Food Am Good

I'm sitting here eating a spinach chicken salad from Wendy's. It is good. The little grape tomatoes are sweet and not mushy. The greens are fresh and crisy. Then there's the hard boiled egg crumbled on top. Yum.

This is our second weekend in a row of eating pretty much nothing but fast food and chips. But that's the way it goes when we are in the midst of a project. Luckily the fast food places are now offering more healthy choices, such as this salad I am enjoying. The Big Macs we had for dinner last night were damned tasty though!

I actually love to cook. It is very pleasing to me to put together a nice meal for my family. Then the pleasure is multiplied when they enjoy it. But to cook, one has to have time to go to the grocery store. I may get there by the middle of June. If we run out of fudgesicles before then, however, I'll somehow find the time. After all a home without fudgesicles is ... well ... a dark and less pleasurable place.

Friday

Okay so I blew off work today. Well I didn't really blow it off. I politely cancelled and rescheduled for another day. Then I spent the day moving between bed and the computer and back again. Until I hit the bed around 2:30pm and crashed hard. Crashed hard and woke up groggy wondering if I should even bother getting up. But I did.

Just when I thought it was safe to go back. Silly mental headtrips. I'm stronger than that, aren't I?

Duck & Cover!

We've been hearing about these amazing Generation Xeroid cicadas for months now. Every morning I'd peek out the windows expecting to see swarms of the sleepy bugsters flying willy-nilly around the yard banging into the house and hanging off the trees. I kept a close watch for their husks, expecting them to pile up and crunch underfoot of the non-wary walker. I re-told the story ad nauseum of The Boy playing army with their shells the last time the cicadas emerged way back when. I was prepared to protect the puppers from gorging themselves on those delectable insects which, I have read, are popular doggie snacks. Too many cicadas are bad for the tummy evidently---something I hope to never personally experience.

So anyway. The hype built up as cicadas began emerging around the DC area. We did finally see a husk in the yard, then another, then an actual full grown cicada briefly buzzed by. But that had been all. What a letdown, I thought.

Then came a visit to a client on Eisenhower Avenue. As I stepped out of my car the air literally vibrated with the sounds of cicadas, their song ebbing and flowing in complete larger than life surround sound. And I noticed the trees. There was no breeze, but the leaves were alive with movement. Cicadas would fly in and out, around and about, no clear destination apparent. I began to count my blessings our own neighborhood was not so infested.

I walked down the middle of the parking lot, keeping as far from the trees as possible. My terror (yes I'll call it terror because I fear bugs in a BIG way for no reason other I than can't control where they'll go or what they'll do when they get there) I kept at bay by strength of will alone. I'd heard the stories of those huge mindless cicadas crashing into people or getting tangled in their hair (like I have enough for them to get tangled in!) and other horrors of encounters with alienish insects.

I made it to the office door and noticed the lifeless carcass of a once full-of-life cicada on the sidewalk. They really are ugly little suckers and what a bizarre lifecycle.

The decision was made not to think about having to traverse the same route to get back to my car just yet.

Wonder if I'll still be around here when the next batch of 17-year cicadas emerges?

WTF Am I Doing Awake?

It's 6:30 am. Well close enough. My eyes are still a bit blurry despite the shower. I am fully dressed to the shoes. Fucking flylady has that phrase stuck in my head. No, I'm not a follower of the flylady although she does have some concepts that are useful to keep in mind when going about one's daily life.

I'm awake because I'm waiting for the electrician who is evidently a morning person. Blech. Blech blech blech to the morning people of the world! Hooray to the electrician though. He'll be rewiring the bathroom and installing a ventilation fan. Phase II of the bathroom update, but that's a subject for a different blog.

I haven't whined once about having to shower downstairs. Yet. I have, however, had battles in my head about using the toilet down there. I saw a spider in that toilet and can't seem to get that out of my head. It would be useful to have a flush for one's thoughts similar to the flush of a toilet.

Happy day? You bet.

Flyover

Mine life hath passeth before mine eyes.

Today I boldly traversed the newest addition to a section of freeway referred to as the Springfield Mixing Bowl. It is a mile long feels like 15 miles high scare-the-crap-out-of-me highway flyover from the inner loop to 95 southbound. Now I don't much like heights and I truly don't like bridges. This is a terrifying combination of the two. Gotta admit, my heart rate was already soaring when the goddamn check engine light in my car lit up to add to my discomfort.

Good news is I survived but I was all the way to Woodbridge before my palms stopped sweating. Better news is it makes that merge on to 95 south a breeze.

Bad news is my check engine light is still on. Ack well, at least I didn't fly off the edge into oblivion and crash onto the freeway 15 miles below.

It's a good day indeed.

Sorostitutes?

I read something yesterday that referred to members of a sorority as "sorostitutes". Clever. I love word play.

Popeye's Chicken Strips

Undeniably THE best strips of delicious, tender, juicy, flavorful chicken with THE best light crunchy batter of all! I really really really like the spicy variety with the firey good hotness offset by the sweet and sour dipping sauce. Well, the official name of the sauce I like is "confetti", but the subtitle reads sweet and sour. Saying confetti sauce just does not convey much of anything. I mean, who has tasted confetti and been left with a favorable impression of the taste?

My girlfriend prefers the cajun honey mustard dipping sauce. Yes that's right! Mustard! Only those that know her well realize how far she's come in the mustard loving department. Bit by bit I'm luring her over to the dark side. Muhahahaha!

Now if I could just get Popeye's strips and KFC coleslaw at the same restaurant. I might just die in a fit of sensorial fast food chicken and side dish delight.

Hidden Quantities?

Out here in the suburbs there are other lesbians, but Wendy and I don't know many.

There is one couple we socialize with on occasion. I'll come back to them another time because they are interesting. And they have a friend we have run into several times in unexpected places.

Our veterinarians are two more. Well one of them for sure, and the other one is missing a grand opportunity if she has not yet realized it. She probably has. No confirmation because it's not often that the subject of sexuality comes up during a vet visit. Gaydar is useful.

And we've met another odd trio of lesbians through Wendy's workplace. They are involved a quite bizarre love triangle. Two of them are... well there is just no polite way to say this... scary-bulging-sloppy-sweaty-legs-as-big-around-as-my-waist-and-watermelon-boobies size persons. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against overweight folks. It's just these two are SO enormous that it's noteworthy. They have great personalities and each is interesting in her own right. But the quite bizarre love triangle thing gives me the oogies in a big way. The third banana of that bunch is a regular sized woman: t-shirt, blue jeans, baseball hat wearing short haired stereotypical dyke-type. I don't know if she shaves her legs, but she might. She's the one that bounces back and forth between the fatties and plays games with all of their heads and hearts and other body parts that I refuse to even think about. Oogie factor and all. Big way.

The woman at the Mobil station, the one who calls everyone 'Hun', is a possibility. But it's probably just because she reminds me of a friend of an ex of mine. They could be twin sisters separated at birth. Or it could be because that friend of an ex of mine also used to work at a Mobil station, albeit a completely different Mobil station in a completely different part of town.

So Wendy and I hang around with our hetero friends of various ages, sizes and personal quirkitudes. Suburban neighborhoods are rife with heteros in need of token lesbian friends. We are glad to be of service.

My Dog is Dying

Cosine is the first dog who has completely and wholly belonged to me. Mutt, my family dog growing up, didn't count as "my" dog because she was really my mom's dog. Just like my son can never really call Cosine "his" dog, because she's really mine. She's a bitch. She barks too much because she's stone deaf and doesn't realize she's making such hellacious noise. Recently she's decided she doesn't like to jump up onto the bed, where she really wants to be, so she whines and barks until I get up and lift her up to join us. Yeah. I'm whipped. So what? She's very sweet and dear, and I love her with all my heart. I must, otherwise I'd never put up with her barking.

And while she is, like the rest of us, moving closer and closer with each passing day toward the end of her life and her grave, she's not the one to whom I refer when I say my dog is dying. It's her brother Detail who is actively going about the business of dying.

Cosine has been part of our family since she was about nine weeks old. She and Detail are from the same litter, but Detail initially lived with some other family. Some stupid non-dog-loving family (SNDLF) adopted Detail, even though four out of the six family members didn't like dogs. They hired a professional dog trainer, took him to the vet as needed, groomed him regularly. But did they love him like he needed to be loved? I think not because after about a year, the SNDLF decided they didn't want him any more. WTF?? So he came to live with us. Despite his "professional" training, he did have many bad-dog habits. Like running willy-nilly out any exterior door that happened to open. It took but a few hours of instruction to help him realize doing that was just a really bad idea. But I can't fault him for wanting to do it. The SNDLF didn't have a fenced yard. With the exception of those occasional front door I-need-to-run-and-play-and-explore escapes, Detail had NEVER been outside except on a leash. And he just was not that fond of being on the leash. Imagine.

Fortunately for him and because we are smart dog loving people, we had a fenced yard. A big yard. Crappy fence, but good enough. Lots of room to run around. Plenty of native wildlife to chase. Trees to pee on. Suburban passers-by at whom to bark. Warm sunshine in which to nap. Sticks to fetch and chew. You know, all the good stuff dogs deserve.

Our kitchen door led to a small deck with stairs going down to the backyard. Since we had been working on the "just because the door is open doesn't mean you should run out" training, when I opened that door he sat politely yet quivering anticipatorily near the door watching me. I will never forget the look of disbelief transforming into unadulterated joy as I waved an invitation for him to proceed out the door unrestrained by a leash. He bounded past me, down the stairs and into the yard where he did free doggie things to his heart's content.

Detail quickly developed a routine. Rain, snow, sleet, or sunshine. Out the door, down the stairs, down through the right side of the wooded area to the back fence, looping around to race up the left side of the wooded area to the front fence, surveying his domain. Soon his path was worn and visible and rarely did he deviate. He'd sit outside for hours on the deck, watching over his home and soaking up the sun. Rarely did he bark to come in, leaving that job to his sister who was, even at that young age, a champion barkaholic. He only raised his voice when there was really something to raise it about, like a child riding his bike down the street. "Alarm alarm! They are coming to kill us all!", he'd proclaim lustily and loudly in his rich deep baritone voice.

When they were younger, I, along with my son who was also younger, would take them hiking in the woods of a nearby park. I'd let them off their leashes and they would take off running through the forest, circling back every so often to make sure we were still on the right path. The paths led near a reservoir and the dogs would swim. Detail and Cosine both loved to swim. They would chase sticks out into the water, and bring them merrily back to shore to do it all over again. Detail, as seemed his nature, would sometimes ignore the stick and just swim randomly around. He's always been an independent fellow, almost a loner but still enjoying the comfort of his pack.

So anyway. Back to the dying part. Detail was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease about eight months ago. In a nutshell, it's a tumor on either his adrenal or his pituitary gland that causes an overabundance of cortisone in his body. He's on meds, but I'm unsure of their therapeutic value. His muscle mass is wasting away. His nickname used to be Fat Boy, but not so now. He can't go down the stairs by himself and often his legs slip out from underneath him. His coat, once the most beautiful thick soft and shiny fur around, is now thin and wispy. His wonderful rich bark now sounds more like a mouse squeaking. He seems embarrassed at the change in his voice because he now uses it even less frequently than before.

They'll be sixteen in August. If he makes it until then, I'm gonna bake him a cake. Maybe I should bake it now instead.

Truly Suburban

I am so suburban it's almost pathetic. I derive grand pleasure from rolling the trash bin to the curb on the designated days. Walking down our long driveway to retrieve the mail from our ever-so-suburban curbside mailbox each afternoon makes me smile. As do the flowers I planted around the base of said box. Waving to the neighbors as they travel down the sidewalk pushing their strollers or powerwalking in their jogging outfits is pleasing in a way that defies rational description.

100 Things

1. I like to write.


2. I adore Scrabble.


3. I usually win.


4. Unless I'm playing my mother.


5. I like to keep the score sheets documenting my victories.


6. I'm the only one who enjoys looking at them.


7. I know, I know. It shocks me too.


8. I don't always like being in charge.


9. But I often end up there.


10. I'm 5'-9".


11. In my family, I'm considered short.


12. I used to be painfully shy.


13. I forced myself to become good at interacting with strangers.


14. I'm glad I did because it makes life easier.


15. I still consider myself shy but now only I know it.


16. I fell in love at age 25.


17. With a woman.


18. I was married to a man at the time.


19. Yes, it was a f*cked up situation.


20. I'm good at analyzing numbers.


21. Spreadsheets and budgets rock my world.


22. But I'm not good at doing math in my head.


23. I find that embarrassing.


24. I'm a naturally good speller.


25. I am a voracious reader.


26. My father taught me how to play chess.


27. I didn't beat him at it until I was 18.


28. We haven't played since.


29. I don't like mashed potatoes.


30. I don't like beans either.


31. It's a texture thing.


32. My friend Tina thinks I am sensorily challenged.


33. I don't hold that against her.


34. She's probably right.


35. I'm a parent by choice.


36. I like to think I'm a good one.


37. I don't fit many of the stereotypical lesbian prototypes.


38. People get confused because I don't.


39. My son is a music theatre major in college.


40. No, he's not gay.


41. Hypocritically enough, I think I'd struggle with it if he was.


42. So sue me.


43. I changed the oil in my car once.


44. I don't ever want to do it again.


45. But I can if I have to.


46. I have a sweet tooth.


47. Typing was the only class I ever failed in school.


48. After graduation, I earned my living as a typist for awhile.


49. I didn't starve.


50. I'm clumsy.


51. I don't wear makeup except for special events.


52. Sometimes I have trouble sitting still.


53. I played clarinet in the marching band in high school.


54. I love marching bands.


55. I make up silly words for songs.


56. I often sing them out loud.


57. Yes, even when I'm not alone.


58. I like to dance with my dogs.


59. I consider myself conservative.


60. Other people don't.


61. I've always adored sex.


62. Well, ever since I was introduced to it anyway.


63. I'm not a morning person.


64. I drink my coffee black.


65. I remember what I was wearing when I heard the space shuttle Challenger had exploded.


66. I threw that dress away the next day.


67. It made me feel better for some reason.


68. I worry a lot.


69. I don't own a hairbrush.


70. I have naturally curly hair.


71. It is prematurely gray.


72. I make really good spaghetti with meat sauce.


73. I have one sister, two step-sisters, and three step-brothers.


74. My mother is an only child.


75. I used to think my father was an only child too, but then I found out he had an older sister who died as an adult under suspicious circumstances.


76. One day I'm going to write a story about her.


77. It'll be fiction.


78. I love dogs.


79. I love cats too but I am allergic.


80. I adore football and baseball.


81. I am a reformed cigarette smoker.


82. I've lived in the same general geographic area for 37 years.


83. I am irrationally fearful of heights.


84. I like pepperoni and mushrooms on my pizza.


85. I rate Chinese restaurants based on the quality of their hot and sour soup.


86. My neck is very long.


87. Think giraffe-like long.


88. I love wearing turtlenecks in the winter.


89. I have big feet.


90. And freakishly large hands.


91. My girlfriend loves my hands.


92. I love hers, too. Along with the rest of her.


93. I really want to live closer to the ocean.


94. I love the beach in all seasons.


95. My computer is my friend.


96. I hope to grow old gracefully.


97. If successful, it will be the first graceful thing I ever accomplish.


98. I want to spend the rest of my life with Wendy.


99. I'd love to have grandchildren someday.


100. But I'm in no hurry.