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Monday, Feb. 23, 2004 / 7:10 p.m. ~On Food, and Eating, and Stuff~ My tongue is currently working overtime trying to free all the cilantro from my teeth. And it could be worse. As it turns out, guacamole can indeed be made with the juice of freshly squeezed lemons, if one has no limes. And it will be good. I ate it plain, no chips, no nothing to dip. Just avocado, tomato, cilantro, green onions, red wax pepper, salt, lemon juice, pepper, some garlic/dill seasoning. And it was good. I'm loving the oral memory of it. I planned, or semi-planned, to go to the movies tonight, or to go to a movie, one in particular, one "City of God", but my car brought me home. Doesn't matter that I was in control of my car. And once home, once I unlaced and removed my shoes, once I changed into my flannel pants, once I got out the cutting board and started chopping, placing ingredients in that rose colored pyrex bowl, adding this and that, rinsing my hands along the way, it was one flowing process that quickly became the only plan that mattered. "City of God" shall wait. My fresh food would not have. The avocado needed me to cut it and chop it, and really I have more tomatoes to eat, perhaps with the remaining buffala mozzarella. No, no typo, it's Italian, the feminine for buffalo, or so it says on the label. This is how it is when I'm in cooking mode. I shop, I wash dishes, I cook, I wash, I keep it clean, I keep cooking, preparing, chopping, eating, eating, eating, let's not forget the eating, and when I've done all I can do, then it's back to normal. Microwave popcorn and heading out to movies on spurs of moments. I so enjoyed my "Guiding Light"s yesterday and last night, turned both tapes over to my coworker with whom I share them, the storyline is so good right now, I'm tempted to break with tradition and watch today's show tonight! Imagine, totally caught up. Today was so busy, for me. Kukla and I trade duties in our old department, the one supposedly defunct. We open mail and redirect it, log it first, and this is my week. So much mail, so much with the opening, oy! So much with the logging, oy vey even! And so much time spent. As I logged my logging, some 3 hours some 35 minutes. And other time spent doing other things, all must be logged. So much to do, so much to remember, and occasional people stopping by to chat, as my cube is on the time clock runway, and the bathroom expressway. Popular area. Hard to concentrate with so much activity around me, but when I do it all, with aplomb, zeal, vim, vigor, pick a word, that's how I do it, I'm proud, though pride goeth before I fall. I haven't fallen yet, not today. It was busy, I was productive, I got things done, I managed my time well. I rule at managing time. I rule at working autonomously. I am SO fucking good at anything I do. Really. I think I'll add that to my resume. Under skills. "I am SO fucking good at anything I do!" So. That's it. Hardly any email today, which is positively freaky. And I'm going to say it, I'm going to come right out and write it here, ready? I'm nominated for two Diarist.net awards, and the traffic to this site is through the proverbial roof. This roof is slanted and everything rushes off it, down to the ground. But these stats, this traffic, is through it, up and over and through and all the hell upside and down. And, well, it's a little bit freaking me out. I appreciated the nomination(s), but this is just my little diary, in fact, we've adopted the old name again, and it is, "...Only A Diary" in fact. It seems strange to have so many folks dropping by for a skim, but I have checked out my fellow(a?) nominees and they are excellent. They are professional writers, some of them. These people are good, go look now, I'll wait... Did you look? I couldn't wait. So, right then, there's that. Otherwise, here's some brief irony on which to end this little entry (or to penultimately end it), I slept in my bed last night, for the first time since Thursday night, yes? And I awoke with a horrible pain in my neck. Two nights on the sofa, fine. Some joint stiffness yesterday, but not much more, but the bed? Causing pain? Crazy. Gladys and I entertained some much needed heavy duty spooning action this morning, and I have to say, there is nothing better than spooning with a Gladys. She is the best. I hope she never dies, I want us to spoon forever. She loves it too, hates it when the alarm goes off, makes all kinds of funky cat sounds to indicate her displeasure. Just thinking about it makes me want to get in bed with her. Hey, it's not kinky, no bestiality here! We just like to cuddle, is all. I think I may eat more of the POUND of pasta I cooked Saturday night. Did I write of it here? The fusilli, the goat cheese, the bacon, the thyme, the garlic, the onions, oh, the onions (red, at that)! Good god, y'all, I've been eating it leftover, and it's even better, less goat-y. Fry up some extra bacon to add (sorry, Martha and editors at Everyday Food mag, 4 slices per pound of pasta was not nearly enough), drain most of the fat, then heat the pasta in the remaining bacon fat, add the bacon, torn, crumbled, chopped, whatever, broken even, when pasta is almost heated through. So, so, so good! I ate some last night, and some for lunch, and would it be wrong if I ate some now too? I could turn into a tub of goo for a day or two, I'll lose it after a while, yeah? Low carbs? Huh? Where? And Elvis ate like a whole pound of bacon a day, and look what happened to him. Oh, no, look what happened to him. Well, um, I'm okay. That's all I have for now, I'm kind of spacey, strangely inarticulate, really just want to lie down and spoon, after I eat the contents of my refrigerator (oh, no, I have shiitakes too!, what shall I do with them??? - I'll be cooking and eating like a madwoman until this food begins to turn). Cost of the War in Iraq
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