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.