Hey, my mailman’s back from vacation! God bless a good mailperson. He knows the days I’m up and the days I sleep (and leaves packages without knocking at the back door if I have the blinds drawn).
And he just brought me a present, from Dear Reader Sparkle, FOLK SOCKS! What a gorgeous, gorgeous book, one that I’m going to read like a novel, from cover to cover, preferably under covers. Perfect. Thanks, darlin’.
Today is my day off. I have errands to run, but nothing immediately pressing. I’m not writing today, either, as I need a day to myself with no Work or work. The space heater is running, and the cats are just now coming down off the refrigerator (dogs just left), and while Adah looks comfortable, Digit has that look on his face like I’ve hidden a couple of extra dogs under the bed to scare him with later. He’s not buying my innocent routine.
Weekend: Great. I went out drinking on Saturday night with m’girl, to a birthday party at Tango Tango, a karaoke bar in the City, and I drank a lot. Only three martinis, but apparently I am O.L.D., because they knocked me on my ass (that and the pain meds I was on for girl stuff. I am smart that way). But I sang a lot, and Lala said she was impressed. That was my main goal, anyway, so I wasn’t TOO drunk. (And she was driving, so she was sober when she said it.) But oh, the hangover yesterday. It wasn’t the sick-feeling kind, it was the vertigo kind. Way worse.
I just wrote a whole paragraph on what I ate for dinner last night (it was great, the new New Zealander in Alameda — two words: meat pies), but realized that when I start talking about food, I am truly boring. (That’s a real person, you know. Truly Boring made a report of a lost driver’s license last year. F’real.)
Also, I got a call from Kira while I was at the New Zealander, reminding me that we had planned to have dinner at THEIR house that night. I’m an asshole. Really. This is my public, embarrassed apology. Waaah. I have NO memory. They’re coming over tonight, and I plan to…. Well, I don’t know, since I don’t cook. But I’ll think of something nice for an apology.
I’m going to knit now. Hooray!
Food’s brutal to write about. What’s there to say besides: Yumbo!?
you gotta have pictures when you talk about food since we don’t have smellblog yet. check this woman’s blog out. i know it’s in french, but trust me, it’s interesting and about food. her pictures are beautiful. http://scally.typepad.com/cest_moi_qui_lai_fait/
when i was in highschool, a kid in the 2nd grade was named Wicker Basket. NO JOKE. I HAVE THE YEARBOOK TO PROVE IT.
Now, see, I’m a foodie. I can go on and on about food. The way it smells, the way it tastes, the texture, the balance of flavors. It sends me into rapture. Seriously. Food is a total experience for me. So y’know, write about it if you want. I’ll just have to keep a mop next to the computer.
So what did you sing?
(PS: You guys are supposed to have dinner HERE tomorrow night–you know, just in case you forgot. You do have your plane tickets, right?)
I’ll tell ya, after a night like the one you spent, *I’d* have a LOT more to be embarassed about that being boring about food!!!! *You* probably just looked cute.
Remember when you wrote about olalaberries? SO. not. boring.
More meat pie stories, please, and pass the Sundaes!
Daughter said OOOOO, rach would like THIS place today while conning me into buying her ice cream for being SO patient.
teehee!
I’m not letting my kitties read your blog today, because it might remind them of the good old days when they had a *chance in hell* of making it to the top of the refrigerator. From that point of view, we should have adopted a dog YEARS ago.
Fun book that Folk Socks. Actually, I’m re-reading it for the fortyleventh time right now. I have lots of sock books but I think this is my fav, along with Knitting on the Road. Odd. They’re by the same person. Hmm.
I now live three blocks from the New Zealander! My Aussie boyfriend and I had meat pies there on Sunday night. Yum.
My daughter saw your comment about the mailman and said. “Oh, she works nights to”? I do not have my mailman trained as well as yours. When we have packages it is the truck that delivers them not our regular mailman. Scares the hell out of me when they ring the doorbell. LOL
Hey, I’m moving to Alameda this month, and I love meat pies!!!
On a less sober note, it’s not the years, it’s the miles. Ever since I started running I have no head for drink. A half a beer gets me a little loopy, and I learned to drink in Scotland.