Off the couch for now

So many thoughts in my head. Where to start? I am the queen of stream of consciousness though so let's just let it flow.

First of all, thank you to everyone for your comments. I just don't have the energy to respond to them individually like I usually do. Hell. Most of the day I thought that I did not have the energy to even write another post -- ever. But now I've remembered how writing it all down helps me to find my way back.

My stepmother's death was not unexpected. It's just that there is nothing that can ever prepare you for that moment. And I'm still hurting sooo much from the loss of my aunt. I mean it's only been a little over three months.

My other aunt told me this morning that the hospice folks have arranged for grief counseling for the family. She has signed my dad up. She insisted that I needed to go as well. I told her that I'd call the folks at Thrive on Monday. I mean I did already check into the whole thing back in May.

Mostly I'm trying to make sense of why I hurt so much. My stepmother and I had a rocky relationship most of the time. But it was getting better in recent years. And she's been a part of my life since I was 9.

But mostly I think that my pain comes from my father. I started grieving for her months ago. He's just starting. And he is in so much pain. He keeps saying that he's worried about me but I'm sure I'm more worried about him than he is about me. He's one of those guys who needs to have someone there. He doesn't have the nomadic soul that I do.

This evening was filled with phone calls to his best friend and his cousin. We're approaching the holiday season. Holidays in the past were at my dad's house. I think he needs to be somewhere else this year. We all do.

I called my mom earlier in the day to let her know. After she spoke with my dad, she called me. She said that my dad kept going on about how I was now his closest living relative. (For those of y'all new around here, I am an only child.) My mom told me that I need to get up to Sacramento immediately. It was pouring rain here all day though. I just couldn't pull it together enough to drive up there today. Perhaps tomorrow.

And my dad's in-laws are putting the pressure on. They want a Catholic service even though it's been years since my stepmother has set foot in a Catholic church.

Huh. Guess I was wrong. Most of the day I kept thinking that this is how this would all end -- the blog I mean. Because most of the day I kept thinking that I had nothing left in me. Nothing to write that is. I guess I still do.

Oh, and the weight loss has been going along swimmingly. Just not fast enough. I still can't fit into any of my black dresses. I think I'll be going out shopping for a body shaper in the next couple of days. That's easier than going shopping for a new dress.

And Fluffycat and Zombie Mom? We're still on for next Saturday. Even if I have to drive like a demon from Salinas. Because I think I'm going to need that night out by then.

But now I'm going to resume my fetal position on the couch.

Cross one off the list

Friday night I was going to head up to Sacramento. But after a long day at work and this yumminess from Poulet, I felt the need for a power nap. Unfortunately my nap ended up being much longer than I had planned so I didn't head out until early Saturday morning.




After visiting with my stepmother (While conscious and somewhat alert, she had great difficulty opening her eyes.), I headed over to Old Sac with my dad and his older sister for lunch. I don't think I've been there since I was 18 or so. Definitely not since when my stepbrother was killed in the area. Oh yeah. There was that one party at the railroad museum but we usually don't head into the area much these days.


My cousin, one of the birthday girls, stated upon our arrival at the restaurant, "But I thought we were going to see a boat." We explained to her that we were on the boat. The look of utter awe on her face -- priceless. She then kept telling anyone who asked that she is now four. Ummmm. Not til next year, honey.

Some more visiting with my dad and aunt after lunch during which I learned that my aunt has once more extended her stay. (She was supposed to be leaving on Friday.) Thank goodness.

Back in September I made three lists of trips I wanted to take -- day trips, weekend trips and trips requiring more time than a single weekend. And so I ended Saturday with being able to cross one of those items off the list.

I had mentioned to Fluffycat some of the items on my list back then. Turns out that one was in her area -- and she had never been as well. She then realized that the place was probably doing something special for Halloween. And so that's how we ended up at the Winchester Mystery House for their flashlight tour.

Of course, no conversation about that place is complete without a discussion of eccentricity. As I pointed out to Fluffycat, one usually has a great deal of money in order to be categorized as being "eccentric" or "quirky." No money? Then you're just downright crazy.



Yes, I know the photos are a bit dark. It was flashlight tour, remember? And I'm too lazy right now to do anything about the lighting. But I will tell y'all this. There were many beautiful features in the house along with the crazy eccentricity.


And speaking of flashlights, we got to keep our souvenir flashlights. I bet you're jealous, aren't you?





The tour dumps you off into the gift shop. Actually you start there as well. Fluffycat commented on how many of the gifts seemed to be alcohol related. (I seem to recall that she has promised me a set of the lovely pink wine glasses as a gift. I promised her a set of the Reagan and Bush pens.) You know what goes perfectly with alcohol? Firearms.




So we headed over to the firearm museum. Where there were plenty of rifles.


But there were revolvers as well. See that beauty on the lower right? Ladies, small enough to fit in the smallest of clutch bags. Fluffycat commented that it didn't look like it could do much damage but then we agreed it was probably more a way to say, "You're annoying me. Go away."

Yes, my day was quite full but also quite enjoyable. The only question is where next. But not today. Today is filled with exciting things like laundry and grocery shopping.

Yo slut

It all started in eighth grade. I cannot recall what exactly I said, but Jade responded with, "You are such a slut." I told her that if I was a slut, then she was a bitch. And thus our nicknames for one another were born. (Now before you get all in a tizzy, let me point out that I was the girl who could count how many dates she had in high school on one hand.)

I remember party hopping one Friday night my junior year of college. I was hanging on the balcony when I saw Jade and her roommate walking past.

"Yo bitch!"

"Hey slut! What's up?"

"Cool party. You should head on up."

While she was heading up to the party, one of the guys standing near me asked if he could use the nicknames.

"Have you known us since you were seven? Nope? Then you'd probably get your ass kicked for using them."

I guess when we graduated from college, we decided that we were too grownup to continue using the names. La Nicoya and I are known to start a phone conversation with, "Hey hooker. What's up?" though.

Where is this all leading, you ask? Well, Hilly was kind enough to share this item from Miss Britt. So thinking about Halloween costumes got me thinking about all of this.

Halloween is one of my fave holidays. The past few years, things have gotten a little crazy on the party scene, though, and it has become one of those holidays that I spend at home.

When I first started college, I discovered that it was perfectly acceptable to dress slutty on Halloween. Hell that first Halloween, a group of my friends went as a pimp and his hookers. Of course, over time slutty just became my everyday look. Halloween was slutty with a theme.

I used to sew quite a bit. That means that I generally made my own costumes. It started with the slutty angel. I made the French maid costume out of gold polka-dotted white satin. Add wings and a halo with gold sequin trim and a pair of white fishnets with white pumps. Yep, all kinds of sparkly sluttiness. I wore it to the Castro. There was a guy there wearing nothing but a g-string. I kid you not. I felt like I had too many clothes on.

Other past favorites were the slutty Bo Peep and the slutty Red Riding Hood. I like costumes with accessories. The Red Riding Hood basket? Stocked with candy, tequila and condoms. I'm starting to think that I stopped dressing up for Halloween because I got stuck on which fairytale character to do next.

On a final note, I have always been cool with slutty but skank? May I remind you of those oh so great words of Jade's. "It's OK to look like a ho. Just don't look like a tacky one."

And then it all went downhill

Eggs Louie

This weekend was in many ways supposed to be a mom weekend. Right now a whole weekend of my mother can be rather trying. I spent days trying to get myself ready for it all emotionally. I failed.

Yesterday was not originally supposed to be about my mom. I had hoped to go to Sacramento. But my mom has always been jealous of my stepmother. She would never understand how I could cancel out on doing something that I had previously promised that I would do for her so that I could go see my stepmother. And more importantly, to see my dad. Because in the past when I have had to cancel out on my mom, I get to hear her say in a petulant voice, "But you promised..."

I had planned on taking care of all of my mom's crap last weekend. Thing is that I wasn't feeling well last weekend. I tried to explain this to my mother when I showed up. Her response was, "Have you felt this way for days? Well, you showed up to work and you didn't complain to them so I don't want to hear it." She then offered to take me to Thrive! but I told her that I wasn't sick enough for a doctor's; I just needed bed rest. She basically told me to suck it up. The second time we got into this conversation, I walked and went back home to bed. But I felt bad about not taking care of her whole list so I went back yesterday.

Yesterday was also combined as a movie outing. We went to see The Secret Life of Bees. I read the book years ago and had forgotten just how many sad moments there were in the story. I probably spent at least half the movie in some sort of tears. But at least I didn't walk away from it saying to myself, "This is such a letdown from the book." I think overall it stayed pretty true to the book. My mom was slightly peeved with me for not warning her how sad the story is. My response was, "But I brought you extra napkins from the snack bar."

This morning I got up at what is ass crack of dawn for me on a Sunday -- 9 AM. Why? Because Zombie Mom was running the Nike half-marathon in San Francisco. There was no way possible that I could be up early enough to cheer her on at the various points along the race but I knew that I could meet her and the rest of the Zombie family for brunch after the race. Also meeting her at the finish line would have meant that I would have to drive. Today my car could not move. More about that later.

The photo above is of my brunch selection over at Stacks in Hayes Valley. Not only did I get up at ass crack of dawn, but I did some walking as well. I was about to include the walk to the Berkeley BART station but that's only four blocks away -- in case you potential stalkers are interested. Fastest way to Hayes Valley on PT? Get off BART at Civic Center and hoof it the rest of the way. I did this without the aid of caffeine.

Seeing Zombie Mom flashing her Tiffany's bling? Hello? You get a pendant from Tiffany's for completing? Almost enough to get my lazy ass up and running. Key word here is "almost." Because while I love that little blue box, there are limits.

But most importantly, I got to see my favorite parts of the Zombie family -- the Commander and Lala. (Sorry about that Zombie Mom.) Because I have come to realize that through all of the crap over the last few months, those two are a large part of what has kept me tethered in the here and now. I love them because I realize that if I had kids, they would be like them. I also don't have kids because I realize that they would be just like them.

Then it was time to head back to Berkeley. I met this wonderful gay couple from Austin at the BART station in San Francisco. We helped this woman navigate her way through the system. Once we were finally on a Richmond train, I told them that I had been fascinated by Austin for years. A friend from undergrad -- OK. So he was a major crush -- had ended up there. He told me at the time that Austin was like Berkeley in the middle of Texas. The couple told me that in Austin, they always like to compare themselves to San Francisco but that Berkeley was probably the more apt comparison. They also bemoaned the gentrification of Austin. It's driving all the quirkiness out of the city. And that offbeat kind of vibe? That's what makes cities like Berkeley and Austin what they are.

So I stepped off the train to start part two of the mom weekend. Because today was The Spice of Life Festival. I have never missed this festival since moving to Berkeley. The first year, I attended it alone. Every year since then, my mother has been in attendance. Not that I necessarily wanted her to be.

My mother's worst traits come out at street fairs. "They want how much for this item? The food is crap. The music is crap." But I have heard this every year so in some ways I was prepared.

I met my mother at the BART station and we began our trek. I kept waiting for her to tell me how much she hates my hair worn in this way but then I remembered she had already told me that last weekend. It's all about tearing me down. Don't say that to her though. She will tell you how she had been nothing but supportive of me. And in some ways, she has been.

So we started our way through the fair. The food was overpriced. The Obama t-shirt, at $20, was overpriced. This after she complained about the long walk from the downtown Berkeley BART station to the fair. (Number one. I live north of the BART station but I met her there. Number two. The walk from the start of the fair was no more than seven blocks. My mother is just a suburbanite who just needs to suck it up.)

We finally found food that was a value in my mom's eyes. She then started to mention that it would be nice to sit down. I found her a table and then said that I was off to search for food for myself. Specifically potato puffs from Gregoire. After checking the last few stands that I had not previously, I headed to Gregoire. Right after I placed my order, I realized that perhaps there was a slight fiasco. But my mother was more than a block away enjoying her food so I stayed. And I waited. Once I had potato puffs in hand, I headed to a stand for the lemonade my mother had requested.

Upon returning to the table, my mother was nowhere to be seen. She is also too cheap to carry a cellphone. (Actually she's too cheap for a lot of things but is really big on telling you about how poor she is.) So I sat down at the table to wait for her return. In between, I called Zombie Mom. I just knew that my mother would be pissed off with me when she returned. I was right.

After I had been at the table for about 15 minutes, my mother showed up. And then screamed out, "Where have you been?" I said, "Getting food -- and your drink." She didn't like the tone of my answer and so said, "I don't need to put up with your sass." In my mind, I thought, "Kiss mine, bitch." Instead I answered with telling her about waiting for her at the table at which I had last seen her. And apparently all my responses were disrespectful, so I said, "I am sorry for not catering to you every second of the day today." (Ummm. I told y'all that I can get real bitchy at times.) And then she said some crap back and I said, "Next time I'll be sure to check in with you beforehand so that you can plan each second of the day." That was me being nice. I had wanted to add, "This is why no one else wants to do anything with you." Which would have been true but really hurtful.

My mother's response was to walk off but not before asking for the phone. I shit you not. Once I got my iPhone, my mother has been bugging me about what I was going to do with my old phone. She kept telling me how I should give it to her. And this is one of the other things that pisses me off as far as my mother is concerned. I get something -- either through my work or my father -- and she feels like she has earned a piece of it all. It is my obligation to share with her -- and no one else. I briefly thought about telling her, "Hell no," as far as the phone is concerned but then I decided that I am the bigger person and gave it to her. (There is still a part of me that thinks that I have "sucker" written on my forehead.) A minute later after storming off, my mother returned to ask if I still would buy the Bed, Bath & Beyond gift cards off of her. I pulled out the cash and took the cards. I then told her that the stuff she wanted me to come to Pacifica tomorrow for? Leave that stuff at her house. I don't need to see my mom anymore this trip.

After my mom left the fair, I was in such a foul mood that I didn't want to be there. I was blocks from home so I went there. And along the walk, I fought back the tears. Because when I'm really mad, I cry. Once home, I started making phone calls. But no one was available. Except for that one person. And so in desperation, I called my dad. Because there was no one else.

And so my dad and I talked about how bad things are with my stepmother. And how he's just dealing. And then we talked about my mother. How she is so obviously lonely. And how that's all about her and not us.

My dad started talking the steps. How we should not care about those things over which we have no power. Instead we should concentrate our energy on those things we can change. And also realizing that we cannot change others.

And this is why I love my father. Even when I know that he is dealing with pain beyond his imagining, he can still find it in himself to point me in the right direction.

Even though my father's words did a great deal, I am still trying to pick myself up form the place in which I was left after my interactions with my mother. Because since walking away from her, I have found myself crying. Thank goodness she's going back to Mexico on Tuesday.

But now she's crawling back in. Just as I was ready to post this, I listened to a voicemail that my mom left. A family friend has had a heart attack and is in the hospital. When will it all end? Because just when I think that I have nothing left it me, something else happens.

The kitchen is sort of closed

No new food here for some time. I need to work my way through the things I have accumulated in the freezer over the last couple of weeks.

I tried to put this off on Monday by heading to Poulet for the Basque chicken. Alas, they were closed due to the holiday. How dare they?


But this was the sight I caught on my way home so I guess the outing was worthwhile.

And now I'm going to go out on a limb. There is a post that I actually meant to publish today about privilege. But then I decided that I'd probably catch a lot of crap for it and I'm really not in the mood.* The thoughts started a couple of weeks ago when folks were reacting to the Tim Rice piece that was being circulated via email. I noticed that while many of the folks who wrote posts about the piece understood it, there were quite a few commenters out there who just didn't. And yeah, I got pissed off. So instead of that post, I ask you to click on the link. I ask you to re-read the section on "The Persistence of White Privilege." Notice what Zetzer says about achieving change? It's about open dialogue. Hmmm. I vaguely remember saying something about that in the past year or so.

Also pay special attention to the section about wealth. This Wikipedia explanation is pretty on-point, although I do question the deletion of the stuff on housing. OK. So it's clearly discriminatory behavior. And I guess the link would be that it is due to privilege that realtors feel comfortable in engaging in this kind of behavior. Also I highly suggest that you check out the References and Suggested Reading at the bottom of the page. Perhaps after reading this you can understand why slavery enters the conversation so often. If a group of people are denied ownership, then there is no way that they can acquire wealth. And guess what? Most standardized tests do not measure a student's knowledge of a subject but the wealth of their parents. Yep, there is a direct correlation between wealth of parents and how a child performs on a standardized test. Now apply that fact to what we know about wealth distribution in this country.

Read a good portion of this and then you can have a conversation with me about what privilege is. Because this is a topic upon which I feel like Heather does about politics. I have spent way too many academic hours engrossed in this topic and it used to be part of my professional life. As a result, I may know more than other folks because I have read a lot of the writings in the area. So all I ask of y'all is that if you're going to write about a topic such as this, do your research first. Don't just base it on the one thing that you have read. Do the research.

Hell. My mother sent me an anti-McCain email tonight. I don't believe I have ever said on this blog how I plan to vote but I think I have made my political leanings pretty clear. While the email was compelling, I felt the need to do some fact-checking. What I found was that the alleged source of the email denied ever writing it. And so I did not forward it. If I do not have supporting evidence that something is true, then I will not pass it along. I think it's called having principles. And then I emailed my mother the details of the questionable provenance.

Oh dear. I just realized that I have written that post after all so I may as just keep going. This was really supposed to be about telling you to check this post out. But whatever.

So how did I become such an uppity bitch? My father's paternal grandfather somehow got his hands on 500 acres in Alabama. We still haven't figured that one out. My grandfather bought out his siblings upon their father's death and expanded the farm to almost 1800 acres during my grandfather's lifetime. It gave him the ability to send all ten of his children to college, if they wanted to go. All this while year after year, he took the tests to prove his fitness to vote -- and passed them every time -- only to be told that he could not vote. (It is for this reason that I vote in every election.) So yes, my family has wealth but a lot of my folks don't.

I have a small retirement fund. I rent an apartment. These are not necessarily signs of wealth. Of course, when certain family members die, I will suddenly find myself quite wealthy. I'm just not now. And so I can feel for folks who aren't. The folks on my mother's side? Far from wealthy. Many of them are just getting by. And this is why I can understand.

I just think that if we can't have these conversations, then we are fucked as a society. And if that's the case, then I'm out of here. I've already told my mother to get my room ready at the house in Mexico (Much easier to enter than Canada if you are fleeing. Or so I've been told.) because I might just have to move there. And you know that things have to be pretty bad here if I would seriously consider living under the same roof with my mother once more.

So let your indignant comments fly. Because the rule on my blog is that everyone can be heard. Except the spammers. Those are the only comments I delete. Because if we're going to have a conversation, then we all need to be heard. But the spammers don't count because they are clearly not a part of the conversation. And they're a rarity around here. I think I've only had to delete two comments at most as a result of spammers. Just so y'all know what kind of principles I hold.

*Death Watch 2008. My stepmother is now completely bed-ridden. She no longer has the muscle control to sit up. She is bloated and when conscious, hallucinates a great deal. I keep trying to make plans but I also know that they need to be fluid. The end is around the corner. May I never again have to experience the slow deterioration of someone about whom I care.

Sometimes she's a royal bitch

... and sometimes she's actually a nice person.

A little over a week ago, I was chillin' at Zoomie's. Cookiecrumb told me that no matter what I say about my mother here that she got the feeling that I actually like the woman.

This past weekend my mom was blowing up my phone -- to the point that I was calling her very name in the book as I watched the phone ring -- but I really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Really. I don't think I made a single phone call -- except to return a couple of my mother's calls -- from Friday night until Monday morning.

When I spoke to my mother on Monday evening, she said that I seemed to be in a better mood than I was on Saturday. I explained to her that I just didn't want to talk to anyone else. It's what sometimes helps me to get through the rest of the week.

And then we got to talking about grief. She said that she had been trying to spend the last five years preparing me for my aunt's eventual death. I told her that there's no amount of preparation that can make one ready for the reality.

We talked about letting go. My mother admitted that my aunt's name is still in her email address book. I told her that my aunt is still in both my email address book as well as on my cellphone. When I see the listings, I think that perhaps I should delete them. But I can't. Not yet. Of course, it doesn't help that sometimes I am a heartbeat away from calling her because I've thought of something I want to share with her. Still. How long does this take?

My mother started talking about her maternal grandmother. Her grandparents lived with my mom's family when she was growing up. Her grandmother died when she was about 14. And there was a huge hole left in my mom's life. She shared with me that she was still crying over her grandmother's death a year later. She said that she's always known that I was just as close to my aunt as she was to her grandmother. She knew how much this would all hurt. She also told me that it's OK to cry, for what may appear to others for no reason at all. That I'm just going to have to do it.

My mom said that whenever I think of one of the things I would have done with my aunt, I should go out and do it. That's how we got to be talking about how I was mad with some of my friends. She told me that these friends had been through too much with me for me to just walk away. I owed them an explanation -- especially since they probably had no clue that I was mad at them.

Shortly after hanging up the phone with my mom, I sent off an email to Jade and Emerald. I explained that I was mad because having people follow through on commitments to plans is kind of important to me right now. I also talked about how the weekend before my aunt died we had promised that this year we were definitely going to go out once a month. The idea was to try a new restaurant each time. When I planned the girls' night back in August, I thought of it as carrying on this idea.

This morning I received a response from Jade. She reminded me that I have always been her closest friend. She also admired my courage in being so honest. She finally said that she was going to try to make more effort because she realized that lately she had been so wrapped up in her kids that she hadn't been doing anything for herself.

So last night I learned that if I am willing to hear my mom rehash all the crap that I have heard ad nauseum, then she will actually listen to me. I know that a lot of our clashes come from the fact that we are too much alike. Too strong-willed, stubborn. And I guess that's why I haven't given up on her completely. Because every now and then she actually is the mom that I need.

Never too much of a good thing

Lamb patties braised with eggplant, peppers and tomatoes

You would think that it was enough that I made soup and went to Chilebrown's on Saturday. Why stop there though? Because I made this dish as well before heading out for the pepper tasting.

I mean look at it. It has eggplant. And lamb. And because it has eggplant, I can tolerate the tomatoes. Of course, I did follow the recipe and use heirloom tomatoes.

This was also part of the care package for my mom. It's kind of funny. For many years, my mother would rarely eat my cooking. It would be, "I don't like that" or "I'm not in the mood for that." When she did eat my food, then often it was, "Why didn't you do this instead?" Because my mother is the first to tell you that she is a great cook; the rest of us are merely pretenders to the throne. And then she'd get mad because I frequently cooked food for my dad and my aunt, but not her. Why? Because they showed appreciation. Food can be a very personal, emotional thing for me.

In recent years there has been a shift in my mother's attitude toward my cooking. It seems to coincide with the point in time when she started telling me what apparently she had been telling others for years -- that she is proud of me.

My childhood was a painful time filled with, "You didn't try hard enough." Might explain a great deal about my body image issues. I have too many years of hearing others say that I was great only to have my mother tear me down. And in those earlier years, I often thought that I was great just to hear otherwise. So I learned to distrust my judgment as well as that of others. But food was a safe haven for me. No matter what she said, I knew that I cooked well. Now I sit here questioning why I wanted her approval so bad for all those years though.

Yes, I even ask this now that I have her approval. Now I bring her food and she calls me the next day to ask for the recipe. And I bring enough so that she can share with her neighbors, other retired folks. And they ask her why I don't do this for a living.

Yes, I have toyed with the idea. There. I said it. Cooking, just like re-reading The Tao of Pooh, helps me to rediscover my center. I am at peace in the kitchen. No TV, no computer. Not even a phone since I realized long ago that cellphone coverage is pretty sketchy in my kitchen. As a result, the majority of the time I do not bring my phone with me in the kitchen. They can leave messages. It is my time to create. And so why not take the plunge? Because I'm afraid that if I have to do it everyday, then I will grow to hate one of the things that I truly love in life. Besides I've had more than enough change for right now.

Hot fun in the summertime

Summer's almost over and it's only right that it should end with a bang. Today I went to Chilebrown's for a pepper tasting. Because I'm crazy like that. The first bite was sweet. And then then heat started. I initially thought that it was not much worse than eating habanero. Now that I think about it? I've put a substantially larger piece of habanero in my mouth previously to produce the same level of burn that the cute little peppers produced.

Pictured above is the stuff I brought home from the garden -- minus the Bhut Jolokias. Can you believe that Chilebrown wanted me to sign a waiver before leaving with two of those babies? Don't worry though. They'll probably be heading to my dad. He was indeed jealous when I told him about my pepper bounty. Now what to do with all the others...

Making lemonade

This would be figuratively, not literally. The way my weekend started, it could have been a total disaster.

Friday afternoon while at work, my cellphone rang. It was the fraud prevention unit from my bank calling. The automated voice asked if I had recently tried to use my debit card, or had authorized someone else, to make a transaction in the amount of $102.50. Ummm nope. So I hit the button to indicate my answer of "No." Then the music started while I waited for a real person. After a couple of minutes, I decided to pull my account information up on the computer. WTF?!!! Someone had made two withdrawals of $202.50 from my account earlier in the day. Not pending transactions. Transactions that were already posted to my account. It gave the address so I looked it up online. A gas station to which I have never been. More music playing. At this point, I was freaked out to say the least. I stayed on hold for about 25 minutes. And then I was disconnected. I called the bank back. I was on hold for about another 40 minutes on this call before I got a live person. She once more asked about the transaction for $102.50 as well another attempted transaction for about $150. I explained to her that I had not authorized either of these transactions. She said that she would cancel my card -- that was still in my possession -- and issue a new one. I then asked about the two that had posted to my account. She put in for a provisional credit for those two. And then told me that the money would be back in my account by the 19th. The thing is that I had already sent out some checks to pay some bills. And my current account balance? It was not going to cover all of those checks. She said that if the checks hit my account before the bank had returned the money to my account, then yes, the bank would be returning them. But they would reverse any fees incurred because of this. Really assuring. I tried my best to think happy thoughts. OK. So the wine I picked up on my way home helped some.

Saturday morning? I had resolved to get through the weekend on my credit card. And so I got up to take my car to the shop so that they could complete the repairs. Last weekend, I had been told that it would take two hours. I had brought a couple of books with me for the wait. Right before I headed for the waiting area, I asked how long it would take. "Two hours for each part. Four hours." This would be when I felt like crying.

And then I remembered all of that stuff I had written in the last week. I reminded myself that I had updated my iTunes software on Thursday night and the software on my iPhone on Friday night. So I put on my headphones and tried out the new genius playlist feature. I chose "A Beautiful Mine" (Some of you may know this as the theme song to "Mad Men.") as my first song. And that little genius in the software? Came back with a mix of some of my favorites including NWA, Public Enemy and EPMD. And so while I read my book, I found myself chuckling at Chuck D. saying, "Most of my heroes don't appear on no stamps." I smiled when I heard a guy talking about, "A girl who's shooting up this world like Shaft." From the first time I heard this song, I always imagined that I was that girl. By the time that I heard EPMD say, "Relax your mind...". I was well on my way there. And I threw in a little "Woo sai" to be safe.

I started thinking that my luck had turned around when I drove over to the Berkeley Public Library and instantly found a space in front. I thought to myself that my unwillingness to give into the negative had led me to this parking space. And then I went inside and discovered that the self-checkout machine was not handling DVD or CD rentals. Just my luck. I had scraped the change out of my wallet to pay for the meter fee. Fortunately I was out before my time expired.

I still had that residual daringness left from "Looking Out the Front Door" left in me though. And this is what made me daring enough to try something that only an insane person would do -- go into Berkeley Bowl in the middle of the day on a Saturday. And unfortunately my list was too large for a hand basket. So I got a cart and "ditched" it at strategic moments -- like when dealing with the produce section. I left the cart at the periphery in these instances and walked my finds back to it.

After sitting in the chair in the car dealership waiting room, my lower back pain had returned. Did I mention that I walked into Thursday's belly dancing class with this pain? And that it was still present on Friday morning? But by Friday evening it was non-existent. But by Saturday afternoon, the pain was fully raging. And so as I maneuvered the narrow aisles of Berkeley Bowl, I silently prayed that no one would bump into me.

All was good until I got in line at the checkout. The family in front of me had "that kid." This kid kept weaving his way through the various carts for entertainment. And if your cart was in his way? Well, he just pushed it out of the way. Now I must admit that the majority of the time while this was happening, it was just him and his dad. I figured that dad was clueless so I forgave him. Then mom showed up and I changed my mind. Especially after the kid started picking up my stuff from the conveyor belt while his parents were being rung up. Hello, people. Your germ-ridden kid is touching my stuff. It's moments like these that makes me want to slap entitled, oblivious liberals. (Oh, and did I mention that PMS also kicked in this weekend. Ummmmm. Yeah.) Instead I gave the kid "that look." He dropped my stuff and fled back to his parents, never to be seen in my personal space again. Oh, and this was the only kid with them. I dunno. I figure that two adults and one kid? One of the adults should be able to keep the kid in check. So all this crap happened but I was determined to keep the positive things I had planned for the weekend going.


And so I give you moussaka -- once more. With ground lamb this time. Because early last week I realized that I had not consumed any eggplant the entire summer. And there was also that change in weather. Except for yesterday, most of this week has had a distinctly fall kind of feeling in the Bay Area.


But the moussaka in many ways took second stage to this. The chop is from a pork rib roast that was brined before roasting. (And so could not be eaten on Saturday.) On a bed of polenta. With braised Swiss chard. You can thank the fine folks at "Bon Appetit" and Zoomie for this menu. The article was about local foods, I believe. And this particular dish was about how Southern meets Italian. The recipe said that you could use Swiss chard but it was originally made with collard greens. Love me some collards. Just didn't feel like cleaning them.

And so food is what got me through the negative. Even if I did have to put it all on my credit card since I no longer had any cash. But that's the positive upon which I chose to focus. What if I hadn't had room on my credit card to get through the weekend? That would have sucked completely. However, I did. And while it is not my favored method of payment, I was still able to do the things that I had originally planned for the weekend.

And then I thought about Taoism. This is precisely the kind of situation that Taoism speaks to. Sometimes life hands you a bunch of crap. It's all about how you deal with the situation. You can freak out and say, "Poor me." Or you can move on. Because true happiness comes from realizing that things happen and not trying to fight the crap but instead managing to move through it all -- with yourself intact.*

* Yes, I have been reading The Tao of Pooh once more. I told y'all that the book keeps me grounded.

Grumpy

So yeah. I've been pretty grumpy lately. I'm working on it though. When I'm pissed off, I like to run. It used to be if I was feeling grumpy, I'd go for a drive. Now I go for a walk.



Every summer there is corn in the field. I'm not sure if I really want to know what they do with the plants. In the fall it all gets tilled under and the Canadian geese show up. For at least a week. But the field wasn't my real destination.



Nope. Not the final destination. Every time I pass by Live Oak Park I do think of how I should go there more often though.



I fell in love with Codornices Park in elementary school. From first through third grades, I went to this babysitter's house after school. Most days she would take us girls to a park. Codornices was the special occasion kind of park. There are trails along the creek. But best of all is the cement slide built into the hill. For really good speed, it's best to use wax paper or cardboard under your butt.





And nothing beats the views from up there.



Or the beauty of the Rose Garden across the street. I always forget that there are tennis courts next to the Rose Garden. All I could think was, "Is there a cooler tennis court anywhere else? I don't think so."







On my way back down the hill, I couldn't resist taking a few photos of the homes around the area. The first is of a house that's being remodeled. The other two photos I had to take after seeing an "Apartment for Rent" sign. I don't even want to imagine what the rent is up there. (I had to look out of curiousity since I knew the property management company would have it listed on their website. $2,650 for a two bedroom. Although they only show photos of one bedroom. Hmmm.) By this time I was also chatting with Zombie Mom on the phone. I think that she was amused by my random valuations of houses I passed. Like this large Tudor style one. Sorry but no photo. "Hmmm. One point five."

The whole walk was a little over two miles. As a reward, I stopped at Gregoire for the eggplant and the potato puffs. As I stood at the register, I felt my legs starting to shake a bit. So now grumpy has been replaced with sore.

That's OK though. Just getting ready for what will be coming in a couple of weeks.

Look, BellaKarma. No meat.

Summery Corn Soup

So I know that Biggles will not be thrilled with this post. But you know what? One does not have to have meat with every meal.

My mother and I toyed with this concept through the late 70s and the early 80s. Why? Many reasons. After my parents divorced, money was tight at first. My mom's younger sister has been a pescetarian since the early 70s also. My mother and I both love seafood. Well, my mother loves shellfish and I love just about anything that comes out of the water. But we also enjoy the occasional pork chop or rack of lamb. *sigh*

Before I threw on the trout last night, I started this dish. Well, it had a lot more cooking time. I knew that I would tout it for BellaKarma. Often she looks at the dishes I cook and post here and tries to think of vegetarian options for them. Not necessary here. This soup is completely vegetarian. No. Scratch that. It is vegan. I must admit that vegan is an extreme rarity in my cooking. I just love those dairy products so much. In fact, I have yet to meet a dairy product that I don't like.

And now I must reassure BellaKarma some more. It's not that complex a recipe. Really. I must admit that I was dreading that whole straining thing but it went quickly. And as you see, I went for yellow tomatoes throughout the entire recipe. I was briefly tempted to put in more than two chiles but then I came to my senses. Thank goodness.

Bottom line. This is something that I'd definitely make again.

Small roads

I suddenly realized something this past weekend. I've missed out on a great deal of the beauty of California because of my mom's fears. Specifically my mother has a fear of bridges and two lane roads.

When I first started going to Pt. Reyes Station, I mentioned it to my mom. She asked about the roads. I told her the truth. She said, "No."

But I love two lane roads. I love drawbridges. And so it was perfect that Saturday afternoon/evening found me driving through the Delta. (Even if I had "Walking in Memphis" stuck in an endless loop in my mind.) I thought of y'all while I was driving. Like, "I should pull over to take some photos," but the sun was setting and I try not to do those kinds of roads after dark if I've never driven them several times. So I'll be heading back.

I previously said that Sunday was my "me" day but Saturday evening was as well. Getting behind the wheel of my car on open, or fairly open, road is very relaxing. By the time I got home Saturday night I had clocked around 260 miles of driving from the time that I left home for work on Friday morning. Looking at the number, I think that it really isn't that much but then I think about the reality of it all.

Friday morning I drove to work in San Francisco. At the end of the day, I drove home through Friday night commute traffic. It was road rage worthy. After eating dinner, I gathered my stuff and then drove to Sacramento. After doing three and a half hours of work in my dad's office on Saturday, I drove to Tobie's housewarming. And then home.


On the road between Sacramento and Lodi.


Brannan Island Levee Road in the Delta.

It was the drive to Tobie's and then the drive home that took me through the Delta. I haven't spent much time back in that area. Might have something to do with the great number of folks who some may classify as being "rednecks" around those parts. Always made me a bit uneasy.


Berkeley Plantation, Virginia.


James River.

Just like how I will do ten hour drives by myself through the Deep South but I don't stray onto those small roads unless I really know them. Because solo driving in the U.S. means that I look at things not only through the lens of gender but through that of race as well. When I lived in Virginia, my downstairs neighbor, the self-proclaimed "redneck," told me the places that I should avoid. Oh, and I should explain. Her calling herself a "redneck" had nothing to do with her political beliefs. Nah. She just didn't have a college degree, liked country line dancing, and Jack Daniels. It was more an acknowledgment that white folks with more money than what she had looked down their noses at her. A lot of her kind of folks were my friends when I lived in Virginia. Maybe there was a shared experience that the dominant society would never think that you were good enough for them.


Yorktown.


Williamsburg.


Jamestown.

I digress. Bottom line is that I need to do here what I did in Virginia. It was much easier there because of the French Bitch, the Peugeot I drove back then. My car had phantom problems in the electrical system. This meant that I called the towing company -- in a town of about 10,000 people -- at least once a month. Since I apparently have a distinctive voice, they got to know me at "hello." Now I don't know how much experience you have with getting a jump start but the deal is that you should ideally drive the car for at least 30 minutes after getting the jump. It gets boring driving the same streets and ideally you should take the car on the highway. So while I was waiting for the tow guy, I would pull out my map and look for unfamiliar lines. I quickly learned that I could drive to Jamestown and back if I was in a rush. Have a little more time? Head to Yorktown. Or just explore the other nearby towns. And then there were the days that I would just head out with my camera riding shotgun.

I have been trying to find balance in my life. Over the past weekend I have noticed quite a number of things that were lacking. Hopping in my car and driving down some unfamiliar road is one of them. So now I'm going to figure out how to include these explorations into my life. Because they are me. And I just need to reclaim the pieces of me that have gotten lost along the way.

Note: Photos added from Google the afternoon of 20 August 2008 at the request of
Fluffycat. One day soon I'll go through my old photos and post some of the stuff that I actually took while I lived in Virginia.

Finding balance in the PRB*

I suddenly have a lot of posts bouncing around in my head -- perhaps because my weekend was so full. I thought I'd start with the easy one first.

Today was "me" day. The family members who I know really care are totally respectful of this idea. The idea that at least one day a week has to be completely mine. If I have that, then I can deal with all of the rest of the stuff.

I awoke at 8:00 a.m. with all these thoughts of what needed to be done. By noon after much thought, I realized that they didn't need to be done today. Well, especially those things that involve driving. Those can wait until tomorrow evening when I will be in my car because I have to drive to work. So I caught up on TV viewing and took a nap.

Around 4:00 I headed out to the library. I finally managed to finish two of the Stephanie Plum books I had checked out weeks ago. Only four more to go and I will be caught up on the series. Of course, returning the books could have waited until tomorrow as well as I pass the library on my way to work every morning. But I had items on hold. This would be a result of the Netflix meltdown during this past week. It dawned on me that some of the older titles on my list might just be available at the public library. They were -- and were already checked out so I put in hold requests. But this is just the why of the walk. The walk itself was the more important part to me.

As I neared the BART station, I could hear the sounds of music over a P.A. system. The "Free Tibet" group was set up there once more. Apparently this is the new hot protesting thing in Berkeley. There haven't been protests in front of the Marines recruiting center for months. And somehow magically around the same time that those ended, the "Free Tibet" marches started. The one I saw on Friday night as I was leaving for Sacramento was at least two blocks long. Anywho. I gladly took a flyer from one of the adorable children handing them out. Actually it was more of a race as two of the kids made a beeline for me, rushing to see who could get to me first. It made me smile. Enough that the homeless guy I passed had to comment. Something along the lines of, "Keep on smiling. Yeah. I'm talking to you."

The return was all about food. I needed gelato. Really. But Naia is still down to two cases instead of the three they used to have and there was no cardamom. *sigh* So I trudged on.

There was a quick stop at Astronomico's (This is Marin's name for the place and I kind of like it.) to pick up canned food. I just didn't have the energy to walk to Berkeley Bowl to save fifty cents a can. Besides I just needed a few to tie me over until I could stop at Berkeley Bowl on my way home from work this week. But I thought of Zombie Mom while in the store as I saw a woman pulling a child in a red wagon down an aisle.

And I remembered how I didn't get the tuna the last time I hit my fave takeout spot. But I still needed gelato -- and maybe sorbet -- so I headed over to Ciao Bella. And I guess it was a good thing that Naia didn't have the flavor I wanted because I suddenly remembered that if I used my debit card at Ciao Bella, I could earn airline miles. By the way, I ended up with blood orange sorbet and rose petal gelato, if you're interested.

On my way home with all of my goodies (Tucked away into one of the many tote bags I received while teaching. I felt so "Berkeley."), I saw what was probably the most interesting site. A woman was power-washing the sidewalk in front of her house. I found myself thinking, "Aren't we supposed to be conserving water? How did she get into Berkeley? I mean at Marin's house they have a bucket in the tub to catch some of the runoff water from the shower to use for watering." OK. I mostly thought this because I was forced to walk in the street. Her back was to me and she could not hear me approaching because of the noise of the washer. So while walking in the street to avoid getting wet, I thought of the other stuff.

Ahhh. But how to conclude this all? As I feasted on the tuna, eggplant and potato puffs, I got sucked into "Confessions of a Go-Go Girl" on Lifetime. By the end I had a few questions. Because even a cheesy Lifetime movie leaves me asking questions.

Are all women who take their clothes off for a living unhappy? Why do people say it's degrading? Aren't you "selling yourself" at just about any job? But then I got to thinking about how women our often objectified in our society. It all gets back to that double standard. Women are being told that men like them to act in a certain way and then are punished for doing exactly that. Oh, and please do not mention religious morality to me. Those books were written by men. And no, I am not trashing religion. It's just that I have issues with a man writing about how a woman should behave and then masking it all in religious beliefs. Or those men who choose to interpret passages in this manner.

So this is the stuff I will be pondering while I write my next couple of posts. Until then.

* Whenever I use the acronym "PRB," I always mean "The People's Republic of Berkeley." It's from my childhood. No matter for what others may now use the acronym, it will always mean this to me. Maybe one day I'll get around to adding a glossary to the sidebar.

Worn out places, worn out faces

Stuff happens and I do a lot of processing. Or at least that's what Marin says. She also says that I, like her, am a stuffer. As in stuff those feelings into a closet in one's mind to be dealt with another day. But that's another post. This is the stuff that I forgot to include yesterday. I don't know why. Perhaps I needed to let it marinate some more.

Last week Hilly wrote a post about friendship. Reading it, of course, brought some of my recent questions to the forefront of my mind. I've never made a list; perhaps I should. Sure there are things that irritate the hell out of me but for some people, I will forgive them these things. And perhaps that makes me an idiot.

Over the last month I have seen people act in ways in which I would have never expected. No, that's the wrong word. Crap! I don't know the word but all I know that is that the support I have gotten from others has reminded me why I call them friends. And then there are the others.

A part of me questions whether it is time to end a friendship. I wanted to put the word friendship in quotes because I have started to wonder if the relationship is even that.

The weekend that my aunt died, I called this friend and told her what had happened. Two weeks later I had heard nothing from her -- and a mutual friend had even asked during that two week span if I had heard from this other friend. Nope. When we spoke two weeks later, it was because I called. And I remember thinking, "It never dawned on you to call me to say, 'Hey. How are you doing?'" I didn't say this but I know that if I had called her on her shit, she would have felt bad and responded "properly." It's just that one almost always has to call her on her shit at times like these. And I'm tired.

Then I started thinking about how maybe just once more my mother had been right all these years. She has told me for many years that my friend was too self-absorbed to truly notice anyone else.

And so now I toy with the idea of walking away from a 35-year friendship. Because I think that my friend walked away years ago. Or maybe she wasn't ever really a friend in the way that I define it now. She is just someone with whom I experienced a great deal of my life.

One is the magic number

Over this past weekend I thought of many blog posts. The problem was that there seemed to be some overlap in my thoughts so I decided to throw it all together into one of those rambling kind of posts that Nat enjoys so much.

Last week was a hellacious week for me. I'll admit it. I had hit pretty near bottom mentally. As a result I just could not get rid of that tired feeling.

I had promised my dad that I would spend the weekend in Sacramento. But there were things I really needed to take care of at home first. Friday evening found me finally doing some straightening up around my apartment. While eating dinner, I toyed with the idea of going out. I kept thinking, "But I'm so tired." Going out won out though and I headed out around 8:00.

Once at my bar, I grabbed a cocktail and headed out to the outdoor area so that I could drink and smoke. And since I was alone, I pulled out the iPhone to play some games. (Normally I would have pulled out a book but none of my current reading choices fit into my purse.) And as I sat there half-asleep, I told myself that I would leave after a couple of drinks -- the minimum that I would have to order in order to use my debit card.

Yeah. Two drinks. That was before I met the young woman who shared my love of all things Kate Spade. We both agreed that prior to finding Kate Spade, we never were that into purses. But Kate's stuff is different; it's timeless art.

And then Random Boy showed up. And then I ran into Married Guy. Who decided that Friday night was a good time to share the fact that he's always wanted to get into my pants. Uh yeah. And then there was a third guy. At one point I was talking to all three. And letting them decide who should pay for my drinks.

Then the band started. I haven't laughed so hard in quite some time. The way I put it was that they were the kind of band that if you heard a CD, you'd say, "They're OK." And then you see them live and are totally freaked out. Because the lead singer/guitarist thought that he was some sort of god of rock. At least that's what I decided from his facial expressions and behavior. And he so was not godlike.

Sacramento was out of the question for Saturday. I needed caffeine, fat, and carbs. And a little more sleep. But Sunday? I felt like me for the first time in weeks. I wanted to stay at home and bask in my me-ness but I remembered promising my dad that I would show up at some point during the weekend.

Suddenly I had "Cats in the Cradle" going through my head. (I've loved that song since childhood.) Why? Because I thought to myself that if I blew off going to Sacramento, my dad would be greatly disappointed. And then I remembered all those times that I sat around waiting for a guy who would never show up when I was a kid. And then I thought, "Karma's a bitch," but then remembered that I'm a better person than that. So I drove the 160 miles round-trip to spend a few hours with my dad.

My dad kept asking, "What can I do for you?" Finally I knew the answer. "Respect the boundaries I set." It dawned on me that over the last month or so, I haven't really done much of anything that was purely for me -- unless you count sleeping. It was time to start setting -- and enforcing -- boundaries. Part of these new boundaries will be making sure that I have time to go out and laugh and dance and talk about things other than work or my family. As long as this happens, I can get through just about anything.

Today I still felt like me. So much so that I braved Berkeley Bowl this evening -- with a shopping cart. (The trick is to never take the cart down the aisles.) I usually try to keep the Berkeley Bowl shopping down to the what-can-fit-in-the-hand-basket level. But I needed paper products. Desperately. (No, I was not out yet but it was going to happen some time this evening.) And this time I shopped mainly the perimeter of the store for the first time in weeks. (This means that I bought fresh stuff instead of the prepared stuff upon which I have been surviving for most of the past month.)


Coq au Riesling

Thank you, Zoomie for sharing the recipe. I used six thighs. I also followed Zoomie's advice and upped the mushrooms to about a cup and a half or so as well as using about four to five cloves of garlic. Oh, and I used three ounces of pancetta instead of the one ounce the recipe calls for. And since there was so much more stuff in the pan, I doubled the wine and cream. I like things saucy. Now I have a few servings packed individually in the fridge as well as a couple of servings in the freezer.

There's more chicken marinating in yogurt in the fridge. Butter Chicken tomorrow night! And maybe I'll finally go through that issue of Bon Appetit that showed up recently.

So yeah, I'm back.

Another one of those posts

Still riding that roller coaster.

Last Monday my stepmother went back into the hospital because she had a seizure at home. This Monday the doctors told my father that my stepmother needed to enter another facility instead of returning home. Yesterday they told him they estimate she has another three weeks to live. It's been less than three weeks since my aunt's funeral.

Yesterday I overslept for work. Again. I had problems falling asleep Monday night. So yesterday I got the talk from my boss. He was saying crap about how maybe the job is too stressful for me and maybe it just wasn't a right fit. Today the president of the company said how they needed me to be focused at work. I heeded the advice that Marin gave me yesterday. I bit my tongue. And instead I spent a day at work having panic attacks all day long. At least that's what I think it was. All I know was that periodically it felt like someone had reached their hand into my chest and was squeezing. I couldn't breathe during these moments and thought that I would pass out. And then I got home tonight and it all stopped.

I don't know what the hell people expect. I'm coping as best as I can. Sometimes I'm really sad. At other times, I'm pissed off beyond belief.

Anywho. I'm getting kind of tired of writing these kind of posts. I have all these other happier posts either already written and saved or bouncing around inside my head. I'd rather post that stuff.

After writing this, I headed over to Jester's and decided to take the quiz. I remember doing it in the past. Can't remember the results then.

Dagny took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Desires a tranquil, peaceful state of harmony offe..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

I think they need to get out of my head. And maybe I should have just headed over to the quiz to start off with.

Trying to find my way back

I took last Thursday and Friday off from work and spent most of the two days sleeping. That helped a great deal.

When Friday evening brought another family brouhaha -- one that made me want to hop in my car immediately and drive to Sacramento so that I could kick some ass -- I passed off the stress to another relative. Hell. He hasn't been doing anything for the last couple of weeks besides trying to figure out what of my aunt's stuff he's going to pack up and take with him -- NOT! -- and eating and drinking lots. Oh, and the drinking lots is not a coping thing for him; it's a way of life. Because how often can you call someone at 10 a.m. only to discover that the other person is already three sheets to the wind?

Then I made the ultimate escape -- I went to stay with Dumb and Dumber for the weekend. We had a lovely time. I made sure not to play any movies with explosions or barking dogs and they kept their craziness down to a minimum.

As a result, I think I may be back on regular sleep patterns. And eating as well. To celebrate the occasion, I thought I'd treat myself to some stuff from Gregoire's.

But before I get too far ahead of myself, let me go back to July. Apparently during Sizzle's romp through Berkeley, she passes Gregoire. She did not realize that it was the place of the photos. But I do recall her saying something about the guy behind the grill. Before all the crazy hit, I meant to post these photos -- what Sizzle missed on the July menu.


Buffalo wings.


Pork loin stuffed with leeks and pancetta.
But now it's August and there's a whole new menu. I put my choices out to vote. I figured that I would do one of my combos since they had a vegetarian item that sounded appealing as well as some meat and seafood choices that seemed to call my name as well. Then I thought to myself, "Do I really feel like cooking this week? And didn't I just earn some money from dogsitting?"


Grilled pork loin medallions, parmesan & truffle butter.


Roasted eggplant with bell pepper & herbed goat cheese.

And no photo but I did also pick up the raspberry bread pudding as well. I was going to get the tuna as well but then they called me back to say that they were out. Another night.

And now that I'm eating again, perhaps I'll soon be inspired to actually cook once more.

Note: Tomorrow I'll also probably get around to posting the answers to the songs.