MyAdultLand

"Klute", anyone?

Two of my favorite things in life: 1. executing a good ruse; and 2. helping out a friend in need. Combine the two in one — and an opportunity to wear my favorite dress — and I am in heaven. Sheer heaven.

The ruse: my dear friend “Doug” (not his real name) needed a date to a wedding. Not just any wedding, not just any date. In attendance at this wedding would be his ex, and the man for whom she left Doug. That sort of thing happens. But this is one of those “they were cheating for a while and even after Doug confronted them (for he was friends with the fellow), they still lied about it. Double whammy. So my job was to be 1. The hot date; 2. The date who would keep him from opening a can of whoop-ass on this other guy; 3. The date who would have his back should he no longer be able to suppress the urge to open a can of whoop-ass on this other guy.

How fun does that sound! My response: “Honey, I am gonna make your property value soar.”

The bride - a faerie in Middle Earth!

The ceremony itself was short and sweet, and outdoors, surrounded by redwoods, I guess, what the hell do I know? Northern California really big trees. The couples’personal vows,  and comments by the bride’s uncle (who officiated) choked me up. The food was the best ever, as were the THREE cakes (lemon, red velvet, chocolate/hazelnut). Which nearly made up for the fact that there was NO BOOZE! That was probably a blessing in disguise, for otherwise maybe  things wouldn’t have gone so smoothly with Doug and his anger management. But seriously, what the… is this a new trend? This is Northern California, wine capital of the USA. Must I start packing my own?

My one challenge was when the bride did the traditional bouquet-toss. Doug leaned over and said “Do not let her catch it.” To which I said “Watch this.”

I got your bouquet, lady.

Taking my place among my fellow eligible gals, I extended one arm (my right, and I’m a southpaw) just as the bouquet of lilies or iris’ (I don’t know flowers — see photo to right) was coming down in front of her face, caught it, held it up triumphantly, and walked off. Mission #*$&@*% Accomplished!

But actually, the real excitement was the night before, in Carmel, CA. Where I’d have least expected to find it…

Don't let the calm facade deceive you....

We arrived at Doug’s sister’s house @9pm in Carmel. Sleepy, idyllic Carmel, where one’s olfactories are overwhelmed with the fragrance of the ocean and orange and some flower the second you get out of the car. Ahhhhhhhhhhh….

Doug’s sister is not there, as she’s a doctor on call that night. But the brother-in-law, “Joe” (not his real name) is upstairs, with the younger of 2 sons — the autistic one. The seven-year-old son (the one with asberger syndrome), is in the living room watching tv with his adorable three-year-old sister. And now two houseguests. As if Joe doesn’t have enough on his hands on a Saturday night…

Also there is 14-year-old girl, on the phone, who ignores us upon entry. We later learn she’s the neighbor’s daughter. The family immigrated to the US six years ago. She was there to avoid her mother and unemployed father. Apparently, tensions run high next door. Mom threatened to smash a ceramic vase over the daughter’s head. Daughter hid her passport because “my mom is going to deport me.” Mom hid her passport because “she’s going to run away”. I’m not even going to deny you the fun of trying to guess what country they emigrated from. Besides, then someone would ultimately say I’m stereotyping, and far be it for me…

What upsets me most: the shitty copyediting!!!

So Joe lets the girl hang out for a while to cool off. He offers her some advice, and convinces her to go home. He walks her there — and they both return 10 minutes later. With the police. Apparently, mom had called the cops and said she’d runaway. I thought someone had to be missing 24 hours for a response from police, but if you read the police blotter in Carmel (see photo at right), you’d understand that this is the equivelent of a bomb scare there. Eventually all was smoothed out and we were left to our our original plan of raiding their impossibly full pantry and eating every snack food item known to Trader Joe shoppers.

And I suddenly have a new appreciation of the fact that I have nothing but freedom and choices in my life. Freedom and choices aren’t everything, but they’re definitely not to be taken for granted.

So. Many. Choices.

1. Because lamb tastes really good. Like, suck-the-marrow good.
2. As does really rare (cooked rare, that is) hamburger. And steak.
3. And have you never known the joy that is a Monte Cristo (ham, turkey, & swiss — served warm inside FRENCH TOAST)! I like mine with maple syrup. If I’m ever posed with the “last meal” question: Monte Cristo. And I have to make it myself. I ain’t taking chances with my last fucking meal. I’d also like a side of  fries w/ aoli, and a vanilla malt.
4. Bacon, extra crispy. Why, the smell alone could make me turn in my own nephew, if it came to that.

Okay, seriously…

I know there are many religious and moral and philosophical and political and ideological and health and ethical and bubblebrain reasons to be a vegetarian. Just as there are such reasons to eat meat. All I’m asking is we respect each others’ choices and reasons. The information is out there, should one seek it. And the time to have the conversation is NEVER over ANY dinner table. Especially when alcohol is part of the meal. Yeah, don’t think there won’t be a future post about booze at the dinner table…

I like meat. That said, I hardly ever eat it. I feel better when I don’t. I’m a fruit & vegetable gal. But occasionally, my body craves meat. Or fish. Or something else with eyeballs.

Endorphin OD fast approaching.

And I do mean crave, on a primal level. And that’s when I dig in, without apology. I rarely (no pun intended, though I do like it extra bloody) get the craving. But when I do… do not try to stop me. When tearing into that filet mignon or lamb chop (@ thrice a year), I imagine I look like a cheetah at the gazelle carcass, blood dripping down the corners of my mouth. And yes, it feels like the most natural thing on Earth. No denying. Satisfaction and pleasure on a primal level. Wait, am I still talking about eating meat here…

I understand not wanting to allow other living beings to suffer cruelty, and with that I cannot argue. But here we start getting into degrees.

That lamb did not die in vain.

If a life of suffering is the issue, then can we not eat the cows who lived a life as cushy as Paris Hilton? Why not, if no cruelty suffered?

If it comes down to taking a life: Aren’t carrots alive? That is, before we violently rip them from the Earth, the only home they’ve known, the dirt. Poor, innocent carrots that have done no wrong: they don’t even have a mouth with which to scream. They must internalize all feelings. At some point, these arguments come down to splitting hairs: it has eyeballs, it has a mouth, It’s still growing. Where does life begin…

Oh, and the argument that we simply are not intended to consume animal products. Two words: Mother’s Milk.

I don’t want to change anyone. Let’s just live and let live. There’s the argument that all life is connected, we were cows in a past lifetime and suffered a tortuous slaughter and we’ve come back to right the wrongs of our slaughterers. There’s also the argument that God put us here, and devised this miraculous food chain, where cheetahs eat gazelles and we eat Spam and it’s all part of His Plan — of which we are a part. Take your pick. What the hell do I know?

Nothing beats a barbecue with friends.

All I know is Greek Easter is this Sunday. I got 2 legs of lamb, Rob’s cooking them on Jim’s big ol’ barbecue next door, and if that sounds alright to you, then just follow your nose. I’ll be in the kitchen making an orgasm-in-your-mouth Greek eggplant vegetarian entrée (please contact me in advance if you’re vegan).

Efcharisto! Christos anesti!

Jasper's smile always makes me happy.

This is Jasper. He sells Streetsheets around the corner from my flat. If I ever need a bodyguard, I’m hiring Jasper. Because he could disarm anyone with that smile.

… then come hear me tell one live! I’m on the roster of Porchlight Storytellers Series this month, when  the theme is “Kitchen Confidential.”

If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant or bar, you probably have way too many stories of your own to stomach watching the reality shows on the subject. However, what’s so cool about Porchlight’s Series is that it’s live. It’s real. It’s old school and even though they have a theme, you’re guaranteed to be blown away by the humor/heartbreak/surprise that you only get with live storytelling.

It’s on Monday, April 20 at the Verdi Club in Potrero Hill. Great old-school venue. Doors open at 7pm, stories start at 8, $12 admission.