Tag: meal

Live from New Orleans

Have you missed me? The correct answer is a resounding, YES!

Tim and I are not willing to pay our hotel another $20 a day so that we can have wireless, when the City of New Orleans offers it free. However, we haven’t been able to get access from inside the hotel. I’m playing hooky from Saints & Sinners to get ONLINE from CC’s Coffeehouse on the corner of Royal and St. Philip. Because if I’d gone much longer without Internet access and LiveJournal I might have had to be hospitalized. Tim, who’s being more responsible and attending a panel, may bring his laptop and join me later.

As always, I’ve fallen in love with New Orleans. You don’t have to be a big party girl to succumb to the city’s countless charms. But it does help to be staying in a fabulous hotel–well, minus the Internet issue and the post-prom teens who turned Tim into the Terrifying Monster from the Land of I-Want-To-Sleep.

Last night we went to a little soiree in a fabulous apartment with a view, two wonderful hosts, and a small group of GLBT publishing’s finest and funnest. In fact, the evening was so nice that Tim and I didn’t mind that we had to practically crawl on all fours to the door so we wouldn’t pass out when we looked down from the outdoor walkway. There’s something really comforting about having a friend and writing partner with whom one can share neuroses like fear of heights.

I’d like to say the less literal high point of the trip was the grits from the Clover Grill, but I got there too late and had to settle for hash browns. Anyway, it would be a lie, no matter how terrific the grits, because OMG, I’ve met David and Shannon and Lisa and Marika and gotten to hang out with Mark again (GREAT master class with author Jim Grimsley, sitting on the front row with Mark like teacher’s pets/acolytes). Whatever expectations I had before meeting D/S/L/M and reuniting with Mark have not been met–they’ve been exceeded. Later tonight after beignets and cafe au lait at the Cafe Du Monde, I’ll get my dog fix when we meet Marika’s handsome Dash.

On the way to CC’s, I saw a little boy sitting in the lotus position on top of his father’s parked car, looking very Buddhalike. A woman waiting on a stoop asked if he could tell her future, and he said, “Yes. Work. Work. Work. And more work.” While the woman laughed, his father sighed and said, “Same future as me.” It’s hard to think about working as I sit at my corner window and watch pretty girls in straw hats and white linen dresses walk by, men holding hands with their boyfriends, and people just inhaling the magic of the Quarter.

But I do need to get some work done. There’ll be lots of photos and other such things to come. For now, I just wanted to check in, read some of your journals/blogs, and say again that Paul J. Willis knows how to host a literary festival and that Greg Herren is one super friend for all he’s done–even above and beyond helping us find THE SOURCE of BBQ Fritos. Those of you who aren’t here? The Crescent City beckons with a whisper of Next year.

Oh. And David and Shannon may even sober up eventually. 😉


Yesterday’s breakfast in Jackson Square Park, where my conversation with an elderly black man made me nostalgic for days of old. Until his cell phone rang and he had to leave, but he gave me his Times Picayune newspaper first. New world meets old world…


Looking in a window and thinking of Audrey Hepburn looking in a window…


Painting in the window of the Rodrique Gallery.


Flowers for tomorrow for all you mothers.

Mondays can be good

Cousin Ron’s recent trip to Atlanta-G-A netted him this box of goodies, which he arranged to be mercy-dropped to The Compound this morning.

Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full of BBQ deliciousness. Now as for that fourth bag, if this is some subtle attempt to help Timothy and me overcome our BBQ Frito addiction? Never gonna happen. We thank you for them nonetheless and know they will be eaten.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Thank you, Cousin Ron.

Pre-birthday festivities that almost weren’t

Happy birthday, Rhonda!

I decided that yesterday would be a good day to beg for Rhonda and Lindsey time. I bribed them with promises of a little early birthday somethin’ for Rhonda. I knew Lindsey was still on TV strike, so I invited them to The Compound post-Survivor, and the invitation was accepted.

Mid-afternoon, I started dinner, including putting a giant Tollhouse cookie in the oven to bake. Then Tim and I promptly began an impromptu bitch work session, and I forgot the cookie. When I remembered it, the edges seemed a little crisp, but I decided to just slather frosting on that part and encourage the Brides to cut from the middle.

Later, Lynne arrived, and she being the Queen of All Things Baked, I asked if she thought the cookie would be okay. She gave me The Look, whereupon I took a roll of dough out of the freezer to thaw. Then I sat down to steal cashew nuts from Lynne and that’s when I saw it: the chocolate cake Lynne had brought with her for dessert. HELLO! Birthday cake! Dough back in freezer. Lynne used softer pieces from the overbaked cookie for some cake decorations.

Unfortunately, after Survivor and dinner (roast beef, rice, fresh green beans, salad, and rolls, if you wanted to know), Lynne decided her upper respiratory infection had gotten the best of her so she went home before The Brides arrived.

Which they did. Much conversation and cake ensued. I hope you are feeling better, Lynne, and thank you for making sure the following smile happened:


Hot woman in red.


Two hot women!


Can you eat all that? I don’t think you can eat all that. Want me to help you eat that?

Kitchen Bitches

If ever a camera was needed, it was Sunday night in the two Compound kitchens.

When we started the dogs on raw food, we bought three 10-pound tubes of ground chicken and vegetables from a local dealer. We’re getting to the end of that, and her shop isn’t open again until Thursday. So it seemed like a good time to make our own raw food.

Tim and I went together (Tom decided that sleep was more important–so selfish! It was only midnight.) to the grocery store. We were hoping to find really gross stuff like beef tongue and chicken gizzards and livers and such. Alas, there must have been a HUGE run on those items Sunday at Disco Kroger. So we selected two packages of turkey necks (you’re already wishing YOU ate raw food, aren’t you?), some veal, some short ribs, and ox tail, all at excellent prices.

From the fresh produce section, we decided on parsley and brussels sprouts. (Brussels sprouts may give them gas, but a Rex fart can be a hilarious thing, so what the hell.) I already had a big bag of carrots to add to that mix.

When we got home, Tim didn’t know I was going to start the food mixing and dividing immediately, so he went to his apartment. (He was probably hoping for more Adventures with Palmetto Bugs, but that’s his story to tell.) I intended to chop the vegetables, but then I read on someone’s site that because dogs have short small intestines, they can’t really get the full nutritional value of vegetables unless they’re juiced. The blender lives at Tim’s, so I went and got it. Unfortunately, the blender wasn’t really working out as a juicer. I added a little water. Tim suggested that next time, we buy some vegetable juice to use in place of water. Good suggestion. At one point, nothing was happening so I pushed the vegetables down a little with a rubber spatula. The spatula hit the blade–no harm done. Except for the stream of green liquid that sprayed my cabinets and counters. Margot and Guinness watched all this with great anticipation. I’m not sure if they were hoping for an exorcism or a juice fountain.

After I had a big bowl of juiced vegetables, I decided to cut up the turkey necks. Um, I’m not a butcher. I don’t have great knives. I don’t have a cleaver. I WILL have a cleaver before we do this again. At this point, Tim came in and saw me struggling with the turkey necks. He took over with his strong manly hands while I sliced up veal and ribs.

Then it was time to divide it, but it wasn’t as simple as with the ground stuff we’d gotten from Bones2Go. That’s when I remembered that I had a food scale. I dug around in a cabinet until I found it. I also found–A JUICER! Where the hell did that come from? I never juiced anything in my life. I have a vague recollection of asking for a juicer for Christmas one year, and someone in Tom’s family must have provided. YAY! Unfortunately, there was not a surprise meat cleaver anywhere.

Tim said it smelled like a slaughterhouse in my kitchen and that he felt like he was in a scene from Sweeney Todd. The dogs were pacing at our feet, but they got nothing.

Later, when everything was divided into portions and put into the freezer, there was still mushy vegetable juice. I took it to Tim’s and put it in his unused ice trays to freeze. A vegecube is about the right amount to add to their meat portion.

I offered the veggie bowl to Rex to lick out. He was like, “Are you shittin’ me? Number one, Tim never lets me do this. Number two, while in your kitchen, did I not smell beef? Veal? Turkey neck? OX TAIL? Give me the good stuff, betch.”

He finally licked some vegetable mush off of my fingers to humor me.

Five Minutes We’ll Never Get Back

Saturday, during which lunch out turned Seinfeldian…

Laura (to Becky): Could you hand me two of the yellows, please?
Becky (handing them to her): You like the yellow best? I’ve always liked the pink best.
Laura: Pink is bitter. I have to have the yellow.
Lynne: Blue is gross.
Becky: I can’t believe you’d say that. You love Diet Coke, and it has the blue.
Lynne: Diet Coke is good. Blue is gross.
Becky: (muttering) That makes no sense.
Laura: Blue is suing yellow.
Jess: Why?
Laura: Blue says yellow pretends to be the real thing and isn’t, so it’s false advertising.
Jess: If it’s the real thing, why not just use the real thing?
Everybody else: Oh, no!
Becky: You have to use too much of the real thing to get the same effect.
Lynne: Yeah, you only have to use a couple of the pinks.
Laura: Or the yellow. Because the pink is gross.
Becky: (ignoring the insult to the pink) I don’t know why I’ve never liked the blue.
Laura: The real thing is suing yellow, too, because if it IS the real thing, then yellow has no right to diss the real thing.
Becky: So yellow is screwed no matter who wins. Either it’s an imposter, like blue says, or it’s libelous, like the real thing says.
Laura: Right.
Becky: Sucks to be yellow.
Laura: But yellow is the best. It’s the sweetest of the sweet.
Becky: Didn’t Craig like yellow, too?
Lynne: Oh, no. Craig liked the twin.
Becky: Oh, yeah. The twin is gross. It foams up.
Jess: (nods)
Laura: Yeah, that is gross.

It’s like Groundhog Birthday

Thirty-five all over again!

This past weekend, I had to take my continuing ed classes to keep my MT license up-to-date. If you don’t know what MT stands for, understand that I don’t want Googling perverts to land here; you can find the answer here, and PLEASE don’t use “that word” in any comments (if you do, I’ll delete it). I’ve only just recently managed to stop the late-night phone calls from strange men. I don’t want to start being inundated by e-mails from them. THANK YOU. Be forewarned: The MT profession is about healthcare, not sex, and jokes about it make me really cranky.

Even though I no longer have a practice, it was an investment, and I’m not about to let my license lapse. Of course, I had two years to do this, and waited until the last possible minute to cram my classes into two days. Although the instructor is a personable man who does his best, anyone would have limitations when it comes to discussing Texas law for twelve hours.

After class on Saturday, all I wanted to do was sleep. So on Sunday, I went to the gym after class, which helped. Then I came home and cooked dinner, including dessert.

Bonus photo for TimStalkers:

And finally!, for my birthday, I got Little Miss Sunshine, which I LOVED!

Thank you so much for your cards, e-mails, and posts. Thirty-five is something everyone should celebrate! Again, and again, and again, and again…