Today is one of those dreadful days when I feel as though I have nothing to offer you (other than the poor decision of some dipsh*t with vanity plates). Nothing funny. Nothing clever. Nothing crotchety. This is what fine weather and 18 remaining classes will do to you - render you happy and boring. Shook, I'm in such a benevolent mood that I'm considering chaperoning the prom, which is on a boat, motherf*cker. Anyway.
We even cooked a tasty dinner last night and played a barn-burning game of scrabble. n.o.c. won by two points, but he cheated, so his victory is hollow and benign. The apartment is still spotless. The bills are paid. The sun is shining. F*ck.
Last night's repast included steaks. I say this up front, since it makes people like my brother Keb'm very happy. I was a vegetarian for fifteen years, so the men in my life are inordinately pleased by the sight of me with a steak knife in hand - never mind that I can only make it though a silver-dollar sized portion before I start getting a little green around the gills. Now, if we're talking hamburgers, that's another case entirely. Hamburgers made me fall off the veggie wagon. I can always finish and seldom refuse a good hamburger. Particularly if it's topped with blue cheese. And bacon. But now I digress. My favorite parts of last night's dinner were the garlicky red baby kale (which was delicious but ugly) and the trumpet mushrooms with vermouth, caramelized onions and local blue goat cheese, but the grass-fed dead cow was good, too.
Now, I don't want you to worry that the the crotchety old b*tch within has been defeated. I think she's on vacation - which naturally begs the question, where would she go? Myrtle beach? Panama city? Definitely somewhere with lots of locals to ridicule and stairwells that smell of beer, urine, and Hawaiian Tropic. The better to be p*ssed, my dear.