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Archive for November, 2008

The Feast

K is flying home this afternoon. I can’t wait to see him. I need a big hug.

I’ll be cleaning the house today and starting preparations for the Thanksgiving meal. K’s parents were planning on driving up from Durango so we planned a dinner with just the four of us. Then they decided to stay in Durango. K and I had turned down other dinner invitations so we quickly put together a guest list. Cindi, Judy, Martha, Lori, Patty and Jerry will be joining us for dinner. It should be a great time. Here’s our menu:

Oysters Bienville

Roast Turkey with Black-Truffle Butter and White-Wine Gravy

Sage Stuffing

Yukon Gold Mashed Potatoes

Yams with Bourbon

Green Vegetable Medley

Cranberry Tangerine Conserve

Pumpkin Tart with Anise-Seed Crust

Homemade Chambord Truffles

Pouilly-Fuisse

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I Want To Be A Lesbian

My friends, Martha and Lori, loaned me the first four seasons of The L Word on DVD. I started watching season one Friday night. I’m hooked on this show. All of the women are beautiful, well dressed and have great hair. They have well designed living spaces. They are all employed but seem to spend the bulk of their time meeting at a coffee house. The coffee house is run by a woman named, Marina. She is hotter than hot. All of the women on this show are hot. I find it rather odd that in the eight episodes I have watched I have not seen a woman larger than a size 10. Where are the large women? Where are the bull dykes? Where are the butch women? Where are the not so attractive women? Where are the older women? Wouldn’t it be fun to be a chic lesbian, live in West Hollywood, hang out with your friends all day while your only concern is meeting the woman of your dreams?

It’s time to get back the real world. I’ve got a house to clean. I have to go to the grocery store. I have to prepare for Thanksgiving. I have to look for a job. I have to do cardio. I have laundry to do. I have to wash the car. I’ve got a normal life.

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Jackie

Next week I’ll be assisting my friend, Jackie, with a photo shoot. She’s one of the best construction photographers in the country. An architect has hired her to shoot a new high-rise condo building that he has designed. I’ve been on other shoots with her and we always have a good time. I love observing her creative process. I’m always encouraging her artistic side. It should be a lot of fun.

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A Conversation With My Father

Today is my father’s birthday. It is one of the two days a year that I talk to him. I called to wish him a happy birthday. The conversation turned to my job search and my financial situation. My father offered to give me $10,000.00 to help me get by. I was absolutely shocked. My father was offering money. This was a first. I told my father that I appreciated the offer and reassured him that I did not need any money. I told him I had sufficient savings to get by until I could find another job and that, if needed, we could live very comfortably on K’s salary. He told me he felt relieved that I was financially stable. My father said he had no idea I had a six-figure income.

The monetary offer has left me bewildered. What happened to my father? Has he mellowed in his senior years? Is there a possibility that I may actually have a decent relationship with him for rest of his life? Have I been poisoned by my mother’s version of events since I haven’t been talking to my father? Have I misunderstood him all of my life? Has meeting K made him realize that I am a fully functioning adult in a serious relationship? Did we ever really know each other as mature adults? I have a lot to ponder.

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A Thanksgiving Memory

I think you may be tired of reading about my friends dying and the pending loss of employment. Thanksgiving is just around the corner so I want to share a memory of a meal I’ll never forget.

I was around twelve years old when this incident happened. It was Thanksgiving day and my mother was busy preparing the feast. My mother has always been known for her baking skills but give her a piece of meat and she will cook every ounce of juice out of it. Unfortunately, this story is not about an overcooked turkey. The day before Thanksgiving my mother had made an apple pie and several pumpkin pies for desert. Our house had a small kitchen and counter space was at a premium so my mother had placed the pies on top of the kitchen cabinets for safe keeping. My mother was standing in front of the stove attending to cooking pots. My mother asked my father to get one of pumpkin pies down so that it would be ready for serving after the meal. Instead of getting a chair or a stool to stand on, my father reached up and inched the pie off the top of the cabinets with his fingertips. I was watching from the dinning and had no idea all hell was about to break loose. My father had succeeded in getting the pie off the cabinet and was holding it over his head. He backed up a step and bumped into my mother. My father lost his balance and the pie flew out of his hands and landed on the floor upside down behind him. My mother lost it. She started screaming at my father calling him every name in the book. He yelled back. The ensuing fight was a blur of son of a bitches and goddammits (my parents never said fuck but goddammit was the equivalent for a good catholic family). My brother, my sister and I watched in horror. My mother got so enraged that she pulled a kitchen chair over, climbed up on the chair and proceeded to throw the rest of the pies on the floor while cussing out my father. This was one of the worst fights ever and there were many. I ran for my room to hide followed by my brother and sister. I don’t even remember who cleaned up the mess. Dinner was served a little later. It was a peaceful meal. Conversation was almost nonexistent except for the saying of grace. The only words I uttered were asking for second helpings. I was afraid that another battle would erupt. All of us acted like nothing happened. Needless to say we didn’t have anything for desert that year. Looking back on that day I can now see the humor in the situation. It was like a scene out of a bad movie. But on that day I was terrified.

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Why We’re Angry

I think everyone should read this post on Dogpoet.

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E

My friend, E, lost her battle with pelvic cancer on Saturday. The funeral is at 4 p.m. today. I almost burst into tears in the grocery store when Gigi told me. I’m so sad. Why does life have to be so fucked up at times?

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