Vacation, Part 3

On Sunday the b.h. and I drove into the city to meet his brother and our friend T for brunch. T was eager for us to meet his new girlfriend, who was visiting from Pennsylvania. The story of their meeting is long and complicated, but for now they are having a long-distance relationship. This is a first for T, and as a veteran myself I have been doing my best to advise him. Another complicating factor is that this woman, we'll call her B- even though that makes them TB as a couple, is much younger than T and I. But so far so good. T seems quite happy, and it has been ages since his last girlfriend. Also, historically T has made some choices in lady partners that have dismayed those of us who are closest to him. Dismayed because his choices became our crosses to bear, and frankly when he broke it off with the last one we all about threw a party. But I digress.
We picked up the b.h.'s brother at his new apartment, which was quite nice. We then called and woke T and B and asked if they would like a ride to the restaurant. After a moment of bleary indecision, B said hell yes they could be ready and we made our way toward T's house. I accidentally took a long way around, because I haven't spent enough time in the city in years and I sometimes forget the shortcuts. This was just as well because T and B needed some time to get dressed and wake up.
At first glance B didn't look much different than most of the women that T has dated- smallish, cute in a girl-next-door way, and well dressed. I find it hilarious that T lands so many women with such great style, because his wardrobe resembles mine for the most part- jeans, boots, band (or in his case motorcycle) t-shirt. Anyway, when they got in the car, the b.h. made a joke and she immediately responded in kind and the conversation was off. It wasn't like we were all particularly chatty, but there was absolutely no awkwardness. We ate at Publican. Brunch consisted of a waffle with honey infused butter and a side of house made ricotta and acorn squash for me, fried French toast with sour cherries for T, which we split and swapped. The b.h. and his brother ordered meats with sides of meat and meat on top, as well as house made pork rinds. They were thrilled. B had eggs poached in red wine with some kind of bacon stuff. The coffee was good and strong and endless. The beer and wine lists were both beautiful, and left me wishing that a) I didn't have to drive, and b) I was the kind of person who can drink beer with breakfast. This is a place where the b.h. is considering trying to get an internship after he finishes school. After that meal I can comfortably say that I am on board.
After brunch we drove back north a bit and went to my favorite stores: Myopic Book Store, Reckless Records (the b.h. picked up the new Johnson and Molina record on vinyl-yay!), and Buffal0 Exchange, which is a place where I have found some amazing clothes at great prices (they have a mixture of new and used and usually a fabulous selection). I wish we had one here. B and I hit it off so well that I didn't even realize how well we were hitting it off. We immediately went into girl mode when we started clothes shopping, and often picked out the same things. Fortunately she is tiny and so we had no risk of competing for the same items, but instead started pointing things out to each other. She got a new wool coat that was longer and warmer than the one she was wearing (which looked remarkably like my coat, actually). I ended up buying a new hat and a tall pair of blue and orange striped socks, which I will post photos of once I get the camera re-charged.
After shopping we drove the b.h.'s brother back to his house, and then were all hungry again, so we went to another restaurant which is owned and run by the same people who have Publican. I honestly can't remember what it is called. This restaurant is brand new, and located in a former gas station that also used to house one of my favorite dives, The Pontiac Cafe. It has gotten quite a face lift. Now featuring Mexican food and an excellent selection of craft beers, it is also clean and elegant without feeling pretentious. The hostess who greeted us was beautiful in a hipster way, which is a look often accompanied by a shite attitude. Not in this case. Our waitress was also cute and tattooed and completely lovely. The food was spectacular. The menu is small, but tacos were only a couple dollars apiece. They were also small, but the ingredients were fresh and of great quality. I can't remember what we all ate- damn me for not writing this sooner. I remember an enormous salad that we all shared. The guacamole was addictive, and the chips (which were obviously made in house) hearty and crunchy and fabulous. I found the salsas disappointing, but again- BRAND NEW. I'm sure they will improve. I ordered a West Coast IPA and two tacos, and ate enough salad to feed an army. It was perfect. I hated to leave. But, we had left my parents in charge of the dogs for the whole day so we had to. We had a quick drive back and a quiet evening with my parents and some crossword puzzles. That is what vacation is about.

Vacation, Part 1

We're back. I have eaten my weight in pizza and cookies and baked goods, as well as drunk my weight in beer I can't procure in The Green Mountain State.

When we got to Flint, Michigan I was still wide awake. In fact, even at Lansing I felt fine. I imagine that part of it was the leftover adrenaline from driving in a near whiteout just after London, Ontario for about half an hour. Either way, we had crossed into Canada and back, and 180 miles from Chicago I realized that I could in fact make the entire drive in one day. So I called my parents to ask if they might leave a light on, only to be told that we were half an hour from hitting a wall that we would be stupid to try and drive through. The Lake effect Snow that Northwest Indiana and Southern Michigan are famous for was pouring down just past Kalamazoo, five inches in two hours, and where cars had attempted to get through they were piling up. Good that I called, then.
The b.h. and I stopped at a Mot3l Six, where dogs are welcome. He checked us in while I walked the parking lot with the boys. Our room was warm and set apart from other occupied rooms by our request. I took a quick shower and popped open an Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout that I had brought along for just such an occasion. At ten and a half percent alcohol, I have oft referred to it as "Mommy's Night Cap". On the television, which was static-ey and broken, every channel featured a map of the state in the corner with the words "Winter Storm Warning" and large red spots beginning at the border of the next county. All anyone could talk about was the massive amount of snowfall. We turned the TV off and tried to sleep.
There were two beds, and since both dogs were nervous (they don't like hotels because they have no idea where they are and there are weird noises in every direction all night long) I suggested we each sleep in a bed with a dog. The b.h. said he would rather sleep with me, so first he and I got in the Left Bed together. Wyatt jumped up after us, and Kilgore wandered around the room whining nervously until I got in the Right Bed with him. Then Wyatt moved over to the Right Red and soon we were all asleep. At some point they managed to crowd me so much that I was overheated, so I climbed carefully out from under the covers and moved back to the Left Bed with the b.h. The next thing I knew Wyatt was back with me, and I was spooned on either side by him and the b.h. I fell back asleep. I woke up again when Kilgore started crying, but before I could register what was happening he stopped. I awoke again, still in the Left Bed, now with Wyatt and the b.h. was in the Right Bed with Kilgore, who was now quiet. When I finally woke in the morning, Kilgore and Wyatt and I were all in the Left Bed, and the b.h. was by himself in the Right. I have no idea how or when that happened. So, a good night's sleep for everybody then.
Despite all that activity, I felt totally refreshed when I woke up, and we were soon back on the road to Chicago. Though we were moving along very quickly, the roads were still quite messy in places and I was glad we had stopped for the night when I saw how many cars were stranded along the way. We reached my parents' house in just over two hours, and were soon enjoying another cup of coffee and some homemade chili for lunch.
For dinner, we went out to Louisa's pizza. This is a tradition whenever we go home, since for some reason there is nothing resembling Chicago pizza anywhere else in the country and since I was raised on it I miss it all the time. Louisa is 87 years old, and she used to work for the guys at Pizzeria Uno and Due (not sure if I spelled that right but I don't like their pizza much so I'm not worried about giving them proper credit) way back in the day. Her restaurant is run by her and her family, and it is full of over-sized photos of her children and grandchildren, and often features Sinatra blaring loudly from the speakers.
Louisa was in attendance that night, and when my mom told her that the b.h. and I were visiting and that we had had her pizza for Christmas dinner, she brought out a plate of shortbread cookies for the table.
"These were made by my Irish friend, but they're pretty good. I cut my hand so I didn't bake my Italian cookies for Christmas, but I'm making some tomorrow so if you come back later in the week make sure you call ahead and I'll put some aside for you. These here are Irish, but they're very good anyway."
And so we were home.

So I'm at work at the Local Grocery on Friday, and I am handing out samples of cheese to passing customers. This crazy-haired guy (picture Bob Ross from PBS, or any version of "nutty professor" that springs to mind) jumps back like I've offered him a plate of live rattlesnakes and goes
"No- I read in the paper that you shouldn't. Actually, it wasn't in the paper, but I read somewhere that it was no good."
"Uh... okay," I respond, backing away slowly.
"But you shouldn't listen to me anyway! Ha! Because I don't know anyth..."
I was already gone. Whoa.
On Saturday, I worked at the LG from 8am to 3 pm, then came home and got dressed in the b.h.'s suit, slicked my hair down, drew on a mustache, soul patch, and sideburns, and made my eyebrows much thicker and darker with the help of the same eye pencil, and headed off to work. I had fun and confused a few people and made money. Got home around midnight, and was surprised to find that I didn't feel all that bad after a fourteen hour day. Sunday I got to sleep in and didn't work until eleven. Came home to some lovely tomato soup (Note: Always use good sherry for cooking. Even at twenty bucks a bottle, a recipe is well worth it.) and various cheeses (my new favorite is an aged Gouda called "Ewephoria") with some crusty bread. Also had a couple Sierra Nevada Torpedos and then slept like a baby. Today I was up at ten, went for coffee while the b.h. had an interview, and ran into my friend Rob. We chatted for an hour or so, then the b.h. came back, and we left to find some lunch.
When we returned to our car, the meter had already expired, and there was a woman there writing us a ticket.
"You can just hand that right to me if you like," I said. I am all for rules and I have no trouble admitting when I am wrong. It's a point of pride for me, actually. I never give the people who have to write tickets a hard time because I am sure I wouldn't want that job.
Anyway, she turned to me, smiling, and said
"Oh! That's a terribly pessimistic attitude! Besides, I haven't printed it out yet," she turned the ticket-printing device toward me to demonstrate, "so you can just drive away."
"Really?"
"Really. Just go ahead."
"Thanks! Have a nice day!", I smiled. She smiled back and waved.

"What did she say?" asked the b.h., when I sat down. He had gotten straight into the car when we came out. I relayed the conversation to him, and he shook his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.
"Seriously?"

Yep, I think I like it here.

"Are those the customers from hell?" asked my boss The Wife, from behind the line in the kitchen. All I had done was punch in an order for mozzarella sticks with extra marinara.
Crystal, the other waitress, nodded, grimacing.
"Make sure you go with her to take their order," she said, gesturing at me and shaking her head sympathetically.
When they came in the front door, the man went immediately over to the hostess stand, which was empty at the time, and grabbed himself a stack of napkins. I rushed over and asked if I could help him, explaining that there would be place settings on the table.
"I always grab extra," he replied, making his way without invitation to a table in my section. The hostess was nowhere in sight. I grabbed a pair of menus and followed him and his wife.
"Can I bring you a beverage to start with?" I was trying my best not to sound the way that I felt. He immediately blew out and dismantled the candle and holder, leaving the pieces separate and lined up against the wall.
"She's going to have the house Chardonnay, and I want unsweetened iced tea, with extra lemons and an extra glass of ice."
Oh. I see.
So you can imagine that it was no surprise to me when The Wife Boss called them the Customers From Hell. I suppose I was kind of surprised at her volume when she said it, given the fact that she knew they were seated about five feet from the kitchen door. It made me like her more.
They ate overcooked burgers with overcooked bacon on top. He wanted no bread with his, but ordered rice on the side(?). He wound up finishing her french fries. Whatever.
After work Amy, the hostess/manager asked me how I was doing. She seemed eager to encourage me, worried that I wasn't going to stick it out. She's kind of right, I suppose. I mean, I interviewed for a full time gig down the street last week, and if they offer it to me I will take it. Health Insurance and all, you know. But I will probably have to continue waiting tables anyway, for the money. I just hope I am able to get some sleep soon. I have this problem, which has happened before when I was a waitress, where I go to bed and my mind races, and just as I'm falling asleep something will jar me awake and I suddenly find myself in a panic, my mind racing.
"Shit! Did I forget that guy's side of mayo?" And so on. I don't know if other wait people do this, but it has plagued me for my entire adult life. Even after I hadn't waited tables for years. Some people have dreams that they are back in school and they have a test and they haven't studied for it and know they are going to fail. I have nightmares that I keep getting more tables and I can't keep up. I'm hoping that the rise of high-gravity beer will help me through this time.
The Local Health Food Store is still a mixed bag. My boss has no organizational skills whatsoever, and also seems to be burned out, so it seems unlikely that it will get any better. On the other hand, in addition to a nice discount I am able to take home a whole lot of free food every week, so I feel compelled to stay on there at least one day a week- unless of course I get this other full-time gig, in which case I'm going to have to quit. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but the Local Health Food Store has a program where they allow employees to take food that is unsellable (for various reasons- bruising, effed up packaging, one day past the sell by date)for free. And there is always a lot of it. Last week I brought home two whole local organic chickens. Saturday I brought home two local organic pork chops for the b.h., as well as a couple pounds of local, organic, grass-fed beef. I also snagged a couple pounds of local organic zucchini and crookneck squash, a bunch of organic broccoli, a bunch of organic asparagus, and a large package of local organic romaine lettuce. On top of that I got a few small containers of organic rice pudding and some local organic ricotta cheese. All for free. So yeah- I'll be hard pressed to give that up.
Looking forward to a visit from my good fiend T this week. He should be arriving tomorrow evening while I am at work. Luckily I have managed to get Wednesday and Thursday off, so we will have plenty of time to goof off. The list of visitors and potential visitors keeps growing. I love it. I may be gone a couple days, but will hopefully have some good photos of Random Weirdness when I return.

Martha Effing Stewart.

Today I woke up later than I intended and, possibly out of a need to feel some sense of accomplishment and also probably out of some sense of guilt for not having gotten up with the b.h. at 5:45, I immediately started cleaning. I did a load of laundry, ironed his chef coats, and picked up in the living room. I also sewed a hole that I have been avoiding in the couch cushion.
Next I turned to the refrigerator to try and cut down the massive number of greens we have accumulated thanks to our new CSA. Having no idea what to do with dandelion or beet greens, I turned to my old friend Cook's Illustrated and found a recipe which used up all of the beet greens as well as the half pound or so of fresh spinach that I had laying around. For those of you not familiar with this site, it is related to the PBS show America's Test Kitchen. These people are serious about food, and their recipes are tested so many times in so many ways (my favorite example is the fudge recipe, which they came to by making ONE TON of fudge) that they are already perfected, and one need only muck with them if one feels like it.
I almost never cook, because the b.h. is very good at it and he enjoys it so much, and our kitchen is small enough that whenever I'm in it I feel like I'm invading his space. But the b.h. was in class today, so I had the kitchen to myself. I made this recipe, substituting dried cranberries for the raisins (the b.h. hates raisins), and it was awesome. I was just finishing up when he walked up the driveway. It was perfect, and I am quite pleased with myself. Maybe I'll start doing this cooking thing more often. I'm thinking maybe tomorrow I'll tackle those dandelion greens.

I just got back from Savannah. Thought for a minute there I wasn't going to be able to go. Started feeling extra gross at work on Friday night, wound up coming straight home from work instead of going downtown to see the b.h. play. Hot shower, emergen-c packet, and piles of blankets. Slept and watched TV. Woke to pick up the b.h. around two, came home and passed out again, woke up feeling fine. I think the pollen just got to me.
Anyway, we got an early start, went down to Ike and Jane's for breakfast sandwiches and coffee and doughnuts. Drove straight through with only one stop, and went immediately to the club to check in. The band was an hour behind us due to a keys-locked-in-van incident. We headed over to the Sentient Bean for coffee and then to the SCAD shop. I love that place. Student art for sale, and some of it very good. Nothing I could afford that really struck my fancy, though. The band called when they got to the club and we headed back there.
Parking was a bit of a bitch. The club was on River Street, which is the mainest of main drags on the riverfront (thus the name), which was packed with people because of the absolutely lovely weather. Having already made that mistake once, the b.h. and I decided instead to park several blocks away and walk with both of his guitars and his suitcase o' pedals and such. No problem. Then we stood around for an eternity waiting for the other band to load out. We didn't really mind, though, because we were able to buy beer and stand out on the street drinking it. We did because we could, and because of the aforementioned incredible weather. After that was load in and soundcheck, which I managed to avoid most of by walking down the waterfront with R while the b.h. checked and leaving when the other band did.
The b.h. and D and I walked over to the Moon River Brewery and waited at the bar for the other guys. I had a Swamp Fox IPA. It was delicious.
We were seated in the main room, still waiting for the other guys to arrive from sound check. D had his back to the front door. Through the crowd I saw some frat boys and sorostitutes in Full Confederate Regalia, and they were making their way in our direction. When they passed our table, D looked up in disgust and said quite loudly "You guys are hilarious", in a tone indicating that he did not, in fact, find it hilarious.
I find the whole thing quite confusing myself. The fascination with a war that no one ever spoke of outside of history class where I come from. Technically those people were traitors, and since many if not all of those people claim to be patriots, I don't see why they feel the need to celebrate. Also, I can't imagine how the black people who were present (waiters and bartenders in this case) must feel at the sight of these people, but since I am not a real Southerner I more often than not feel like the best bet is to keep my mouth shut. As far as I am concerned, these people might as well be walking around in KKK robes or Nazi uniforms, but generally I am able to simply ignore it. Not so with D. He was obviously pissed (in both senses of the word, I now realized), and made it known. I was worried that we were only three and they appeared to be younger, more fit, and in greater numbers. Not that I am afraid of a broad in a hoopskirt, mind you, but the boys were definitely of the large and cornfed variety. Luckily the rest of the guys showed up just then, and we were distracted by food and fun.
I ordered onion rings and a dip-thingie made from cream cheese, sundried tomatoes, and roasted garlic to share with everybody, and leek and goat cheese cakes for myself. This is what I had last time we were here, and though I prefer to be more adventurous, there were not a lot of veggie options. I was very happy with all of my selections.
AT one point I stepped outside for a smoke break with R, again mostly because it was beautiful out and I could bring my beer along, and the first guy I saw was in a confederate uniform. I asked if I could take my picture with him, and could I please hold his sword? Then I found out that he was the Haunted Savannah Tour Guide.
"Oh, so you're not really a racist, you just get paid to wear that, huh?" I smirked. Holding the sword point to his throat was not near as fun.
Another fratty couple came up in uniform and I got a picture with them. It's one of those "the folks back home are never gonna believe this" things. By back home, of course, I mean Chicago. No one in Athens will have trouble believing.
We returned to the club stuffed to the gills and waited a short time for the bands to start playing. It was a fun show but a long one, and we were all ready to get to sleep when it was over.
Hilariously, River street was now blocked on one side with illegally parked cars, and on the other was a very long, seemingly immobile line of traffic. Two of the guys wound up walking back two blocks to get the van, then we waited while they sat in traffic, then we blocked traffic while all scrambling to get the gear in. The guys in the little SUV immediately behind the van seemed totally relaxed, watching us calmly through the windshield while thumping bass poured from their over-sized speakers. In fact, nobody honked or complained at all, which was odd but a relief. There was simply no other way for us to load out. No one from the club bothered to help us, despite there being at least two young and able-bodied men right next to the door and absolutely no business now that the bands had finished. I doubt they'll be going back there.
We spent all day Sunday walking around. The guys went home early, and the b.h. and I had the whole day to ourselves, knowing that our capable dog-sitter would be staying at least until two. We got breakfast at Clary's which I found mostly disappointing this time, and then coffee at the Sentient Bean (again), and walked through square after square all the way to the river from the far side of Forsyth Park. Then we walked down the river and turned back, this time walking a very different and less populated set of squares. We stopped in a lovely French decor shop, which D had mentioned the day before. I fell in love with a piece of art that was $1400. Of course. Champagne taste and a beer budget, as they say. I bought a greeting card and we continued on. The walk was fantastic, the weather perfect. We decided that were we to move to Savannah, this would be the neighborhood we would live in. I took a ton of pictures. There are so many tiny details on houses and gates there. It's like a treasure hunt in a way. I love (visiting) that place.
After we got back to the car we bought refills and pastries and started home.
The drive was uneventful, and when we returned we found treasure, in the form of school loan documents, waiting in the mailbox. Hoo-fucking-ray.

Work was dumb.
Burn After Reading was funnier than I remembered.
The dinner party was great.
Donnie makes wicked good pretzels.
Sometimes rats just need to be poisoned.
This may be one of those times.
I'm still debating.

We have a new hard drive, but the b.h. is still trying to retrieve everything from backup. We'll see.
Thursday night we both worked, and I had the good fortune of getting sprung early (I had a Paper Scissors Rock duel with my co-worker to win the privilege; I chose rock, of course, and therefore got to rock), which allowed me to see Patterson Hood & friends at Farm 255. His friends included William Tonks, Dave Barbe, Easy B, Don Chambers, John Neff, and the fabulous Mr. Dave Marr. I got to hear many of my favorite songs, quaff a couple Dogfish Head 90 minute pale ales, and hang out with the b.h. It was indescribably wonderful. We had every intention of going to the 40 Watt after, but it was very late when they finally quit and we both had to work early in the morning, so we decided to head home instead (I really am getting too responsible in my old age).
Friday morning was painful, but with the bonus that by the time I was fully awake my work day was half over. Work was enjoyable.
I got fresh samosas from the boss lady's parents, who know from samosas. They were cheap and delicious, and kept the b.h. from having to do any manual labor when we got home.
We rented Death Rac3, which we knew was not going to be thought-provoking (I could watch Ian McShane butter toast for two hours, though, so who cares?), and basically just turned off our brains when we got home. Went to bed very early. Still not finished reading Coraline, despite its being a children's book and an easy read, because I keep nodding off moments after turning in.
Woke up early to take the b.h. to work, stopped at the bank and the grocery store, and started some yard work when I got back. It is warm and beautiful outside today, and I'm trying to decide where to take the dogs for a short field trip before I go to work.

New York, Part Deaux.

We woke up earlyish on Sunday, had some coffee and kolacky cookies (I can't find the word "kolacky" in the plural, so there you have it), layered ourselves fully, and set out to shop. I found a lot of stuff that I loved at the first store we went to, but I didn't want to spend all of my money on the first day so I settled for a long wool J. Cr3w coat and a shorter green tweedy Gu3ss coat that has really great buttons and detailing. They were both under twenty bucks. The store was called the Buffal0 Exchange, and I guess it's a chain. Some new stuff, some used stuff. It was chock full of hipsters and bargains. We each left with a full bag, and headed back to the restaurant where K works to drop them off in the office. We got on the subway and went into Manhattan, where we stopped at a Japanese version of the Gap. the name of that store escapes me, but I liked a lot of their clothes. The fitting rooms had long waits, so after a couple of unsuccessful attempts at new jeans I picked up a skirt and a few pairs of socks that were on sale and we got on our way.
The next stop was a place that was full of stuff I really wanted and didn't remotely need. Pearl River, I think it was called. The clothes were ridiculously expensive, but the dishes were very cool and all reasonably priced. I picked up a coffee cup and two bowls (ours keep breaking in the dishwasher. Note to self: No more dishes from fucking Target).
I got a call from the b.h. saying that the band was at the club and they were planning on eating at Katz, the deli famous for its giant pastrami sandwiches (and also for the famous faked orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally). We stopped by the club to say hello, but chose to eat at a more vegetarian friendly restaurant in the East Village.
Again, I do not remember the name, but it was a full-on veggie place, complete with some kind of shitty "natural" and "healthy" substitute for coffee (as fucking if). K was hilarious. She texted her friend M, who had recommended the place, swearing to get revenge.
Our waitress was slow and not terribly professional, but the food was remarkable. We both had dessert, too. After that we went back to her place to get cleaned up and dressed for the show.
When we got back to the club, it was a thousand degrees inside, which was bad because I had dressed for the cold and immediately started having a panic attack. I went backstage and dumped off a few layers and my coat and was much more comfortable. We ordered a draft for K and a bottle for me, which came to fourteen dollars. Ouch. Then we realized that we had left the cigarettes on her kitchen table, so we ran across the street to buy another pack. $9.25. For C@mel Lights. I have no idea how regular people can afford to smoke there. Luckily we ran into a friend and former Athenian Chris, who was putting the band up for the night. He bought a round for K and me.
The show was great, despite the fact that Donnie had mostly lost his voice. The crowd seemed to like it, too. Afterward K and I went up the street and got the most incredible falafel I think I have ever eaten. It was cheap and delicious, and it made up for the overpriced beer. When we got back to the club, K was accosted by two homeless guys who had earlier harassed her while she was out smoking. I blew past them and opened the door of the club, only to be told by the surly bouncer that there was "NO FOOD ALLOWED INSIDE!"
I told him to get the guys off of us, and he consented to let us hover by the door and eat while the band loaded out. This was made more difficult by the fact that I had bought a sandwich for the b.h., too. I stood there starving, unable to either eat (too messy for one hand) or set one down (pitas are not built to lie down), until K finished and was able to assist me.
We all split up for the night, the b.h. coming with K and me in a cab while the rest of the band went with Chris. It was nice to have the b.h. back, even if just for the night. Made the air mattress a little fuller and me a little warmer. We had a glass of wine, watched an episode of Laverne and Shirley, showered, and turned in.

I went to Shayne and Todd's for an Obama party. Ate a whole lot of Jenn's fabulous Cowboy Caviar, as well as some lovely roasted potatoes, cheese and crackers (don't know what kind of cheese, but it was hard and white and very tasty- kind of Manchego-ish), a salad, some kind of dessert cup pastry thingie with a custardy filling that Kellie made (I had about fifteen of them probably), and a Rogue Yellow Snow IPA. Very tasty. Somehow I still managed to drag myself downtown for the rock show.
Dr. Ass was not in attendance due to a potentially serious illness , which was a bit of a bummer, but the Dictatortots soldiered on, playing mostly the hits in an acoustic fashion. They did a new song called Three Word Band Name that was hilarious. I hope they post the lyrics on their website. Later when The Dumps took the stage, Andy said they'd like to thank Hope for a Golden Dictatortot for opening the show. This is a funny joke if you are an Athens local with some knowledge of the music scene, but if you aren't then you'd be asleep before I could explain it. I laughed out loud and nearly shot beer through my nose.
Hayride was in full force. Loud and fun and wanky when appropriate. They did some great covers, too. Wish I had the energy to go back and see them tonight with Jackpot City.
I stayed for a few Dumps songs, but I did have to be at work early this morning, so I didn't see the whole show. I did get to talk to several people I haven't seen in awhile (again), so that was fun.
Did I mention that I'm really excited about the new president?
I did smoke about two thousand cigarettes last night in an effort not to drink too much, so I woke up this morning wishing I were dead.
I went to work moaning and grumbling (and late), and when I got there Clay had an egg and cheese biscuit waiting for me. I could have kissed him. It was soaked - and I mean soaked through with grease, and I scarfed it down and felt instantly better.
The day was long and difficult. I lifted a lot of heavy crap. I talked to very few people. I rather enjoyed it. It was bloody cold, but I was layered, and I felt a real sense of accomplishment when it was over.
the wine tasting was rather a bust, because a bunch of people canceled (probably due to the cold), but the few people that did show up wound up being great. It was fun and somewhat informative. I got home earlyish and just got off the phone with the b.h. Just found out that some of our friends are pregnant (in the good way), which is exciting, and also found out the lineup for the next Woody Guthrie record (like the Billy Bragg and Wilco ones, but without Jeff Fucking Tw33dy, whom I have had enough of at this point). It's all very exciting.
I'm going to have to use up the rest of my energy to go wrestle with the dogs if I intend to get any sleep, so I guess I'd best be going.

Just returned from a dinner party at the home of some friends. We never get to do that anymore, and I was glad for the opportunity. We had a few red wines, as well as a lovely German beer that Sam recommended (I can't remember the name at the moment, but I am sure to buy more so I'll report back). I can't say much about it except that it's nice to act like regular adults once in awhile. Eating at a proper table, without the company of a television but with the company of friends and friends of friends, is a luxury we don't often afford ourselves. If I were a resolution type of girl, I'd resolve to do this more often. Since I'm not, I'll just say I'm working on it.

Another terribly Exciting Day.

Today I got a birthday cake from a friend. It was devil's food, three layers, with Kahlua frosting and chocolate chips. Fucking fantastic. So that was breakfast. I was smart enough to pass it around or I would surely have eaten the whole thing by lunch.
It was a long and boring day. I don't even have a good idiot story. It was windy as fuck, and a bunch of empty boxes blew all over the parking lot and I had to chase them down, but that was seriously as exciting as it got. Now I'm at home on the couch trying to decide which beer I'll have. I really want a Bell's, but it's not cold yet. Hmmmm...
The b.h. was kind enough to leave a loaf of bread on top of the fridge last night, so our resident rodent didn't have to wake us in order to get a meal. I'll try to remember to post a picture of the bread tunnel at some point. It's comforting, at least, in it's smallness.
Oh, now I hear geese. Between them and the daffodils that are sprouting up in front of the house, I can't figure out how it is possibly January right now.

Long Weekend.

I had every intention of going to the Beef Silence show last night at the Caledonia. Not that I have any idea what Beef Silence sounds like, but anything Nick Bielli is involved in is generally entertaining, so I was all about it. Even the b.h. seemed inclined to socialize. Things were looking up as we drove home from work. I was famished when I got home, so I re-heated a bowl of veggie chili, poured on a generous helping of this sour cream jalapeno sauce that the b.h. had made for our dinner the previous night, and shoveled it all into my gullet as quickly as possible. After the initial stabbiness had subsided, I was sitting on the couch reading when the b.h. asked me if I wanted a black-eyed pea cake. That was what he had made the night before, along with the aforementioned cream sauce, caramelized onions, corn bread, green beans with orange rind and candies pecans, and greens with kalamata olives and garlic. I said yes to all of the above, and was soon finished with dinner, part two. At that point I decided to go upstairs and lie down a bit, and at that point, my night was pretty well over.
I napped for two hours, and when came downstairs again I crawled onto the couch under a blanket. Still convinced that I would make it to the rock show, I turned on the coffee maker to re-heat the morning's leftovers. After I drank it, I opened the front door and realized that the fog was so thick i could barely make out the car in the driveway. Oh well, so much for that. I had a few minutes hemming and hawing after, but it was only halfhearted. We watched an episode of Torchwood (thanks for that recommendation, Jamie, I believe I'm hooked) and went to bed. I of course couldn't sleep due to the nap and coffee, but I did have a Josephine Tey book to keep me distracted. When I was finally drifting off, I heard a crash downstairs. Fucking rodents again. Dammit.
Today I finished reading Julie and Julia, about which I am still unsure how I feel. But at least it's not lying on the coffee table anymore, half finished, staring me in the face and quietly mocking me.
Now I'm on to The Cheese Lover's Companion(because why not really?), and I will likely crack open my new copy of Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer very soon.
My work schedule is going to be a bit different this week, so I'm hoping to utilize my new found free time reading and writing. No New Year's Resolution or anything, just a vague hope that I will get back to some sense of normalcy. We'll see how that goes. My life has a tendency to throw curves, and I have a tendency to swing wildly at them.
I just finished some wheat pasta with sundried tomato, bread crumbs, and green olives. I am waiting patiently for five o'clock so I can break out a beer. Or a glass of wine. Not much longer now, so I'd best go decide.

Savannah, Part Three.

On Monday we ate breakfast at Clary's. I had The Elvis (French toast with peanut butter and bananas) and a fried egg. I barely ate half of the French toast, but the others were more than happy to help out. After we ate we went out to Tybee Island to see Fort Pulaski, still mostly intact despite the Civil War (or the "War of Northern Aggression", depending on where you stand). We stayed for the Musket firing demonstration, in which a young lady in a Union uniform showed off her skills. I asked her afterward if she had pissed somebody off, gesturing to her blue uniform, and was told that they only wear Confederate gray on Sundays. Ah. Anyway, the fort was neat, the weather was nice but windy, and a good time was had by all. Net we dropped my bro-in-law back at the hotel to do more work and went to the Telfair Museum, where I was able to snap just one photo (sans flash, of course) before being politely asked not to continue by the security guard. I apologized profusely and put my camera away. Until he left, and I saw an enormous painting that was just so indescribable in it's scale that I walked all the way across the room and took a picture of the b.h. standing near it so you can see just how fucking huge it is. I did not get caught, and I have no regrets. I am such a rebel.
That night we had dinner at the Moon River Brewery. The beer was fantastic. I tried the Sweet Potato Ale, which was just too sweet for me, so I gave it to my b.i.l. He enjoyed it immensely and ordered another. In the over twenty years that I have known him, this is the most I have ever seen him drink.
I ordered myself a porter, which I ate with some glorious onion rings and goat cheese and leek cakes, which also came with a side of lentils. Yum. I had no room for dessert, but since we went back to Clary's again for breakfast on our way out of town it was no biggie. I had yet another order of French toast, this one with cream cheese and cherries. We drove my sister and b.i.l to the airport, returned to the hotel and went back to bed. The bed was giant and loaded with pillows and covered in 600 thread-count sheets, so we had a difficult time leaving.
On the way out of town, we went back to the Sentient Bean for coffee and swung by a market we had ventured into on the first day for a large bag of pink lady apples. I have no idea where these little jewels have been all my life, but dear god I am glad I found them. They are so brightly colored as to appear almost fake, and impossibly crunchy and sweet/tart, which is exactly what I want in an apple. They were seriously a highlight of the trip.
We took the long cut home and arrived just after the sun went down. As we were pulling into town, the big story on NPR news was the arrest of the Illinois Governor on corruption charges. A perfect end to a perfect trip. I can't wait to go back.

Interesting.

So I was at the bar on Thursday, and Ken, the guy who maintains the sodas, came in. He told me that the new mixes of both tonic and ginger ale would likely be in next week, and that they were now being made with cane syrup rather than corn syrup. Sweet(pun intended)! I have long been afraid of corn syrup (send your tinfoil hat designs to: Paranoid Bartender, P.O. Box 666, Crazyville USA), and lately I have been hoping that the rapidly increasing cost of corn might cause us to change back to good ole' sugar. I don't know how many of you actually read the ingredients on your food packaging, but corn syrup is in virtually everything, including some products that are labeled "natural" in the grocery store. There are a lot of differing opinions on whether or not corn syrup is any worse for you than sugar, but I am of the opinion that if we try not to process the ever-living shit out of everything and just eat, we'll all be better off. I may be wrong, but it just makes more sense to me. In any case, the news from Soda Guy Ken was a small yet meaningful bright spot on an otherwise kind of stressful week. Thanks, Ken!

Vermont, Part Four.

Saturday we visited the school in Montpelier.
It was everything we hoped for and more. Average class size? SEVEN. You can do your internship pretty much wherever you want. Many people choose to do their second internship overseas. All internships are real learning experiences, not peeling potatoes in a corner for twelve hours.
Of course they tell you what you want to hear when they want your money, but we got to talk to actual students and see the actual kitchen/classrooms, so it can't be too far off the mark. The only question now is how much we can afford and how soon we can afford it. I'm already selling off belongings in my mind.

After that we stopped in Waterbury for more coffee (are you detecting a recurring theme here?), stopped at our hotel to get the camera, stopped at B3st Buy to get a new camera card, since the old one had somehow gotten completely erased (Booooooooooooooooo), and went into Burlington again. Saturday afternoon we drove up through a small series of islands on Lake Champlain toward Canada. We didn't have a specific plan, but stopped at a small state park and got out and walked a bit. We were hoping for some real hiking trails, but found none and so wound up driving more than walking. It was pretty, but mostly pointless.

Saturday night was Food Porn Night.

After we got back to our hotel we started talking about the school, about where we might want to live, how long we might stay, etc. It turns out that we both had the same idea. At first we thought that the b.h. would go through the certificate program, which is very basic and lasts only a few months. Once we sat through several informational meetings at the school, though, we both thought that perhaps the Associates Degree was the way to go. The program is two years, and it costs considerably more, but we're both pretty excited about it so we're going to look into it. There are a lot of grants and scholarships and loans out there, and hopefully we'll be able to get our hands on some.

Sunday it was overcast and there was rain in the forecast, so we decided on a museum. When we got there we discovered that it wasn't a large building, but rather a series of smaller ones that you walk between. It actually ended up being to our advantage, because the weather kept most people away and we went through entire buildings without seeing other people. My favorite thing was the display of carousel pieces, but it was also fascinating to see a Monet in an actual house. There were a few, actually, and they look even more awesome (in the literal sense, not in the "Dude!!" sense) when they're hanging in a dining room than they do on a giant wall in a carefully planned gallery at say, the Art Institute. It was just starting to rain when we finished up, but by the time we got to the car it was really coming down and we were both soaked. We went for a late lunch at The Skinny Pancake, which is just a block or so up from the lake. We had been meaning to eat there since our first day, and took great delight in calling it "The Crappery." The food there was also fantastic. I only regret not having room for a dessert crepe. I think crepes are the reason Nutella was invented.
Sunday night we went back to the Flatbread Company again, and this time we stayed for dessert (giant chocolate brownie a la mode).

Monday we drove back out to Montpelier to look around more. We originally thought we would be living in Burlington, but if the b.h. does the two year program he will be taking classes at the Montpelier campus, so we wanted to make sure we thought we could live there. We do. We found the local co-op, drove around some neighborhoods, and walked through the capitol building. I took a picture of the b.h. with a giant portrait of Howard Dean in a rowboat. There are at least three independent bookstores in Montpelier, and nary a B0rders or a B@rnes & N0ble in sight. In fact, we saw very few bigger chain businesses at all. It was strange and kind of refreshing.

Getting home was not fun, and I hope to avoid flying at all costs from here on out, but in all it was a great trip and neither of us can wait to get back. I haven't seen a scale since our return, but I'm willing to bet I gained at least five pounds.

Food Porn.

We're on vacation in Burlington, Vermont right now. Last night the b.h. and I consumed the best food we've had in ages from This place. We shared a cheese plate (all local, all fabulous, with figs and carmelized onions and lilac infused local honey), I had the strawberry spinach salad with pecans and local gorgonzola, the b.h. had duck confit, and I had the Moroccan grilled tofu plate, and we shared a (decidedly *not* wafer thin) warm lemon bread pudding. When we finally hoisted ourselves from the table, we waddled back to our rental car and returned immediately to our hotel to fall down.
I will have more to report later, but for now we're off to the local brewery.

Business As Usual.

Thursday night I saw the Truckers at the 40 Watt. I was worried that it would be packed and my claustrophobia would kill me, but I managed okay. I got there later than I meant to, so I missed Bo Bedingfield. Got there about three songs into Don Chambers and Goat's set. They were fantastic as usual. The Truckers were great, too. It wasn't sold out, to my knowledge, but it was packed and I'm sure they raised a lot of money for Nuci's Space. I did spend a lot of time chatting with folks I never see anymore, but I caught more than half of the set.
Afterward I stopped down at Trapeeze, which is a lovely new bar that has something like two hundred different beers. A friend of mine works there, so I just popped my head in to say hi and get a look at the place. I didn't drink any at the time, since it was late and I was about to have to drive home, but I am certainly planning on stopping in there again soon. I love discovering new beer.
Friday was a bit chaotic. I slept late and we ran a bunch of errands, stopped to eat at Speakeasy and rushed home to watch the last two episodes of The Wire (season four) on DVD before I had to rush off to work again. Now my language has gone to shit (it didn't have that far to go, quite frankly) and we'll have to wait another year for the final season to come out. I think the second episode is airing tomorrow night. Luckily we have another disc of Benson on deck. I need some lighthearted comedy after all that.
Still plodding through Thunderstruck. Finished Bill Bryson's Shakespeare and am very close to the end of Terry Pratchett's Going Postal, if only I could stay awake long enough.
Tonight we're going to see Music Hates you at Tasty World. I look forward to seeing Noah Ray as both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
In food news, two things: Discovered that if you put a MOrningst@r Farms spicy black bean burger on top of a bowl of Annie's N@tural mac and cheese, it tastes pretty effing good.
Also, tomorrow the b.h. and I are going to make pies. I'm really looking forward to it.

Interesting Idea.

I just read this story about the Brits banning junk food ads from television shows marketed to young children. I love the idea, of course, but I think one could argue that we should ban ALL advertising to kids. Hell, for that matter we should ban all advertising. On the other hand, is it the role of the government? And if so, then isn't it also the role of the government to demand that giant food corporations actually put some food in our food? And tell M@cdonald's (et. al.) to stop putting additives in their "food" that causes addiction?
I wonder if the British food industry is as bad as ours. Additives? Over-processing? Fillers? If they do, and their government has the balls to try and do something about it, dare I hope that ours may someday follow suit?

Extra Showers, Extra Hours, The End of our Nightmare, Latin Rythyms, Two More Dogs, Traffic, Produce, and How Not to Douche: A Very Long Weekend In GA

After that last post we went back to work. That night blew. I can't imagine why people still feel the need to emulate Dave Matthews and the like, but since dumb young kids keep eating it up I see no end in sight.
Thursday was pretty light, inventory wise. I spent a few hours trying to distract a very energetic toddler. It nearly killed me. Hat tip to parents everywhere. Much respect for your energy.
Thursday night I dropped the b.h. at work and came home. I dropped by L0we's on the way and picked up some more of that nifty plastic wrap that helps insulate windows for the winter (as opposed to the super secret plastic wrap which one might use with duct tape in case of a biological weapons attack by Islamist Extremists). It was unreasonably cold and unusually windy outside, so I covered the French doors in the bedroom and one of the windows in the office. Then I made a fabulous Waldorf salad (celery, Granny Smith apples, mayo, toasted walnuts, and Cr@isins) and a batch of cranberry relish (fresh cranberries, one whole orange -peel and all- and a cinnamon stick). Then I went back and picked up the b.h. from work. We made some food, watched some TV, and showered. When we were headed up to bed, we called the dogs in. Wyatt came running right away, but Kilgore was nowhere to be found. I called for him, I whistled, I walked out to the edge of the woods, and I tried bribing him with treats. No dice. The b.h. suggested we go to bed and set an alarm to try again in a half hour.
I did. He got up ( I had to do it last time, and the b.h. is a very fair-minded man)and went to the front door. I was rapidly losing consciousness when I heard the dog come in, then a lot of swearing followed by orders for the dog to get in the bathroom. I was twenty minutes before I saw them again.
"It looks like a crime scene in there" the b.h. reported.
I winced and braced myself for the follow-up.
"Not blood, just a LOT of muddy red clay, sprayed over everything. I don't know what the hell he got into, but getting him clean was not easy." The dog was grinning. He approached the foot of the bed.
"No! Fuck you, motherfucker. You are not sleeping in that bed tonight."
The dog hung his head and went to the corner to lay on his dog bed. I turned off the light. Two minutes later the b.h. got up and put a blanket on the dog. We slept.

On Friday the b.h. went to work early. He worked a private party at five, then started our regular shift at ten. Saturday was - wait for it- the LAST HOME FOOTBALL GAME OF THE SEASON. (That sound you hear is my soul returning from hiding). The b.h. again signed up for an extra shift, so we went downtown early, right in the middle of post-game traffic. It took twelve minutes to get from our house to the edge of downtown, and it took forty minutes for me to get out of downtown from there. We picked up our friend S and brought him back to work. We ate dinner at the new Italian restaurant on Broad and Jackson. La Dolce Vita. It was pretty damned good, if a bit pricey, and definitely the most authentic Italian I've had in the South.
Saturday night was easy as pie. Live Cuban music, complete with people who really knew how to dance. I always love a change of pace.
We had to stay and do inventory after close, since we're going to be out of town for the next couple days. I didn't remember that until after we had finished and I thought we were about to leave. We stopped at the grocery store on the way home for a frozen pizza. By the time I got home, ate, and showered, it was almost six a.m. I told S I would pick him up at ten-thirty this morning.

I didn't fall asleep until almost eight, but I managed to drag myself out of bed on time and then I went and picked up S and The Girls. You may remember them from S's last trip to the pokey. I brought them back here, my friend J met us here, and we all headed North to bring S to jail in another county. He will serve seven and a half days (if all goes as planned) for a probation violation, and I will pick him up next Sunday night and bring him back home again. Did I mention that drinking and driving is a really bad idea? It is.
Anyway, the drive started out smoothly enough, but there was a bit of confusion due to a combination of vague directions, closed roads, and poorly marked detours. At one point I turned the car around four times in as many minutes. It was quite comical. It was also very early and I was very bleary, so I hate to think what the trip will be like next week when I make it in the dark.
After we dropped S off, J and I headed for Atlanta. The plan was a trip to C0stco and the awesome DeKalb Farmer's Market. Driving was ridiculous. I always forget how much I hate Atlanta drivers until I am surrounded by them. There is no regard for the speed limit or safety anywhere in the Greater Atlanta Area. Ugh.
Costco was really, really overwhelming and totally claustrophobic, but since J and I have the same sensibilities and tolerance we managed to navigate it without incident. I got a lot of great stuff, including but not limited to three varieties of Cabot cheese, a giant jar of pickled green beans, and some organic spinach and feta cheese frozen pizzas. The guy that checked our groceries was clearly on some kind of speed, and he was a little alarming.
The Farmer's Market was similarly crowded but as always totally worth the effort. I bought some huge fennel, a loaf of their pecan sandwich bread, a jar of very promising-looking mango chutney, tangerines, grapefruit, oranges, watercress, organic half and half, fresh flat-leaf parsley, two kinds of persimmons (I have never tried one and welcome any suggestions as to how to prepare them), fresh water chestnuts (also a new thing for me, but since I'm so fond of the canned ones I felt it was a safe bet), a pound of sun chokes (Jerusalem artichokes), a bar of Dagoba organic chocolate (flavored with lime), a couple varieties of local hot peppers, and several other items I can't remember right now. I only spent fifty dollars. Every time I go there I am shocked at how cheap it is, and what fantastic quality and variety they have.
I am struggling to remember the name of the fruit (J? A little help here?) that J mentioned wanting to try. She said that Anthony Bourdain described it as smelling like a corpse and tasting like tiramisu. We eyed said fruit for a moment, but they were huge and expensive and she decided to save it for another day. Less than five minutes later we were walking into the dairy section and, lo and behold, there were free samples of an ice cream-type product made with said Mystery Fruit. We eagerly dug our tiny sample spoons in and popped it into our mouths. I made the mistake of inhaling at the precise moment when I touched the spoon, but my brain did not register the degree of foulness emanating from it until it was too late. I found myself standing at the sample table, choking down the dessert equivalent of a days old cadaver. Tears welled up in my eyes. J proclaimed an immediate love for it. I grabbed for another sample spoon and attempted to cram enough Anything Else flavored ice cream in my mouth to drown out the awful taste. The woman at the sample table spooned me a sorbet sample, looking sympathetic as she handed it to me. I got the idea that I was probably not the only person who had had that reaction today. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
On the way home we stopped for a sandwich. We got back to the house around seven thirty. I helped J unload, then she helped me unload, and she headed out. I showed off all of our purchases to the b.h. He went for the pickled green beans right away, but couldn't seem to get the jar open. I took it and ran it under hot water and tried it. Then he banged it on the counter and tried again. Finally, I sat down on the kitchen floor, braced the jar between my legs and, using a rubber jar opener, managed to pop the lid. Unfortunately, the jar was not entirely upright at that point, so I poured about half of the vinegar directly into my crotch.