“Meathead.” “Do not call me this.”

My sister and I stayed up tooo late last night talking shit about the apocalypse and some other stuff. And drinking rosé and eating rosemary fried chicken.

I forgot how much she remembered about way back in ye olde days when she was like, six. She gave Strudel an earful of how I was in some kind of Harry Potter situation. I was kind of cringing as she was telling her niece about my parents’ plans to lock up the food, so I would go away like some kind of stray cat, and the other plan to spend all the college money. Among other things, but she didn’t mention those.

It was true though. I can’t imagine how this sounded to Strudel. Probably completely fucking absurd. There’s A LOT the girls don’t know, because why?

It’s a weird thing to think about, the fact that my sister was subjected to watching me be treated very poorly. I know my mother had a lot of “survivor’s guilt” over how brutally my grandma would beat her step siblings. And I think about how my mother put my sister through that. Rinse, repeat.

I don’t hurt children; I have always turned the knife on myself.

“You are VERY lucky,” Morgan told Strudel.

It’s not very hard, I said. Step one: don’t be crazy.

Afterwards I went out to lock up the chickens, late, and there was a disgusting slug orgy happening on my porch. They were LITRILLY

fucking in a slimy pile.

I got out one of my work gloves and threw them all VERY FAR over the fence. PROPER. My porch is the perfect storm of chicken pellet crumb, since the bucket is stored there, and moisture from plant pots. There are jizzy slug trails over the sides of my house, on shoes, on window screens, errrwhere. YUCK.

Speaking of stray cats and chickens, Goethe decided to stomp around in the chicken run tonight.

What are you DOOIN?

Last weekend, after months of saving money and waiting for it to get warm, Strudel and I collabo’d on a lemonade stand. She is saving up for a laptop so she can geek out with her creek out. I bought her a bank in April and glued the buttplug in so she could not embezzle from her LLC. She has been counting down to smashing it.

Don ye now our mom’s onion goggles.


It was successful. I piled the table and such into the Elco and took it to a busy corner in our neighborhood. “You should write on the sign that it’s fresh-squeezed” a guy in a van said. We’re going to do it every weekend until the rains come.

Krumpy was in town and we met at Matt’s, which has to be one of my all-time favorite Seattle restaurants. I hoped she would like it, since she has fancy NY taste. I wore a silk dress and was on the verge of sweating the whole time, but not quite. This is a pretty awesome summer.

The ice cream of the weekend was salted black licorice. I like ouzo and fennel and absinthe but I cannot hang with salted licorice.


It was for Mr. P., who has like only seven taste buds.

Look who got a summer buzzzzzzzz.


8 thoughts on ““Meathead.” “Do not call me this.”

  1. I delurk once again to offer this tidbit of poultry (as opposed to paltry) wisdoms: guinea fowl, yo. They eat slugs. They LIKE eating slugs and seek them out and visibly enjoy them. They also consider ticks to be delicacies of the highest order, and have been known to gargle gleefully when consuming either of these foul (as opposed to fowl) verminforms. Plus they sport charmingly naked dinosaur heads/necks to laugh at. WIN!

    In unrelated news, I think reading your blog makes me write more like myself. Thanks for that. Carry on.

  2. Oh man, when Helena says, “Sessstre” on Orphan Black I lose my mind with glee and then repeat it under my breath for the rest of the night.

    All the best to Strudel in her entrepreneurial activities, although I fear that she may truly take over the world with a laptop.

  3. Hi Yarndroid, and thank you!

    A; Strudel said the other day that she’s going to shoot down drones and loot their Amazon packages. I think she’s going to survive and thrive in our bold new future.

  4. Will you share the recipe for that ice cream? I’m the only licorice-eater in my family, so that might ensure that people leave me some goddamned ice cream around here.

  5. Hi Nee! Here it is on epicurious, the exact recipe: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Salted-Licorice-395689

    Let me say that I did not use Black Red Vines, because they come in a large box. I bought Kookaburra brand from my bulk section in an equivalent amount. Not sure if you know, but Red Vines brand are hollow and Kookaburra are solid. They weren’t melting super well, so I hit them up with my immersion blender to chop them up a bit once they were softening. They did not 100% incorporate with the custard and a fair amount was strained out. I think this may make up for the fact I did not use hollow vines and started with more licorice?

    At any rate, my licorice eater was very pleased with the flavor.

  6. Good god, this means there are multiple folks who’ve choked down the brimstone fewmet that is licorice and thunk “Gee some salt would make this extra good!!!”. I can hang with the salted caramel, salted chocolate, salted mango, hell I even had some salted bacon toffee which was horrifyingly good, but salted licorice sounds like it has all the piquant flavor and homey charm of pickled bicycle tires. But making horrible things for the people we care about is a selfless act of love, so kudos nonetheless.

  7. GRRRRRRRRL, yo, I cannot believe I got a call out on ye blog. EEEEEEE! I am shining bright like a diamond!

    Thank you for taking me and my brother to Matt’s. I was just remembering yesterday the delicious cheese plate you ordered! That place rocks so hard. It was a tad warm, but you looked fabulous.

    More later. Just wanted to have a fan girl moment.

Comments are closed.