Tag Archives: life

Ham. Also: I Moved.

Hey, so I live in Philadelphia now! Like, the one in Pennsylvania. Met who is almost undoubtedly the greatest guy in the world, but he lives ten hours away in the frozen tundra. So I quit my job, left my beloved little condo, grabbed my cat and my video games, and moved in with him like the sane and responsible adult that I am.

In freaking Philadelphia. I know! Weird.

So, here’s what’s been going on with me since:

I tried to sign up for a pottery class at the local arts council (which is actually really neat), but there were problems on the website and now the class is full, so . . .fuck those guys. I would have made the best, most lovingly-handcrafted red clay dongs you have ever seen, Arts Council. They would have been magnificent and veiny. You have only yourselves to blame!

Read this, though. I keep coming back to it every few days and laughing my head off. Things just go wacko with the machines in space, you guys. It makes a lot of sense.

I’m still bitter about not getting the tummy tuck in May because of my stupid kidney stone. Like, I lost all this goddamn weight, I should get to look hot naked, you know? So bitter. Bitter and entitled. I guess Syrians probably aren’t worrying about what they look like naked.

I’ve discovered a new love: espresso. I used to hate coffee, because I would legitimately get mad that it did not taste like it smelled. It turns out it never tasted like it smelled because of all the dang water in it! If you just make straight-up bean juice, then it tastes like it smells.

I made country ham and red-eye gravy (and biscuits, obviously) for my boyfriend, because he’d never had it. I was so surprised to find out that’s not a thing up here! Yeah, it’s called “country ham,” but I thought it was just a moniker, not an actual regional indicator. I had to order it because it’s not sold anywhere up here. I was quite pleased with how well it turned out, and it was the most southern I’ve ever felt in my entire life, other than the time I fashioned my own fiddle from a warshboard and three coonskin hats.

Anyway, since most of you are from outside Appalachia, I figure I’ll go ahead and explain country ham and red-eye gravy, too. Country ham is like. . .really, really thick prosciutto, maybe? That’s the best way I came up with to describe it when I was trying to tell boyfriend about it. It’s ham, but it’s cured and salted. You fry it with a little bit of coffee and a very tiny bit of brown sugar to cut the salt. Most people use a lot more brown sugar, or just skip both the brown sugar and coffee and pour a can of coke in there. That shit is way too sweet for me and I think people are insane. Most people think I’m insane for not liking sugar in my damn entrees, but sugar belongs in DESSERT and basically everyone else is wrong and I am right.

So after the ham cooks, you pour MORE coffee in the skillet and some butter to make red-eye gravy with the grease from the ham. It’s better than it sounds. I promise. I PROMISE. Unless you are a vegetarian, which some of my readers are, and you guys are probably retching right now and I am very sorry and I love you, but I also love red-eye gravy. Real red-eye gravy is just the drippings from the bacon and coffee, but butter makes it much smoother. It is evolved red-eye gravy. You can also put cream in there and turn it into a pretty bitchin’ smoky pasta sauce.

Yes, you will die if you eat like this on a regular basis.

I was most pleased with the biscuits. I’ve never had biscuits turn out right because I am many things: a gamer, an artist, a cubicle jockey, a hottie, a crazy person, but I am hardly a baker. I’ve been baking a whole bunch of shit up here though. Shortbread cookies, mostly. And now biscuits. I don’t really like biscuits, but I figured if I was going to make country ham for my yankee boyfriend, that he should have the whole experience. And he did. And I think he was bemused and a bit frightened by the whole thing. I also don’t think country ham was his thing, which is okay because it’s not really my thing either, but I really like red-eye gravy and there’s not much else you can eat with it besides country ham. The country ham is mostly a vehicle for the red-eye gravy.


So, yeah. Ham. That’s what’s going on with me lately.

Living In the World

A group of friends and I get together sometimes to play games – board games, Dungeons and Dragons (hey don’t you judge me, I am a level 7 6-foot-tall barbarian warrior woman thank-you-very-much), just whatever.

This weekend we played Cards Against Humanity and while we are all hilarious and terrible people, this was by far the best play of the night:


I’ve been doing quite a bit of socializing lately, which is rare for me because I’m kind of a misanthrope. I mean, I guess I’m not really, I just say that – but I enjoy my alone time, okay? My idea of an exciting Friday night is playing Assassin’s Creed multiplayer for three hours straight or putting silly hats on my cat.

427307_3285498624975_389232384_nAnd yet, here I am, living in the world, as a mentor once put it. Putting myself out there. Making myself go to social functions instead of staying home, because ultimately I know I’ll have fun. I think part of my preference for solitude has to do with the fact that for a long time, I felt like I had to make everybody like me, and I was so self-conscious about being weird. I would be so nervous every time I had to hang out with people besides the small group I already knew that I’d just freeze up. Now I’m not too concerned with either of those things. If someone doesn’t like me, someone doesn’t like me – sometimes, people just aren’t going to be into you (no matter how fabulous you are.) It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, it doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. There are endless kinds of personalities out there and endless ways they’re going to come into conflict.

And, well. If someone thinks I’m weird, then they’re probably boring anyway.

Tangentially related, I started up a profile on OKCupid, just because every guy I know is gay or married. Spent a lot of time perfecting the profile and put up a picture where I looked ravishing and sophisticated instead of frizzy-haired and drunk. Logged back in a week later, had thirty messages, and promptly panicked and deleted my profile without even reading any of them. So obviously, I’ve still got some practicing to do on the socializing front, but I’m getting there, right?

Sweet dreams are most definitely not made of these.

I have not been getting enough sleep lately, even for me, and I didn’t manage to get to bed until 5 am this morning (again). I am naturally inclined toward having weird dreams, and when I don’t get sleep they end up being batshit insane. The first one I had was some sort of Disney World ride through this really awesome 80s space station. In the dream, this space station was one of my favorite rides growing up, and missed it terribly since it had closed. So my ‘cousin’ (I do not know anyone resembling this person) worked there and was able to open the ride back up for me. But I’d spent so long in there that I was afraid I was locked in and BECAUSE of that, I was certain she had died. Dream logic, right? I guess the thing is there was just such a menacing overtone to it, made all the more so because it’s juxtaposed against the innocence of revisiting happy childhood memories.

Then I woke up because my sleeping cat had juxtaposed his ass against my face.

After I swatted him away and went back to sleep I dreamed that I was dying of tuberculosis (I guess because my giant cat was smothering me with his butt) and all of my family had either died in an accident on a ride through an 80s space station in Disney World (What? Whoa! Cue the ominous music!) or had abandoned me (those jerks), but a guy friend stayed with me to take care of me in my last days AND I TOTALLY DIED IN THE MIDDLE OF GASPING AND COUGHING UP BLOOD AND WRITING THAT DUDE A LETTER ABOUT HOW MUCH HE MEANT TO ME! You can die in dreams! Eat it, Hollywood! And then the dream took a bizarre, fourth-wall breaking turn and I (not dream me who was younger and a little different looking – real, typing-this-right-now me) was hovering above my corpse, and I (Real Me) was like “whoa, I just died! I better wake up before he gets me!” and so I did.

I don’t know who “he” is but I was pretty terrified in the dream at the prospect of him catching me, so that is some Japanese horror film bullshit right there.

The parking lot at work was surprisingly empty and Silent Hillesque when I got here this morning. I could be in purgatory, I suppose. Blogging, even from the afterlife. That’s me.

Incidentally, now my neighbor’s kindly boyfriend thinks I’m a lunatic because he came across me this morning as I was getting toilet paper off the bottom of my shoe and muttering “whoaaa, glitch in the matrix, glitch in the matrix,” but joke’s on him because I wasn’t saying that because of the toilet paper, I was saying it because I wanted to remember to put it in this post but now I don’t even remember why, gosh.