New Years resolutions; fuck em. I know, it’s after five pm EST, your resolutions are way fucked, the wet spot dried, the resolution shamed and showered and fucked again. Or, demeaning as it might be, you’re like me and didn’t even make any before you violated them, um, back in 79, when we were but foreshadows cast along our unfortunate parents path, right?
Odd how often sit coms and the like refer to pre-birth as something to do with their fathers balls. Being a carrier of sperm, um, the gender that carries sperm, um, the gender wherein sperm is produced and resides as part of the function of the species … this sentence made a news years resolution to jump off the margin of a page.
Sit coms; fuck em. I don’t think of sperm as the main stuff of the child. I suppose seeing how you need both sperm and ovum that the role of participant is undeniable. Sperm is to fertilization what skin heads are to hate crime; if the odds are worse than a million to one the skin heads stay at home in an old sock where they belong.
One might imply from the above three paragraphs that I made some sort of blogging resolution to — do it, blog that it is. Not so my little doves. One also might see the implication of a variety of mental health issues, much the same as one sees in a mirror. The implication is that I know where my keyboard is, small work you might smirk, you haven’t seen my desk; me either, though I know all that stuff isn’t floating in mid air.
Little sister and her boyfriend were here for a whirlwind few days. Nice.
It’s colder than shit outside my window, immediately outside and for as far the cold as shit sense can reach. In springs, as a youth, once the snow had melted, one would find dog shit on the lawn, white dog shit. In my child-head it seemed natural, shit bleached white by snow, and obviously dog because, um, you’d notice another mammal? Seeing a dog shitting is so very common it passes your notice. Sometimes it’s weird, like the dog looks at you while shitting, but mostly dog and human alike go about their business.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen white dog shit. The snow doesn’t really bleach anything. I assume the phrase colder than shit has something to do with white dog shit. On the hoof most mammal shit is warm. I don’t know about dolphins. It seems unlikely that a phrase as common as “colder than shit” refers to dolphin shit. I’ve seen many things in my days on this planet, if I’ve ever seen dolphin shit I was unawares that it was dolphin shit.
Bad fortune has befallen the GF. As loathe as I am to type about her business I’m even loathier to type about the adjunct business of her others. That and I aim to reverse her fortunes.
I had a lovely Carne Asada luncheon yesterday topped with grilled jalapeno and scallions. I washed it down with Negra Modelo. That was the longest period I spent with sister and bf. It was nice. My daughters complaint of the area was how few good Mexican resturants there were. It was not a loud complaint or the most cause for complaint, but it was there. Yesterday we went to Mexican restaurant she liked.
The BF, by way of small talk, born in small farming community in Kentucky, said his first Mexican restaurant was Taco Bell. Mine too, but I’m from here. My daughter is from Portland where the diviest of thai and Mexican restaurants are exquisite to the taste buds. Also my daughters father cooked a lot of thai and Mexican food. Don’t be surprised, I meant me.
When people ask me where I’m from, an occasion that occurs with less frequency these days and I say Oregon, they ask Whereabouts? Immediately followed by, Portland? If I start off with, I’m from Portland people invariably say, Michigan? Maine? I think every state with a port in the US has a Portland. I like Carne Asada. Given the recent and coming dental work I like anything that needs chewing. I think come spring when the snow melts and the white dog shit blooms, I will have a full head of teeth, half real, the other half removable. I’ll have carne asada for fucking breakfast if I fucking well choose so.
Just to be didactic, carne asada is skirt steak that’s been marinated in hot stuff and grilled to carbon. Most countries with histories of rampant poverty have flavorful dishes designed to disguise the poor cut of meat. American cuisine … well, we’re in trouble when it’s declared we’ve officially hit the skids. Granted, traditional American cuisine like hotdogs and hamburgers (you know, german food) is already made of weird cuts of meat, ketchup and mustard is a poor disguise.
It seems weird to me that an American abroad might go to a McDonalds, international restaurant that it is, because … ewww gross. In large American cities and large British cities, anyone with a palate eats ethnic. You might want to try steak and kidney pie in London, the Londoner would rather have curry. Maybe even Mexican.
Ok, I’m making a resolution to end this dumb ass entry.
Oops, another sentence. Shit. And another …
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