Why Is It ...

… that even though I often check myself, I tend to wreck myself?

… that I don’t have a “train” of thought but instead have seven trains on four tracks that narrowly avoid each other when their paths cross and all the conductors are screaming.

… that when I see the sign that says “Please See Cashier” I get right back into my car and find another gas station?

… when someone asks me what essential oils might best calm down my family, my mind instantly goes to chloroform?

… that when I invite people to my house for a party, they get upset that I really meant, ‘Come over and help me fold clothes’?

… that my boss hates when I bring a sort of ‘We should all quit’ vibe into the office?

… that whenever I see a Facebook ‘memories’ post of mine, I’m always wearing the same shirt … the one I have on right now?

… that there are days when coffee isn't enough, and I wish I could be struck by lightning?

Bobservations

Last week, I told the Tale of Carlos and his utter lack of pop culture in not knowing one single Janet Jackson song. This week, out shopping as  we’re walking through a department store, music is playing, and he says to me:

“Oh this is Michael’s sister, Janet.”

“No, sweetie, this is Whitney Houston.”

At the next stop, he heard the music playing and said:

“Ah, Janet.”

“It’s Rihanna.”

“Beyonce?”

“Rihanna.”

“Is she Michael’s sister?”

I thought it was going to be a long weekend until I saw the smirk on his face and knew he was messing with me.

You gotta be a special kind of stupid to rally behind a man who claims to be rich but makes you foot the bill to run  this country while he pays not one dime.

It’s become increasingly clear that Democrats are sexier than Republicans. I mean, has anyone ever heard anyone say, “Man, that’s a fine piece of elephant?”

The other day I received a notice from Twitter for my post about the spat between Large Marge and Bobo:

“We put a warning message on these Tweets because they might have sensitive content—like nudity, sexual content, violence, gore, or hateful symbols. We know we don’t always get it right. So if you think we flagged your Tweet by mistake, you can appeal the warning by clicking on each Tweet. Keep in mind, this doesn’t guarantee it’ll be removed.”

This is the Tweet:

“I want a cage match in Congress

#LargeMarge And #Bobo Taking Their Infighting Public https://t.co/ypjjHWyAXt”

I challenged the blocking of the Tweet asking if it was the “nudity, sexual content, violence, gore, or hateful symbols” that caused the removal since there wasn’t any.

Sidenote: every single time Junior Tweets one of his homemade videos, I reply with:

“Do another line, and then fuck off, Junior.”

And that has never been flagged. The lesson is: tell Junior to fuck off and you’re golden, suggest two morons in the GOP take their high school mean girl spat to a cage match and that is just too much.

PS Twitter put the Tweet back up.

I was told the office Christmas party was fun, and that I had a really good time, but it all still seems a blur.

Speaking of GOP infighting, Ronna McDaniel, chair of the Republican National Committee, has some explaining to do about money spent last year while she was in charge: more than $500,000 in private jet expenses, $64,000 for clothes; $321,000 in floral arrangements; $400,000 for event tickets, including $30,000 for a private box at a Raiders game; $13,000 for Broadway shows, $9,400 at Madison Square Garden, and $43,000 at Top Golf. In addition, under McDaniel’s, the RNC spent $150,000 on non-essential office expenses, like $25,000 on Commonwealth Joe coffee, $7,000 on cupcakes, $7,000 on candles and diffusers, and $75,000 at Pottery Barn, West Elm, Restoration Hardware, and Crate & Barrel.

Hey Ronna, how does this help the party, or is this just making life richer for you?

I wrote a letter to Santa to see if I had been Naughty or Nice this year, and he wrote back saying I was more Mentally Disturbed. 

But at least it’s not Naughty and he promised he was bringing me a big package.

Believe it or not, but supermodel Tyson Beckford has just turned fifty-two years old. Now, 52 today ain’t your Daddy’s 52, but, c’mon, this is hot, which begs the question: Would You hit It?

Bobservations

No Carlos this week, but I do have one about The Boys …

Last week I told you that Tuxedo is back sleeping with his two Daddies thanks to a step stool that gets him easily from the ground to the bed. And so he began snuggling with us each night, but that change kinda irritated one MaxGoldberg, who has had his two Daddies to himself all night for nearly a year.

One night this week, Max came onto the bed, saw Tuxedo snuggling with Carlos and turned and left; he didn’t come back into the bedroom until very late, or early, in the morning, and was not happy. So what does MaxGoldberg do? Well,  on chilly mornings, Tuxedo would always lay down under the desk in the living room, by a heating vent, to get warm; it was his spot.

Until that day this week when  MaxGoldberg got there first and refused to budge. Tuxedo ate his breakfast, walked into the living room, saw Max in his spot, and walked the other direction. And later that morning, as the sun warmed up the sunroom and all the cats headed out there to nap, Max and Tuxedo each chose a different chair to sleep in, even though they normally nap snuggled in the same chair.

The sibling rivalry is real. And kinda funny.

As a Cat of Color Tuxedo is disgusted by the line of questioning KBJ has had to endure from the Republicans. 

A co-worker complained about the high price of gas and I reminded her that she spends five bucks a day, every day, for a 20-oz fancy coffee, and, oh by the way, no one is bombing her family out of their home.

Here’s a tip for the next dinner party you attend … instead of making the usual small talk, and asking people what they do for a living, look them dead in the eye and ask:

“So, who do you hate here?”

It’s quite the icebreaker.

Note to the Don’t Say Gay crowd … if your kids are old enough to learn about the Virgin Mary finding herself miraculously pregnant with another man’s child while engaged to her decades older carpenter boyfriend, I think they can handle the story of Billy’s two dads.

Oh, and this week these billboards are sprouting up all over Florida.

Say ‘Gay.’

I just read that the Maury show is ending after thirty-one … WTF … years on TV and I have just one question: How will I ever know who’s the father now?

God, she’s just so precious I could strangle the life out of her.

Gwyneth Paltrow, who believes she invents everything because she slaps a GOOP label on it, has, ahem, designed a new shoe that almost everyone was wearing back in the 90s and called it ‘new’:  the Pilgrim show, which are for sale from GOOP for $1,195. Or you can try your local secondhand store and get a pair for three bucks.

I really could strangle her, and try to pop her ego like it was a giant zit.

So, we know  that Mark and Debra Meadows submitted voter registration forms that listed their residence as a mobile home with a rusted metal roof that sold for $105,000 in 2021, even though they had never lived there. And we know this caused North Carolina officials to investigate Meadows for voter fraud.

Now we also know that Debra Meadows cast a ballot in a 2020 primary runoff using an address that was no longer valid for voting.

Quelle surprise … Republicans breaking the law.

Last week a couple in North Carolina dropped their dog off at a rescues center, abandoning the pet because they said he was gay; they found him humping another male dog. Well, this week that dog has a new home, and a very LGBTQ+-friendly one at that.

Steve Nichols and his partner, John, adopted Fezco after hearing the story about him getting abandoned by his former human parents. Nichols says they felt an immediate connection to Fezco, as both he and John have faced discrimination in their own lives.

Now Fezco has two dads who love him.

This is model, athlete and doctor for the NHS, Rodolfo Valentino, who was born in Napoli and moved to the UK seven years ago to work for the NHS. But the question is: Would You Hit It?

Must Have: The Perfect Spot For A Halloween Party

I've never made a secret of the fact that I am not one of those Halloween Queens. It's not a holiday, I particularly enjoy, but, whilst surfing this here web thingy I stumbled upon the perfect place for Halloween Balls.

Balls. Hee hee.

The Castle Mesen, or, as locals call it, Kasteel van Mesen, in Lede, Belgium. Sure, that's quite a hike for a soiree but, judging by the pictures, you may not need that return flight.

The Castle Mesen has quite the history. It was destroyed and rebuilt several times, and the current building dates to around 1628; almost 500 years ago. It was, originally, a major stronghold, though it ceased to be a royal house after 1796.  Since then it has been everything from a gin distillery--Hello Maddie!--to a sugar and potash refinery, tobacco factory and, finally, a boarding school.

Lots of history in those halls, and , judging from its past, not all so rosy.

After the First World War the castle became a school for girls, with tough classes and rigorous discipline exercised in a strict Victorian manner.  The 150 pupils were reportedly allowed one visit per month and could only return home for one month of the year.  The youngest girls were just 5-years-old.

The school was financed by the Belgian aristocracy and days began early, with Mass at 7 in the morning. On top of their academic lessons, the girls received a thorough grounding in society’s highest standards, from impeccable etiquette to managing employees and being able to perform housework expertly. The process took 13 years to complete, with girls of 5-years-olds eventually leaving the school as 18-year-old ambassadors of high society.

Again, Hello Maddie. This could, with a little scrubbing and some fresh paint, become Mistress Maddie's Home For Grande Dames, no?

Once the Ministry of Defence took possession of the castle, which left it to rot for decades while the cost of restoration spiralled to the point that it was considered uneconomical. The powers that be refused to list the castle as a historic monument and so it sits........

Ready for its close-up.

source

I Didn't Get Raptured As Much As I Got Sangria'd...

...which, in my mind, at least, is a much better thing.

Our Second Annual Cinco de Never Again Party was quite the success. The name of the party, Cinco de Never, comes from a few years back, when a group of friends had gathered somewhere and Carlos announced to the group--without my knowledge--that he wanted to have a Cinco de Mayo party and make some traditional Mexican food. Everyone was keen on the idea and then....it never happened. Carlos simply forgot all about it.

Cut to the following year and someone asked me if Carlos was going to come through with his Cinco de Mayo party and I replied, "Make it Cinco de Never cuz it's never gonna happen." And a tradition was born.

The first CdN was last year and quite successful, and this year was more of the same. I loaded up on Tequila and beer and wine and Tequila, while Carlos made Tamales, Pollo con Poblanos and Marinated Flank Steak with Grilled Onions. He also made Coffee Flan and Coconut Flan. I made a Pinto Bean and Corn Salad with Cumin-Lime Vinaigrette, Salmon Ceviche with Peaches and Jalapenos, Shrimp Ceviche with Spanish Olives and Capers, and, together Carlos and I made 75 Chalupas with Chorizo and Queso Fresco.

It was crazy, er, loco.

And then I found a recipe for Sangria, which called for Hibiscus Water, which is a traditional Mexican beverage and something Carlos had as a kid. You take dried Hibiscus flowers and boil them into a kind of tart--think really tart lemonade--beverage. You add sugar and drink. Well, I added sugar, six bottles of Chardonnay, a bottle of Brandy a half bottle of Triple Sec and some orange juice and it was nirvana. It made so much and I worried about having too much, but it was the drink of choice on Saturday.

It was, yes, I'm gonna say it, rapturous. All in all, rapturous.

We had nearly thirty people at Chez Smallville, out of the deck and scattered throughout the house. A great blend of good friends who all know one another, and some new friends who fit right in. It was a Sangria-Tamale-Chalupa kinda day. And it was spectacular.

I had such good intentions of taking pictures of the food and the friends and that rapturous Sangria, but then I got Sangria'd and Tamale'd and Chalupa'd and Ceviche'd and forgot all about it. Maybe next year, at Cinco de Never, Numero Tres?

Light Posting Ahead

Carlos and i will be having our Second Annual Cinco de Never party this Saturday, so posting will be light, and preplanned, for the next couple of days.

We have Chalupas to fill, and Ceviches to make, and Guacamole and Salsa and Green Chile Salsa, to prep. There are Margaritas to make--and my special Bob-a-rita, too--and Sangria to create, and Flan to bake. There are rooms to clean and dishes to set out and flowers to get and music to ready.

Plus, there's that whole Rapture thing set up to ruin the day. I friended God on Facebook, and sent him....her[?]...a private message asking that the Rapture be put off for a while since we had planned this day long before the announcement of the End Times was made. I mean, had I known, I would have had the party last weekend.

Anyhoo, I may not get much of a chance to comment over the next couple of days, but I will play catch up after the weekend.

Happy Cinco de Never, y'all!

It's A New Year!

Carlos and I spent a mellow New Year's Eve.
We've done the parties and the madness and the traffic and the Be On The Look Out For Crazy Drunks Driving, so we stayed home and had a nice meal, and watched a little TV, and then tuned in to see my Husband-In-My-Head, Andy Cooper, and my BFF, Kathy G, in Times Square. I may have driven Carlos a little crazy by constantly gushing over how adorable Andy C is but I couldn't help myself.
At midnight, we popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly and drank to ten years past and more than that coming up.
Then we were in bed by 12:30 AM!
Par-tay!
New Year's Day was the undoing of Christmas. Lights and decorations came down from the outside of the house, and lights, and ornaments and trees came down from the inside of the house. By 11:30 AM there was no longer any sign of Christmas. It's over!
Then we showered and shaved and primped and fussed--and I found a nifty red bandanna to wear a round my head to cover my Shingles scabs--and we went around the corner to Round-The-Way-Gays, Neal and David, for a New Year';s Day party. Lots of local gays and lesbians, mixed in with a few token heterosexuals, mixed in with martinis, mimosas and wine, proved to be just the way to celebrate 2011.
There was the usual abundance of great food, from Ham and Fried Turkey, to Hoppin' John and Collards, Mac'n'Çheese, Deviled Eggs and a Pineapple Casserole, with Brie and Nuts and Sausages in a Blanket to snack on. There was Pumpkin Pie and Truffles, and Coconut Cream Cake and Red velvet Cheesecake and Chocolate Torte.
It was a calorie buster. But it was a lovely day, and a great way to ring in another year, surrounded by good friends, and new friends, and laughter and love, and, well, yes, food.
I am thinking of returning to work this week now that my face is looking more face-like. I have just one stubborn scab left, but it isn't so offensive, and I think I can cover it up with a bandage. I have a few red blotches, but with some ointment and some quiet mneditation, I think they'll disappear soon.
I'm looking forward to 2011, as i think I look forward to very new year. I am always one for the unknown, the surprise, the unexpected, as long as most of those fall into the welcome surprise category. I see lots of changes ahead, and feel that great things will be coming.
And how about you?
How was your New Year's Celebration? Wild? Tame?
What do you expect from 2011?

Cinco de Never.....AGAIN!!!

Well, we had our little soiree over the weekend, the infamous Cinco de Never party that Carlos promised over a year ago, and, well, I think it all went smoothly. During and after.

Before? Not so much.

Carlos and I cooked everything; cleaned everything; rearranged everything.

We began cooking on Thursday, prepping got each dish. I was the panicked one, chopping mounds of onions because onions go in everything. I was the panicked one roasting poblano peppers on the grill. I was the panicked one, checking and double-checking each recipe to make sure we had everything. Carlos was calm.

On Friday, we became Tamale Central--or Carlos became Tamale Central. He crashed around 4PM, asking if he could be finished making Tamales. I wondered if we'd have enough, so I asked how many he had.

Sixty.

I don't know if that's enough. I don't want people raving over the Tamales and then being told they can only have two.

I'll make more.

I follow him into the kitchen and he shows me thirty on the counter, and thirty in the refrigerator and ten on the island. I point to a pot on the stove.

How many in there?

Thirty.

Thirty.Sixty.Ninety.One-hundred. You're done.

He fainted.

But we weren't finished.

Saturday we switched roles. I was on casserole, beans, and appetizer duty...and, my favorite, setting up the bar. I was the calm one, cooking and chopping and assembling and tasting and arranging. Carlos, on Flan Patrol, began to panic. He loaded the blender with spices and condensed milk and, yes, forgot the lid. Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr........spew. Flan juice everywhere!

I became Joan Crawford to his Christina and slapped him, hard, across the face.

Calm down!

Okay, that part was just in my head. But he did relax; and we got the food done, and some last minute shopping done, and were able to shower and relax before our friends showed up to the feast.

And, oy, mi madre....such a feast!

There were Carlos' Especially Marinated Chicken-n-Pineapple Kabobs; Bob's Mom's Salsa, and Guacamole, and Baked Brie; we served 100 Tamales, stuffed with chicken or chorizo; Steak-and-Green-Onion tacos; Refried Black Beans with queso fresco and scallions; two Tortilla Españoles--aka frittatas--one veggie, one with shrimp; Nopales salad--nopales is cactus, de-thorned, peeled, and boiled, then cooled and tossed with onion, tomato, avocado, and a vinaigrette dressing, and Chayote Casserole--a Mexican squash casserole with roasted poblanos, corn, onion, and garlic.

We had food for days, for an army. No one went home hungry.

And there were drinks. Carlos made Jasmine Tea--from dried jasmine flowers, steeped like tea--and, of course, being in South Carolina, Sweet Tea. But then there was beer and wine and vodka and gin and Margaritas and Pomegranate Margaritas and Mango Margartitas and Melon Margaritas...and....and.....

Well, with so much food and drinks and fun and friends, I left the camera on the mantel after taking just three pictures. I was busy playing hostess-with-the-mostess, so camera work was left behind.

But the best part of the day was good friends and good times.

The worst part of the day was good friends saying Let's do this again next year.

Carlos announced that this was Cinco de Never AGAIN!!

Yeah. We'll see about that!

I Just Can't Do It!

Carlos and I are having our First Annual Cinco de Never party on Saturday and, well, there are tamales to make, and nopales to boil, and peppers to roast, and beans to re-fry, and steak to marinate, and skewers to skew, and tequila to drink, so, except for a a few pre-planned posts, I won't be around much until after the weekend.

Play nice.

The Cup

Yesterday was the Carolina Cup, the premiere steeplechase event, held here in Smallville every March.

'The Cup,' as it is called, though we also host the Colonial Cup in November, attracts folks from all over. Horse people. People who look like horses. College kids, the girls in spring dresses and heels, the boys in pastels, bow-ties, khakis and flip-flops.Socialites and big wigs, hicks and hillbillys.

It's a melee out there; people come to see the races; to see the horses; to schmooze; to see and be seen; to drink til they drop. It's a Southern thang, baby.

Carlos and I went the first year we lived in Smallville. And it was fun; we were with a large group of people, tailgating and BBQing and drinking and generally enjoying the day. We were very close to the paddock where they brought the horses out before each race so it was nice to see these gorgeous animals up close. Not so nice was seeing them after the race, when they are dripping with sweat and gasping for air.

Carlos used to ride dressage--a way of riding a horse through a series of standardized movements to show a horse's natural athleticism--when he was a wee lad in Mexico. So he knows horses; and he is not at all fond of steeplechase events or even standard horse racing, because of the strain it puts on these magnificent creatures. They can maim themselves in a fall; they bleed from their lungs because of the length, speed, and jumps they make. All for the enjoyment of men...and women, and drunk college students.

So, we haven't gone in the last couple of years.

But this year, before the races even started, the rains came, and turned the event into a mud circus; people cowering under tents to stay dry, and walking through the mud to get back to their cars and go home. Riders loved the mud because if they fell it was a softer landing; horses hate the mud because it is difficult to gain traction and jump in soggy grass.

Carlos wore a smug grin, knowing that there wouldn't be many races, and not so many horses put through the ringer.

Still, it's a big deal here in Smallvile, and quite a spectacle. The pictures are from our first--and only--Cup.