Okay! So a couple of days ago I asked you about this little ensembluh. Like the good Citizens of Assholeport that you are, you had opinions! Lots of them. Some of you hated the tights. Some of you liked my legs (which is probably because the tights hide my gills and scales). Anyway, these are the results: YOU’RE ALL BANNED.

J/K, J/K. I meant to say, thanks. And here’s the real results:

34 (35%) of you said, “Yes, PLZ” to the shoes and skirt.

64 (65%) of you said, “Hellz to the noes” to the shoes and skirt.

THANK YOU.

The wager: I showed Companion my new denim skirt, and I was thinking about what shoes to pair them with. As you may guess, there is a Cast of Tens to choose from. Companion immediately seized upon the shoes in the picture, which I don’t know if I’ve even worn since we’ve been together. I bought them in the amazing year 1999, for that New Year’s party where SeaFed’s parents rented a whole museum. Crazy, huh?

Anyway, I find them to be out of style for the time being. Also, in a fit of hotel room boredom, I painted the buckle to match my dress. Which I recommend if a buckle is too brassy or something, but maybe not burgundy. Maybe black instead. I dunno.

I keep them around as emergency backup shoes now. I find that when I have an argument with someone, I am really enjoying taking it to a poll. My reward for this one, on top of being right, is that I don’t have to wear them for a night out with Babydaddy, which was to be my punishment if you all said “Yes PLZ.”

The End.

In Other News: Farms and Crap

Pumpkin love.

Companion just called me from the Seattle Tilth Harvest where he claims to be “pounding stakes.” Dirty. I am going to meet him later, which is nice because the fellows across the street have been hammering and sawing since 7:30. It’s nice to get away.

Yesterday, my friend T. took Strudel and me on her rounds to area farms for her work. I saw another goat dairy, which also had cows, water buffaloes and yaks, including baby ones. The yak babies were bottle fed, and so were very sucky. Strudel was pretty scared, because they were trying to NAM NAM NAM her sandals off. I was wearing a skirt and one got between my legs, and another one started pushing me, while a third trod on my foot, which is pretty painful. I thought they were working together to take me out. Strudel was delighted by the tiny kids, which wanted their faces petted.

Disturbed by the stinky wee pigs.

We also went to Full Circle Farm, where they gave T. a box of produce which was probably not a kickback, but I won’t tell anybody if it was. T. said it was too much for her, so she gave us some. We ended up with lemon cucumbers, which were new to my city mouse ass, and some really nice mini carrots. I put them on salad and in bulgur wheat last night. The Joy said to use celery, but celery is for SUCKAAS, so I find I can sub apples, carrots, or onions in almost every instance, depending on the recipe.

I also made halibut cheeks, which, thanks to this blog, I found a nice way to prepare them. I bought them on impulse because halibut is hella expensive this year. I have heard that Costco snapped up two-thirds of the season’s catch, which kind of fucks over the other retailers, somehow? Anyway, they were delicious, though I probably had too many in the pan.

Finally, Companion brought home a bunch of citrus and booze and made me one of my favorite drinks as a Happy Friday Night thing, a sidecar. It looks kind of nasty here because we have one blue martini glass. Which probably looks cool with a martini in it. I don’t know…this was the glass’s inaugural flight. I took a sip and said like an asshole, “This sidecar is tasty, but not very strong.” I forgot that when you say these words, what happens next is that you get hammered a la bad movie stylee.

DOOM.

Then there was a fight. I won’t say who started it, from which you can infer that I did, and Companion slept on the couch to get away from me. I lolled in bed like an indolent cockface, Thinking About What I Had Done and reading Don’t Try This at Home and fnuggling Taibas Jones. Then this morning the phone rang, stakes were being pounded, and all was forgiven. You couldn’t pay me to live with me. Sometimes Friday nights are crazy like that.