Post-Christmas, Pre-Newyears' Rush...

OK, so I lied. I knew I’d be busier than a shit-house rat last week, and was still stupid enough to promise daily posts. Let’s just say that the Christmas holiday was most interesting! I stayed with my little sister and her husband, drank a great deal with my parents, friends, and a few people I don’t like so much. I visited so many folks, and had a great time. Unfortunately, I also spent a huge sum of money on presents and such, but that wasn’t so terribly important this time through. I’m happier, and once more giddy at the touch of O., who did something so nice to me last night that I’m flushed thinking about it, now.
The driving was, as expected, atrocious. However, I timed it better this year, and didn’t have to do anything behind the wheel after the hour of 11 PM, EST. That was nice, for a change. I cooked up a storm, and got to show Mom the virtues of using the right knife for the right job. Also, in getting to know my German big-bellied monster of a knife, I once more fell in love. If they weren’t so sharp, I’d consider a tryst… Fortunately for Orpheus, cold steel makes a rather indifferently painful lover. I’m working today, mostly just to get my paycheck, and then it’s four more days off, this time with no calls on my time that don’t involve nudity with O. I like it better that way.
It was so nice to see him again when I came home last night. It was, in fact, a major relief. I never realized the level of my addiction to something so stupid as his smell, not to mention his touch, his heat, being able to hear his heartbeat. Last night was wonderful, and I get him to myself this weekend, too. Huzzah for me! I get to cook, f@#$, and snuggle all weekend long!!! Damn, that’s decadent. Anyway, I’m back now, so start screaming if you don’t hear from me enough. I could use the goosing.

Happy Holidays, Beyotches....

Merry Fucking Christmas!!!
I know that I promised daily updates, but home, as always, has proven more than adequate at distracting me from various important things. Today was wondrous. It all started with Mom making a lovely egg-ey breakfast... A breakfast that began with bacon and coffee, and ended with yum. My little sister, her husband and I went shopping, where I found both of them presents... Of course, I called them from the back of Barnes and Noble, told them to vacate the register area, then called them from the parking lot and said that I was absconding with their presents. Rather fun, all told. Then, I went to see a great old friend from HS, and visited with his mother, sister, and family for a few hours. After 3, I went home, got dressed up, and we went to the supper club for dinner. I dearly love fillet. Note to foodies... When you have a steak with a hollandaise sauce, you needn't get a white wine to match... Rather, go with a fruity, young Zin. You'll be happy that you did.
We opened our presents this evening, as the “youths” (my sister and her husband,) must leave tomorrow morning for Detroit. Everyone loved the gifts I gave them, and I came away with a lovely haul... The santoku knife I mentioned after Thanksgiving (which I brought back with me so I wouldn't have to deal with Mom's dull-ass knives), and an 8” Wusthof Classic Ikon Chef's knife, which is freakishly beautiful. It makes me very, very horny. I was also given a beautiful single-serving double-walled Bodum press. One that I can dump hot water and grounds into before I leave in the morning, and get hot coffee out of by the time I get to work. You know, the kind of coffee a human being would actually want to drink... A.K.A, not the kind of coffee that's already available at work.
This year, I received only tools. Things that inspire, things that can help to make me a better cook, a better musical thinker (A Hesperion XXI CD... It could also be used to make me a less bored cook... You decide which appellation you like better), a better person. For the first time in a long while, I think that I get Christmas. I gave good gifts, which made me happy. I did it to make others happy, and happiness came back... Maybe I'm trying to suck the joy out of the Solstice, but that's something. And, really, given the Germanized Paganism that Christmas (which, incidentally, SHOULDN'T be any more important than Hanukkah religiously speaking,) represents, that's quite a lot to learn. When are the fucking Fundies going to realize that Easter's where it's really at?
Where's the stinkin' war on the Goddamn Easter Bunny? Ignorant shits...

Orpheo

Last night, Orpheus sent me an e-card, seemingly from the underworld… It was a plea to come see him early, as he was feeling down in the dumps, and wanted our last night together before going home to be special. Naturally, I dropped everything… Well, not really, but I did accelerate my plans a good deal. Upon my arrival, I let him know we’d be going out to dinner, my treat, and gave him a nice rub-down to banish the ache from his legs. When he, suffering from a malaise born of “big-boy hours,” couldn’t settle on what he wanted for dinner and then kept shooting down my suggestions as to venue, I got a little cross but held my tongue. Eventually, O. suggested that we just hit the pavement, and simply end up somewhere. Fortunately, I talked him into the Tornado Room, which is a grown-up bar we frequent, and that is attached to a delightful steakhouse offering some of the only truly great eats in town. I lured him in, promising we could eat on the cheap on the bar side. He’s kind of uncomfortable with expensive, fancy cuisine unless I’m cooking it… Fortunately, they don’t serve the late-night, bar-food burger menu until after ten, though I did make a concession, and we took dinner in the bar.
We each had a beautiful dish, plenty to drink, and oysters to help the mood. It was a wonderful time, kind of an impromptu and early Christmas present. When we went back to O’s place, and he gave me the gift I’ve been waiting for so long. He finally told me that he loves me. I cried a little, and then things proceeded in the natural manner. I don’t get to see him for a week, but he’s promised to call me tonight when he gets home. Tomorrow, I’ll call him when I get to Michigan, and we’ll talk. My head is so full, right now, and my heart is content. I love him, and I can’t think of a better thing to take home with me for Christmas than the knowledge that he loves me, too. I’m such an emotional schoolgirl at the moment! Anyway, I very much hope that your holiday is as wonderful as mine is shaping up to be. I’ll write again, soon, regarding the virtues of a great kitchen knife, amongst other things.

Orpheus is SO dreamy...

Today, I woke up a little early. I just laid still in the darkness, and listened to Orpheus breathe (damn late-night coffee binges). Eventually, he woke as well, and took the pillow out from between us. Since he succumbs to unconsciousness far later than I ever could on weekdays, he’ll usually watch movies on his laptop whilst I snore away for a couple hours. This sometimes makes it necessary to employ novel strategies to keep my unconscious form from latching on with all claws and pirating his body heat while he attempts to watch ‘The Bourne…’ well, the Bourne-whatever we’re up to at this point, for instance. When he took the pillow away, O. was the one to snuggle up to me. I heard his heart beat slow and steady. I smelled his awful morning breath, and just felt inexplicably good. We napped for a bit, in each others’ arms. After the alarm rang, after my shower, I came back to kiss him goodbye and wish him a good day, and saw something I hadn’t before seen reflected back at me in his eyes, accompanied by a tired little smile. He makes me feel so… Satisfied. Just full enough, so to speak. Motivated to please, and search out things that will satisfy him. He’s a special guy, and I’m a lucky one. Now, watch him dump me over Christmas! It’s the only possible outcome after such blatant (literary?) mooning. ;-)

Ding Dong Merrily On High…

Somewhere, bells are ringing. Elsewhere, people singing. Last night, at O’s company holiday party, things were more or less OK. First off, he works for a well-funded non-profit with an employment roll chock-full of low-paid liberal arts grads. This means that his co-workers are, to a one, well-dressed, pretty hot, excellent conversationalists, and destitute. When put in the mix, as low-level functionaries amongst board members and a large number of local luminaries in the arts, they mostly feel out of place… Orpheus himself was uncomfortable at the party until a few of his direct colleagues showed up. I, on the other hand, am not part of that organizational hierarchy, so got to mix as I pleased. The director has excellent taste in beer, and the food was to die for. There was excellent brisket (I’m very glad that O. didn’t tell me that we had the option to bring something… I’ve been really into pork, lately, and the party was thrown in a pork-hostile household. Talk about an embarrassing situation averted), and even better desserts. I ended up speaking to a couple older local artists who probably would’ve invited me out back to smoke something funny if we hadn’t been at this particular function. After they left to drive home (a farm over an hour north of Madison), I joined in conversation with O.
We had a lot of fun just kibitzing! Aside from the normal fun banter, one of his co-workers is an unbelievably hot blonde, who is married to an equally drool-inducing carpenter. They like quirky watches. Orpheus and I joked for a good hour after we left about how I could have her if he could have the husband… I said I wanted them both, he countered regarding the unfairness of that situation, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… Good verbal foreplay, apparently. After O’s day, spent at my place (Monday is his organization’s Sunday… They don’t open,) in the company of lesbians, I’m surprised that he wanted to do anything along those lines at all. Terra Firma and her GF got noisy in the living room over lunch, according to Orpheus. It left him quivering under the covers, clutching my all-too-willing cat, the shameless little feline slut. When I got home from work and proceeded to getis eyes still looked a bit glazed, as is appropriate for a trauma victim, when I got home to clean up for the party… It was cute. Either way, yesterday was pretty cool.
Hopefully, tonight will be nice, too. We’re going out to say goodbye to A., who I’ve posted about a couple times. She’s done with all her exams, and is graduating. Therefore, she’s moving home to Chicago while job searching. It makes me a little sad that she’ll be leaving, but that’s the way these things go. It’s not like I haven’t been through it before. I’m just rather older, now.
So, that’s about all there is to say today. Nothing new at work. Oh! The color scheme for S.’s wedding won’t be cream and maroon, thank god… Rather it’s to be navy and pink. At least I’m fey enough to wear the color of the leisure classes, and am rather tan in the summer.

Jingle Bells, Batman smells...

Last week was a nightmare. I had training (read: unnecessary reiteration) for the whole week. I had no time to get anything work-related done and, worse yet, no time to blog. To make a long story short, the way we’re being driven is little better than a form of chattel slavery. Dangling a sign reading “Arbeit Macht (FINANCIALLY) Frei” just brings up a bunch of historical stink as far as I’m concerned, both inter- and extra-company. Hell, even intra- is an issue. We just don’t currently do the kind of business that they’re switching us to, historically, and are also caught with our pants down systemically… The technology to support this model isn’t in place, yet. But enough harping, already. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am not working here much longer. There’s no bloody way. Pray for me, or some such.
On more pleasant notes, Orpheus and I had a fairly good (albeit exhausting,) week, and not involving nearly as much nookie as I’d like. We’re both stressing a bit over what to get for everyone we know for Christmas, and recovering from my awful company holiday party last weekend. I’m getting more and more excited about heading to Michigan on Saturday, where I have a brief respite with my sister and her husband in St. Joseph before proceeding home, and picking up Dad’s Christmas Present for Mom (it’s a complicated, comfy desk chair that can’t exactly be hidden anywhere except my occupied bedroom. Due to accumulated bad vibes from interactions during my teen years, Mom simply won’t enter said space while I’m in residence). I’m planning on doing some serious job searching, experimenting with a few culinary ideas, including a rip-off of the ratatouille from the movie of the same name, and in general relaxing with old friends. I got the news this Sunday that one of my best friends in the world is getting married in July, and I’m to be one of her brides’ men… Well, I’m to be her only brides’ man, really, and that should prove most interesting. I just hope to god I don’t have to wear cream with a maroon vest, like my friend C. did in the same situation a few years ago. I’d never forgive S. for that. Never, ever… So I get to lecture her on this point come Dec. 26th in person.
For his part, Orpheus is actually going home for the first time in a year over Christmas. He doesn’t have a room there, anymore, and it’s unlikely he’ll have much privacy. I hope he doesn’t have a difficult time. This will also be the longest we’ve ever been apart. Good for both of us, I’m sure. There’s been so much ambivalence where he and I are concerned, lately. I love him dearly, and some time to think about us without him clouding my head first-hand, naked and hard will probably be a “good thing,” Martha Stuart style (though not as fascistic). Plus, I’m sure he’ll come home as horned as a rhinoceros, which can’t possibly hurt anyone’s feelings, even if it can wear away at one’s corn hole. I’ll try to weigh in more this week than last, and will DEFINITELY be giving dailies while at home… I won't really have much else to do.

Roasted Pork Loin, Polar Bear Smackdown, Jingle Bells, ETC…

This weekend was long. Wicked-long, even. Not bad in most of its’ parts albeit quite taxing. Orpheus and I hung around his place on Friday, attending BF’s Hanukkah party. Almost everyone there was a pretentious wanna-be politico. I spent much of the evening in the kitchen with O., keeping company with Aphrodite while she cooked… And cooked… And kept on cooking. She made blintzes, potato pancakes, hummus, babaganoush (sp?), and the most LOVELY salmon dip with dill. She also made one of my recipes, a beautiful roasted red pepper dip. Oh, yes, while keeping her company, we also got blitzed. It was a good thing that A., from my post last Tuesday, showed up. Otherwise, we all would’ve been in a right state, Aphrodite included. Orpheus and I left before midnight, and were happier for it. The sleep on Friday night was exemplary.
Saturday, I just couldn’t get out of bed, except to move my car from a metered spot to a safe one. I even went back to bed when O. went to work, only getting up to meet him out for lunch. I then had to move my car AGAIN, as the tire was marked by the hellspawn we call metermaids, which took a highly distressing half-hour. It’s snowed quite a lot here this past week, and since parking is bad even when the white stuff isn’t making a mess of everything, spots one can get into and out of without a trail-rated utility vehicle of some sort are currently at a premium. I then succumbed once more to sleep. I was awake in time for Orpheus’ homecoming, and even washing dishes when he arrived. However, we soon went back in to take another nap and make out a touch. Then it was back to my place to get ready for the annual Christmas party at my place of employment, for which we got a little dolled up, bundled up, and rolled out to Middleton, where the party was being held.
From the start, it was awful. I hadn’t prepared Orpheus for the average age of my coworkers, nor had I informed most of said folks that I have been dating a man. If asked, I was honest, and I told a few people at work without being prompted, but for the most part my department is quite religious and rather conservative (though not rabidly so). I was out to more people in Customer Services, as said department is festooned with really awesome butch lesbians. Unfortunately, only one of these made it on Saturday with her partner, and they sat at another table. I was stuck between two Christian conservative pairs, who nonetheless are Bush-haters, thank God, and who warmed up to O. pretty quickly. Across the table, however, sat one of my favorite coworkers, who is apparently the girlfriend of Satan. He said the most hurtful, hateful things, proving himself a political pariah in the conservative sense. It even got one of our Admin. Accountants John mad, as he started railing on AIDS in Africa. John’s wife is Kenyan, and was right at the table, and was very classy about things, all told… But it was fairly tense for a little while.
After the dueling piano act (one with which I’ve had far too much experience in town already,) got started, everything just slipped downhill. Nobody was drunk, because everyone had to drive, and these guys are NOT good. I mean, they’re ok for dueling piano shows, but that’s not exactly a standard most professionals would try to live up to. Really, for musicians, it’s more of a “could I get drunk enough to say what’s coming out of their mouths comfortably, and still get away with playing that badly?” kind of thing. They were bawdy, far too nasty by far for the audience, and there was a stunned, tense silence while they did their biggest crowd-pleasing numbers. Orpheus and I just got the heck out fairly early, and went to see ‘The Golden Compass.’ It was pretty bad, but only in that Hollywood ruins everything kind of way. Plus, O. absolutely went ape-shit over what he called “POLAR BEAR SMACKDOWN!!!” It was pretty kickin.
Finally, Sunday was pretty cool. I got to do Dungeons and Dragons with my roleplaying group for the first time since just before Thanksgiving. It was nice to get my fix, and it gave Orpheus and I a few hours off to breathe. Then, I proceeded to make the most delicious citrus-marinated pork roast last night. And today, we’re beginning the training process for the new employees here at work, which I’m in on. All in all, I think I’ll be able to be more positive about work today when asked how my day was. Especially since I’m making pork tacos for dinner tonight… Yummy! Hope you all had a pleasant weekend, and please comment! I’m lonely… :-(

'Tis the Season...

A coworker of mine just draws the worst lot, continuously… By worst lot, I mean, WOW (World of Warcraft,) first level bad. She has an extensive family, all very religious, who are heavily prone to accidental deaths, dramatic depression, and suicide, usually while she is on vacation or at crucially important work functions. She is a single mom (admittedly, for a stupid reason, but M. was told that she was as barren as the Gobi by every doctor she’d ever seen up until getting knocked up), and her one (accidental, but sharp as a tack,) son has quite a few health issues. She is the anchor for her crazy family, and through it all, she just keeps going. And going. And going… Like the Energizer Bunny of Religious Forbearance. And now, after rushing her kid, gone cold and blue, to the emergency room yesterday and finding out he has pneumonia, she’s back at work worrying her hind-end off. J., her son, is only 21 months old and has already spent 2 months of that time under 24-hour medical supervision.
To make a long story short, I figured that it would be nice to offer some support. So I e-mailed her this morning, and offered to make a dish that would keep in the fridge and reheat well, or baby sit for one night after Josh gets a little better (I did, wisely, ask for a diaper-changing tutorial first… Mamma didn’t raise no fool). This made me feel an odd sensation that I hadn’t felt in quite some time. I continued the trend upon finding out that another co-worker, L., whose husband is a deadbeat per Echo (another co-worker, so named due to her propensity for liberally spreading around the most obscenely detailed gossip), lives near me. This is pertinent, as she doesn’t drive herself, and is sometimes left without a ride, waiting out in front of the building after her shift for the aforementioned deadbeat. Since we’ll be getting off at the same time every night, I may occasionally be giving her a ride, as it’s really not an extra burden taking her home. All this do-gooding, though, is making an odd sensation start in my chest. Perhaps the beating of my long-dormant heart, bursting in love for my fellowman? Doubtful, but fun to think of that way.
Finally, there is a seasonal kindness I’ve yet to attend tonight, all for the benefit of poor Aphrodite, who is slaving in the kitchen as I write over BF’s big public Hanukkah party. I’ll be sporting her kind gift of last week and its’ accessory, and may even be helping her knock out the last of the cooking she’s been doing all day today to prepare. My work as benefactor is never done… Fortunately, I’ve practically got a promise that O. and I can be each others’ sex slaves after the party is done, ‘cause we haven’t gotten to doink in an entire week. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s likely to be quite messy in a good way. Have a lovely weekend, pets! And please… I was totally being serious asking for gift suggestions. I will love you all so much more if you give me some!

Orpheus is…

My baby is wonderful. He takes care of me as much as he can, and I try hard to give him what he needs. Though I’m better off now than I have been in years, I am still in no position to spoil Orpheus rotten, but he does his best to spoil me in very sweet, free ways. He gets me books at the library that he thinks I’ll like, and recommends reads, as well as discussing books we’ve both read (which isn’t always fun for him… My background is in policy analysis, so I see the world as a sick social machine that rejects the weak by default. He’s patient, deity bless him). The neatest example of what he’s picked up for me of late is an old CD-ROM based off Julia Child’s PBS series where she cooks with a new chef each episode, as a guest in their kitchen. It’s awesome, as it has recommendations for kitchen tools she couldn’t do without, recommendations for basic knife sets, etc. It’s hot. It makes me wet. Thus, Orpheus has made me hot and wet, and should be rewarded… ;-)
Because of his constant sweet, thoughtful attentions, I’m having a hard time figuring out what to get him for Christmas. I know what he likes, but he seems to take care of getting new music and movies before I have a chance to, and doesn’t like to own any but “important” books. He very rarely re-reads anything, so I guess that makes sense. He has more or less everything he needs, and I just can’t afford most of the stuff he “wants,” more’s the pity. He has given me some ideas, but I’d like to do something special for him that isn’t cooking, or giving him Bluetooth earphones so he can watch movies on his computer while I sleep. I mean, for his birthday I gave him a gig of RAM and did the install… He needed it, and is far happier with his computer than he’s ever been before, but it wasn’t really a “WOW!” gift situation. I want to give O. something that shows that I care for him deeply, like cooking, but less delicious. He does “need” a couple things, but I already gave him his stocking stuffer (decent paring knives… Henckles International with a molded grip. He didn’t have any small task blades that could cut a tomato without half-crushing it), and I don’t want to give him another boring household something.
So, I guess that means I’m soliciting comments, ‘cause I’m lost. Please help me with gift ideas! It should be obvious to you all that I’m a horrible gift-giver by now. Impart your wisdom, I beg of you! Otherwise all will be lost, and I’ll just have to give O. his Bluetooth headset, then cover him in chocolate as the fun part of the gift. Wait…

Short post OR The Taming of my Shrew

Two major changes at work today… First, the new salespeople that were hired on from Customer Service moved their desks this morning, meaning I have to be extra careful when playing on the computer during calls. You’d be surprised how much more effective a salesperson I am when I let my mind wander, and just let these buyers talk. They tip their cards quite quickly, if one lets them. Secondly, we’ve shifted what used to be the start-of-day meeting to 11 AM, so my schedule went all topsy-turvey, what with the information I’m used to having first thing disappearing. Therefore, today has something of a hazy quality, and I keep hearing a cartoon-ish voice in the back of my head, saying “Think but this, and all is mended…” Sadly, I do manage to slumber here quite alot, lately, as we’ve gone from having a set number of hours per week distributed as you like, to a strict 8-5 schedule with a mandatory lunch break. One hour isn’t really enough to drive home and back during rush hour, so I’m either using the tiny, pathetic employee gym, or sleeping in the “recovery room” with the alarm set on my phone. Given my early roust to deal with clearing off the car after ANOTHER five inches of snow, three guesses which it’ll be today? Have a good one, and try yesterday’s recipes… I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Food-based excitement...

Last night, Orpheus and I made dinner for a friend of his whose 22nd birthday fell on last Wednesday. We made her a fish dish that, upon its’ description to her at the bar, had her salivating drunkenly upon the table. One that, incidentally, I’d only come up with in the midst of putting together dinner upon realizing that I had only mahi-mahi to work with, and not tuna. Of O’s friends, she’s probably my favorite. A. is very, very tall, modelesquely skinny, quite pretty, from a good family, and is quite demure (albeit in the calculated sense, which is half the fun). She has all the benefits of good breeding and money with none of the usual social indecencies associated with those happy conditions. A. is lovely dinner company, and loves to cook as well, so I got plenty of compliments and questions on what is to follow: Mahi-Mahi Citroen with Sweet Peppers…

Mahi-Mahi Citroen
Serves 2
• 2 fillets mahi-mahi, skin removed, fresh or thawed
• ½ small sweet onion, sliced very thin
• 1 dry ancho chili pepper, very finely minced
• 1 large clove garlic, finely minced
• Multi-color Peppercorns, fresh ground, to taste
• Juice of 1 small fresh lime
• ½ orange, sliced thin
• 1½ -2 Tbsp. Soy sauce
• 1½ -2 tsp. toasted sesame oil
• (Optional: a thin sliver of fresh ginger, peeled, crushed, and minced)
• ½ Tbsp. butter
• 1-2 oz. Voignier or very dry Gewurztraminer

Directions: Combine all non-fishy ingredients in a gallon-size freezer bag, reserving the butter and wine for later… Use a bag with a good seal, so it doesn’t leak all over creation. Mash up oranges so juice and pulp incorporate. Add fish, and give about 30 minutes to marinate, turning occasionally so juices distribute, at room temperature. When ready, melt butter in pan at medium heat. Throw your whole bag full of goo into hot pan, cook for five minutes uncovered. Flip fillets, add wine to sauce, cook five more minutes. Plate fish. If sauce is still too thin, turn up heat and thicken just slightly. Pour sauce over fish and serve. It’s easy to double the recipe… Just add a touch more of everything, and you’re set.

An excellent side dish for this recipe is my avocado salad, which is just a diced roma tomato, a thickly sliced avocado, half of a very small sweet onion, thinly sliced, with a hint of sesame oil, and about ½ a lime’s worth of juice, with a small sweet pepper sliced thin to garnish. Salt and pepper to taste. It’s like butter. Especially when followed up with a boozy mango-banana shake (rum or vodka, couldn’t be drunker). Hell, I suppose you could even do a couple starter-courses first, and make it a really easy “fancy” meal. Miso soup, followed by a simple lettuce salad w/thin-sliced onion and sweet pepper and Japanese steak-house ginger dressing… Everything is easy to prep before hand, except the avocado salad, which you can compound while cooking the fish, and the miso, which kind of needs to be done just before serving. I didn’t have time for the pre-courses yesterday, nor the inclination, as Aphroditie brought me a lovely present that necessitated a little shopping before I cooked. Most of the time, I’d be pissed with a gift that required accessories, but I was most grateful for this one. It helped things a bit, as I’m still rather mad at her for going back to BF. Overall, it was just a lovely night, and kept getting better after the dishes were done… Hope I can be all smiley-blushy tomorrow when writing, too… For now, try the recipes, and have fun!

Note: I made quite an error yesterday, supposing that Minotaur by Benjamin Tammuz was an inspiration to Phillip Roth in writing his book Operation: Shylock. Though Tammuz did set down his pen and publish in 1989, the language of the original text was Hebrew, a language that I’m pretty sure PR doesn’t actually read for fun (or profit, even). The first English edition didn’t appear until 2005. Please accept my apologies for the mistake!

Winter "Wonderland"

It was a lovely weekend, even when littered liberally with my insecurities. I guessed one of my Christmas presents from Orpheus, and was so touched I nearly cried… Still don’t get it early, though, even for being the biggest bottom in the world (three times in 36 hours. Unheard of for me). Madison had a “winter weather alert,” and so O. and I laid low at my place all weekend. Terra Firma and Sister were also both around, though Sister HAS her own apartment, now (just signed the papers on Friday). This is great news for Orpheus, as he has been more irritated since she moved in with TF and I, but he likes Sister quite a bit more than he likes Terra, so really, the blessing is mixed. S. will continue to co-habitate with us for another week or so, until she takes delivery of her new furniture, poor thing.
So, that’s the generic miscellany of the weekend. The other items to discuss are as follows: 1) Sister, out of curiosity born of freezing to death in the apartment, checked our windows, and found that they open down as well as up, and we had been existing with quarter-inch gaps between the top of the window frame and our upper sashes for several of the cold months. We closed said gaps. Consequently, we’ll be saving a great deal on heat in the future, especially since we ghetto-sealed our windows with plastic on Saturday. 2) The thing that I wouldn’t discuss last week has been cleared by Orpheus for treatment… Before the snow really started coming down on Saturday, we had two prospective three-way auditions which we’d set up last week. Neither went terribly swimmingly, though the second was significantly better than the first. However, the second guy was so physically unattractive (that pic was ARTFULLY photoshopped, let me tell you,) that no amount of mental acrobatics could actually justify sleeping with the poor guy. 3) We took a trip to the grocery store on Sunday, and that was absolutely it. The roads weren’t THAT bad, but people were driving like chickens with their heads cut off. This morning, though, with all the snow half-melting and going to ice, I was stuck in my parking spot, and had to get O. out of bed to help me out. After dumping all of my kitty litter into the wheel-wells created by rocking the car, I was still 30 minutes late for work. After being sick last week, that doesn’t bode terribly well for my future here.
To mop up a couple things I didn’t talk about last week, I finished Operation: Shylock by Phillip Roth, and couldn’t help but get the impression that House of Leaves owed a lot to Roth… At least as a source of ideas that the author of said book just wasn’t good enough to implement in a more outré manner than good ‘ol P.R… In House of Leaves, one of the worst books I’ve ever read, I can now draw a line of literary inspirations from Greek Myths through bad German ‘Tales of the Witching Hour’, with a short stop at Benjamin Tammuz’s Minotaur, doubtless one of Roth’s inspirations, and finally through trashy ‘80’s serial SciFi and nasty drugs to that unmentionable, over-wrought, under-achieving cult “classic” of a novel. That’s all for today, folks. Please leave comments if you like or dislike what you read here. I don’t have stats tools yet, so am anxious to know how everybody likes the page, and even if it’s being read at all.
Many Thanks, ~Aeffchen.

The Fascinating Sleeping Patterns of a Madisonian Faggot…

Let’s just say that, in the last month, I’ve not been sleeping as much or as well as I need to in order to carry on life function. By way of explanation, I should relate that when it starts to get cold out, I begin to require quite a bit more sleep than the average bear. By bear I mean not the hairy/fat/queer variety, as I more closely resemble an otter in that parlance, but a grizzly. I simply bury myself in goose down, sometimes using my cat as a living hot water bottle, and effectively die for a period of time not to exceed 10 hours at a stretch. This sleep is blessedly dream-free, and generally restorative, even if one tends to wake up a tad cranky and less than willing to vacate the feline-fired cocoon of timed oblivion.
With Orpheus around, this all just becomes more difficult. He still has a job where he doesn’t have to get up early every day, and so stays up rather too late. No matter how considerate he may be, I’m always a little put out by his late-night movie watching antics. Plus, as we’re not actually falling asleep at the same time, we’re not on precisely the same circadian rhythm, either. This means that we’re both getting hot and cold at turns, and thus rather negatively interfering with each others’ sleeping patterns. Furthermore, when I’m over at his place, the situation has become quite sticky, indeed. They turned on the heat in his building, over which individual residents have no control. If it’s too hot, moreover, one cannot open the window for relief without risking a fine from management. So, beyond any nocturnal activities which tend to produce copious sweat, O’s room is like a sauna every night. We’re both cold sleepers. This is BAD!
Really, I can’t think of a way to fix things, but have not yet consulted the internets, so we’ll just have to wait and see what else can be dug up for me to worry about next week. Either way, I find the prospect of not spending so much time sharing a bed with O. to be disturbing at least. As odious as his breath becomes in the morning, it’s the sweetest morning breath to my nostrils, to date… This counts for a lot. By the by, wish us luck! I won’t tell you for what without getting his permission to write about it first, but it’s pretty exciting/fun, anyway. Take my word for it, I dare you.

One (or two,) thing(s) I didn’t tell you about...

Yesterday, I gave (an admittedly less than full,) synopsis of my Thanksgiving vacation, with copious notes on Grandma-based musings. What I didn’t tell you about was the flurry of activity which occurred on Sunday night, after Orpheus came home from work. He was called by his father regarding groceries, as the family was in town, dropping Chemie back off at school. When asked if he wanted to go out to dinner, he said no, as he didn’t want to leave me alone at his place with nothing to eat, which garnered me an invite. Now, the reason this was so surprising was that Orpheus’ Father had absolutely no desire to meet me before this point. He’s rather disappointed, you see, that his son is a fine performer on the skin flute, much like my Dad is disappointed in me for being rather an artisan on the same instrument.
Of course, the dinner invite threw me into a tizzy… I ran out to my car to get something more appropriate to wear (in this case, a red sweater. If I were to be martyred, I figured that the only way to go was dramatically, much like Mary, Queen of Scotts), ran back up six flights of stairs to O’s apartment, and ensconced myself firmly in the room of rest. I won’t tell you what I went through to make myself presentable, but it more or less worked. We went out, and had an OK, meal, despite the mariachi duet going on in the background with no audience. Orpheus was checked out pretty blatantly by our waitress’ trainer, which was uncomfortable for him. Our waitress herself sucked donkey parts, and was wearing a simple band-style mood ring, which I at first took to be a stone ring… It was green (nervous,) each and every time she came to the table, which gave me a private chuckle. As for O’s Dad, he was rather… conversationally impenetrable, with a poker face one should expect from a person who audits Credit Unions professionally. He did say it was a pleasure to meet me afterward, though I got the distinct impression he wished I had breasts. Que sera, I say to you, Mr. Proto-Orpheus! Que sera…
LAST night was interesting. I got my payout check for the retirement plan at my last job, which I optioned into a one-time early payout that was taxed to heck and back to pay down some debts. I finally bought a special, expandable in-drawer knife rack so I don’t have to keep my nice knives (I now have around $300.00 worth of cutlery,) sheathed, loose in a drawer. I also bought a honing steel. I did all of this after prepping dinner, and, as an exercise in kitchen mayhem, leaving Orpheus in charge of tending the pot while I went check depositing/shopping. It was, perhaps, a cruel thing to do, but the only way to swim is to just plain swim, and he has no confidence in the kitchen skills he’s built acting as my Sou Chef for the last few months. He did very, very well, incidentally, and I think he’s getting the hang of cooking, though he still prefers that I do it. I just wish he’d actually live up to our agreements and do the dishes when I cook. Grr…

Thanksgiving, thankfully... Ramble, ramble.

Thanksgiving, per the usual formula, was alcohol-doused this year, but decidedly more pleasurable than its’ last iteration. This was the second Thanksgiving without *Grandma N., Dad’s Mom, and that meant several things… 1) Less horrific gas passing around the table, though Dad is trying to pick up the slack. 2) No mumbling of meaning-loaded phrases, such as “I wish I was dead” under the breath while my little sister says grace, or someone attempts to freshen *an unwilling party’s wine. 3) No more really big hugs, because *a certain person isn’t sure she’s ever going to see you again. 4) No more oral family histories, spun out over coffee laced with a near-deadly amount of Chambord and melted dark chocolate (or just whisky… Take it as a granted that these became more interesting as I got older, and more could be revealed to my supposedly tender ears about the fantastic perverts in my family line).
Last year, the first Thanksgiving after Grandma N.’s death, was hosted by my little sister Frog (so named because she’s a French Horn player,) and her husband Komponist (German for composer, as that’s what he is). They took the bull by the horns, as Mom was still sick and in a lot of pain last year around the holidays, and Dad was down about losing his Mother. I had to drive from Madison to Grand Rapids, MI late at night the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and then Dad ferried me over the next morning to Detroit, while I dozed. He tried to tell me a lot of things in the car, and I listened where I could, and responded while I wasn’t sleeping. In any case, it was cathartic for him, but it just made me feel odd. Because I live pretty far away, it just seems like I’ve become the family’s father confessor, sometimes. All of them ended up using me for just that purpose while I was in Michigan last year. This sucked, as it was also a relatively alcohol-free weekend, and I had to sleep on the couch that night.
Holiday-wise, though, this year pretty much rocked. The only bad thing was leaving Orpheus behind in Madison, as Dad doesn’t really want to meet him, yet. He couldn’t go home, because he had to work on Friday, doesn’t have a car, and couldn’t count on a ride from his family. He had a great time, as they don’t really do Thanksgiving dinner at his house, anyway, and he got to have Indian buffet for lunch, and watch movies all day. I was basically on “suicide watch” every couple hours by IM, as I thought he’d get depressed… It was only at the end of the night that I realized that he wasn’t just burying his feelings, and probably thought I was a bit weird for getting all touchy-feely online like that. By that time, I was drunk as a skunk along with everybody else, variously anesthetized by favorite alcohols brown, red, yellow and crystal clear. We watched ‘Ratatouille’, which Dad pretended not to like at first, but drew quite a large number of giggles by the end. Everyone went to bed happy.
The day after, Mom and I went Christmas shopping with Frog, so that we could list our wants/needs/kitchen fetishes on the list. Frog ended up needing a suit, and Mom said that, since she needed it for mid-December, we should get it now. Frog is very body self-conscious, and kept trying on things that looked like they came from either the men’s section at Pimpercrombie and Bitch, or, worse yet, the women’s section… She’s a little bigger now than she used to be, and while she’s not fat, and doesn’t have back-rolls or anything, it’s very distressing to see her in a classic black suit that gives her camel-toe, and bunches under her arms. Mom and I both got rather sick of hearing her bitch, and were kind of cruel by the end of hour three in the supposedly nice mall in GR, which doesn’t even have a bloody Williams-Sonoma. Fortunately, she went home after our disastrous trip, and I got to drink more while making stuffed peppers cubano for Mutti and Vatti.
Finally, the last day I was in town, Saturday, I started off with a trip to the supposedly crappy mall in town (which nonetheless HAS a Williams-Sonoma, thank god), and walked out with one of my Christmas presents, a 17cm. Wuesthof Ikon Classic hollow-ground Santoku that cuts veggies like they’re not even there, and makes large cloves of garlic into microscopic bits about small enough to fall through the gaps between cells in your tongue. This, I convinced the parental units, was absolutely necessary to my cooking RIGHT NOW, and thus as been ensconced in my TERRA FIRMA: DO NOT TOUCH area of the kitchen, so sharp it might just fall through the knife block. I got home at about 9:30 that night after visiting my sister and Komponist at their charming new home in St. Joseph, MI for a few hours. It was the longest Orpheus and I had been apart yet since starting to date almost a year ago. Necessary, perhaps, but it was good to feel his skin against mine again, which happened almost immediately after walking through the door. We spent all of yesterday hanging out, as I had no role-playing. Terra Firma and Sister took excellent care of Maggie, my precious slut-cat. Apparently, Maggie got very lesbi-licious with Sister each and every night I was gone. Odd, considering that she doesn’t generally like the ladies. In any case, she snuggled right up to me last night, and I had Orpheus on the other side, so it was absolutely wonderful. All was right in the world, and I was warm enough… And now I’m at work. Blah. More tomorrow!

Words that Fire Loins...

I’ve been moved at work. It’s only one cubicle over, but it’s smaller, and has to do with the new ownership trying to make us feel like un-special sardines whose only function is to make corporate fat cats money. Overall, I hate it. However, this is work, so I’m bound to. Really, I just want to be someone’s trophy husband. Let’s hope that Orpheus starts writing the kind of poetry he wrote in school, again. It’s one of the many reasons I kept sleeping with him despite the long maturation process of our sex life early in the relationship. Alternately, lotto, ho!

Why is Aphrodite such a slut?!?

Exasperation. Angst. Feelings of helplessness. All of these states of emotional turmoil are constantly in the air when Aphrodite pulls a fast one, bf-wise. I’ve talked a little about Orpheus’ roommate before, even making y’all aware of certain switches she’s made in terms of the particular board she’s waxing of late. Well, said ditzy-do has settled on dumping the gorgeous, chiseled from marble, Greek Kourus of a med student for good ‘ol dumpy, hairy, annoying BF... Again.
I say ‘again’ because this is the third time she’s pulled such a switcheroo on Kourus, who is the sweetest of Midwestern guys. If he’s not brilliant, then at least he knows his talents, sticks by them, and treats others (including A.) with respect… Kourus contrasts starkly with BF, who is a hyped-up Momma’s boy from NYC. He’s fat, furry in a horribly unattractive way, absurd, a burgeoning politico (danger, Will Robinson!), and uses his religion not as a personal aid, but to prop up his credentials in politics. This puts BF only one step ahead of Dobson and his ilk in my book, as at least the schmuck is a Dem. Plus, he constantly attempts to cheat on Aphrodite, and she really can’t trust him anymore.
To put everything in perspective, A. and BF have been dating, on and off, for three years. In that time, according to Aphrodite herself, they haven’t grown much (except sexually,) as a couple. That is, they don’t really fight, and then fix issues. Instead, they get ready to fight, become frustrated with each others’ preliminary arguments, give up, break up, and get back together after a lot of co-dependent whining on both of their parts, or when A. gets sick of double clicking her own mouse. During these lulls in their unworkable romance, Aphrodite samples the available males, sometimes playing a short but sweet dating game. For some time last year, before studying abroad in Prague during Spring semester, she was involved with both BF and Kourus at the same time, without telling either about it. This state was maintained whilst she was overseas, and upon her triumphant return to the Americas, she continued to juggle them sexually for a couple weeks before dumping K. for the second time. This was shortly after I met her. Shortly thereafter, she got sick of negotiating with BF yet again, and entered breakup #8 with the god-forsaken politico.
She’s been back through one more cycle with BF since then, swore it was OVER, and hunted Kourus down the night of his birthday with Orpheus in tow as wingman. They caught him, Aphrodite bagged him, and everybody’s been happy, except for BF, who was texting/calling A. and all her friends (including Orpheus… God, three times a night sometimes,) about how miserable he was, blah, blah, blah. Then, she went over for a serious talk about boundaries with him on Thursday, and I guess he must’ve just tripped and fallen into her or something, because suddenly she’s “going to make it work, and he’s changed and ooh, the sex was so-o good.” Blah. If she’d give Mr. Kourus half a chance, the sex there would doubtless be better. And when are dumb little girls going to grow up and realize that what they term “boring” probably means stable and caring, and that maybe, if they took a little more initiative into finding out what made these “boring” guys tick, they’d find an individual who could keep them happy for their entire lives? But, no. They’re too self-absorbed, and keep going back to the bad ones.
Good luck, little girls. You (Aphrodite especially,) need it.

In the Untimely Event of my Death...

Today, I finalized my choices for health benefits at work. I've calmed down a little since last post, and am ready to admit that, for the price, the coverage is pretty darned good. Still, I'd much rather be paying the government to give me medical care. That aside, one of the more interesting bits of information I've had to ask for was the social security numbers of my parents, for entry on my life insurance beneficiary form. This is a first, me asking for their SSNs, as if they're my dependents or some such. In the past, it was always the other way around. Only on my 18th birthday did Dad give me my Social Security card along with my newly arrived draft card and said, "Put these in your wallet until you figure out a better place for 'em. The future's your problem, now."

In this case, I sent an e-mail to Dad. It explained the level of benefits in the event of my untimely death, the differing levels if said death occurred due to an accident, and a brief sketch of the way I wanted things taken care of with said money. The last couple lines went like this: 'I'm going to put together a living will soon, but my wishes are that you should first use any death benefit to pay any of my outstanding bills (including anything I may still owe to Grandma Super-Stern), for my funeral arrangements, and attempt to enjoy whatever is left by way of a European vacation. ;-) Please be assured that I don't intend to die anytime soon, and would rather that nobody, repeat, but nobody, ever gets to vacation on my death-dime.'

Sometimes, it's kind of fun to get to be an adult. One gets to say the most absurd crap, and have it backed up with cash.

America, you EEEDIOT!!!

Today, I had my benefits meeting with our overworked HR person, who I shall herein call Person(elle), as she is female, (heroic,) and does the job of 10 all by herself. Person(elle) manages to be, somehow, calm, polite, and bright-eyed at all times, despite the fact that she’s constantly hounded by others. I was hired on over two weeks ago, and this was the first chance she got to go over benefits with me, just to give you an idea of how booked the poor dear usually is. My head is still swimming that I somehow have to make ends meet, and still pay for these damned benefits, whether they do come out pre or post tax! The scary part is, according to her, my place of employment is paying upwards of 80% of the true cost of the plans. If this is the case, and I’m paying about $90/month for insurance, which is WAY better than the plan at my last job, they’re floating me here for about $400/month of true cost, as a single individual. That doesn’t include what they’re kicking back into my “retirement” plan, which, admittedly, is a far less generous figure.

It’s little wonder that nobody pays pop squat in salary, anymore. With large employers forced to provide expensive health plans (which still don’t cover some very basic crap, mind you), they can’t afford to give ground-level workers a real salary, even when forcing folks who live hand to mouth in the first place to pony up for (said) crappy coverage. We’ll leave out, for the moment, that this is the fault of money-grubbing moral misfits who couldn’t adequately manage anything other than balance sheets being at the top of the corporate pile... After all, who wants to fault the people RUNNING companies for draining millions from the coffers while running business into the ground. No, entry level workers, whose willingness to cry nightly over bills while staring at zero balances in their bank accounts are clearly the ones who must suffer. And now Hillary wants everybody to buy into PRIVATIZED healthcare, ostensibly because it will make things cheaper for all? Ignoring the fact that it’s just going to provide an excuse for even more outlandish corporate excesses in the insurance industry, I have one thing to say.

@#$% that shit. It’s time for this country to take care of its’ people adequately. That means several things, the first of which is that we have to dispel the American misconception that government = evil automatically. Worse yet, linked to that particular feat of historically impossible legerdemain, we have to convince them that BIG businesses are, intrinsically, not to be trusted. Don’t get me wrong here… I’m not talking the chairman of the board lunching with Satan, batshit-crazy-evil or anything. No. It’s more like, if a company is so large that it doesn’t have to give a fig about, say, losing 100,000 customers because its’ services stink, then it’s not a people-friendly company, AND YOU SHOULDN’T DO BUSINESS WITH IT. Some insurance companies already look like this… Imagine the bloat with all those extra subscribers! Imagine the fat piles of cash the piggy executives will be rutting in, and all because the government attempted to make all the idiots happy by abrogating the responsibilities of good government. These people are getting elected for ABROGATING THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES. Unfortunately, despite the last eight years, we do still have one of the better open and fair election systems anywhere, so the real onus is on the American people. Wake up you ignorant dumb-asses.

It took most of my restraint not to leap over Person(elle)’s desk and throttle her to death… And this is one of the nicest, calmest, best co-workers I have, mind you… Just because corporate America is winning the war with the consumer, and making us like it. I hate the Protestant Work Ethic. It’s almost as stupid a ruse as “The Purfuit of Happineff” (‘cause all the s-es look like f-s). We’re living in a society based on the idea of the pursuit of PROPERTY ueber alles, children. Watch out. We’re about to get steam-rolled.

Madonna was a virgin in the land that made me me...

So, last night my father, a man with a PhD who should know better, sent me a stupid, retro-philic piece of @#$% forward in bad verse called "The Land That Made Me Me." It begins:

> Long ago and far away, In a land that time forgot, Before the days of
> Dylan, Or the dawn of Camelot.
>
> There lived a race of innocents, And they were you and me, Long ago and
> far away In the Land That Made Me Me.

Pathetic imagery, to be sure, but wait for it... Tales such as these can only spiral downward. Crinolines laid out to dry upon lawns, crap about Frankie Avalon and Annette F. being dreamy, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… Just throw a slide in of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing on the backs of a hundred buck-toothed, long finger-nailed, braid-headed "Asiatics" in straw hats, and you'd have the willfully ignorant imagery down pat. And then:

> For youth was still eternal, And life was yet to be, And Elvis was forever
> In the Land That Made Me Me.

So, we're talking pre-war Elvis, right? 'Cause the guy who came back post-binge, Brittany Spears-like in the '70's wasn't exactly a catch, nor did he smell of anything but peanut butter (much less forever). And eternal youth? Have you ever SEEN what people looked like in the '50's? Butterballs, one and all. Good skin, yes, but look at 'em now. Further down:

> We'd never heard of microwaves, Or telephones in cars, And babies might be
> bottle-fed, But they weren't grown in jars.

Wrong decade, dumbasses. Jar babies first happen (to my knowledge,) in a novel from the '30's. Brave New World, indeed. And microwaves existed in the '40's under the marketing name of 'radar ranges.'

> And pumping iron got wrinkles out, And "gay" meant fancy-free, And dorms
> were never coed In the Land That Made Me Me.

That 'gay' bit really did it for me. I sent Dad the most acerbic one-lined e-mail ever, then thought better of it and sent an apology with a reasoned argument about why I thought this was the most appalling thing ever coming from a man who certainly has his own personal prejudices, but never lets them show in his dealings with others. I love my father because, though he is hot-headed, he is a very public person, with very much in the way of restraint and TOLERANCE where it's necessary. You couldn't ask any more from a person, especially one who I know, privately, to be most uncomfortable with certain ideas. He wrote back that he had taken no offence, and was sorry if he'd made me mad. I think that's the most positive, telling interaction I've ever had with Dad as an adult. Weird.