understand EVERYTHING than these poor stupid saps, but also inferior, as I make a lot less money than most of them. I, for instance, cannot currently afford a $10,000.00 lawn tractor with various attachments, nor a house on several acres for which I would need said piece of equipment. Not even if I PURPOUSFULLY let myself get as far behind on paying things as these folks regularly do.

To take it a step further past the people I help on a daily basis, I’m absolutely sure the Bush family doesn’t worry about financing lawn tractors, or even giving their gardeners the budget line to purchase or maintain them over time. They just lay around getting sloshed by the pool while reading, and tell the staff to “mow some other damned day!” They don’t worry about making a call to me, while cooking dinner, or budgeting time to go to the gym against the cleaning that they HAVE to get done tonight, or anything other than their leisure time and food. That’s all someone else’s problem. Someone else they pay to worry for them. I desperately need the cash for a Person To Worry For Me. Why? Well, first out of a sense of entitlement second to none, and second, because I worry so goddamned much over other people’s dumb shit that just once I’d like to not worry about mine too.

Hell, if I didn’t have to worry about hurting Orpheus’ feelings, I’d see if Barbara Bush was still on the market. Ivy League graduate or not, she’s a Bush, and therefore should be freakishly easy to control when fueled with enough bourbon. Though, I’d also end up giving myself cirrhosis dealing with the father-in-law… Never mind. I’d rather worry for myself, thanks!

Internal mental crisis averted…

I chatted with Orpheus last night. I HATE chatting online. In fact, I find it pretty taxing, but he sees it as less threatening than face-to-face conversation, so I broached the subject of that stupid survey. He said that, in reality, he probably wouldn’t leave me for a job, even an earth-shattering one… Perhaps not the resounding response I sought, but good enough after he explained that the question was unfair (it really was), and it’s highly unlikely given all the shit we’ve been through he’d dump me over any incoming job offers. He then turned it around, and said that a dream job would pay him a lot, and there’s the probability he’d offer me a salaried position as his Cabana Boy. I countered with a self-designed staff position of Kitchen Bitch, with full use privileges of the lower-rated Cabana Boy. He agreed. I was satisfied.

Tonight, we’re going Over to BakedAlaska’s to keep him company and share a little of the childrearing burden. QuakerNoOats has been out of town all week helping with a new customer installation, and BakedAK was left to deal with daughter-dearest, who is currently being weaned. Apparently, it’s going along pretty well… She’s old enough to get the fact that not everybody her age still gets Mommy-milk, and to feel shame because if it. Now, instead of a boob before bedtime, she gets a story. What a terrible thing! I want a boob before bedtime! I mean, not to feast upon, or do horrid sexual things to, but because, well, who doesn’t like a boob? Really… If I had fun-bags, I’d never leave the house.

And on that note, I think I’ll stop offending, honestly, just about everyone. Hope you all have a great weekend.

Life's little ass-bites...

How is it that I always want to off myself right when O. and I get a day off? I mean, not really, but figuratively… It just seems to work that way. The reason this time is a stupid survey Orpheus took, then had me take, on Tuesday. See, it was all about “your sexual style” (I don’t remember which website,) and included a bunch of inane questions that I don’t believe indicated anything about the interviewee other than that one had to be imminently patient to sit through all those brain-dead questions in the first place. Orpheus, though, when he got to the question asking him to choose between his “current relationship and [his] dream job,” he chose the dream job.

Now, this is the guy that I’m planning on moving in with late this coming summer. The guy I wanted to stay with through job changes and school when he goes back in a little over another year. But he’d leave me for a hypothetical “dream job?” Fuck that. Fuck it sideways in the ass. Unpleasantly. Maybe I should reconsider moving in with him. Maybe I should just can my insecurities and write bad poetry. I don’t know yet, really. I need to think about it. All I know is that stupid question just toppled the house of good-feelin’ cards I’ve built in the last two years. Is my entire life going to just be a series of cycles of good energy being thrown after bad pursuits? I’m so goddamn sick of starting over.

Peh. Fuck life, huh? It always finds a way to bite you in the ass.

Wine as old as me...

I got my car back last week. Hallelujah, praise be!!! To what, I’m not sure, but that’s neither here nor there, after everything. Orpheus and I spent the weekend at my place, lavishing attention on the kitty, cooking extravagantly, and generally lying about nude (or some portion thereof). Saturday was the little-celebrated albeit quite exciting “Open That Bottle Night” of foodie (in)fame(/y), during which O. shared a bottle of 28-year-old Riesling Auslese given him by his parents with me.

The story of the bottle is this: Orpheus was his parents’ first child, and his father’s older brother gave the proud new papa a five-year-old bottle of wine to celebrate the birth. Now, O’s parents aren’t (and never really have been) big drinkers. Thus, the bottle was stored in an old fieldstone basement (thank god it didn’t go in the attic!) for 24 years, until they found it this winter, and gave it to Orpheus. He got it some time ago, said he’d share it with me, and then we didn’t really find any good excuse to uncork it until this new fake holiday came around!

So, anyway, I came up with a simple but delicious menu to serve with the Riesling… Just in case the wine had gone bad, we bought a backup bottle, and everything was go. I served seared boneless pork loin chops in a walnut/lemon/shallot cream sauce with green beans. The amuse bouche was mission figs stuffed with walnut, blue cheese and finely minced shallot, wrapped in prosciutto and spritzed with orange juice and a drizzle of olive oil, then peppered. We had a beautiful dessert of minimalist vanilla ice cream with quartered mission figs, drizzled with buckwheat honey. And the wine was pretty damned good.

I should report, though… I broke the cork. We were very careful to serve at the correct temperature, but the cork was rotted through, and the lower half went (in pieces,) into the bottle. This meant a protracted decant was necessary, thus airing out the wine nicely. It smelled pleasantly of flint and vitriol, and was, perhaps, still a little too sugary (in my opinion), but it wasn’t terribly acidic, so I’m not sure it should even have been allowed to age as long as it did. But the overall effect was quite pleasant (and rather intoxicating). Of course, what else would one expect when drinking something as old as oneself?

I’m still a touch flabbergasted regarding eating so many damned veggies for the rest of my life, but am generally doing well adjusting after some retrospective time. Last night I made a lovely Italian lentil soup with (fake) Italian sausage, and a salad of olive-oil sauteed fennel bulb and greens with crushed red peppers, salt and black pepper. Yum.

Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat…

Today has been a fucking nightmare. Everything that could possibly go wrong has gone wrong with accounts, with the way people who are checking up on things for customers whose accounts I fixed are going about second guessing (not a one has been right yet), to just the general stupidity of the customers themselves. Bleh. I want my bloody day back!!!

Having said this, I kind of had time to chat at length with a lady at work who raised her kids vegetarian about cooking with less meat today, and it was very illuminating. We’ll call her EarthMomma. EarthMomma is a fascinating, if kind of scatter-brained hippie-type who’s just been through it all. She’s even survived her own botched suicide attempt, and come out stronger than ever. I like her, ‘cause she seems able to find the positives in everything, even the most horrifyingly painful situations. Unfortunately, most of the long chat we had was over a tasty if evil over-processed cheese dip brought in by another co-worker. Also, I was given a huge container of procciutto and mortadella by another co-worker, as her father brought in pounds of the stuff as a gift, and she’s the only member of her family that’ll eat it (and doesn’t want it to go bad, so she’s giving it away all over the place).

To make a long story even longer, this is just a bad place to work if you’re trying to eat better. Last night was the first night I tried seriously to put into effect the reduced meat portions suggested by Mark Bittman in his book ‘Food Matters’ for Orpheus and I. I even picked up a lovely bottle of bone-dry Argentine white wine to go with the Tilapia a la Meuniere that I whipped up… And I nearly ate my own hand, I was still so hungry by bedtime. Fortunately, a carrot seemed to do wondrous things for me just before bed. We’ll see if I can keep up with it. O. actually did better than me, but I don’t think he’s taking things quite as seriously… After all, he eats pretty much whatever he wants to for lunch every day, and most days he eats out. I’ll just have to work on him slowly, I guess. Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat… It’s all I can think of right now. All I want. Stupid fucking vegetables. I don’t want to be a rabbit!!!

The Suck...

Today is dragging ASS… Yesterday, after what Orpheus recently told me was 20 days in the shop, I got my car back. And other than two eency-weency, teeny-tiny things, it’s better by far than it was before it went in (or even before the accident). Unfortunately, those two things involve the dome light no longer working when I get into the car (though it will light up when the switch is turned on the light-stalk), and the horn not working at all. I just can’t afford a new horn right now, and when I can, it may just be kinda funny to get one that plays the Mexican hat dance, as that’s how ghetto I feel tooling around in a bronze-colored grandpa sled. Perhaps I will have the car put up on lifts, as well.

In any case, I’m now reading Mark Bittman’s new book, ‘Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating”, and am utterly depressed. Apparently, as a chemical process, breaking down refined sugars and digesting any refined (read: white) wheat flour are all but indistinguishable in the human animal. This means that, every time I pick up a piece of white bread, I might as well have stuffed myself with cane sugar. I want god dead for designing humans so that we need to eat like f-ing hippies just to live past the age of 60. Shit, why’d it make us smart enough to improve our lot in life if we’d still spend half our time on the planet messing ourselves with teeth falling out everywhere. Asshole!

Further, the phone system at work went to pot today, leaving every incoming call completely and utterly unidentified. When customers are too stupid to enter their own account numbers when prompted, it’s usually my pet peeve… Today, I’m trying to take things slowly, and just de-stress. Oddly, the calls themselves are pretty easy (knock on fiber-board), much easier than they were yesterday or the day before. I guess not having any caller info to start is the karmic debt thereof! Anyway, tonight is probably going to be the kind of joyless that involves fish instead of what I really want to eat, so wish me well, as I wish well all of you, my possibly fictitious readers.

Trivia at the Roxbury

Last night, Orpheus and I went to a terrible bar for the second week in a row to play a tawdry trivia game on a team with a few of his remaining college buddies for a $50 gift certificate. For the second week in a row, our team lost. I mean, at least last week we placed second. This week, though? Meh. We didn’t even go to the final “Jeopardy” round. We lost to a team calling themselves “Three Gays and a Lady,” which was just plain embarrassing. I mean, the “lady” in question was a fruit-fly if ever I’ve seen one, and the “gays” in question were of the cosmo-drinking varietal, desperately trying to appear at least five years younger than their actual ages. Now, I may not advertise to just anybody exactly how old I am (28, I’m 28), but I’m not dressing in multiple layers of darted plaid print shirts over skin-hugging concert tees and dark as night jeans tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination, either…

So, the real reason I am not enamored of these silly fags is that this bar is one of the STRAIGHTEST bars on earth, frequented by randy low-brow undergrads. And, while I was minding my own business peeing (eyes glued to the wall,) in the lav, one of the fags comes in, blatantly tries to check out my wiener, and proceeds to whip it out and pee about three feet away from the urinal, eyes fixed on whatever he can see of my cock, chatting away the entire time. I had to turn my head to avoid a full eye of huge, tumescent, wart-crusted pee-pee. It was the CREEPIEST cruise I’ve ever experienced, bar-none… IN THE RESTROOM AT A STRAIGHT BAR!!! Plus, he was the ugliest of said fags, so I was doubly insulted. Don’t throw your nasty, desperate Typhoid Mary at me, bois. That’s a warning.

I just can’t stand losing to losers. Especially when one of said losers unsettled me so much I nearly lost my lunch on top of the rest of it. All in the name of a couple free drinks (remember, split five ways, even, this was still a student bar). Next week, I’m hoping for a creepy-fag-free environ in which to win a couple drinks!

Beets, Gay Marriage, unsupportive "Queer Allies", and Letters

Below is a response in the form of a letter that I sent to Bulgaria after he posted re: a heated exchange with someone on the internets who “has gay friends,” but doesn’t support gay marriage. This is after he’s explained to me that he’s sick of people calling it an “abomination,” which is a term he reserves for things he hates, like beets. Another of his friends told him that was decidedly dietary, and why not refer to shrimp as an abomination? His reply, of course, was that he likes shrimp. I took this as permission to draw the dietary law card and play it as an example of wrong-headed de-jure segregation by and for religious reasons (aka, the reasons cited by crazy lady of the internets). Here is my ten cents, more or less as sent to him:

Dearest Bulgaria,

I always find it helpful to draw a line between the various religious prohibitions on diet and actual harm of the body due to true civic law... After all, a person can eat pork by accident and feel guilty for the rest of their lives, but if one is thrown in prison for having sex with their live-in (who is unmarriageable given current laws), it's a different kettle of fish. However, to the idiot who unknowingly chaws the ham sandwich, it's not so clear-cut...

See, it's not so much that this hypothetical Homo Sapiens Religiosa doesn't believe others should be able to make their own choices. In fact, if you query the AVERAGE religious nut, and walk them through your argument, they'll end up agreeing with you, only slightly pissed about it. But the full-blown "Oh, God, I'm going to hell for eating a ham sandwich" type can be a little different, if only because they're SO AFRAID they'll go for the ham sandwich again. Therefore, to their convoluted logic, it must forevermore be denied them, for their own good, and too bad if that unfairly affects others.

Now, here's where things really get complex... The (previously lapsed) diet freaks are also very concerned about people they love/care about/are religiously required to look after not making the same dietary choices they themselves slather after. Everybody else is ALREADY a pervert, as far as they're concerned, so other as to not deserve consideration. Funny thing is, as soon as a loved party goes to a non-Kosher Deli, they're suddenly a pervert, too, and no longer welcome in the community. See, it all boils down to choice. Apparently, the only people who are willing to suck it up and deal with the consequences of their actions are the perverts. Homo Sapiens Religiosa, on the other hand, has proven him-or-herself to be a dangerously weak-willed sop of a human time and time again.

Why? Sometimes it seems that choices aren't meant for people who operate under too many taboos. We're all just high-functioning monkeys at the end of the day, and some of us (obviously,) are simply more high-functioning than others.

Now, where’s the Pork? And what about a side of beets?

Love,
~Aeffchen

The Holiday That Doesn’t Exist…

So, the chicken turned out quite nicely on the Feast-Day of that martyred twit… I roasted it on halved carrots in a pyrex baking dish instead of in a roasting rack, the carrots interspersed with sprigs of rosemary. The cavity was stuffed with quartered orange, lemon and lime, rosemary and bay leaf, salt and pepper. The skin was rubbed in olive oil, and had more rosemary spread forth over it, and was soothed in its’ crackling with small pats of butter as well as salt and pepper whilst browning.

After I finished browning the bird and set it in to roast, I did baste, and added chopped shallot and potato pieces. It came out just a hint undercooked. Not pink, but that kind of too-white that happens if you take the chicken out a single minute/degree too soon. (Like an idiot, I’d left my meat thermometer back at my place.) But it was beautifully juicy, and it’s not like either Orpheus or I got sick. The main problem was that I conveniently forgot while buying wine that the cavity of the bird was to be stuffed with citrus, and bought a nice little red Cote de Ventoux based on Grenache. This went like lead with the light rosemary-and-citrus chicken roasted on a bed of sweet carrot bumpers. Too bad. Next time, it’ll be a dry, spicy white, and I’ll add a little knuckle of peeled ginger to the cavity. Also, I’ll be wise enough to heed Julia, my kitchen deity, and said cave-of-the-ages will be sewn shut!

All in all, it was a very Italian bird, with the stunning execution of La Belle France botched by this Affechen due to New World laziness. Whatever one may think, though, it was tasty, and it will be again for lunch tomorrow. I just wish I could’ve afforded a capon… Though, that ball-less bird would NEVER have gotten out of the oven. And as to getting a perfect temperature, forget about it! At least I have a beautiful chicken skeleton for making broth...

Customer Service Blues…

Alright, so, if I’d had any idea that, at 28 years old and six years out of college, I’d still be on the phones for a living, I probably would’ve been scared all the way to D.C, to starve in relative obscurity for a few years while learning to be a politico/douchebag… Realistically, this means Orpheus wouldn’t be part of my life, however, and so there’s something to be grateful for on that note (you know, aside from the not becoming a complete and utter poli-whore). And, when one is brutal regarding ones’ political background, and the party one would’ve had to service during that long interim between school and the present, given all choices in aggregate, I’d really rather be on the phones.

That’s neither here nor there, but it is certainly a theme that has been echoing through my curiously empty head today, all during the bus-ride to work, and while I’ve been taking call after pointless call. I have a very full weekend, during which I’ll head home to comfort my poor fat cat re: my absence this week, as well as get a little housework done. I will also, in (silent) celebration of the timely Martyrdom of a certain beheaded saint, try to copy the dish that Fabio on Top Chef made for Lydia Bastianich this week! All this for a holiday which technically O. and I aren’t celebrating. We decided instead, due to our combined near-total dissatisfaction with said Romantic Farce, to celebrate “Steak and a Blowjob” day on March 14th. Steak (amongst other things), I know I can do quite well. But if Fabio’s roasted chicken is good enough for Lydia, then it’s good enough to try out at home, if I can get a (good) chicken for a decent price… Also, sacrificing a chicken in the stead of my relationship, trying to create a slightly romantic air this weekend just might be a good idea after everything Orpheus has been doing for me of late.

I love O., and value him enough that, despite my current lack of motive force behind further education and/or career advancement, despite the job that is (all told,) too easy, despite the difficulties inherent in working together to be with a person, etc., etc., ad nauseum… Despite all these things, I’d rather be with him than doing anything else in the world. Happy (anonymous) Valentine’s Day, Orpheus!

Reality’s bitch…

Last Thursday night, I caused my first car accident since conquering the final hormonal Himalaya of teendom. As such, it’s been a difficult few days. My car was as close to being inoperative as is possible for a vehicle to be and not also emit more noxious fumes than normal while jittering. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Fortunately, the damage was relatively cheap to repair, if not expedient. Fortunately, the bus schedules in Madison have been retooled since my last disastrous brush with the Metro system. Fortunately, I have Orpheus, who has opened his efficiency to me whilst repairs are ongoing, despite the probability that it will cause tension.

It doesn’t hurt that we’re both in the “it hasn’t sunk in yet” phase of planning to move in together come August. But, of all the things I have on my plate to worry over for the next little bit, this tight co-habitation is the trickiest. We have had conversations that define this trial specifically as:

1) Artificial, as I’m invading his (already severely limited,) space.
2) A bad indicator of how our life together will be, as we’ll be moving into a place that is bigger, wherein we both get to set rules and develop a comfort level.
3) A bit unfair, as this is a situation which leaves me financially strapped for a time, and also a touch unstable, emotionally.

So, that’s all agreed upon. Still, though… it’s tough. O. has gone out of his way to clean things at his place up, free up space, chip in more cash for the groceries, and on and on until I can’t list the thoughtful things he’s done anymore. I worry that he’ll consider a week and a half too long, and consider the sacrifices too many. You know the drill, I think. I just hope to god I’m wrong, and that he comes to the conclusion that things won’t end up so bad, after all. In the meantime, I am kind of walking on eggshells.

Also, I am such a big idiot that taking the bus after dark has proven to be a challenge for me. Poop. Poop on the bus schedule! The screw-up last night was so heinous that I called BakedAlaska for a ride. Ended up having dinner with he, QuakerNoOats and EvilGenius whilest O. wished I’d gotten home on time and played barefoot and pregnant in the galley-style kitchen. Fortunately, though, BakedAK is a veteran public transportation-goer, and showed me a better route to take to work in the mornings. Strike one with Orpheus, at once saving fifteen minutes each way on the damnable pneumonia-coach!

Monday, bloody Monday… (Or, Anniversary Time)

So, Orpheus and I had our anniversary on Monday. It was sedate, laid back… It’s the second time in two months we’ve celebrated an anniversary (this time, it’s in commemoration of Feb 2nd, 2007, the date we started dating officially. Last, it was Jan 2nd, 2007, the date we met). As such, it was somewhat practiced, and even shared 1/3 of the food on offer for consumption…

See, I’d meant to do the same red wine/olive oil/shallot marinated sirloin with a rip-off of Bulgaria’s BF’s sexy potatoes (only better), and another rip off of his chorizo-shrimp. Unfortunately, I completely forgot to bring the potatoes home with me from O.’s place (for some unknown reason, I brought them with me to his place on Sunday night… Stupid!)… This left me with a deranged plan for surf-and-turf, with absolutely no vegetable accompaniment. Needless to say, even with the days’ pressures effecting me somewhat negatively in the kitchen, dinner was a dream scribed on the doubtless hardening walls of our arteries with cholesterol (see a picture of my fat-slimed, empty plate below).

For an anniversary, it wasn’t a super-steaming night. We went to bed, and snuggled, and kissed a lot. Even had a bit of a hot mutual masturbation session… But there wasn’t screaming sex or anything. Which is just well and good. I’ve been run down a little lately. It seems that, though I rarely remember dream, I’ve been remembering a LOT of them in the last week. Like, more in six or seven days than I’ve remembered in the last five years contiguously. Due to this weird situation, I can’t even muster the energy for sex, which should come as a surprise if you’ve been reading me for awhile. I’m hoping that tonight will be a night sans-hallucination. Hell, I’m hoping it’ll be the first of many such nights. I need my beauty coma.

Also, I’m feeling the restlessness of true, deep horniness, but no vim to get up to any vinegar about it.

Happy Anniversary to me!

So, my darling ducks… The happy day has arrived. Orpheus and I have been dating for two years as of today, 2/2/2009. When we met, I certainly didn’t think that we’d still be together now, much less getting ready to move in. It’s been a long road, but it’s only getting more enjoyable as time goes on, and each of us learns more about the other. I’m very happy right now, and hope that I can stay sane and calm for a long time with this one.

That’s pretty much it for today, except that O. got a copy of the latest Muppet Christmas Special on DVD starring Whoopie Goldberg as god. We’re going to have to drink a lot of booze after I make dinner tonight to get through that.

Dinner, tragic conversation, good times…

So, last night’s dinner with Bulgaria’s abandoned BF went well. It was clear that the poor guy needed badly to talk to sympathetic parties, as his holiday at home with the (neoconservative) family was less than an emotionally calming experience. He’s at a difficult crossroads right now, finishing up with his Masters’ degree, and applying (again,) to Law School. His LSATS didn’t go so well, and so he’s kind of thinking that he’ll transfer after his 1L year, if his grades are good enough. In the meantime, though, we mostly talked about the tough time he’s having right now, and what Bulgaria’s going through at home… In Bulgaria.

Orpheus kind of sat around after making drinks for us while I helped out in the kitchen. Dinner itself was very, very good. We started with a lovely, hot chili and smoked chorizo fried shrimp concoction, followed up by a beautiful smoked chorizo-and mustard/mint-sauce speckled potato salad. The final dish was, essentially, a mildly altered Italian version of Coq au Vin using pancetta in place of bacon… Except that BF was going to use (of course,) smoked chorizo instead. Unfortunately, he forgot to add said delicious pork-based dream-component, so we just had drunken chicken for the main course, accompanied by asparagus tossed in a lovely honey-lemon dressing. He bought a cheesecake for dessert.

The big surprise of the evening was that, after the conversation petered out and BF’s roomie came home, I did really well playing guitar hero. I still don’t like the game much, and once again received a thumb blister for the trouble of playing, but it was better than my initial disastrous encounter with said e-spectacle. Orpheus did so poorly when he tried playing, that he stopped half-way through a song. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do such a thing. I mean, we’re talking about a guy who can’t wait to get the dance pad he bought on amazon.com so he can play his cheap Korean rip-off version of dance, dance revolution on the computer.

Anyway, tonight should be a bit higher on the gaiety scale, as O. and I are going out to one of his work-colleague’s goodbye party, at a ratty student bar. I still have yet to hear back from my gaming buddies if the reservations they sought were available, so still don’t know what’s going down on Friday night, but keep your fingers crossed for me!!!

Visions of sugar-beets dance through my head...

This week has been very odd. Though we were supposed to do something grand last weekend to compensate for our general lack of any non-sexual activities on off-days of late, Orpheus and I, well… Pretty much, we did nothing. We tried Saturday night services at the UU church downtown (which suck compared to Sunday morning, if you’re wondering), and I made Dal for lunchtime consumption all week on Sunday. We only had sex twice, which makes me sad. The only positives to come out of this weekend were 1) planning stuff to do this week with others, 2) the Dal, and 3) the Sweet Potato pancakes I made on Sunday morning, which fed me both on Monday and Tuesday nights.

O. ended up getting a promotion at work last week, which is pretty cool… It stabilizes his hours at work somewhat, and gives a nice office-work-ey boost to his Resume. Also, to his great excitement, it means that he now holds one of the gayest job titles extant (no, I won’t tell you what he does per his request). Though all of the changes are positive, he’s had odd hours this week due to training, and left me all by my lonesome for the last two nights in a row… At least, until about 11 PM, when he’s gotten off work. This has left me to my own devices, free to use up leftover batter, and dream the dream of the culinarilly disaffected…

See, Orpheus and this poor little monkey are a little short on cash ‘till the end of the week, and this week is Madison’s restaurant week… For $25.00, you can get a set menu selection of some of the most popular food at all the greatest places in town. Two of my gaming friends (who are dating, and who I recently cooked for,) have skads of disposable income, and went out every night this week together. O. and I may be going out with them on Friday, but part of me thinks it might be better to cook for them, as they’ve spent enough cash this week, and I don’t want to dress up. Also, the sweet potato pancakes have given me a lovely idea for a vegetarian dinner... Considering that this particular pair are pescatarians at their most meaty, it may be best.

Monday, I had spinach in the fridge, and wanted rid of it. Since I was being good, had had only a salad for lunch, and wanted to continue the trend, I figured I’d go vegetarian. However, since bacon is the best thing to wilt spinach with, I was in a quandary… Until I thought about the lonely jar of delicious high-quality beets I’d been saving, and the blue cheese crumbles I had to get rid of in the fridge. I sautéed the spinach with red onion and garlic in good extra-virgin olive oil, tossed in drained sliced pickled beets to sear, then tossed with a little sherry vinegar and tossed in some blue cheese, serving the potato pancakes up on the side. I added a hot garam masala spice mix to the pancakes. It tasted like dying and ending up in heaven.

Last night, I found that I’d run out of the green beans I thought were still hanging out in the freezer, and so did the same thing with about five times as many beet slices, a huge mess of coarsely chopped parsley, and a prayer. And that’s when it hit me… Root vegetable theme dinner. I can start with a low-fat (don’t knock it, it can be done,) cream of beet soup based on a veggie stock. I use fat-free sour cream for this type of soup… It works very well in my famed cream of asparagus soup, in fact! Then, serve the beet greens and chard along with the stems, julienned, as a sauté a-la Monday’s dinner alongside curried sweet potato pancakes. If I felt like getting really fancy, I could even do little turnip croquettes composed with sautéed shallots in the mix and a horseradish cream as an amuse bouche… However, I don’t feel like I should be quite THAT pretentious. Hell, if I were being really fruity, I could even serve the soup in bowls of roasted or steamed celeriac, throwing the innards of said veggie into the beet green saute! I hate making desserts, otherwise that would be part of the menu, as well… But I feel that, as a dinner, the idea is quite cohesive, and I’ve tasted the outcome. I can guarantee it’s better than what they’re serving at half the restaurants participating in restaurant week, anyway, so that’s a start.

The question becomes, what wine do I serve? Root veggies have a little more oomph to them than most, so a stiff white or a good, dry rose may not be enough this time. Pinot Noir? A medium red should do… Probably be a good kick in the pants of convention, even. Nothing sweet, though. With so much on the line in terms of beets and sweet potatoes, a sweet wine would just end up cloying, no matter how alcoholic it also happened to be.

And, after all that, I just got an invite to one of two places on Friday night from the gaming buddies, both of which have menus that, while not as cohesive or cool as mine, do make a good deal of sexy-sounding sense, regardless. Once again, I lose.

Catchup, Ketchup, Catch Up…

So, it’s been a long damned time (excepting yesterday's love-letter to our outgoing commander in thief), since I put anything of merit up here. Therefore, I will do a very quick summation of the last couple months for you, as some pretty exciting things have happened…

• Thanksgiving – Orpheus and I traveled to St. Joseph, MI to the home of my sister and her husband for the holiday. O. met Mom and Dad, and Dad pulled me aside before he and Mom left to say that he really likes my boyfriend… These are words I never expected out of Dad’s mouth, given the head-pounding that happened when I told my parents that I was dating a man… We spent an extra couple days in St. Joe with Komponist and the little sis, and very much enjoyed the visit. I was even able to get a little more used to their dog, Chloe, who is getting smarter and more adorable with age.
• Christmas – Orpheus went home to Appleton for the holiday, and I had met my parents in Chicago on the 22nd for a nice dinner out and gift exchange. I begged off driving five hours home to Grand Rapids, MI, and spent Christmas in the company of BakedAlaska, QuakerNoOats, and their daughter, EvilGenius. I was also supposed to hang out with Aries’ family for a couple hours, but they had to cancel on me. It was a lovely holiday, and I made a somewhat disjointed if delicious meal comprised of a beautiful rice pilaf, sweet potato pancakes with mock caviar, and perfect fried eggs served with a sauce mornay… I based said sauce on a béchamel, which meant it was very thick and creamy.
• New Years’ Eve – O. and I went to Club5, the regrettable gay club in town, for the party. We were ogled by many nasty old men, paid way, way too much for drinks, but had a fairly nice buffet with unlimited and surprisingly tasty bubbly afterwards. I made a beautiful dinner at home before the fact, of pan-fried then oven roasted marinated tenderloin with roast mashed potatoes and braised leeks. Overall, a disappointing evening, if only because nobody was dancing. Dinner was good, though. So was the sex.
• New Years’ Day – Back over to BakedAlaska, QuakerNoOats’ and EvilGenius’ place for a rompin’ good time New Years’ Day celebration! Orpheus and I brought a good deal of bubbly and orange juice, with which we kept BakedAK happy, and we all went shopping for QuakerNoOats-safe food so that I could cook dinner for everyone. Ended up doing a variation of a margarita sauce braise with sirloin and tomatillos instead of tomatoes. It was so tasty, I have altered the basic recipe for personal use. Also, finally broke down and bought a new camera (a shitty one, unfortunately), as I’ve been going crazy without something to click pictures with.
• 1/2/09’- Second anniversary of meeting… We went out to one of the places through which we matriculated on our initial, fateful pub-crawl. Nattspil is the name of the place. The service sucked, but the food, as ever, was good. The sex was pretty hot, too…
• The sex, the sex, the sex… TerraFirma’s been gone every weekend for the last little bit, thank god. This has meant that O. and I have had run of the apartment on our days off, and have used this privilege to screw on every non-verboten surface in the place. We’ve also finalized that, after our individual leases expire in August, we’ll be getting a place together to save money, and continue the great experiment that is our relationship in cozier surroundings. Oh, god, the sex…

And that’s about it, for now. Money is pretty tight, but isn’t it always? Overall, I’m very glad Obama has taken office, and hope things change for the better. In the meantime, I’m still working at the same job, which is much better than the old one, and the world is still turning. Our ability to subsist, much like roaches, on the face of this god-forsaken ball of dirt in times of difficulty is vastly underrated. I feel like the clouds are just beginning to break, and any time now, I’ll see a glorious ray of sunshine breaking through…

There's the Door…

Dear Mr. (outgoing) President…

I will not waste overly much time or energy writing here what a waste of space you are. Instead, I wish you god-speed and a long life. Further, I wish you a swift trial and just punishment, hopefully something like a prison term that takes more than full advantage of the aforementioned long life. Finally, I genuinely hope that you and your ilk burn in Hell. Your time is over, and the Nation can finally breathe again.

Why do I hope such things for you, you may ask? Well, it all burns down to this… When still a student of policy, way back in September of 2001, I sat on the roof of the Co Op where I lived with friends, and discussed the possible ramifications of the terrorist attacks that were still tying up phone lines on the East Coast. I saw the immediate outpouring of sympathy from Europe as a welcome Détente, given the bad first steps you'd taken in your presidency… A gift, I thought, this kick-start to responsible diplomacy. But, in less than a week, the power your corrupt government had to fan the flames of rumor, fear, hatred, and untruth were fully revealed. My dreams crumbled.

This dreadful initial mismanagement of what has become one of the most hideous conflicts America has ever perpetrated on the World, however, was just the beginning. And simply mentioning the ongoing tragedies of Iraq and Afghanistan doesn't even touch on the abject suffering you've caused in the rest of the world. Your policy has seen to the ultimate suffering of the middle and lower classes everywhere, all in the name of further concentration of wealth in the hands of your
big-contract defense department robber-baron friends. I won't tackle what you've done domestically to the Justice Department, the State Department, or, God forbid, the Supreme Court… Hell, if we don't prosecute you at home for the crimes you've committed, I honestly hope that the next time you take Laura to Paris for shopping, you're nabbed and taken to the Hague. Some of the crap you pulled makes Milosevic
look like a blameless child in comparison!

Finally, there is the horrible tarnish you've put on the presidency. At its' best, the office you've held for the past eight years has been a symbol of stable governance and justice in a tumultuous world. You were definitely unqualified for the job, but stole an election anyway. You were unpalatable from the very first, and only made yourself more so with time and lies heaped upon lies. You stand for everything that the country needs to shed itself of… Reganomics, abject greed, stupidity, moral ambiguity, unyielding absolutism, horrible untruthfulness, absolute opacity.

What I'm trying to say, sir is…

Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Oh, yeah… And good riddance!

Sincerely,
~Aeffchen