tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75121552024-02-18T19:02:10.000-08:00Molly SaysUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-71123794003309727942008-07-29T23:45:00.000-07:002008-07-30T12:11:54.233-07:00I got my MRS in RBK.Our wedding was the longest party I've never been to. If you're married, you know what I mean. Endless clusters of older men and women with margarine-color teeth, saying things like "Well, guess it's too late now!" (while poking Beef in the ribs), or asking when I'm going to pump out a baby. When am I going to pump out a baby? Every time anybody asks me, that's a one-month penalty. It's not like I didn't already get enough irritating conception advice from mom:<br /><br />"Catch the first breath of a sulfur match in a candle-snuff and hold it firmly against your exposed lady-bits while coughing."<br /><br />"Dress your wrists with a tincture of Lithia water and good Scotch whisky, as your blood is nearest the surface there. The whisky will encourage the bearing of boys."<br /><br />"Never let him observe your sanitary truss, for it will put him off his affections indefinitely, and he may choose instead to lay with sailors or clerks."<br /><br />THANKS MOM. Anyhow, we just got back from our honeymoon, a quiet little trip to Oregon where we lived in the woods and played mini-golf at an abandoned course that some wealthy Political Science students seem to have made in the 1970s (Beef found the rolled-up astroturf in a shed and set it out). It was wonderful. We lived out of the RV, dried our clothes on a clothesline, ate simple meals off of a picnic table that was dusty yellow from pine pollen, and made icy little piña coladas from a package at three every day. When we got back we got to go on an "in-house shopping spree" and open all the wedding gifts that were delivered while we were away. I guess the copper braising pot hit the pricing sweet spot, because we got seventeen of them. I think the only person who didn't get us a copper braiser was Todd, who gave us an off-registry spoon...probably so that he could come over and freebase out of it.<br /><br />Oh well. It's good to be back and to have all the wedding drama behind us. It's only noon, but I think I'm going to make us a couple piña coladas and organize photos for the album (all the prints from the disposable reception-table cameras are done — there's a great sequence of Spongebath eating a drumstick and then smiling at the end).<br /><br />XOXO,<br />Miss LadyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-52478533679417109832008-06-05T23:57:00.000-07:002008-06-06T00:53:27.208-07:00Wedding Bells!Well, the engagement lasted for a year and I still love him as much as ever and we're starting to get things in place for the big event. The ceremony and reception will all be at Ray's, Téodor will do the cooking and serving, the invitations are at the copy shop, Téodor will DJ the dinner and after-party, Philippe will blow up balloons, Cornelius will officiate, Spongebath and Emeril will usher, and Téodor will take photos here and there. Some of the big areas I'm still concerned about:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1) Beef's family. </span><br />No one knows if Showbiz will show up, but Gramma K can be counted on to go to any event where buffet food can be secretly tucked into one's purse. His Uncle George and Aunt Nina will come (even though Nina had been hoping to be alone that weekend, George says), as well as Jszanus from Omaha, cousin Dave and his wife, and Fred. No one has been able to get in touch with his mom, and the last we heard she was living off the grid with some guy named Bobcat, down in Kern County. That isn't really promising news, because Kern County is probably the nation's #1 meth producing region, and guys named Bobcat tend to be twitchy and drive around in big 4x4's with doors missing. We have to set a table for them, but it's just going to make him feel terrible if (when) her seat is empty all night. Or will it be worse if it isn't?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2) My family.</span><br />It's weird the way heaven works. A few immigration rules changed in the 18th century and Dad, always the conservative, chose to save a little money and therefore have a tougher time moving around in the afterlife. I'm the only girl of his eighteen children, though, so I hope he bites his hat and he and mom wait in the extra lines. As for my brothers, who knows. They're all invited, so we'll see. Here's a copy of our immediate family tree — I'm not sure when this dates to, but we're all on there, and it's after Hoppy got sainted:<br /><p><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwrzd-DIJLIGkG7MIcX5w_UnjPkLqWMEH1BYYEVQ-n-CLM6oocY339UmMmTcqStDt9h2ud6Yg7ILLvDA7wPFqfFlZHc62MiMWyYopEWC-iK3VE0BHRWmvW41zNf6ATqbb9I__/s1600-h/MOLLY_family_tree.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwrzd-DIJLIGkG7MIcX5w_UnjPkLqWMEH1BYYEVQ-n-CLM6oocY339UmMmTcqStDt9h2ud6Yg7ILLvDA7wPFqfFlZHc62MiMWyYopEWC-iK3VE0BHRWmvW41zNf6ATqbb9I__/s400/MOLLY_family_tree.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208657673117799810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3) All the rest.</span><br />At some point you have to throw your hands in the air and let people take care of themselves. Showbiz shows up and needs a place to sleep? He's a grown man, he can fend for himself—I hear Motel 6 is accepting money these days. We run out of chicken and some folks have to make do with pasta? I will not worry about that on my special day. Showbiz brings some freeloading friend who's working an angle? Spongebath kissed my hand and showed me his can of mace, all in one motion. You don't need the use of your legs if you are alert and can spray poison.<br /></p><p><br />With that bit of wisdom, I'm off to worry that my dress isn't going to fit, that the truffles I made for favors are going to have bloom all over them, and that the price of stamps is going to go up before people can return their stamped postcards. Among other things.<br /></p>XOXO, with an X,<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Molly<br /></span><span><br />PS: Nearly forgot -- the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xd9Twbgd84">song</a> that's been keeping me sane.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-68784814241901653662008-02-19T21:13:00.000-08:002008-02-20T00:02:10.935-08:00Another solo chat with RayRay stopped by while Beef was out, and once again I could tell that he wanted to invite us over for dinner, but felt weird doing it because "the man of the house" wasn't in. Atypically for him, he actually sat down and chatted over some wine for longer than two minutes...maybe he's finally getting comfortable around me!<br /><br />- + -<br /><br />RAY: [knocks on open door] Hey hey HEY what does the government SAY!<br /><br />ME: I give up! What does the government say?<br /><br />RAY: Hey, chica! Beef home?<br /><br />ME: No, he's at Walgreen's getting some medicine for his toes. What does the government say?<br /><br />RAY: Huh? Oh. Probably somethin' like a raspy whisper, real menacing, like, "<span style="font-style: italic;">You gonna diiiiie, sucker!</span>"<br /><br />ME: I don't think the government really wants us to die, because then we couldn't pay it money.<br /><br />RAY: Yeah, but if we die they get like fifty percent of our estate tax...I don't know, I'm just sayin', I been down on government since I played that game. You and Beef got dinner plans?<br /><br />ME: No, not really. I was thinking of doing smoked salmon with some pasta. Will you join us?<br /><br />RAY: So Beef'll be back for dinner? Dig. You know, I actually like smoked salmon if it ain't too fishy...you ever try some smoked salmon and it's hell of ass?<br /><br />ME: Yeah, this is mild stuff. It's the kind Beef likes too, and he's super-sensitive to things that are hell of ass.<br /><br />RAY: That's how you can tell he's a sane man. Those curtain-wearin' Russian grandmas, got like three different kinds of curtains tied around them as an outfit, ankles thick as the dickens with black shoes that look like they got baked in the oven, or raunchy old Eskimo people, man, they eat on some smelly-ass fish. That action is horrid. That action is not any kind of way.<br /><br />ME: I picked up some nice wines after work today, I'll pour us a glass.<br /><br />RAY: [loosening up] Daaamn. You know I got a quench on, right?<br /><br />ME: It's after five, we're good. [gets wine]<br /><br />RAY: [drains first glass] Wow. That just happened! [smiles]<br /><br />ME: I didn't know you were so thirsty! [fills his glass again]<br /><br />RAY: Well, just tryin' to mellow up. Old Ray been havin' a rough week.<br /><br />ME: What's up, the third person?<br /><br />RAY: Ohhhh, this and that. You know, I don't know if I could do what you guys are doin'.<br /><br />ME: You mean getting married?<br /><br />RAY: I just don't know if it's in old Ray's bones. I got a good heart, but it jumps around, you know? I might be all on a knee with some roses for Boliqua at the Stila counter, but next thing you know a spicy little sauce-pot is fillin' out her shirt at the grocery store, and...I'm sorry. I ain't mean to be crass to a lady.<br /><br />ME: Well, I don't think you've been in love yet. You get really excited about eye candy, and because you're a passionate, imaginative person, you let yourself run away with your daydreams.<br /><br />RAY: You know...that's IT! Damn! How is it women always see right to the quick of a guy? I'm like Robin Hood, but with love.<br /><br />ME: I don't think you've ever had your heart broken, so you're sort of careless with it.<br /><br />RAY: Oh, I've had my troubles. I can't let you say that.<br /><br />ME: Did Tina break your heart?<br /><br />RAY: Tina? Naw, man. Chick is dumb as a cough drop. She just smelled nice and was usually in bed.<br /><br />ME: Did she ever hurt you, though? Sometimes even people we don't respect can make us feel bad.<br /><br />RAY: Well, there was this one time. She was supposed to get this new queen-sized mattress delivered, and I knew she needed help gettin' it up the stairs at her apartment, so I waited around for her to call me. I waited and waited, and finally it's like eight o'clock, so I called over there, all anxious and worried that the mattress never showed up. Turns out, she had this big security guard friend of hers, Abado, carry it up. I was like, why didn't you call me to help? I thought we had a thing here? She just acts kind of surprised and goes, I didn't call you 'cause it was heavy. <span style="font-style: italic;">I didn't call you 'cause it was heavy</span>. That dug at me. I kind of went off the hook and was like, "you know, they ain't stop cookin' steaks at Outback just 'cause you ain't there!" We were supposed to go to Outback Steakhouse that night, you know, but I went by myself, which was stupid because I hate that cheesy place and I had only made the reservation because she liked it.<br /><br />ME: What did you have?<br /><br />RAY: I had the Kookaburra Porterhouse Quartet. I remember it 'cause it came with this really hot clear sauce that they said was supposed to be white. The manager came over to apologize and offered me a free dessert, you know, since those places always have tons of dessert goin' bad, but I was like, can you just bring the white sauce? He pretended to pop himself on the forehead, did this little laugh, and came back with like a pint of the white sauce, which turned out to be ranch dressing.<br /><br />ME: What was the clear sauce?<br /><br />RAY: Heh! I should have asked. It didn't have any smell. I...damn, I really opened up just now! Man, was I talkin' for like half an hour? I'm sorry!<br /><br />ME: Not at all! See, that's what it's like to actually <span style="font-style: italic;">talk</span>. Women talk all the time, and men just bottle it up inside, which is why you like to watch collisions on television.<br /><br />RAY: Do I owe you like a hundred bucks? Is that what Frasier gets?<br /><br />ME: [laughs] This one's on the house.<br /><br />RAY: [eyes empty glass] You mean, like the wine?<br /><br />ME: [laughs again] Exactly. I'll go get the bottle.<br /><br />RAY: You know, Frasier liked wine. He liked it so much that Kelsey Grammer got his bad self a DUI!<br /><br />- + -<br /><br />At that point Beef showed up with some steaks that had been on sale, so pretty soon we were back at Ray's lighting up the grill. He reverted back to his old self almost immediately, but I bet now that he's got the taste for opening up, he magically appears the next time he sees Beef head off with the reusable grocery bags.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-87624522929153543302008-01-28T23:16:00.000-08:002008-01-29T11:27:21.603-08:00Ray is so grumpy about running for President!Ray is so grumpy about running for President! Ever since he got elected Mayor and held that press conference where he made a couple really basic points about how life could be improved, I think it's been really stressful for him. The media just took off with his comments about federal agents disposing of petitioners who bother you outside of supermarkets, and busboys who wear extremely strong cologne at restaurants...he's become such a public darling, and I think he really didn't even want to. I even saw on Gawker how he'd become the "poster boy for common sense in real-time politics." Sure, that's a mantle that's needed a name put to it for some time, but Ray's not really like that.<br /><br />In general, Ray might like to portray a big party-boy image, but from what I've seen over the years he mainly likes to stay around his house and show his friends a good time. Sure, he'll dart off to Antibes or Sicily on a whim — money and connections make that as easy as a phone call when you're as wealthy as him — but much of the time he's just deeply, deeply stoned, lying on his stomach on the living room carpet, concentrating on an album. (This afternoon he was face-down to Sheena Easton's "9 to 5 (Morning Train))."<br /><br />This whole Mayor/President thing might be something he feels like he has to do because "he's the man," but I don't think it's something he wants to do. It's taking him outside of his comfort zone. He's used to hanging out with those guys, but he's a joker. He's not a paperwork or meetings guy. I don't even think he has any paper at his house.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-63352361252381714832008-01-22T09:46:00.000-08:002008-01-22T11:16:55.031-08:00Ramones WeddingI didn't think this would be a sticking point, but Beef really wants The Ramones to be represented in some way on our wedding day. I don't want the priest to have long black hair and chianti-tinted John Lennon glasses, but I'm flexible, even though I'm not their biggest fan.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. The Ramones have their place in things, which is usually on a cheap car radio while the sole occupant of the car gets out to buy a package of frosted Donettes and some Camels from 7-11 at six in the morning. It's frosty in suburban New Jersey that day, and he slips a little on some black ice, but doesn't fall. To me, that's The Ramones.<br /><br />I love that Beef loves them, they're right up his alley. I just didn't see how they'd play a part. Maybe play some of their songs during the last few dances, when the older, stiff people have left and everyone's too trashed to remember that we played Teenage Lobotomy on the most special day of our lives.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-48780221423389506792007-11-12T20:27:00.000-08:002007-11-12T23:37:16.510-08:00The Achewood A-List! November 12, 2007!<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span> stopped by this afternoon — he didn't really say why, but I think he was trying to invite us over for <span style="font-weight: bold;">dinner</span>. Since <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef</span> wasn't around, and I didn't know how late he'd be back, I think Ray felt awkward just inviting me over for dinner. That's just like him — kind of a "guy's guy," you know. He doesn't really know how to talk to women for more than two minutes unless he's got the bedroom as a goal.<br /><br />RAY: [at door] Hey hey say what say <span style="font-style: italic;">say!</span><br /><br />ME: Hey Ray! What's up? That a new tracksuit?<br /><br />RAY: Daaamn, lady! You pimpin' much data on my threads! Yeah, it's the latest Fila. They sayin' Pelé sports this horrid baby when he watches TV this year. See, I had a little "P" embroidered on the cuff of my remote hand. [points]<br /><br />ME: Wow, so you dress like a guy who is watching TV?<br /><br />RAY: Ain't be that way with Pelé, baby. Dude is cement and glass, ten stories high.<br /><br />ME: Since I don't know who Pelé is, I'll just have to say sorry and offer you a glass of wine.<br /><br />RAY: Pelé is a guy who would want me to have that wine.<br /><br />ME: [gets wine] So, what brings you over?<br /><br />RAY: Oh, just coolin' it. Checkin' on my favorite engage-o's. Plannin' goin' well?<br /><br />ME: We're holding out for summer. Beef's so nervous about getting rained out of our outdoor plans, he's not taking any chances. He thinks the middle of July.<br /><br />RAY: That's cool, that's cool. Sunlight looks wonderful comin' off of...off of hair. In wedding photos. You know, kind of 70s. Anyhow.<br /><br />ME: Right, exactly. Would you like to stay for dinner?<br /><br />RAY: Whatchu guys cookin'?<br /><br />ME: Not much. Beef's out helping Emeril and Spongebath clean and store their patio furniture for the winter, and I was just going to microwave something light from Trader Joe's.<br /><br />RAY: Damn. Definitely don't go to the trouble for me.<br /><br />ME: It's really no trouble.<br /><br />RAY: Seriously, I got some Trader Joe's lettuce cups at home I got to get to before they go brown. I was just gonna do like a sausage cups thing.<br /><br />ME: Okay, cool. But you're always welcome, you know?<br /><br />RAY: You are too good to me. You are a serious lady. You guys call me if you want to shoot some stick later, dig?<br /><br />ME: That sounds fun! If Beef gets home before too late, I'll have him call you.<br /><br />RAY: Rock on. Would be good to see you guys before I lose you two to each other!<br /><br />ME: [hugs] Thanks for coming by.<br /><br />RAY: It was nothin', mamacita.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[TOTAL ELAPSED TIME: 1m58s]<br /></span><br />- - -<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Philippe</span> called! It was so cute. He wanted to practice singing <span style="font-weight: bold;">Happy Birthday</span> and he thought I would have the nicest opinion. Not sure who he wanted to sing it to—if anyone—but it was kind of sweet.<br /><br />- - -<br /><br />That's all I know for now, Mollyheads!<br /><br />xoxoxo,<br />Molly (Miss Lady)<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-48887939335341621542007-10-22T00:25:00.000-07:002007-10-22T00:45:19.190-07:00Roast Beef didn't make his brother a groomsman!For God's sake, Roast Beef set up a whole list of groomsmen but didn't even manage to make his own brother one of them. I guess I'll have to add him to my bridesmaid list, because other than Darlene, my hairdresser, I don't know any chick in this town, let alone this century. Darlene's been a confidante since 2003, I think, and I know pretty much everything about her and her two hairdressing boys. Seriously - one of them's been through the Robert Cromeans and Paul Mitchell salon systems, and the other is starting on the same path. Boy #1, Guillermo, is getting over a hundred bucks an hour for color work, and Boy #2 is just about ready to quit his job at Chili's (I hear he's actually too forward as a waiter, sometimes sliding into the booth with patrons — big no-no).Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-72146787332778472652007-07-02T22:14:00.000-07:002007-07-03T17:29:27.749-07:00I found the song I've been meaning to find.<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xd9Twbgd84">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xd9Twbgd84</a><br /><br />Beef might not be every woman's jewel. When he slips in to Starbucks for a glass of ice water, and there's a new girl on tea and coffee, one of those skinny summery blondes with a lanyard bracelet and brand new shoes, they don't really see him. He's dented, and even though it's not on the outside, everyone can always tell. His mouth is a little tighter than it should be, his shoulders not quite as proud as they are on the shiny-headed men in suits...looking at his own feet instead of yours...you don't need a man to be on fire to know he's not a good investment. But you can be wrong.<br /><br />He's the best person I've ever met. I think it might be because he came from the worst place in the world. He was surrounded by a collapsing family from the moment he was born—in the back of a police car, the K9 narcotics dog still barking at his mom—but I think some recessive good genes snuck through, so he won't let himself make any of those mistakes. He hates where he's from so strongly, he's incapable of letting it happen to him. He flinches when someone's about to make a bad decision. You can tell he's instinctively closing his hand instead of opening it to embrace the mistake. He's seen so many made, all day long, every day he was alive, every chance his family got.<br /><br />His dad: in prison for beating his mom nearly to death, then killed by his mom when he got out (shot in self-defense when Beef was a teenager...and listening). His mom...what a mess. When she gets out of a halfway house, she screws up and goes into the all-the-way house. She won't know if she can come to the wedding. She won't know who I am. She won't know what it means to Beef that he came from where he did and yet made himself into something almost right by the world, and that there's no single place in the world for him to say he's proud of that—she should be telling him so, she's the only place that praise can come from, but it will never happen, and if she got fucked up enough at the reception and garbled some half-witted praise to him, he'd know it was just dim signals from a toothless brain that almost knew what it was supposed to say. His brother Mike, "Showbiz," bounces in and out of meth and crank houses. After we got engaged Beef apologized to me, saying, "you know, you marry somebody, you marry their whole family." I knew that. It was nice of him to say, but I knew we'd be paying for Showbiz's bad debt, court fees, and occasional meals for as long as he lived. I have seventeen brothers, they're not all saints. One of them actually is, and we're all very proud of him, but that's another story.<br /><br />The woman who mostly raised him — Gramma K — nobody says it, but she's...no. I won't say it either. She was illegitimate by an unmarried housegirl—a servant, basically—no joy ever, no schooling, and her own children were a terror inflicted on her by her ignorance. I don't want to imagine the simple coercions that this or that boy used to get her on a mattress...I can't help it but fortunately I don't follow through with it more than a few seconds.<br /><br />Through all this he doesn't have it in him to give up. He has his ways of dealing. He won't cooperate with sophisticated places at their level, he won't play along with a nice restaurant or bank. He always has to be a punk, or difficult, because if he wasn't he'd be denying his lowly upbringing, and when you're low it's either wave that flag or stand there empty-handed. He wages a tiny, quiet war from beginning to end. He uses his spoon to trace breasts in the cold gravy on his plate. And he has his 'zine. That's fine. It's actually kind of fun. His "manifestations" keep him busy, and I know he likes holding Metal Chef or going out and doing his various community interviews.<br /><br />So I'm happy. I'm happier than I'd be with anyone else. Most girls would say I was crazy to choose this one, but I'm three hundred and thirty-seven. They can want their brand new summer boys. I know that when Beef actually smiles, that smile was hard come by. When their summer boys smile, it's usually because the sun's too bright or they're holding back gas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-9382317346411591382007-07-02T00:10:00.001-07:002007-07-02T00:52:58.547-07:00MixTube No. I for BeefThese are some songs that didn't work for a nice wedding reception, but I thought I'd make a list of them anyway. I'm going to .tar this list and ftp it to Beef, he'll like that.<br /><br />Miss Lady's MixTube No. I<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_eSkoVS9Gs">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_eSkoVS9Gs</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7O8eZnQtsu8">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7O8eZnQtsu8</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJkOyc_phy4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJkOyc_phy4</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ep9RdU60GlM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ep9RdU60GlM</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arUqoKjU3D4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arUqoKjU3D4</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMOkfI7wCrI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMOkfI7wCrI</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtoiD_xhhlo&mode=related&search=">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtoiD_xhhlo&mode=related&search=</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNNzGhzIAVo&eurl=">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNNzGhzIAVo&eurl=</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pk5jkYqG8-o">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pk5jkYqG8-o</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_OiO_OHc6s">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_OiO_OHc6s</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgWmIEBZ-5I">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgWmIEBZ-5I</a><br /><br />xoxo,<br />Miss LadyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-23637243958297304172007-06-24T21:56:00.000-07:002007-06-27T23:36:05.969-07:00First Dance, Last Dance, and all the Dances Inbetween.So, I've been looking around for songs for the reception — for the dancing after dinner. I know what Beef wants for our first dance, and I'm actually really happy about it. I'm happy he cares enough to make his point, and I love the song itself:<br /><br />Johnny Cash, "Before My Time"<br />(Sorry, I couldn't find a YouTube video of this song. I could for the others, so keep scrolling!)<br /><br />After that he really didn't care that much. I'm not sure if Dad and Mom can come, but if they can, I'd like to dance with Dad to:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQk2LtK680w">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQk2LtK680w</a><br /><br />These are some must-haves for the deejay after that:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F3iFFryovc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F3iFFryovc</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SV3IsQlZsiM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SV3IsQlZsiM</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEyYTIz6NOY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEyYTIz6NOY</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hv0euEiGDfI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hv0euEiGDfI</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11jY0v5t1WM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11jY0v5t1WM</a><br /><br />And something to hold close to:<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IH_I3ulsyw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IH_I3ulsyw</a><br /><br />I love it. Planning a wedding is such a chore for so many couples, I'm glad I have the time to set it up right.<br /><br />I guess I should call Téodor, he was adamant that he design the menu and do the cooking. <br /><br />xoxo,<br />Miss LadyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-37252769375068671692007-04-16T20:30:00.000-07:002007-04-16T20:42:59.430-07:00The Achewood A-List! April 16, 2007!<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!</span></span><br /><br />Say what you will about <span style="font-weight: bold;">golf</span>, but <span style="font-weight: bold;">I can play it!</span> There were some clubs out on <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray's</span> side lawn today and he showed me how to make a golf swing. For my very first shot, he said to aim at a cherry tree about a tennis court-long distance away, and my ball plonked right off the trunk! Ray was pretty quiet after that, so really quick <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef</span> needled him to give it a try. Let's just say that after maybe a dozen shots Ray hadn't even gotten one in the air. When he started trying to make wagers on his next shot, Beef saw the signs and we basically both ran away from Ray. Seems he has a <span style="font-weight: bold;">long-standing gambling problem</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cornelius's</span> new pub <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Dude and Catastrophe</span> is fun in a different way every time we go. Opening night, though it was filled to the rafters, was more like a homecoming for an old friend than a bar mob scene...the whole room spent at least a half hour towards the end of the night cheering and jeering a slide show of Cornelius's travel pictures. How often does <span style="font-weight: bold;">a bar that is not actively exploding</span> get everyone involved in the same activity? Good job, Cornelius. And thanks for the half-price bowl of mashed potatoes! Saved me.<br /><br />In other news, Beef and I drew a <span style="font-weight: bold;">picture of Italy</span> for <span style="font-weight: bold;">Philippe</span>. The little guy wouldn't believe it actually looked like a boot until we proved it for him. Beef wanted to show how <span style="font-weight: bold;">Chile</span> looks like <span style="font-weight: bold;">South America's large intestine</span>, but Philippe didn't know what intestines were, and we had dinner reservations.<br /><br />That's all I know for now, Mollyheads. Time for some eggs - Beef's cooking, and it's breakfast for dinner (again...).<br /><br />xoxoxo,<br />Molly (Miss Lady)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1536037064205871142007-03-13T13:39:00.000-07:002007-03-13T16:05:48.683-07:00The Achewood A-List! March 13, 2007!<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Where have I been? Well, nobody around here has done anything very A-list in a while...unless you count Ray somehow converting from an </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >ass man</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> to a </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >breast man</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">. Personally, I think he's lying and that he was just overstimulated by <span style="font-weight: bold;">too many </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >asses </span><span style="font-family:verdana;">(you should see this guy's cable package)</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">. He'll forget in a few months and come right back around to his <span style="font-weight: bold;">beloved hoochie-mama bottoms</span> again. What's <span style="font-weight: bold;">Miss Lady's</span> favorite part of a <span style="font-weight: bold;">man?</span> Let's just say...it doesn't sweat, it doesn't have hair, and it isn't allowed to drive a car without a lot of special gear.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Todd</span> got a ticket for premeditated speeding, which is a new one on me. It seems that if the squirrel police hear ahead of time that you're bragging about how you're going to speed later, they can pick you up. The world gets pretty dumb below knee level.<br /><br />Saw <span style="font-weight: bold;">Emeril</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Spongebath</span> doing some form of <span style="font-weight: bold;">tai-chi exercises</span> in the park. Emeril seemed to have his routine down pretty well, and did the whole thing with his eyes closed, a very calm expression on his face. At his side Spongey, <span style="font-weight: bold;">sitting</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">in his lark scooter</span>, kept looking over to him and then kind of scooting back and forth in a crude, awkward approximation. That all the little ZIPs and grrrrrEEEs of his electric motor didn't throw Emeril off is remarkable. Well, it is worth that one small remark, and probably no more. <br /><br />That's all I know for now, Mollyheads. Hopefully I'll have something for you soon -- Ray's threatening to throw "one hell of a bolumpus" party this Friday.<br /><br />xoxoxo<br />Molly (Miss Lady)<br /></span><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1166595595142587362006-12-19T20:25:00.000-08:002006-12-19T22:47:15.333-08:00The Achewood A-List! December 19, 2006<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >December 19, 2006...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">WELLLL....ran into <span style="font-weight: bold;">Téodor</span> while Christmas shopping down at Hidden Hills! He was out getting a few trinkets for his housemates, and I was on the lookout for something swell for my man <span style="font-weight: bold;">Roast Beef</span>. Téodor had picked out some deodorant and a cheap 20-pack of disposable BIC razors for Lyle (he allegedly takes issue with Lyle's generally crappy hygiene, but wouldn't actually sign a document declaring it, I discovered after some interrogation), and a "wet banana" lawn water slide for Philippe. Actually, it wasn't really a <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wet Banana</span> wet banana, because those have been illegal in the US for years, but rather some Mexican knock-off called "El Plátano Mojado y Loco!" <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span> beamed himself out of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Napoleon's</span> and appeared on the sidewalk (I can't imagine him ever bringing himself to physically push the door open and leave) so we had a little chat about his Christmas plans. Apparently he got himself a subscription to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Hollandaise of the Month Club</span>, to go along with his <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ham of the Month Club</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Egg of the Month Club</span>. He thought it only made sense, and I had to agree. Why shouldn't one's monthly food clubs complement one another in some useful way? Maybe Beef and I will get him a membership to the Toasted Muffin of the Month Club, and all he'll need is a box cutter and a bloody mary. As Ray would say, "Daaamn, girl! Kinky synthesis!"<br /><br />Ran into <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lyle</span> when I was picking up a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">thingie of Jägermeister</span> for Beef (he loves to drink an airplane bottle of Jäger and spout his mouth off to the "Tech Corner" of the local evening news). Lyle's Christmas plans? Apparently he's got some new band with the supremely discomforting <span style="font-weight: bold;">Nice Pete</span>, and they'd forgotten about Christmas. At the realization of an upcoming holiday, Lyle brightened and placed his bottle of Old Postman back on the shelf in favor of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jack Daniels</span>.<br /><br />That's all I know for now, Mollyheads. I'll let you know if Beef sees the xmas list I left taped to the fridge (it's one of those shiny metal ones that doesn't hold magnets).<br /><br />xoxoxo<br />Molly (Miss Lady)<br /><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1162447470090903072006-11-01T21:26:00.000-08:002006-11-01T22:04:30.106-08:00The Achewood A-List! November 1, 2006<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">November 1, 2006...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!</span><br /><br />Taking the Skinheads Bowling...actually, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef and I</span> took <span style="font-weight: bold;">Philippe</span> trick-or-treating downtown last night, where the shops all stay open "late" (until 7) and hand out candy to any kid in a costume. Philippe's costume this year? Yours truly spent some quality time with the x-acto knife and glue gun and put together <span style="font-weight: bold;">a pretty dandy iPod with leg holes</span>. The screen area was a cutout, so his face could show! Beef joked that he was playing a file called "corn_syrup_prisoner.qt" but I cut him off there. Nobody wants to have Halloween ruined by a <span style="font-weight: bold;">grumpy nutrition cynic</span>. <br /><br />On our way home we ran into <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span>, in full costume as a peacock with spats, a top hat, and a calling card. He said he was "<span style="font-weight: bold;">Peacock Pimp: The Most Beautiful Pimp In The Ghetto</span>," and I believed him. I asked Beef later, and he said that he had believed him as well.<br /><br />After we dropped Philippe off at 62 Achewood Ct., <span style="font-weight: bold;">Téodor</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sweet Old Mr. Bear</span> invited us to stay in for a hot drink and snacks. We'll pretty much always try to stick around when Téodor's offering food. He's the kind of guy who will always spend a few extra dollars for the better ingredient when shopping. In fact, I think the challenge of cooking it right gives him a rush. Our noshes: artichoke hearts cut in thick strips and wrapped in some kind of paper-thin expensive Spanish ham...actually, my memory ends there, because they made a big pot of "Feuerzangenbowle" (sp?), some sort of <span style="font-weight: bold;">flaming German wine/liquor drink</span>, and I blacked out after two. Beef says that I was very nice and also very nice to him—three times on the way home alone!—so I guess I didn't <span style="font-weight: bold;">embarrass myself</span> too badly.<br /><br />Today my body felt like a very lousy temple that could barely keep scrambled eggs inside of the front temple door, so I'm going to <span style="font-weight: bold;">end it early</span>. I'll see you...on the couch, with stringy hair, pajamas, and a bottle of bubbly water.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1155797242771006672006-08-16T23:17:00.000-07:002006-08-16T23:47:22.786-07:00The Achewood A-List! August 16, 2006<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">August 16, 2006...it's the </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Achewood A-List</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">, with your host </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Molly Says</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Little Nephew" Charley Smuckles</span> and manager <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sandy Liu</span>: wedding bells are off! Once Charley saw that her family meant business, and was starting to talk about getting airplane tickets for relatives in China, he quit Starbucks on the spot! This means that Sandy can't find him, and if you can't find your fiancée because he quit his job at Starbucks, it just wasn't in the cards, sister. Still, there seem to be more than the usual number of Chinese men hanging aimlessly around town, like they were keeping an eye out for him. How come no one can understand the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Chinese community</span>?<br /><br />In the "I could have told you so but didn't want to think about it" department, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pat Reynolds</span> has finally debuted his queer identity. Was this a surprise to anybody? Our town's most vocal homophobe has done an about-face so abrupt that even the <span style="font-weight: bold;">B-52s</span> are still blinking and patting down their hair. My guess is he still won't be any fun to party with, although my man <span style="font-weight: bold;">Roast Beef</span> did see him picking up a bottle of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cabana Boy Coconut Rum</span> earlier today (Beef was buying his lottery ticket).<br /><br />In the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cute News</span> segment of this program, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Philippe </span>came over! <span style="font-weight: bold;">Téodor </span>brought him along for game night, and we played Trivial Pursuit. The little guy didn't know any of the questions so after a while we just practiced throwing popcorn into his mouth as he ran across the room. You have NO IDEA how much fun that was. I laughed so hard I almost got the bends.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1150786227156561312006-06-19T23:06:00.000-07:002006-06-19T23:50:27.173-07:00The Achewood A-List! June 19, 2006June 19, 2006...it's the <span style="font-weight: bold;">ACHEWOOD A-LIST</span>, with your host Molly Says!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">STARBUCKS:</span> I called it - after about two days of Earl Grey ventis, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span> gradually eased himself back into his signature 3-lb coffee drink. Like all sheep who have wandered from the fold, he overcompensated for a few and added "a couple doppios" to his High Systolic. Lately he's back to the regular concoction, but for a while it was exciting to ring up a single beverage that came to $17.60. No one else here has rung up any single beverage that costs as much as a CD.<br /><br />This brings me, of course, to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Charley "Little Nephew" Smuckles</span>, who had the big crush on <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sandy Liu</span>, the roly-poly Chinese manager gal. He was busting his butt above and beyond the call of duty, and this finally caught on with her, and she brought her parents in to meet him. They weren't OK with his not being Asian, but she talked up his work ethic, and his rich family, and eventually they agreed that he could marry her. I'll keep you posted.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef</span>, my man, forgot that he wanted to get me a new car. He's messing around with his guys this week, having some kind of contest to identify carpentry tools or something. I didn't read his email that closely.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1145078212730562062006-04-14T19:04:00.000-07:002006-04-14T22:16:52.776-07:00The Achewood A-List! April 14, 2006<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">April 14, 2006...it's the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">ACHEWOOD A-LIST</span>, with your host MOLLY SAYS!<br /><br />What's new at Starbucks...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Charley "Little Nephew" Smuckles</span>, surprise of surprises, is actually now at pay scale 3. He inventories the food *and* the hard goods and got certified to troubleshoot all the machines...is he into one of those youth things where he's "straight edge" or "Woody Guthrie-edge" or something? That's the only way I can see that little jerk sticking with anything. Or, maybe he has a crush on the manager, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sandy Liu</span>, a roly-poly Chinese gal with braces. I think hip-hop wannabees like Charley feel like society expects them to always want big-bottomed women. Regular-bottom women need love too! Help me spread the word. <br /><br />Looks like <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span> is paranoid about his health again. Instead of his signature "High Systolic" (for ingredients, see below), he's now having an <span style="font-weight: bold;">Earl Grey</span> (</span></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">size: venti, of course</span></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">) with a little lemon wedge that he brings in a baggie. I give it three days before he's back to the cookies-n-cream aortic pipe bomb that he's used to.<br /><br />In non-Starbucks news, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef</span> keeps talking about getting me a <span style="font-weight: bold;">new car</span>. He's all high on his GOF right now, and will probably forget about it, but for the time being I assert that I would like an <a href="http://www.bmwworld.com/models/vintage/isetta.htm">Isetta</a>.<br /><br /><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1144047155721482372006-04-03T08:49:00.000-07:002006-04-04T00:11:21.590-07:00The Achewood A-list - - My Man's On It!<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">April 4, 2006...it's the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">ACHEWOOD A-LIST</span>, with your host MOLLY SAYS!<br /><br />I'd been telling people he was off helping out his brother <span style="font-weight: bold;">Showbiz</span>, but my <span style="font-weight: bold;">R. Beef</span> was busy masterminding the greatest victory in the history of the Great Outdoor Fight! A <span style="font-style: italic;">Nate Small</span> and GOF fan since forever, he finally had his chance to shine. The night before he left he drew his and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray's</span> victory out on paper, and went over it with <span style="font-weight: bold;">this particular Nate Small/GOF fan</span>. It looked easier than watching rain fall into a bucket. He calls his system "Farming the Tides," but you didn't read that here.<br /><br />He's back now, and eating an entire can of Texas Low-Sodium Chili with a poached egg and a little grated mound of cheddar cheese. It's one of his favorite meals, and I made it for him as soon as he woke up. He's already put in a request that we watch <span style="font-weight: bold;">Barking Mad,</span> order pizza for dinner, and unplug the phone. I'm all too happy to have him back.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1136877550857216822006-01-09T22:57:00.000-08:002006-01-09T23:19:10.866-08:00The Achewood A-List!...for January 10, 2006.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">January 10, 2006...it's the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">ACHEWOOD A-LIST</span>, with your host MOLLY SAYS!<br /><br />The Starbucks morning was the typical river of moms and contractors until who should come in but <span style="font-weight: bold;">VLAD</span>, a robot one wouldn't think got much benefit from caffeine. His curious head bobbed and swivelled this way and that, taking in every detail of the place, until the moment he got to the counter and tried to haggle over the price of a <span style="font-weight: bold;">hot water</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">slice of pound cake</span>. Once outside he packed the cake around an ankle joint and poured the hot water over it...guess the cold weather had stiffed him up a bit...lord knows our pound cake carries enough butter to lube a Freightliner...<br /><br />Can you guess it? Coffee beverage of <span style="font-weight: bold;">PETER H. "NICE PETE" CROPES</span>, the main guy in town who can make you uncomfortable in under one second? No, you can't guess it. Because he changes it every day. And when he does order the same drink again (e.g. quattro venti Americano) he uses an accent. Like he's working on an alternate identity. Someone needs to tell him that ALL HIS ACCENTS SOUND LIKE A GAY SOUTHERN MAN WITH A LISP.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">RAY</span> came in for his depth charge...<span style="font-weight: bold;">TÉODOR</span> dabbled with the Tazo teas but went back to his doppio...and <span style="font-weight: bold;">CORNELIUS</span> has been making quiet eyes at the high school girl who works the Frappuccino station. <br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">There's always something new to report, and you'll read it here first — MOLLY SAYS!</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;"><br /> </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1135073336052570402005-12-19T23:52:00.000-08:002005-12-20T10:42:29.276-08:00The ACHEWOOD A-LIST! ...for December 19, 2005.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">December 19, 2005...Holiday cheer...it's the <span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">ACHEWOOD A-LIST</span></span>, with your host MOLLY SAYS!<br /><br />Those who start the 5am shift at Starbucks see the night befores and the morning afters as they happen...we note that local scofflaws <span style="font-weight: bold;">TODD SQUIRREL</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">NICE PETE</span> stood shivering in Brainpan Alley (the gutter where the goop from the Foodland butchershop's armored door gets dumped in the wee hours)...were the jitters from the penetrating cold, or the icy retreat of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Eddie Ephedrine</span>? As is the case with most lucky Camels, they put the shared butt out and jittered off their own separate ways, sans much formal adieu. The slow, cold-weather turnover of Pete's van was heard a few minutes later, off over the rooftops, during which time Todd had crawled into a bag of McDonald's trash and no doubt rested his <span style="font-weight: bold;">twitching</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> head</span> on a sachet of ketchup.<br /><br />Next on the docket...sweet old <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cornelius</span>, who claimed to be out of Orange Pekoe, came in around six for a Tall Sumatra with room. He topped the brew off with nonfat and Splenda, then sat for nearly an hour hand-editing a nice leather folio full of writing.<br /><br />Around seven thirty a taxi carrying <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray Smuckles</span> stopped briefly at the light in front of our shop before shooting off...despite the fact that the light hadn't turned green (though Ray had). May be time to invest in c<span style="font-weight: bold;">ompanies that shampoo taxi-cab carpets!</span><br /><br />There's always something new to report, and you'll read it here first — MOLLY SAYS!<br /><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1134622347968159142005-12-14T18:20:00.000-08:002005-12-14T20:52:28.010-08:00I think I actually am starting a gossip column!It won't pay the bills, but after last time's entry where I played with putting <span style="font-weight: bold;">certain words</span> in bold, I found myself thinking in gossip-columnist voice. Beef would walk into the room, and I'd think, "there's <span style="font-weight: bold;">Roast Beef</span>." A bird would chirp outside, and I'd think, "Good news! I see a <span style="font-weight: bold;">bird</span>." That, coupled with my new job at Starbucks, which has made me the hub of Achewood's social universe, has set me up to be a self-styled gossip diva of the first order around here. That isn't saying much, but I'll take what I can get.<br /><br />First off, who would have thought that <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray's</span> signature caffeinated beverage (the "High Systolic," he calls it) would be a cinque (five espresso shots) whole milk latte with three spurts of raspberry, one spurt of hazelnut, whipped cream, caramel lattice, and a $3.50 Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie cookie depth charge. The cookie makes a <span style="font-weight: bold;">"hella yummy mess"</span> that he likes to scoop out with a spoon once the coffee is gone, he says.<br /><br />Turns out <span style="font-weight: bold;">T. Orezscu's</span> quaff of choice is a doppio (two espresso shots), into which he shakes a half packet of raw sugar. No frills, just the straight stuff. Yesterday he downed it in one quick gulp before jumping on his skateboard and youthfully kicking away.<br /><br />Surprise of surprises, even <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lyle</span> visits Starbucks! His drink of choice? A venti (20 0z.) cup of black coffee. I'd have guessed that, had I had time to recover from my shock at seeing him in front of me, which I didn't. Nice to see he always throws fifty cents into the tip jar.<br /><br />Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time, on the<span style="font-style: italic;">...words...I write...on the Internet...WEB PAGE!<br /> <br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1133945106912482692005-12-07T00:05:00.000-08:002005-12-07T00:46:26.636-08:00Happy Holidays!Hello, Blog! Oh, who am I kidding. I'm not feeling all that cheery. Work has been hellish (I'll explain), Ray's pool house is drafty and freezing, and Beef just keeps giving me the most useless Christmas lists imaginable.<br /><br />The first item of business is <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beef's Christmas list</span> (my, that looks official in bold! I could be a <span style="font-weight: bold;">gossip journalist</span>!). I know he's from a pretty broken home, but to ask for "a breakfast of steak and eggs, cooked only one time, if you want, and at your convenience" is hardly getting the spirit of things. I asked him to add to it and he wrote at the bottom, "I will do the dishes afterwards, you don't got to clean up." Jesus, what am I supposed to get him? He already has a laptop, and that's about the only other thing on the planet he's interested in besides the protein that enables him to use it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The pool house is drafty.</span> The only thing colder than our toilet seat at night is Beef's nose when he kisses me as I get back in bed, so I have a treat waiting for me at both ends of the journey. I'm going to talk to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ray</span> about turning the heat on, because Beef refuses to. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The situation with Napoli.</span> Shortly after Butte's head chef Piyaugh got sacked, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mr. Del Vecchio </span>(okay, this bolding thing is getting annoying), the restaurant's principal investor, started to get a little nutsy around the edges. He renamed it after his birthplace, and had the whole interior done up with these big drapey velvet curtains (even the bathroom stalls had thick drapey curtains across the front). He put pictures of his mother over every booth, and during service he sat at the bar and doodled spirals and doors all over his cocktail napkins. Eventually he stopped coming in at all and one day we learned he'd "gone to rest in the country for the winter." Then last night an old guy apparently had a heart attack and died while smoking in a bathroom stall and the whole place went up in flames, which means I'm out of work again. The fishy thing is, I don't remember any old guy. We had only three tables at the time the fire started: a dad and his college-age daughter (Glenlivet 12, house Chardonnay), five blue-hairs who ordered a round of Sambuca, and a young couple on a date who were way out of their price range (tap). Best not to stick my nose into the whole situation, I figure. Maybe I'll get a job at Starbucks while I look for something in a different field.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1129007992742197862005-10-10T21:19:00.000-07:002005-10-10T22:19:52.776-07:00The Last Picnic.The other day on a walk we noticed that fall had set in, with its crisp cool breezes and gusty winds making us all want to wear cozy old sweaters and cue up Scarborough Fair on the record player, so we knew it was time for the Last Picnic. The last outdoor picnic, anyhow. It's one of our little traditions—we set up a blanket in a thicket along the creek, just Beef and me, and set out a nice little spread of sandwiches and lemonade and straw-bottle wine. We put another blanket over our legs and cuddle up together while we enjoy our feast and orange leaves float past on the deep green water. <br /><br />This year he surprised me by showing up with Pig-o-Matic, one of the first games we ever stayed up late playing while mixing each other blue luaus and making little unscheduled trips into the bedroom. It's a plastic dome with a spring-loaded floor and two rubber pigs inside (the game, not my bedroom), and when you press down on the dome it pops back up again and the pigs land in various positions. You get points based on how complicated/rare the positions are. I thought I'd lost it in my last move.<br /><br />He also had a little thermos full of chilled blue luaus, and one thing led to another, and pretty soon we were under the blanket, and nervous that anyone would notice us, and thrilled just like those first times. At one point when he was just about to come he accidentally stuck his hand straight into a little tub of macaroni salad, but in the end that only had the positive effect of making him last an extra half-minute or so. It's a trick you might want to try at home, if your man's a little too quick on the draw.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1127460681567485042005-09-23T00:05:00.000-07:002005-09-23T00:31:21.573-07:00Saw Téodor at Trader Joe's.Oh, hello blog! Wow, what's it been, eight months? Something like that. Anyhow, here's all the latest dirt that's important to no-one, not even me!<br /><br />A few days ago I was down at Trader Joe's for coffee and that great Lingonberry juice they carry, and I ran into Téodor. He was out on one of his culinary test expeditions, coming up with all kinds of ideas for the raw pizza dough they sell. It's really neat to watch him when he gets into his foodie mode, because you can tell he's double-processing the whole time you're talking to him and sometimes he'll answer a question like "so what are you cooking tonight?" with "I can't remember if the frozen rock shrimp will tend to release steam as they thaw. Why don't I know this?"<br /><br />We strolled around the store for a while, me with my basket and him with his heavily-loaded cart, and from time to time he'd come out of his brain-helmet and we'd actually chat about stuff. Beef is the same way -- try to talk to him when he's preoccupied with something and you just get a mumb-jumble of disjointed words. It's like working QA on the line at a bagel company but all the bagels going past you are shaped like hammers and sickles and you're not sure if you should say anything or just let the machines do their work.<br /><br />Anyhow, he eventually got everything he came for and checked out, and I lingered over the fancy imported Argentinian dark chocolate bars for a while. I lingered over the chocolate bars because there was a particularly fit bicyclist rummaging around in the frozen fish bin next to mine, and he was a fine young manimal.<br /><br />xo,<br />MollyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7512155.post-1121325439903857902005-07-12T23:48:00.000-07:002005-07-14T00:17:19.913-07:00Butte on FoodStation...Piyaugh caught that the FoodStation segment about the restaurants in our area was going to air this afternoon, so he called everyone in between the lunch and dinner rushes to air it on a big TV in the main dining room. There was a lot of buzz around, since the FoodStation crew had been there for like six hours and it had been such a fun night. We thought back on all the great moments: the tower of champagne glasses being filled from a single magnum, the flaming caciocavallo, Eden doing an impromptu belly dance between tables 6 and 21, FoodStation producers doing shots at the bar with the dishwashers...<br /><br />Pretty soon the segment had begun and we all went silent, not wanting to miss a moment. Their big "FoodStation...<span style="font-style: italic;">Special!</span>" title flashed, and some chirpy narrator started to chirp about the "hidden gems of the San Francisco Bay Area!" We saw shots of Concepción, Osasha, Trio, all the local cultural-fusion guys that Piyaugh is always making snide comments about. Then it came! A quick shot of our sign, "Butte," which immediately cut to the interior of another restaurant. It was kind of off-putting, but we knew there'd be more, so we sat tight.<br /><br />The segment, which ran fifteen minutes, didn't feature a single second more of Butte. Our hopes were up right until the credits ran, at which point we hoped there'd be one of those Ferris Bueller-type things that runs during or after the credits. Nope, the production company logo flashed and then they were on to "The Secret Life of JuJuBees" or some crap. Piyaugh stood there like a lawn jockey with a remote. His cell phone rang. He answered with a grave, "Ciao Signore Del Vecchio," (Butte's principal investor) then listened for a second and hung up. He turned and plodded down into the basement without so much as looking at us.<br /><br />I don't want to say that Piyaugh probably got shot and driven around in a trunk and then dumped in the marshlands under the Dumbarton, but Mr. Del Vecchio brought in a new executive chef that very same night and the menu is apparently being redesigned as more "traditional." If I see Piyaugh in front of Starbucks with a broken arm and a cup of pencils, I'm not going to buy one, but it'll be nice to see that he's at least alive.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com