Molly Says

I got my MRS in RBK.

2008-07-29T23:45:00.000-07:00

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:

"Catch the first breath of a sulfur match in a candle-snuff and hold it firmly against your exposed lady-bits while coughing."

"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."

"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."

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.

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).

XOXO,
Miss Lady

Wedding Bells!

2008-06-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

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:

1) Beef's family.
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?

2) My family.
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:

3) All the rest.
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.

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.

XOXO, with an X,
Molly

PS: Nearly forgot -- the song that's been keeping me sane.

Another solo chat with Ray

2008-02-19T21:13:00.000-08:00

Ray 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!

- + -

RAY: [knocks on open door] Hey hey HEY what does the government SAY!

ME: I give up! What does the government say?

RAY: Hey, chica! Beef home?

ME: No, he's at Walgreen's getting some medicine for his toes. What does the government say?

RAY: Huh? Oh. Probably somethin' like a raspy whisper, real menacing, like, "You gonna diiiiie, sucker!"

ME: I don't think the government really wants us to die, because then we couldn't pay it money.

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?

ME: No, not really. I was thinking of doing smoked salmon with some pasta. Will you join us?

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?

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.

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.

ME: I picked up some nice wines after work today, I'll pour us a glass.

RAY: [loosening up] Daaamn. You know I got a quench on, right?

ME: It's after five, we're good. [gets wine]

RAY: [drains first glass] Wow. That just happened! [smiles]

ME: I didn't know you were so thirsty! [fills his glass again]

RAY: Well, just tryin' to mellow up. Old Ray been havin' a rough week.

ME: What's up, the third person?

RAY: Ohhhh, this and that. You know, I don't know if I could do what you guys are doin'.

ME: You mean getting married?

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.

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.

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.

ME: I don't think you've ever had your heart broken, so you're sort of careless with it.

RAY: Oh, I've had my troubles. I can't let you say that.

ME: Did Tina break your heart?

RAY: Tina? Naw, man. Chick is dumb as a cough drop. She just smelled nice and was usually in bed.

ME: Did she ever hurt you, though? Sometimes even people we don't respect can make us feel bad.

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. I didn't call you 'cause it was heavy. 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.

ME: What did you have?

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.

ME: What was the clear sauce?

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!

ME: Not at all! See, that's what it's like to actually talk. Women talk all the time, and men just bottle it up inside, which is why you like to watch collisions on television.

RAY: Do I owe you like a hundred bucks? Is that what Frasier gets?

ME: [laughs] This one's on the house.

RAY: [eyes empty glass] You mean, like the wine?

ME: [laughs again] Exactly. I'll go get the bottle.

RAY: You know, Frasier liked wine. He liked it so much that Kelsey Grammer got his bad self a DUI!

- + -

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.

Ray is so grumpy about running for President!

2008-01-28T23:16:00.000-08:00

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.

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))."

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.

Ramones Wedding

2008-01-22T09:46:00.000-08:00

I 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.

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.

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.

The Achewood A-List! November 12, 2007!

2007-11-12T20:27:00.000-08:00

...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

Ray stopped by this afternoon — he didn't really say why, but I think he was trying to invite us over for dinner. Since Beef 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.

RAY: [at door] Hey hey say what say say!

ME: Hey Ray! What's up? That a new tracksuit?

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]

ME: Wow, so you dress like a guy who is watching TV?

RAY: Ain't be that way with Pelé, baby. Dude is cement and glass, ten stories high.

ME: Since I don't know who Pelé is, I'll just have to say sorry and offer you a glass of wine.

RAY: Pelé is a guy who would want me to have that wine.

ME: [gets wine] So, what brings you over?

RAY: Oh, just coolin' it. Checkin' on my favorite engage-o's. Plannin' goin' well?

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.

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.

ME: Right, exactly. Would you like to stay for dinner?

RAY: Whatchu guys cookin'?

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.

RAY: Damn. Definitely don't go to the trouble for me.

ME: It's really no trouble.

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.

ME: Okay, cool. But you're always welcome, you know?

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?

ME: That sounds fun! If Beef gets home before too late, I'll have him call you.

RAY: Rock on. Would be good to see you guys before I lose you two to each other!

ME: [hugs] Thanks for coming by.

RAY: It was nothin', mamacita.

[TOTAL ELAPSED TIME: 1m58s]

- - -

Philippe called! It was so cute. He wanted to practice singing Happy Birthday 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.

- - -

That's all I know for now, Mollyheads!

xoxoxo,
Molly (Miss Lady)

Roast Beef didn't make his brother a groomsman!

2007-10-22T00:25:00.000-07:00

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).

I found the song I've been meaning to find.

2007-07-02T22:14:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xd9Twbgd84

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

MixTube No. I for Beef

2007-07-02T00:10:00.001-07:00

First Dance, Last Dance, and all the Dances Inbetween.

2007-06-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

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:

Johnny Cash, "Before My Time"
(Sorry, I couldn't find a YouTube video of this song. I could for the others, so keep scrolling!)

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:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQk2LtK680w

These are some must-haves for the deejay after that:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F3iFFryovc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SV3IsQlZsiM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEyYTIz6NOY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hv0euEiGDfI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11jY0v5t1WM

And something to hold close to:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IH_I3ulsyw

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.

I guess I should call Téodor, he was adamant that he design the menu and do the cooking.

xoxo,
Miss Lady

The Achewood A-List! April 16, 2007!

2007-04-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

Say what you will about golf, but I can play it! There were some clubs out on Ray's 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 Beef 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 long-standing gambling problem.

Cornelius's new pub The Dude and Catastrophe 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 a bar that is not actively exploding get everyone involved in the same activity? Good job, Cornelius. And thanks for the half-price bowl of mashed potatoes! Saved me.

In other news, Beef and I drew a picture of Italy for Philippe. The little guy wouldn't believe it actually looked like a boot until we proved it for him. Beef wanted to show how Chile looks like South America's large intestine, but Philippe didn't know what intestines were, and we had dinner reservations.

That's all I know for now, Mollyheads. Time for some eggs - Beef's cooking, and it's breakfast for dinner (again...).

xoxoxo,
Molly (Miss Lady)

The Achewood A-List! March 13, 2007!

2007-03-13T13:39:00.000-07:00

...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

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 ass man to a breast man. Personally, I think he's lying and that he was just overstimulated by too many asses (you should see this guy's cable package). He'll forget in a few months and come right back around to his beloved hoochie-mama bottoms again. What's Miss Lady's favorite part of a man? 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.

Todd 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.

Saw Emeril and Spongebath doing some form of tai-chi exercises 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, sitting in his lark scooter, 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.

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.

xoxoxo
Molly (Miss Lady)

The Achewood A-List! December 19, 2006

2006-12-19T20:25:00.000-08:00

December 19, 2006...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

WELLLL....ran into Téodor 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 Roast Beef. 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 Wet Banana wet banana, because those have been illegal in the US for years, but rather some Mexican knock-off called "El Plátano Mojado y Loco!"

Ray beamed himself out of Napoleon's 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 Hollandaise of the Month Club, to go along with his Ham of the Month Club and Egg of the Month Club. 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!"

Ran into Lyle when I was picking up a little thingie of Jägermeister 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 Nice Pete, 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 Jack Daniels.

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).

xoxoxo
Molly (Miss Lady)

The Achewood A-List! November 1, 2006

2006-11-01T21:26:00.000-08:00

November 1, 2006...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

Taking the Skinheads Bowling...actually, Beef and I took Philippe 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 a pretty dandy iPod with leg holes. 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 grumpy nutrition cynic.

On our way home we ran into Ray, in full costume as a peacock with spats, a top hat, and a calling card. He said he was "Peacock Pimp: The Most Beautiful Pimp In The Ghetto," and I believed him. I asked Beef later, and he said that he had believed him as well.

After we dropped Philippe off at 62 Achewood Ct., Téodor and Sweet Old Mr. Bear 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 flaming German wine/liquor drink, 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 embarrass myself too badly.

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 end it early. I'll see you...on the couch, with stringy hair, pajamas, and a bottle of bubbly water.

The Achewood A-List! August 16, 2006

2006-08-16T23:17:00.000-07:00

August 16, 2006...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

"Little Nephew" Charley Smuckles and manager Sandy Liu: 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 Chinese community?

In the "I could have told you so but didn't want to think about it" department, Pat Reynolds 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 B-52s are still blinking and patting down their hair. My guess is he still won't be any fun to party with, although my man Roast Beef did see him picking up a bottle of Cabana Boy Coconut Rum earlier today (Beef was buying his lottery ticket).

In the Cute News segment of this program, Philippe came over! Téodor 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.

The Achewood A-List! June 19, 2006

2006-06-19T23:06:00.000-07:00

June 19, 2006...it's the ACHEWOOD A-LIST, with your host Molly Says!

STARBUCKS: I called it - after about two days of Earl Grey ventis, Ray 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.

This brings me, of course, to Charley "Little Nephew" Smuckles, who had the big crush on Sandy Liu, 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.

Beef, 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.

The Achewood A-List! April 14, 2006

2006-04-14T19:04:00.000-07:00

April 14, 2006...it's the ACHEWOOD A-LIST, with your host MOLLY SAYS!

What's new at Starbucks...Charley "Little Nephew" Smuckles, 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, Sandy Liu, 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.

Looks like Ray is paranoid about his health again. Instead of his signature "High Systolic" (for ingredients, see below), he's now having an Earl Grey (size: venti, of course) 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.

In non-Starbucks news, Beef keeps talking about getting me a new car. 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 Isetta.

The Achewood A-list - - My Man's On It!

2006-04-03T08:49:00.000-07:00

April 4, 2006...it's the ACHEWOOD A-LIST, with your host MOLLY SAYS!

I'd been telling people he was off helping out his brother Showbiz, but my R. Beef was busy masterminding the greatest victory in the history of the Great Outdoor Fight! A Nate Small and GOF fan since forever, he finally had his chance to shine. The night before he left he drew his and Ray's victory out on paper, and went over it with this particular Nate Small/GOF fan. It looked easier than watching rain fall into a bucket. He calls his system "Farming the Tides," but you didn't read that here.

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 Barking Mad, order pizza for dinner, and unplug the phone. I'm all too happy to have him back.

The Achewood A-List!...for January 10, 2006.

2006-01-09T22:57:00.000-08:00

January 10, 2006...it's the ACHEWOOD A-LIST, with your host MOLLY SAYS!

The Starbucks morning was the typical river of moms and contractors until who should come in but VLAD, 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 hot water and slice of pound cake. 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...

Can you guess it? Coffee beverage of PETER H. "NICE PETE" CROPES, 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.

RAY came in for his depth charge...TÉODOR dabbled with the Tazo teas but went back to his doppio...and CORNELIUS has been making quiet eyes at the high school girl who works the Frappuccino station.

There's always something new to report, and you'll read it here first — MOLLY SAYS!

The ACHEWOOD A-LIST! ...for December 19, 2005.

2005-12-19T23:52:00.000-08:00

December 19, 2005...Holiday cheer...it's the ACHEWOOD A-LIST, with your host MOLLY SAYS!

Those who start the 5am shift at Starbucks see the night befores and the morning afters as they happen...we note that local scofflaws TODD SQUIRREL and NICE PETE 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 Eddie Ephedrine? 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 twitching head on a sachet of ketchup.

Next on the docket...sweet old Cornelius, 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.

Around seven thirty a taxi carrying Ray Smuckles 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 companies that shampoo taxi-cab carpets!

There's always something new to report, and you'll read it here first — MOLLY SAYS!

I think I actually am starting a gossip column!

2005-12-14T18:20:00.000-08:00

It won't pay the bills, but after last time's entry where I played with putting certain words in bold, I found myself thinking in gossip-columnist voice. Beef would walk into the room, and I'd think, "there's Roast Beef." A bird would chirp outside, and I'd think, "Good news! I see a bird." 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.

First off, who would have thought that Ray's 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 "hella yummy mess" that he likes to scoop out with a spoon once the coffee is gone, he says.

Turns out T. Orezscu's 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.

Surprise of surprises, even Lyle 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.

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time, on the...words...I write...on the Internet...WEB PAGE!

Happy Holidays!

2005-12-07T00:05:00.000-08:00

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.

The first item of business is Beef's Christmas list (my, that looks official in bold! I could be a gossip journalist!). 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.

The pool house is drafty. 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 Ray about turning the heat on, because Beef refuses to.

The situation with Napoli. Shortly after Butte's head chef Piyaugh got sacked, Mr. Del Vecchio (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.

The Last Picnic.

2005-10-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

Saw Téodor at Trader Joe's.

2005-09-23T00:05:00.000-07:00

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!

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?"

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.

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.

xo,
Molly

Butte on FoodStation...

2005-07-12T23:48:00.000-07:00

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...

Pretty soon the segment had begun and we all went silent, not wanting to miss a moment. Their big "FoodStation...Special!" 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.

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.

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.

First cable crew came through Butte!

2005-07-04T23:46:00.000-07:00

FoodStation, a major cable food network, filmed a segment on Butte last Monday. They like to film on quieter days so as not to disrupt the restaurant's clientele, but Mondays are our absolute worst day so the place looked like a ghost town. There was this one tubby regular eating venison bolognese in the corner with his laptop (we normally don't allow laptops, but the place was empty), and that was it. When the FoodStation van pulled up Piyaugh frantically pulled all non-essential front-of-house staff to fill seats in the dining room, myself included.

I sat at a four-top with Kevin the host trainee, Miranda the hostess, and Basso, the sommelier. Before we even so much as ordered drinks, one of the waiters brought us sumptuous, towering salad plates and said in a hushed tone, "Piyaugh says if you don't eat all of this with a smile, you're sacked." I looked around: other tables were receiving similarly artful apps. Basso got up and picked something nice out from the cellar, something really good called Grch or Griggich. He said Piyaugh would have wanted the cameras to see people ordering expensive wine, so he filled our glasses. Apparently most of the other tables had the same idea, as they were wandering in with pilfered bottles as well. Piyaugh was giving a tour of his spotless stainless-steel kitchen and didn't have a clue. I heard him spouting off some b.s. about "the true orchestra of the French kitchen brigade system" as I lifted the ruby-red deliciousness to my lips.

We actually got menus for the main course and I ordered the "carnaroli risotto with smoked Montana trout and alba truffle" (I had to go look its pompous title up on our website just now). Basso got some thing with wild hare and lobster that's flamed tableside, and Miranda had the venison porterhouse. Kevin has body image issues and tried to order nothing, but Basso kicked him in the shin and he asked for steamed vegetables. The server brought him a Colorado double-cut pork chop with some kind of broiled blue cheese-type sauce on top, so I guess Piyaugh wasn't in the mood to have the cameras showcase hot carrots.

It was a great night, and the cameras were there until about 11, filming all kinds of laughter, carrying-on, and probably 100 bottles of top-tier wine being opened. During the course of the night several groups of people wandered in and, quickly realizing that it was a free-for-all, loaded up on food and drink while calling their friends. At one point I even saw Ray wander in and have a couple cocktails at a back table with some older-looking guys that I recognized from the local paper.

Long after the desserts had been cleared and the camera crew left, Piyaugh, his face beaming and red with a celebratory grappa in him, stood up in a booth and said something that wound up being self-congratulatory but also thanked us for filling seats. What an ass. Later, when I was getting my things from the downstairs lockers, I overheard William the GM fretting with Mr. Del Vecchio, the principal investor, about how the tally for the evening had come to $25,000 -- none of which anyone had paid for. Mr. Del Vecchio nodded solemnly and folded his arms, and I left before either of them saw me. It seemed like the smart thing to do.

So long Smoke.

2005-06-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

I got pretty tired of all the crap you have to deal with at The Smoke, and about a week ago I told Kelly I was leaving. I got a better bartender gig lined up at Butte, this upscale tex-mex-? place, where you don't have to clean the lavatories or break up fights. It's a wannabe celeb-chef deal with the chef's name under the restaurant name on the marquee. Piyaugh Barnabae. Where in the hell does someone get a name like Piyaugh Barnabae? Anyhow, his thing is that he uses a lot of Navajo and Crow ingredients (acorn, buffalo, trout, venison) in traditional French dishes and he's getting a rise out of the local press. He even had his wife quit her job after Butte was featured on local cable tv so that she could manage their PR. The ground buzz is that a few national cable shows are on their way to do segments and Piyaugh has had us all working with acting coaches so we don't make him look bad.

There's nothing sadder than a business card.

2005-05-11T03:45:00.000-07:00

The Smoke does this half-assed thing where we keep a fishbowl behind the register and let people drop business cards into it for the chance to win a free drink once a week. Tel Hpitlo, the owner, fishes out the winning card before we open and sticks it into this little laminate pouch on the front of the fishbowl. The person is pretty much always there, since there isn't a lot of tourist traffic around.

The guys are always sad cruds with a job title like "Senior Sales Distributor, Laminates," and "District Region Associate Manager, Sealants." They have their tapered jeans on, and a belt with two or more gadgets, and a tucked-in white or denim shirt with their company logo on the left chest, and they put their card in to win the free drink. For the most part they have lost or are losing hair around the yarmulke area, or they are losing it from the front. Their shoes are always economy compromises in the general shape of a wingtip, and they tend to cool off with a well screwdriver. After the "plastic tool" they move to scotch and soda and then just a scotch neat, at which point they start bothering women. If Tel's around he'll give them a really unpleasant shoulder rub and they clear out pretty fast. If Tel isn't around, they'll usually bother women until I mix them an accidental triple and they fall on their faces. Hiding a shot of Everclear in a bottom-dollar S&S isn't too hard to do with these guys, and before long they're medicated to the point where we can line 'em up at the cab stand.

Beef stopped in on Monday and promised to take us out to lunch tomorrow, but that might just have been the free Ouzo talking.

I am officially sick of Cosmo.

2005-04-21T00:29:00.000-07:00

I got a pretty nasty cold over the weekend. Beef was real sweet to me, even making special trips to the grocery store to pick up 7-UP and juices and "lady magazines."

I hadn't read a Cosmopolitan in a few years, and it's amazing the kind of perspective you get on a magazine like that after a little time away. I swear, it's the same vapid magazine month after month, but they have this way of putting fresh lipstick on it every time so it looks like something new. God does it make women look stupid. Apparently our entire lives revolve around finding or keeping a boyfriend who looks like Ian Somerhalder, and if we don't have the latest $1,498 Prada sarong then we're a fashion Out and not a fashion In. Also, Chloe Sevigny looks good in yellow, according to their Columbia School of Journalism Phi Beta Kappas.

How do you get a writing job at Cosmo? Does the editor need to hear you dressing down a shoe salesgirl behind her back at Nine West? If you're choking in a crowded restaurant and the Heimlich maneuver produces a stick of Stila lip liner, does she look over and nod approvingly?

At least I know that PEOPLE will be non-gender-specifically patronizing. It's nice to lose one's self in an article about Jeff Goldblum's watch collection while sniffling one's self to sleep on the couch. That way it really doesn't matter if you don't remember anything you read.

Tina: Elegant Lady.

2005-04-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

So Tina decided she was going to have a sophisticated woman-of-the-world day after she saw Oprah recommend it on TV yesterday. It was something to do with raising your self-esteem. You're supposed to dress up in your most luxurious PJs, curl up on the couch and surround yourself with things that are just a bit nicer than usual (e.g. Godiva, caviar, champagne, indulgent movies, etc).

For Tina this meant putting on some JUICY sweats that her friend left over, an old white Champion sweatshirt of Ray's (Ray had used some hot sauce to spell MEET ME AT TACO HELL across the chest, and you can still faintly see it), and sitting on our plywood-frame cheapass couch with a little tub of Safeway egg salad and a spoon. The elegant lady mixed herself some Bacardi and Diet Coke (zero carbs) and paged through this wrinkled copy of People that Beef had brought home from The Smoke. If I hadn't known it was her Elegance day, I would have thought it was her pre-bathtub-suicide feast. I swear that girl is trashy.

Squirt

2005-04-01T13:25:00.000-08:00

So I finally worked up the nerve to talk to Beef about trying to get me to squirt. He was lounging around the pool house watching Yan Can Cook on PBS, and it was kind of late, so I figured then was as good a time as any. Here's how the conversation went:

MOLLY: So, have you ever heard of squirting?

BEEF: Hold on

M: What's he cooking?

B: I think it is like chow mein but kind of in a peanut sauce

M: Do you think we can talk for a minute?

B: Sure uh what is up

M: Have you ever heard of squirting?

B: You mean the activity

M: I...I'm not sure what you mean. The activity?

B: It is a pretty basic activity I think everybody knows how to make squirts you know

M: You mean, how to create a squirting motion like with a water pistol?

B: Yeah or just how to put your thumb on the tip of a hose so the pressure is increased and you can squirt a guy

M: I mean a different kind of squirting.

B: Hold on

M: What?

B: He's making the peanut sauce now I want to see what he uses

M: All his recipes are on the website. Can we please talk?

B: Okay sorry uh but maybe Yan will cover squirting next and then you would be sad that you missed it

M: Martin Yan is not going to talk about the kind of squirting that I want to talk about.

B: Dang then lady what is this special kind of squirting that you wish to discuss

M: Did you know that women can squirt from their vaginas?

B: Man I took the sixth grade you ain't got to explain how you go pee and plus why do you feel we needed to discuss this

M: No, during orgasm. Not urine, but some other kind of fluid.

B: Good thing my peter is hella crappy and you don't get orgasm

M: Ha ha, Beef. I want to see if we can get me to squirt.

B: Uh like do you mean you want a ton of fingerbangs?

M: Come on! It's not good to make fun of people who are being honest with you about their sexual desires.

B: Hold on is that cilantro

M: [turns off TV]

B: But—

M: Pay attention.

B: Uh so would you like the squirts to hit me or do you need them to land on me or should they just go into a champagne glass

M: What?!

B: [starts tittering, then little by little his laughter overcomes him until he is laughing out loud]

M: What are you laughing about, you jerk?!

B: Oh hee hee man I really got you on that one

M: What? "Got" me?

B: Hee hee man I know what squirting is you think I never been on the Internet

M: You know about vaginal, orgasmic squirting.

B: Well I ain't write the Dummies guide or anything but I have seen video evidence

M: Good, then follow me to the bedroom.

B: Can we play Love Shack I have it on MP3

M: No.

B: Cool

---

No luck so far, but Beef's game to keep trying. I think he gets a kick out of getting so intimate with my vagina. This hasn't come without its price, however: every time we finish an attempt, he insists I make him a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I guess I don't really mind reciprocating, as he really doesn't get much out of the fifteen or so minutes we spend on each practice run.

Water Sports

2005-03-12T05:09:00.000-08:00

After we closed up The Smoke tonight Kelly and I lit some cigarettes and had a few drinks. We needed it; it had been a pretty rough night. Russell beat this one drywall worker so bad that the ambulance came, and some other guy took a shit between the pinball machine and the pool table, really close to the outlet.

Even though she's lipstick, Kelly's a total dyke and loves to talk about her sex life with Karen, her partner of five years. Apparently they're really into squirting lately. You know how if you scratch a dog in the right place, its leg shakes uncontrollably? I guess some women can shoot plumes of liquid during orgasm if you work their G-spot in the right way. She was telling me that Karen got her in the eye so hard that she had to wear sunglasses all day Thursday. I've never squirted, but I want to see if I can. I'm probably going to need an easel and a lot of oversized anatomical color printouts if I'm going to convince Beef that it's not urine. Even then he'll probably wear a wetsuit and a welding mask. Who knows, maybe that will heighten the kink. I kind of liked it the time when he hadn't brushed his teeth in a few days and wore a surgical mask so that he wouldn't offend me.

Picnic a la Boeuf

2005-03-06T15:38:00.000-08:00

Tips at The Smoke have been really good lately, so I treated Beef to a nice picnic down along the creek. I went to Pullardi's deli and got this big circular sandwich that he's always dreaming over, this big layered cold cut thing with maybe five different sliced meats, green olive spread, provolone cheese, and a layer of roasted peppers. They cut it into wedges like a pizza, and it makes six really good-sized servings. He'd never order it on his own, but I can tell he wants it worse than anything, and that means that if it finally shows up in front of him he'll just break down and enjoy it. Especially if it's sitting next to a big glass of cold white wine. He's been really into white wine lately, ever since he started staying at Ray's. I think he's discovered that some white wines are really sweet and fruity-tasting, and that's a whole big thing with him. Usually after we drink red wine at Ray's Beef complains about how everything tasted like bark and why couldn't we just have had Coronas, etc, but with white wine it's different, and I'm all for him being happy.

To go along with the sandwich I got him some macaroni and potato salads from the grocery store. I don't really like macaroni or potato salads, since they're so full of mayonnaise, but he loves the hell out of them, as he would say, so that was the menu.

"I love me the hell outta some macaroni and/or potato salads," he would say.

I know you're probably waiting for the part of this post where everything went horribly awry and he got an allergic reaction to the sandwich he had always been dreaming of eating, but it actually went really nicely, and the weather was warm and lovely, and the creek smelled like sun-baked foxtails, and no one bothered us, and we just got to sit there and talk and laugh while we had our cold white wine. I stayed over at his place that night and we fell asleep in each others' arms, nice and tired from all the sun and the cold white wine.

Well, I'm still a bartender!

2005-02-28T03:24:00.000-08:00

If you can make it through a weekend at The Smoke, I think you can make it anywhere. Except, in my case, Taco Bell, Subway, Applebees, and other places too depressing to mention. Oh, my five-minute job at Wendy's, where I got fired because I was accidentally hired by the drive-thru guy. No severance on that one.

Anyhow, tips have been great and Kelly was really supportive while I found my "beer feet." Working a couple slow weekdays didn't really help me prepare for the weekends, though, because I think their clientele is socially programmed to go absolutely bucknuts starting on Thursday night. Men's room feces were definitely worst on Saturday, but by Sunday everyone has the runs, which are harder to pick up, so I didn't have to swab the tops of the showerhead system.

I only had one guy throw a glass at me, and Russell, the bouncer, took him out front and kicked him in the neck. Russell's kind of a loser—he wanted to be a musician but he couldn't find anyone to be in his band. It turns out that he wanted to be the singer in a band, "like Vedder," but didn't know how to sing, and thought he could only learn by singing in front of a band. That was his argument. He's built like a firetruck, though, and doesn't drink, so he always has the upper hand.

That's all I know. I have the next two days off and I think I'm going to try to spend some time with Beef.

I'm a bartender!

2005-02-20T17:34:00.000-08:00

Why didn't I think of this before? I talked to Kelly, the cool bartender at The Smoke, and she said she wouldn't mind some help. They pay is just minimum wage, but tips on the weekends are pretty healthy, especially if I wear "something tight." Fair enough, I get the picture.

After they closed on Saturday she showed me how to shut the place down for the night, and taught me a few tips about dealing with typical bar problems (The Smoke is a dirty working-class bar and things can get rough). There's mace on the shelf under the register, and a crowbar if that doesn't work. There's also an emergency switch for if a brawl is brewing, which immediately switches the jukebox to "Free Bird." Apparently the opening refrain helps grease monkeys and rednecks recognize each other's inherent humanity, or something like that.

I suppose the worst part is swabbing the bathrooms. The women's room is pretty typical, usually just cigarettes and sometimes a little barf in the sink. The men's room is more like the high-fiber primate house at the zoo. There's a powerful showerhead/disinfectant system in the ceiling, so you just shut the door and flip the hidden switch that turns it on. Sometimes, though, the guys get feces on the tops of the showerheads themselves and you have to hit those with a sponge, which is pretty nasty.

I'm starting on Tuesday, a slow night, so we'll see how it goes. Hopefully Beef won't show up in his Mountie outfit.

Workin' For The (Robotic) Man

2005-01-26T15:06:00.000-08:00

I was having a hard time finding any restaurant work, and then I wandered into this hole-in-the-wall Subway and landed an under the table job making sandwiches. Vlad, the owner, apparently knew all the guys and was really friendly, paying me in cash (lower than the minimum wage, but better than I would make after taxes, he explained) and letting me eat a free veggie sub for every shift I worked. Things went pretty well for a while — at Subway you make the sandwich directly in front of the customer, so they can't complain when they get it — I was happy enough. I could work as many hours as I wanted and Vlad just tinkered with stuff in the back, rarely bothering me.

About a week into the gig he asked if I wanted to start making "commissions." His idea was to have me on a webcam, and "gentlemen suitors" would log on and buy me sandwiches. I was supposed to eat them wearing a skimpy top and acting "extreemingkly grateful." I would get commissions based on how many sandwiches I enticed the men into buying, as well as for upgrades like bacon, cheese, guacomole, 12", etc. It wasn't exactly porn, and I didn't have to stick anything (other than sandwiches) into myself, so I figured I'd give it a go.

The program was a pretty immediate success, and within three days I was packing in about five subs an hour. I had to start running a couple miles before work each day just to compensate for the calorie intake, and I also figured out a few tricks to keep me from having to eat the whole sandwich, like pulling the bulk of the bread out and just keeping the crust (I made the requested sandwiches off-camera), and omitting upgrades the customer couldn't see, like extra cheese. I was making five times as much money as before, and Vlad was humming around the place, thrilled that his new idea was working out.

Unfortunately, Beef got wind of the scheme and like Dudley Do-Right had to come "rescue" me from my high-paying job. I went back the next day but Vlad said in pretty square terms that his business had "no place for jealous boyfriend." Thanks, Beef.

Nowhere to go but Wendy's

2005-01-04T22:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess that's actually a pretty lateral move, but anyhow me and Taco Bell have parted ways. It's not entirely my fault that I got fired today, but I'm not going to press the issue.

I was on floor duty for the first time, and I wasn't quite sure where I was and wasn't supposed to mop. I did the prep line, and the dining area, and behind the counter, and the bathrooms, and the dishwashing station. The only place left was the manager's office, and since I had seen Mr. Reilly duck out back to have a smoke in his Buick I figured I didn't need to knock. I must have lost track of time -- he was in there with Huarez, the night shift drive-thru guy. I guess they'd been cultivating some sort of Romance Among the Beans, because when I barged in they were going at it pretty hot and heavy. The really bad part about me wandering in there is that the door to Mr. Reilly's little office faces the dining area, so about fifteen patrons were treated to a pretty graphic display of what happens when two men who work at Taco Bell fall in love and try to make a baby.

All Mr. Reilly could do was look back over his shoulder and scream "You're..you're FIRED! You're FIRED!" I figured that since I couldn't get any more fired than I already was, I'd leave the door propped open with the mop bucket so that the people in the dining area could see what happens when two men who try to make a baby at Taco Bell try to pull their pants on in a room barely big enough for a file cabinet and an old computer.

I'll probably try to get a job at some stupid deli next...it sucks not having a social security card.

Oh well, I should buck up and look on the bright side. At least I can tell people that I've seen live gay sex.

And then you know.

2004-12-26T01:59:00.000-08:00

My Christmas was looking pretty sad. Beef couldn't make it because he had to go help out his brother down in Mojave, and Tina was over at some awful girlfriend's house (not that I was invited). I set up a little nightstand bonsai tree in my room and decorated it with some glow-in-the-dark confetti stars. I put a couple little gifts under it, like some new Blistex and a Stila lipstick (for me, of course). That was about the extent of the Christmas Spirit around our place.

On Christmas eve around seven o'clock I was sitting at the dinner table watching Law & Order, about to twirl my fork into a plate of Lean Cuisine capellini, a glass of two-buck Chuck by my side, when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was some lost partygoer I got ready to point out wherever it was that so-and-so lived, and didn't even look through the peephole. I nearly died when I opened the door and it was Beef, holding a neatly-wrapped gift and a big bag of Chinese takeout. He was even wearing a nice sweater which I knew wasn't his.

He walked into the apartment and I gave him a hug. Then I had to excuse myself to the bedroom for a moment...it was too much to think how pitiful my expectations for the evening had been before he showed up, compared to what I was getting now. I misted and dabbed for a good minute before doing a couple jumping-jacks, slapping my cheeks and bounding back out into the main room, where he had begun setting the steaming food up on plates and platters.

We had a lovely meal of salt and pepper shrimp, pork and tofu kung pao, two lakes soup, lamb chow fun, and a bunch of other stuff. He had brought some Heineken to drink and pretty soon we were giddy like kids.

He said he had a present for me and I ran into the bedroom to get his little trinket from under the bonsai. I insisted on giving him his present first – a table of all the local train times, formatted using his favorite sans-serif font (Hudson Regular). I made it at Kinko's and had it bound in special leather, so he could keep it in his pocket like a conductor. Beef is nuts about trainspotting. He didn't say anything, but clamped up and gave me a great big hug, which was even better. That was all he needed to do.

Then he handed me this wrapped box and I didn't know what to expect. It wasn't too heavy and it didn't rattle. I lifted the tape off the ends, unfolded the paper, and...Converse! That's right, a black pair of low-top Chuck Taylors! Not just any guy can get you a pair of low-top Chucks. You have to really know the girl. I put them on right away and danced all around the apartment. To get himself out of dancing duty he put on some music and opened us two more beers. I don't know when I've gotten a better present, or had a happier Christmas.

Maybe some sunlight.

2004-12-11T21:12:00.000-08:00

Okay, so maybe I was too harsh on him. But I don't think so. Beef didn't call me for something like a month, which is way outside of Average Jerk Stratosphere. I was just a mess, bouncing down from crap job to shit job, finally landing at Taco Bell because they were only a block away and didn't mind that I was usually crying.

We've been having pretty good chats recently. He had been alone for a while, and he'd had a lot of time to depressurize and get his bearings, so he was pretty clear-headed about things and even acting like his silly self at times. I don't think you could say that we're "back together" at the moment, but I don't really care about that right now. It's just nice to be talking again.

Meanwhile, Tina remains the lowest common denominator, the kind that the networks count on. I can literally trace her purchases to the previous night's advertising, from CarbOptions Chocolate Shakes to trips to Vegas with her stupid girlfriends from the makeup counter. She's pretty tragic, but the rent is low and she's usually not around.

OK, off to bed. I'm on Breakfast Burrito line tomorrow, and that means a lot of burny-hot eggs to watch out for.

bronco

2004-11-17T02:48:00.000-08:00

I don't know why I called this entry "bronco." I'm sad. I've been sad for days. I've missed shifts. I've quit, if they ask. Tell them I've quit. I need a friend and I don't have one. Beef hasn't called in over two weeks, the whole time I've been here. I haven't seen or heard from him since I moved out. He's probably busy forgetting all about me, like I never existed. I'm a boy's trash. Yet again, I'm a boy's trash. I'm fucking thrown out on the curb, a Monday morning tiara. I guess I'll ride some bus somewhere and get another job and another apron. Thanks a fucking lot, Beef. Thanks for disappearing. Nice fucking knowing you.

Atkins driving me crazy

2004-11-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

Ugh, Tina's Atkins diet is driving me crazy. We can never order take-out together, and she can never eat anything that I cook. Plus, left to her own devices she eats the grossest crap imaginable. Yesterday for dinner she had Kraft singles wrapped around these pork sausages that she microwaved. I actually had to go to my room while she was sitting there smacking and chewing and watching The Bachelor.

Haven't talked to Beef in a while. I have this awful feeling that I might never hear from him again unless I make the first move, but then again maybe he's building a "Beef and Molly" website with a JavaScript rollover of his head that says "will you take me back"?

All set up at Tina's.

2004-10-30T01:21:00.000-07:00

I moved most of my stuff while Beef was underground with Ray, which wasn't too hard since I basically own a duffel bag full of clothes, three copies of Glamour, and a computer. I found this old wheeled suitcase in the hallway coat closet, and when Gramma K slithered out of her room to admonish me for using it, I just threw a shoe at her and she wheeled back into her room. I didn't care anymore. I'm never going to see her again if I can help it. If and when Beef and I get married, she'll be long gone. Not that he's so close with any of his family he'd actually send them invitations or anything. Apparently he has a twin brother somewhere but he doesn't even know how to get in touch with him, and his parents...not today.

My new place is pretty decent. Wall-to-wall carpet, little kitchenette with breakfast bar, two bedrooms and one bathroom. Tina has some pretty basic IKEA furniture - little dinner table, a desk against one wall, one of those crepe paper Asian lamps...pretty clean and simple. All she had in the fridge was a boneless, skinless chicken breast on a plate, which I guess was defrosting.

We're in a pretty no-frills apartment building across the street from a Round Table, a 7-11 and a Safeway, so we're pretty conveniently situated for the basic needs. There's even a dry cleaner for when I have to work during 10-cent Buffalo Wing nights. The complex has a pool and a little lawn in the courtyard, but you can tell that no one here is comfortable using them.

Alright, I've (obviously) got my new machine set up and now I've gotta crash, since I've got to be in before lunch tomorrow. There's a new menu item (Double Oahu Shrimp Chicken - a pounded chicken breast folded over triple-marinated shrimp and sizzling four-cheese blend, with low-carb creamed broccoli or triple-Cheshire twice-baked potato) and they're testing us on it before the rush starts.

Moving = not so easy

2004-10-06T15:20:00.000-07:00

Beef and I aren't really on the same page as far as what we're looking for, apartment-wise. He wanted to move into Ray's pool house, which I am really against. You can't have your friends be your landlords, it opens you up to all sorts of uncomfortable and potentially friendship-breaking situations. Ray is a great guy, and he'd probably never cause any problems, but you never know, and also that irritating Little Nephew shit is always there, waving his big hip-hop attitude around.

Beef also said that Mr. Bear might be moving out of Chris's house, which could be interesting. Téodor lives there, plus little Philippe and Lyle, so it'd be a pretty big party all the time, and rent would be low. I don't know, I kind of want us to have a place of our own. That week we spent on vacation together was really nice. I don't think I mentioned the moussaka that Beef made in Ray's kitchen...he's a really good cook when he wants to be.

Ugh, off to Applebee's. It's Kids Eat Free night...shoot me now.

Annoying and Hopeful Things.

2004-10-01T23:33:00.000-07:00

Beef's been looking at rental classifieds all week, and Gramma K's been more aggressively senile than usual, so I think we might actually end up getting a place of our own. Between my horrible new job getting extra tubs of ranch dressing for mongoloid, goateed sports fans, and his off-and-on programming work, we'd be able to afford a place of our own and also cover his rent on Gramma K's trailer.

I just got off a late shift at Applebee's and am cleaning up to head to Ray's to meet everyone. I've been really excited to go all night. I've had just a shit week and I want to get good and drunk.

A week apart and away.

2004-09-26T01:02:00.000-07:00

Beef did the greatest thing! He set up Ray's pool house as a little bungalow for us to live in all last week. I was so impressed with him. He got tea candles, a little coffee machine, a nice shag rug and beanbags for us to sit on while we watched Survivor and Apprentice, and he even raided Ray's DVD collection for a whole library of movies he knew I'd been wanting to watch. We had a mellow week of relaxing at the pool, going out to eat, and curling up with Seabiscuit, Perfect Storm, Pump Up The Volume, etc. On Friday he even gave me a beautiful Tiffany 1837 bangle, totally out of the blue! He gave it to me kind of goofily, hidden in a carved-out donut that he insisted I take a "very delicate bite" out of, but after some soap and water it was sterling as new again.

It's going to be hard to go back to work at Applebee's tomorrow, but the week off really helped get me centered again. I might not even need to hide in the walk-in freezer and cry when the cooks send me in for bags of wings and riblets.

Beef's back

2004-09-09T22:34:00.000-07:00

The other night Beef cooked this really fatty dinner and flipped out when I didn't eat any of it. He knows I'm trying to lose weight! It was kind of scary -- he threw our plates in the trash and stormed out, and was gone for almost twenty four hours. I was a little bit used to this sort of thing from last time, but overall, throwing plates in the garbage and leaving for a whole day just isn't a great communication skill.

He had cooled down when he finally came home, and he apologized and gave me one of those little red plastic-film chinese fish that curls up in your palm. This was a big relief because he only gets those when he eats at Plum Garden, and he only eats at Plum Garden when he's been searching his soul (there's this dim corner booth that he likes to sit in for hours at a time, ordering different kinds of soup and Franzia). When he's feeling alright he always goes to Mr. Wok, that cheap place that I'm convinced uses feral chickens.

Worried about Beef

2004-09-07T16:03:00.000-07:00

I think Beef's been getting high too often during the day. Just now I came home from my afternoon shift at Applebee's (I'll explain later) and he was standing silently in the kitchen, pretending to prepare food. He had pans on the burners, an empty butter dish on the counter, and a couple whisks and spoons set out next to the stove. He even had an apron on. I snuck past him and am just goofing around online until he finishes whatever he thinks he's doing and asks if we can order Domino's.

Sweet Old Mr. Bear!

2004-08-30T00:24:00.000-07:00

Roast Beef smoked out with Téodor and Lyle and that little Todd thing Friday night at Ray's, and I'm not really fond of pot, so I had to make my own way through the night. I ended up chatting for a long time with Cornelius, who is completely hung up on this Russian volleyball player named Ekaterina. It is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. He's taking language courses and jogging and reading everything he can about her sport and home town. He even knows her birthstone. He's tracking down her address so he can send her "letters of introduction"!

Then at the other end of the romance spectrum there's Beef, who ate about thirty-five tempura shrimp, threw up into the holes in a parked car's hubcap, and then insisted that he felt horny when we got home. I was not in the mood to have sex with something that just threw up, call me frigid. Two seconds later he was asleep with his arm in a bad position so I rolled him over and read Cosmo for a while.

Stand by your man...

2004-08-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

Well, I got Beef into the make-out room but he had pretty severe performance issues. It went kind of like this:

MOLLY: Come on, Beef! Let’s have a quickie in the pool house!

BEEF: Oh dang lady you gonna land us in the soup !

M: No one’s looking! Come on!

B: Oh man not with all these people around please

M: Look, the door locks! No one will know! [I shut the door]

B: Man I can hear Ray's voice this ain't possible

M: Come on, Beef! Take me now! [I lower my top]

B: Wow if you think I can do that then you are amazing

At that point my feelings were pretty hurt and I hauled my top back up and stormed out. He didn't even follow me and try to apologize, he just went and played pool. For the rest of the party I hung out and danced with Téodor, but he was inside the whole time and I don't think he saw. We went home separately, me before him, and when he got into bed we just laid there on our separate halves, acting like neither person was there. Before too long he was grinding his teeth and I knew we weren't going to talk. He is such a brick wall, it's getting kind of hard to take.

Who's Hot Stuff? I am.

2004-08-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

I'm really starting to look forward to these parties Ray throws every Friday. He puts a lot of thought into them and never even charges a cover. Even though he's a big dumbo, he's a sweet and generous dumbo. That goes a long way...earlier this week Beef came home with this huge new drum scanner—apparently Ray bought it to scan things with but then decided that he didn't want to scan things after all. It was new in the crate. Beef's going to sell it on eBay—similar models are going for $19,000! See what I mean?

Anyhow, back to the party. The theme tonight is "Hot Stuff" or something, so I'm going to wear my matching underwear and try to sneak Beef off into the pool shed for a quickie! I'm going to wear the red stockings he said he liked, that will probably help. He's not much for PDA, so I'm not sure how a quasi-public screw will go over.

Where have I been!

2004-08-18T02:54:00.000-07:00

Let's see, what happened this week...Beef has been pretty weird. We went to dinner at Mango Star, this new place in Hidden Hills (it's in this one spot that seems to have a new asian restaurant in it every month) and the whole time he stared at his Coke or thought overly long over the noodles. He was pretty useless for conversation. After we got home he went for a long walk by himself. I wish he'd try to talk to me about whatever's bothering him. It's like there's this thin plastic bag between us, and all it would take is a toothpick to break the levee.

Sleepy Symphonies

2004-08-09T02:49:00.000-07:00

Roast Beef is snoring SO LOUD. Along with the teeth grinding, the weird successive "puffs" he makes with his mouth, and the constant tossing and turning, he's a regular one-man band. I can't sleep so I was up AIM-ing Téodor and looking at some Pottery Barn curtains for the room. I guess it's the couch again tonight for me, which will be alright since Gramma K left an empty jug of Chablis on the coffee table. That means she'll be in bed until noon (she's pretty predictable this way).

What's been going on lately...we had a pretty nice date tonight. He was so corny about it: first he brought me flowers completely out of the blue, and asked if I would "perhaps join him" at King Tzu's at 7pm. It isn't 1936, Roast Beef! It was sweet, though. My man isn't the smoothest in the world, but his heart is there. Afterwards we went on a little walk around the underground and he kissed me right in front of this one fountain, like he'd been planning it as the most romantic spot for a kiss. I wish he didn't think so much about romance beforehand. Next time I go down on him and he's about to come, I'm going to stick my finger up his ass.

My man's a goof.

2004-08-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, Roast Beef's a goof. I knew that when I got involved. I like guys who are a little goofy, and I love that about him. It's just that sometimes he catches me completely off guard.

We were gardening today, taking care of all the new plants we'd put in the yard, and for a little while I was bent over weeding this patch of white dahlias. I was working at them pretty steady, and I guess my ass was going up and down in these tight black workout shorts that I got for around-the-house wear, because when I stood up, Beef immediately started spraying the hose across the front of his shorts. He gave me this funny sideways smile that basically meant I'd caught him in the middle of a hot daydream...he could have just turned around instead of taking the impromptu cold shower. Or taken me inside.

Where have I been!

2004-07-30T14:14:00.000-07:00

Sorry, blog! I kind of forgot about you this week. I've been kind of busy getting clothes and looking for a job and all of that. I didn't have a lot on hand when I showed up here and I finally got to the point where wearing the same cutoffs and top every day was getting pretty embarrassing.

Roast Beef says that there's going to be swing dancing at Ray's tonight, with free lessons beforehand! He's completely against dancing of any kind (he thinks he looks foolish if he so much as walks in a straight line, let alone expresses rhythm) so I've got my work cut out for me. We're going to practice a few basic steps here at the house before we even take the lessons, so he doesn't feel completely unprepared. I think I'm going to wear this fun Marilyn Monroe-type black sleeveless blouse that I got for fifteen dollars at Harrigan's, and a little black skirt to match, since it's going to be kind of a formal thing. I'm letting Beef get away with wearing a simple short-sleeve button-up that has martinis embroidered on either side of the chest (I picked it up for him because he owns absolutely zero respectable clothing).

Anyhow, wish me luck getting Beef out on the dance floor. I'll need all the luck you can spare.

He doesn't charge enough.

2004-07-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

I swear, Lyle just spent three hours on my hair and only charged me thirty dollars. And it's not like he took three hours because he's slow, we did a ton of highlights and a color wash and then he set a really cool new line in my hair that he took a while to get perfectly even. If you start out with a good line then the next cuts go that much faster. Anyhow, the more I get to know him the more I like him as a person. Lots of hairstylists make incredibly dopey conversation with you about like visiting their moms or whatever, but he tells some great stories. Apparently he spent a lot of time on this California-Oregon-Washington annual migratory circuit of old hippies and drug addicts -- they travel to different hot springs all year long and live in trailers or tents. He met guys like Chili Bob, a Viet Nam vet who looked like a spindly wizard and drank a box of Franzia by lunch every day and a case of beer by nighttime. He met people like The Komodo who filmed bestiality videos and...I can't even write about the weird stuff The Komodo did, he'd probably find out and try to come kill me. It's kind of incredible the things Lyle's seen. And you don't feel uncomfortable when he's telling you that holding a pair of scissors so close to your head...he sounds as entertained by it all as you are. He does need some breath mints though, he's got that deep-down cigarette thing going on.

I can't wait to see what Beef thinks of my new look - although he probably won't even notice until I say something. Yesterday he was wearing this old Bart Simpson t-shirt with yellow pit stains and he wouldn't throw it away until I said that I was moving to Mexico if he didn't.

New Hairstylist!

2004-07-21T03:03:00.000-07:00

Surprise of surprises, that Lyle guy actually knows how to cut women's hair! He was doing a clipper-cut on Beef today and when I walked into the kitchen to get a Hansen's he immediately took out his shears and spray bottle, told me to stand still, and in like three seconds he had taken all kinds of dead weight off of my bangs. When he finished with Beef he insisted that I sit down in the chair for some more work. He snipped a few strands here and there to see how it would hang at different lengths, then he shampooed and conditioned me with a really trained touch. After that he took matters into his own hands and pretty soon I looked just like Lillian Gish! If you have thick, wavy hair like mine then finding someone who understands it is like finding the decoder ring for the Rosetta stone.

He even pulled a blow dryer out of his bag and started setting some curls here and there. I couldn't believe it. Pretty soon we were talking about color treatments and now I have an appointment for Friday! We're going to do it over at Ray's house because Ray actually has an in-house salon room with a shampoo bowl, hydraulic chair and drying station. As pathetic as Ray seems sometimes, it sure is handy to live near him.

Friday party, picnic, etc.

2004-07-19T18:32:00.000-07:00

So Friday night at Ray's Téodor wasn't around, but that didn't matter because Beef was being fairly normal and we even had a few decent conversations, although not about his little incident last week. And since Ray and funny old Mr. Bear (he calls me Miss Molly and tips his nice hat) went off to play pool, Beef didn't feel inclined to keep up with Ray's drinking antics and wind up face down on the patio (he just doesn't carry as much weight on his frame as Ray). He just loosened up and before long he surprised me by doing some pretty good dives into the pool.

Soon all sorts of people were cheering for him each time, and little Philippe would even hand him towels as he came out of the pool (Philippe was beaming at him like he was Greg Louganis!). He's really good, he says that he used to practice all summer over at the lake. He can do flips, backflips, a flip with a twist, a double-flip, a really nice jackknife, and even a really good cannonball. I was impressed.

Saturday he was acting kind of edgy in the morning but then he opened up later that afternoon and we had a little bit of a breakthrough. I can't tell you how relieved I was. Then he took me on a lovely dinner picnic down by the creek, and he pretended that the grocery bag was a banjo and sang,

Molly
Oh Miss Molly
You make a dude jolly
Jolly for all of life's folly

You have to understand, that's pretty upbeat coming from him. Maybe for Christmas I'll get him a banjo and he can write me more love ballads.

I guess we're off to Ray's...

2004-07-16T17:53:00.000-07:00

But I really wish Beef would come clean about what happened the other night. He still hasn't mentioned it, and I feel like if I bring it up he's going to go off the handle again. It's going to be kind of an awkward party, hopefully Téodor will be there and I can hang out with him most of the time. Beef can drink himself silly and maybe then he'll feel like talking. He usually gets pretty chatty and emotional when he's on his way down.

Also, I heard him in Gramma K's room with the door shut, and he was speaking kind of sternly to her. I couldn't really make out what he was saying, and I left before he could see that I'd been trying to eavesdrop.

A "talk," if you can call it that

2004-07-14T00:22:00.000-07:00

Okay, so Beef's pretty new to this "talking to others about what's on your mind" thing. We were having some lemonade in the back yard today and I casually brought up the other night when he stormed out of the house for no apparent reason--for six hours--and it went kind of like this:

MOLLY: So what was happening the other night?

BEEF: Oh uh you mean did I do something in my sleep such as a crass thing

M: No, the other night when you left without saying anything.

B: ...

M: Sunday, when you left all night without saying anything. Were you okay?

B: [looks over fence, then into tree] This tree ought to have more lemons at this point

M: Beef, come on. I was worried about you.

B: You ain't got to worry about me not at all

M: Come on, Beef. You can't do that to people.

B: [suddenly impatient] alright alright alright enough already

M: What?

B: What what what enough already, jesus

M: I was just worried about you, that's all.

B: Well hell and hooray look at me I worry people

That's about where it ended, kind of uncomfortably. He got up a few seconds later and watered some basil plants that had wilted pretty bad in the sun, then we went inside to watch Blowout, that reality show about the Beverly Hills hair salon. Things are still tense, I can tell we're both brooding over this now-unmentionable issue. He knows it's still on my mind, he's not stupid.

Uh, bye, Roast Beef?

2004-07-11T23:07:00.000-07:00

I don't know what was going on in his head, but Beef just stalked out of the room without any explanation and a few seconds later I heard the front door slam. Naturally Gramma K let out an instinctual nag and wheeled around in her room a bit (she doesn't *need* the wheelchair but she usually uses it around the house, I think mainly to make Beef feel bad). I think he's not used to having anyone around to talk to when he gets worked up. I'm going to try to talk to him about this when he comes back, but for now it looks like he has a system for making time for himself.

Wow too much barbecue

2004-07-10T02:10:00.000-07:00

Roast Beef stayed up late watching FoodTV last night and decided he was going to slow-cook meats all day over his barbecue. This gave him tons of time to work on his sauce, and he made the best sauce I have ever tasted in my life. Plus since he was barbecuing Gramma K stayed in her room the whole time with terrycloth bath towels push-pinned over the windows to keep out the carcinogens. Extra-secret double bonus.

Then we went over to Ray's for dinner and drinks and Ray was grilling too. He had gotten this really nice shi-shi (sp?) mail order meat which was way better than the stuff Beef had bought, and Beef felt like he had to keep making observations about his ribs versus Ray's ribs. It got kind of annoying so I went and talked to Téodor for a while. He's really interesting, and we hung out for a long time talking about music and stuff. Then Beef finally wandered over after like an hour, pretty drunk, and I tucked us in on the fold-out couch in the pool house. I was pretty impressed that Ray had a full set of nice, clean, matching linens in his pool house, but then again I don't know too many people that rich. Maybe that's normal.

HYMEN ON BOARD

2004-07-09T01:10:00.000-07:00

I signed up at CafePress.com tonight, that place that prints on clothing on demand, and had a pair of panties made which say HYMEN ON BOARD on the front. I can't wait to spring them on Beef. Maybe I should get a pair of boxers made for him that say MY TEETH AREN'T THE ONLY THING I GRIND IN BED.

Hymen!

2004-07-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

Roast Beef is such a goof. Today he said the word "hymen" when he was complaining about Jason Alexander ("...that dude has such a hymen") and then he immediately got all uncomfortable because he had said that word in front of a woman. Like I don't know that I have a hymen and you don't, Roast Beef? It's not like I get uncomfortable around you when I call someone a peckerhead, even though I know the deep dark secret about your anatomy. Hymen away, folks. I know about it, it's cool. It's the coolest.

Everybody do the Morrissey Dance!

2004-07-06T18:07:00.000-07:00

I would write more here, but I'm doing The Morrissey Dance.

Meta-hair Day

2004-07-06T01:57:00.000-07:00

There is this great photo of Angelina Jolie in this month's WIRED. She doesn't really have hair like mine but the stylist worked it so that it mimicked the way my hair (super thick, wavy, unruly) works when it's cut short, and I cut the photo out so that I could take it to my new stylist (when I find one down here, that is). My hair is really a handful and I always have a hard time finding a good stylist for it. Those of you who have a good stylist know what I mean: there's nothing worse than bouncing around between stylists who just don't have a clue what you're after or how to work with your particular type of hair. Also important though is to know what your hair will and won't do before you go in for your appointment, and also to let them know how much time you're willing to spend on maintenance each day.

Beef is back! He was out borrowing the first season of Curb Your Enthusiasm from Ray, and we're excited to get watching. I made us blueberry smoothies (I brought the blender into Beef's room so I wouldn't have to talk to Gramma K) and picked up some of those nice thick Santocho chips and fresh salsa.

Roast Beef is barbecuing!

2004-07-04T17:07:00.000-07:00

Which is great because Gramma K (a) doesn't like to go outside, and (b) won't eat barbecued food because in her eyes it is highly carcinogenic. Although she did go outside for a bit today, to go to church at her friend's house (I don't know if you'd call it a friend, because I don't think she can have friends, and I don't know if you'd exactly call it church, because it's someone's house, but those are the words she uses). I guess they just sit around and complain about their joints and read a bit of Bible. Anyhow, earlier today while she was out we fooled around with the new machine Beef built for me - it's awesome. He tricked out the chipset drivers and fine-tuned FreeBSD so this thing basically flies. Listen to me, all saying "basically" - I'm starting to talk like him!

ROAST BEEF: So uh basically we gonna have us some bbq today I mean uh basically this evening
ME: Cool, basically.

He's making hot dogs ("my speciality" he says) so we minced some onions and got some peppers and tomatoes so we could make them just like Chicago dogs. He's really big on hot dogs being thematic. Last time he cooked them they were "sadness dogs" because he had gotten over his Yahoo! Mail quota and lost an eBay bid. Sadness dogs are just plain hot dogs with two eye dots and a frown, made out of mustard, at one of the ends. He drew a ketchup tie on his because he had been wearing his tie at the time. He's so cute. Ok, he just called me that they're ready - I'm gonna jump out the window rather than go through the house.

I am so mad at Gramma K

2004-07-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

So like it's not bad enough that Gramma K is completely batty and speaks to the world through some sort of nag filter, but now she's decided that she doesn't like me. This is totally unfair, as I've gone out of my way to be nice to her and not make a mess or noise around the trailer or anything. I've even eaten her horrible cooking on more than one occasion, mostly as a way of being nice to Beef because he always manages to choke the stuff down without making a show. God that woman NEVER remembers to salt the bread she bakes and we're sitting there dipping flour-based packing material into watery pot roast gravy (which she cooks until it's mush btw) while she wanders in and out of our universe speaking on subjects like donating money to her church (even though she's always broke) and how she received some pamphlets in the mail from a man who discovered how you can make your own electricity at home, using water, and never have to pay for it again. Jesus H. Christ I don't know how Beef puts up with it. When she told us about the water thing I just wanted to stick my fork into my forehead but Beef just politely said, "Oh, I don't know, Gramma! It sounds too good to be true!" It's like he's learned how to jog politely around the perimeter of her incompetence in a way that doesn't rile her yet doesn't imply that he agrees with her, either. This place is so dysfunctional.

Anyhow like I was saying she's taken a disliking to me, which is ridiculous because I've been watering all the croaking plants on the front porch and dusting and even sorting all of her TV Guides by chronology. Why do you keep a TV Guide for more than a week? I even help with the dishes. Yet this morning when Beef was leaving to get a USB/PS2 adapter for the new computer he's building me (what a sweetheart!) I heard her ask him when his "friend" was going to go back home because she doesn't like when friends stay over. Apparently it costs too much money and "wears down the fixtures." Who do you think pays the rent on this stinky box, you nasty old woman? If it wasn't for Beef she'd be lying on her side under some abandoned bridge.

Alright, steam steam steam. I'd better quit before I go completely bucknuts.

Thank god gramma K is finally in the shower

2004-07-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'm so glad she got up early today, because I have plans to go hiking up in Woodside. There are a lot of old abandoned estates up there and you can find old stone chimneys/hearths just standing out in the middle of fields that haven't been walked in for ten years. I'm bringing a lunch and Beef's digital camera so I can maybe make a little photojournal.

Okay, there go the rings on the ADA handles. I'd better clear out while she's focused on not falling down.

Bill Cosby is Set Aflame!

2004-07-02T04:49:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid we had a lot of Bill Cosby's old comedy albums around, and I always used to play them. Why Is There Air, Right!, Wonderfulness, Himself, Revenge, I Started Out As A Child, etc. This is still great material, and now The Cos seems to have embarked on a totally new branch of his career, where he yells at young black people who are in the position he once was - which I gather is mainly working class and underpriveleged. It's fascinating to watch this prominent older black man rail against young blacks; it seems like he's just bulletproof and can say whatever he wants, without any pretense of loyalty to race. It's nice to see an individual speak out about what's burning him even though he will face great odds for doing so.

Roast Beef is so silly

2004-07-02T01:42:00.000-07:00

I was lolling around in bed late today, kind of lazy, but mainly I was waiting for Gramma K to get into her bathroom routine so I could sneak out of the house without talking to her. I know she helped raise Beef and everything but she's pretty difficult to deal with. It's like she lives in a wholly separate world of concerns from everybody else, where it's always important to nag whoever is in front of you about the most mundane and unnecessary things you can think of. Hard to explain. Yesterday I was hanging out in the room while Beef went out to get us some chips and Tostitos cheese dip and diet Dr. Pepper, and I heard her warning him against walking too close to the creek because "if there are earthquakes the creeks are the first places to get pushed in."

Anyhow after I heard the shower start up and her rings clinking against the handicap-bars I snuck out of the house and went for a nice walk down to the Underground. The veggie sandwich at Quizno's is nice because they actually use sliced mushrooms and olives and when that bakes it gets nice and fragrant. Not the greatest food in the world but for three dollars it's hot and flavorful and not completely fatty. Much better than the Subway veggie thing. Oh, I'm not a total vegetarian, btw. I just knew that Beef was planning on barbecuing hamburgers for dinner so I went light for lunch. He is very proud of his particular hamburger recipe (it involves lots of dried spices, he says). Anyhow, talk to you later.