The sun beat down in that damp, miserable way that makes everything stick to everything, slackened only by an occasional breeze slightly less warm than the summer day and everywhere people could be seen fanning away the wet heat. The sky was beautiful with high scattered clouds dropping shadows over the weather-weary lounging in the grass, a brief reprieve from the brutal light.
All in all, it should have been a miserable day. And yet, it was honestly one of the nicest I've had in a long time.
Tomorrow will hurt like hell.
Wow. I was thinking about this a couple of weeks ago and could not for the life of me find it. When I was 16 and used to work at a crappy little fast food restaurant (often until 2am) and my brother was home from the Army I would come home at night, brain-dead and wake him up. I would stand in the dark and recite this soliloquy to him, improving where necessary to see how long it took him to lose it and wake someone else up. It was usually about 20 seconds. And yeah, that's like, Keanu.
Incidentally, at the time I really did live in a town with two banks and one pancake house. I hit both banks with my mom's car. Not at the same time.
I think it's always been pretty clear to me (and everyone else) that I have no concept of time. Not that I can't tell time, or even give you a pretty good estimate of what time it is just by thinking about it...but time in general, linear time eludes me. I understand it mathematically but as a general idea it's just a concept outside my scope of reality. Time for me is circular. There's a long explanation for that, but it has nothing to do with this so it can wait.
The reason I thought about this is that tonight I realized that in a couple of months I will have lived here for three years. That means that right now this is the longest I have ever lived in one single place in my entire life. I've been in the same apartment for 2 years 9 months, three months longer than any other place I've lived since the day I was born. For some reason that just, I don't know. Something. I guess I've stayed for her.
I told my boss the other day that I was thinking about taking a vacation back home to California. She panicked, worrying that I might never come back. I joked that I could do my job from Zimbabwe and no one would know the difference.
I don't think she found that very funny.
Sigh.
I should have been born to Gypsies. Unfunny Gypsies.
And I'm pretty sure it's only Wednesday. Or Thursday? I'm honestly not sure. Sigh.
I don't really know what to write these days, or if I even should be writing. I feel like whatever I do it just has some undesired affect I can't foresee and I end up hurt or angry or just lost. So I don't know. I just sit here.
But the fact is undeniable: I miss her tremendously.
It's strange. I was talking with someone the other day about the memory of pain, like the way a woman in labor feels after the baby is there, or the only corrollary I have, renal colic (when your whole body spasms against kidney stones). It's all this phenomenal pain that at the time you think is certainly going to kill you, or at least you reach a point where you want it to. It's unbearable. And then all the sudden it's gone and all you can do is remember that you hurt so much and that you wanted to die but for the life of you, it doesn't seem real.
Oddly, the pain of losing your best friend isn't like that. It's forever, a hollow place that creeps up on you when you're trying to be normal, whatever that is. The anger, though, is like that pain. How strange is that? I can remember all the times I got angry and how angry I was but the force of it always seems to fade away into a memory of a memory. I remember why I'm supposed to be, but all I am is terribly sad and empty.
The weekend was just long. I managed not to wallow though I had my crappy moments and even got out to do a few things. I knew she would be out photographing a wedding, and despite the fact that I'm fairly certain nothing went as planned in that one she still had a good time and got some wonderful shots. She posted a couple publically that I saw. They were beautiful. I'm sure the others are as well but it sucks not being able to see. Monday night I went to the movies and saw Indiana Jones. It was awful, despite how much I wanted to like it.
Work has been busy and I'm just not into it. They're pushing me to project management and if it's offered in earnest I'll take it because it's the right career move to make. I don't know if it's what I want or not what I want - most days I feel like I'm not Rich, I just play him on TV. So I try to do what's best for him. I feel like I know very little about me these days.
"Should I just go?" he asks, a question he thought would never cross his lips, never make a sound in the real world.
She hesitates, that sick feeling in her chest swelling as the tightness around her heart clenches.
"I wish I had an answer or solution other than this, but I don't. I just don't." The words fall out like a chain, almost connected by tiny sad links as a single hot tear streams down her face. "So, yeah...I guess you should just go."
Show us your favorite painting.
A lot of people don't find anything very special in this, and I think the small photo does it a terrible injustice, but I have always loved this. Everything about it seems perfectly in sync with its title, and when I stare at it for a little while I find it easy to lose myself in it that place, lost on that mild sunny morning before the world wakes up.
It's so perfectly still and quiet. Even the long wintery shadows seem mute. I can imagine the subtle noise behind the doors and windows of people starting their late Sunday...breakfast dishes clinking, babies starting to stir, people in their every day lives. But outside it's all still so quiet and perfect.
When I was a child, I was absolutely addicted to TV. I can actually remember missing the season finale of Little House on the Prairie when I was 5 because I was playing with talcum powder in the bath (what a mess that was) and being traumatized because I had missed it. There was no DVR back then, no VCR even, and get this? I walked to school. Yep. With my feet and everything.
I was addicted to a few other shows as a kid growing up in southern California, the land of make believe, pure sunshine and like, the Valley. I actually watched Love Boat, and Fantasy Island (if they let me stay up late on a weekend), Dr. Who, Dallas and the Dukes of Hazzard. I've seen every episode of Gilligan's Island, The Munsters and the Addam's Family, and you would be hard-pressed to get me away from the tube when the A-Team came on. I can still play the theme in my head note for note. That scares me. lol I even watched ChiPs...only twenty years later to become one for a few moments.
At some point though I walked away from it all. Maybe because I just got tired of it, or maybe because I didn't own a TV. That lasted about ten years or so. There are shows out there that people watched, loved and watched end that I have never even heard of. Imagine that.
Now with the exception of a few bright shining 60 minute segments, TV is kind of lame. Countless "reality" shows placing really pretty people in completely unrealistic situations to see how they would react in a real world that would likely never exist, and game shows I can't even begin to get excited about, and I like game shows. Bob Barker and I spent many a 10am summer morning together. And I know what a Whammy is. Last night two of three shows I watch regularly ended for the season and I was pretty impressed. House (which I am addicted to and then some) was brilliant and well done, heart-wrenching and yet still fun. I loved every minute of it. Bones, campy but still entertaining to me was also good, and like House, ended in a way I did not expect. Neither left a real cliffhanger (which I freaking loathe) so good for them for actually writing an ending! Both have left the next season open for anything, and I like that.
The other show I like, CSI left us with a horrible cliffhanger and for that, they can get bent. LOL Of course I'll plan to watch when it starts up again after the ridiculously long, hot southern summer but really, was that necessary? I hate waiting. :-D
On a side note, I'd like to say to the American Idol people: Stop it, You're irritating. And just FYI...the promo where you dramatically come on and say "THERE IS ONLY ONE AMERICAN IDOL!"? Well, no actually. You do this EVERY FREAKING SEASON. So there's like, a bunch of those little bastards. I am totally planning on coming to the Reunion show you'll undoubtedly do and yelling NO!!! There can be only one! in my best Highlander fashion and then breaking out my sword. Now that would be damned good television. :-)
As hokey as it might be, the guys from Cheers were right: there's something to be said for having a place to go where everybody knows your name. :-) Despite my hangover it turned out to be a nice morning, and as I started to feel better I headed out for a shot of caffeine from my favorite little coffee place. I love this place, for lots of reasons and one of them is baristas who'll argue with you for ordering the wrong drink (read, not the one you order every other time you come in) and then make pretty art on your latte anyway. :-)
I have the most random life sometimes. :-)
Margaritas + beer + Irish Car Bombs + additional beer + not being able to sleep it off = HANGOVERS SUCK.
“Soft hands my drug, you taste like home to me…” fell absently, singsong into the air as she padded around the kitchen, bare feet on cool tile in the first days of the newborn spring afternoon. The song echoed melodically through her head as she formulated her plan: make cupcakes from scratch, cover them with creamy chocolate, fill the house with the unbelievably enticing scent, shower, do her hair and makeup, and greet him at the door in nothing but a smile and baked goods. Stay naked for the afternoon. Perfect. It was a good plan. Two hours – he’d be home in two hours.
Go, go, go! The long open button-down shirt floated around her naked waist, a small show to only the luckiest of delivery drivers who happened by as she reached for the measuring cups on the shelf above the stove, or bent low in the refrigerator for the eggs, a cool blast awakening warm skin, if only for a moment. The smooth draft gave her a little chill and she giggled at the realization that she was half-naked, baking with intent to seduce.
“Intent to seduce,” she quipped aloud. “Your honor, my client pleads innocent on the grounds that she was horny. And likes baking. ” Ha! The laugh at her own joke almost startled her and she laughed again. One hour 45 minutes. CRAP!
The light on the oven dimmed with a soft click, letting her know she’d remembered to preheat the oven to 350 degrees, and on the counter next to it the unsalted butter sat soft, resting there since right before lunch. A small smirk crossed her lips at the thought of her smooth preparations. Two large eggs, ¾ cup of sugar, ½ cup Dutch-processed cocoa, 2 ounces bittersweet chocolate ready to go. Dark Chocolate Cupcakes were on their way! Wild sex in the working class? Not far behind.
On the clean white stove a pot of water began to simmer, melting the rich chocolate and butter together into a perfect, sticky mess ready to be blended into the eggs and dry ingredients. She cracked the eggs one-handed like they do on TV and tossed the shells behind her right into the sink without looking. Damn, she was good! A not so soft hum from the mixer filled the white space and reminded of her of other not so soft humming things, bringing a coy, almost dangerous look to her eyes and lips, fading into a playful smile as the eggs, sugar, vanilla and salt blended away into a thick, creamy mixture with the chocolate. “Mysterious chemistry, someone’s cooking in the kitchen” she sang again. Eighty minutes. Perfect.
Somehow, the flour revolted...went rogue. It’s still unclear to her to this day how the flour conspired with a telemarketer named Roger from New Jersey selling pet insurance but she’s certain it did, and the sifter was in on it, too. It’s also unclear to her just how a small tin machine with a couple of blades for aerating flour could possibly cause the white powdery nuclear bomb that went off in the kitchen, covering her from silky head to blood-red pedicured toe in fine white dust but she was fairly certain it had something to do with Roger the telemarketer inspiring the obnoxiously loud phone to ring next to her head as she pulled the handle to sift the flour and the resulting jump that not only blasted the aerating flour skyward but also caused her to knock over the bag of Dutch cocoa with it.
“HELLO?!”
…click...“Hi! My name’s Roger, am I speaking with the lady of the house?”
“Hi Roger. The lady of the house is standing in her panties in the kitchen, her half naked body covered in chocolate and what looks like cocaine. Roger, I’m having an orgy with a Colombian Drug lord and a chocolatier named Jurgen. Do you think maybe you could call back later, like never? Thanks.”
Click.
75 minutes, she could salvage this. Totally. Get the flour in the mixture, get it in the cupcake pan and into the oven and clean up after. No problem. Twenty minutes to bake, (plenty of time to clean up), thirty to clean herself up, another fifteen for make-up, leaving 5 to 10 minutes to spread the icing over them and get herself to the door. Go!
With the oven door closed and warm things on the rise, she began the frosting. It was simple and would take less than 5 minutes. Butter, cocoa powder, powdered sugar, milk, vanilla extract, happiness in a bowl with a whisk.
“Hello beautiful.”
She screamed, turning her whole body in that phenomenal, liquid way only women and cats can, one smooth motion that brought her facing him in the kitchen doorway, while taking the bowl into the air and splattering her in a perfect chocolate frosting spray, like a delicious Jackson Pollack painting on a canvas of her.
“You’re early,” fell absently, almost broken from her lips. Everything was ruined.
“You’re standing naked in the kitchen, covered in what looks like chocolate and heroine,” he smirked.
“I have panties on. And it’s cocai…” she began, a retort unfinished as he crossed the room, one fluid motion from the doorway to her mouth, hands encircling her and pulling her into him, chocolate mess and all. His mouth was warm, firm against hers, firm against her. “I am now remembering your kiss is a dream, elations extreme…” ran silkily through her head as he moved her back against the counter, warm kisses on her neck, her bare shoulder, nibbling, tasting the chocolate frosting, cleaning it from that perfect canvas as they moved.
She swiped behind her, one sweeping motion to knock everything into the sink as he lifted her effortlessly from the ground, the cool granite counter giving her a delicious quiver as he warmed her inside and out, a deep sweetened kiss, one hand on her bare thigh, one behind her neck, lost in her hair.
“I was making cupcakes,” she whispered, a small voice meant only for him.
“I see that.” He smiled playfully and she bit his lip hard enough to make him pull her into him, her legs slipping around him, locking at the ankles behind his back.
Even through his clothes she could tell it had all worked better than she had planned. He was warm and firm against her, smooth expensive wool covering him, thin satin covering her. Neither made a move to change that, instead he let her body slip downward, press against him. The rhythm in her head moved her body in a time only she could hear as he held her, half on the counter, half against him, watching the smooth gyrations she made, swelling beneath the pressure…giving her more to work with. He bit his lip and watched as her eyes closed and that naughty smile slipped over her lips. He loved watching her take pleasure in him, from him. Not too fast, not frenzied, just a perfect smooth rhythm, pressing lightly at the edges, harder as she moved over him, releasing her muscles as she moved away, tightening them again as she moved back. Her mouth opened slightly, letting her quickening breath escape into the rapidly warming room, warming with the scents of her and baked good reaching their finish.
Her bell rang first, her hands slipping around the back of his neck, the strong muscles of her thighs tightening around him in a final deep press, holding him hard against her, pulling his mouth to hers for a deep, penetrating kiss in between ragged gasps for breath. The bell for the oven sounded behind them as he lifted her back up and set her softly on the counter top. Her hands slipped down to the counter, grazing against him playfully in their path, forcing her lower lip in between her teeth once more as he turned away and slipped the oven mitt over his hand like with a flourish, like some knight of old putting on a steel glove to go into battle. She wondered for a moment how many men would cook more if they knew just how damned delicious it was to watch. The thought brought another smile to her soft lips and she leaned back to watch. Taking something out of the oven hardly counted as cooking but she didn’t feel like arguing with herself.
The cupcakes had risen to 12 perfect little mounds of heaven and removing them from the oven filled the room with a heady scent that made him close his eyes and breathe deeply for a moment. He sat them on the cooling rack and closed the heavy door, turning off the oven as he did. Standing there in her kitchen in his suit and tie, covered in flour and putting baked goods on her cooling rack, she didn’t think it was possible to want him more than she did in this moment.
“You should go get in the shower. I’ll clean this up and then get to work on you.”
She was wrong. She could totally want him more.
“One step closer…I am one step closer to heaven…” slipped quietly from her lips as she cat-walked out of the kitchen, feeling his eyes on her curves the whole way.
:-)
The recipes...
Dark Chocolate Cupcakes
Makes 12 cupcakes.
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup Dutch-processed cocoa (1 1/2 ounces)
3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour (3 3/4 ounces)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
2 large eggs
3/4 cup sugar (5 1/4 ounces)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon table salt
1/2 cup sour cream (4 ounces)
1. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position; heat oven to 350 degrees. Line standard-sized muffin pan (cups have 1/2-cup capacity) with baking-cup liners.
2. Combine butter, chocolate, and cocoa in medium heatproof bowl. Set bowl over saucepan containing barely simmering water; heat mixture until butter and chocolate are melted and whisk until smooth and combined. Set aside to cool until just warm to the touch.
3. Whisk flour, baking soda, and baking powder in small bowl to combine.
4. Whisk eggs in second medium bowl to combine; add sugar, vanilla, and salt and whisk until fully incorporated. Add cooled chocolate mixture and whisk until combined. Sift about one-third of flour mixture over chocolate mixture and whisk until combined; whisk in sour cream until combined, then sift remaining flour mixture over and whisk until batter is homogenous and thick.
5. Divide batter evenly among muffin pan cups. Bake until skewer inserted into center of cupcakes comes out clean, 18 to 20 minutes.
6. Cool cupcakes in muffin pan on wire rack until cool enough to handle, about 15 minutes. Carefully lift each cupcake from muffin pan and set on wire rack. Cool to room temperature before icing, about 30 minutes. (To frost: Mound about 2 tablespoons icing on center of each cupcake. Using small icing spatula or butter knife, spread icing to edge of cupcake, leaving slight mound in center.)
Chocolate Butter-cream Frosting
6 tablespoons butter, softened
Cocoa powder, see below
2 2/3 cups powdered sugar
1/3 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Directions:
For light chocolate frosting use 1/3 cup cocoa powder For medium chocolate frosting use 1/2 cup cocoa powder for dark chocolate frosting use 3/4 cup cocoa powder
In mixer bowl cream the butter. Add the cocoa and powdered sugar alternately with milk. Beat to spreading consistency adding more milk if needed. Blend in vanilla.
