There’s nothing sweeter than hearing your 3-year-old niece squeal “Congratulations!” into the phone …
… Well, I guess there is something sweeter — the fact that she said it because I just got a promotion! And the all-staff memo reads like an Academy Award ceremony introduction. Wow.
*cabbage patch dancing around my office*
For lack of an intelligent blog entry (I know, shocker), tonight I want to share the joy that is a pastrami sammich from Primanti’s.
Out-of-towners don’t understand why we call the restaurant “Permanees” — it’s because when you’ve got a hunk o’ meat, smothered with fries, cheese, tomato and cole slaw in your mouth, you can’t talk right!
It’s funny — I was at my favorite little deli on M Street the other weekend, debating which sammich to get (hot pastrami, duh — why do I even read the menu?) when the woman in front of me was ordering the same sammich I wanted.
But … she was horrified at the thought of cole slaw being on it. HORRIFIED! Piss, moan, wah wah waaaahh. GAWD.
Now you know me — I can’t shut my trap to save my life. I mused aloud that she must never have traveled above the Mason-Dixon Line in her life, because I personally thought the sammich was missing something — where were the FRIES?!?!
I guess she was classy or something (or can afford to have someone feed her — I know I’m out of my league in this ‘hood) because she said, “Well, I’d NEVER.”
That’s the thing, people. Unless you put fries on it, it ain’t a salad. And if you don’t put fries and slaw on it, it ain’t a sammich. Anything else is a plain ‘ol sandwich, and who the hell wants anything normal, boring and average?
Today’s horoscope:
It’s a great night for a party — your social energy is all charged up and you can match wits with the smartest hotties in town if you feel like it. Things keep getting better for you.
I have two. One out in BFE that is a New Orleans-themed Halloween party, complete with a psychic. (I seriously need to have my cards read right now. Seriously.) One is local and has a handful of people on the guest list who have recently entered my very small circle of people I would choose to hang with.
Both start at the same time. Bah.
It occurs to me that I RSVP’d to the first party with a plus-one. Which is now a minus-one. Which is fine — no crying blah blah spilled milk etc. etc. Which is why I need a moment with the psychic, to give me a little bit of hope in that department. I also want to know that my grandfather will hang in there for awhile longer till I get to see him and also so that I can have a little more time to catch up financially before having to move my mom to my little one-bedroom down here.
(I’ve come to terms with inheriting Mom. It’s been a theme in my family, to take care of your parents. I just wish I would have had more of a life, given that I ran away to have one. But hell, I’m never home anyway. She can help me with cleaning up cat shit pyramids left in inappropriate places while I’m gone!)
But to make that drive to the first party alone? I hate driving at night and certainly not in unfamiliar territory. But there, I know I’m among old friends and that I don’t have to worry about posting entries/pics to which the “censors” could object. But here, I’m among new friends and taking an opportunity to network.
I’m aspiring to try to hit both soirees, although I gots work to do — another empty-apartment day for the furchildren, although Maddie will take a shit right behind my desk chair without me seeing her — what a lovely surprise that smell is. *barf* (Damn the world for not stopping and waiting for me to catch up.) We’ll see if I even feel like going out at all, ’cause I gots some fine California chocolates and a lovely bottle of Port that are calling to me already!
That fabulous Red Fire Bar I waxed so poetically about? Grapevine tells the story that folks who sampled that particular chocolate would KILL to have another taste of it.
I’d bought two bars — one for myself and another for someone else in the office. I understand those dark-chocolate delights can command a pretty high premium ’round these parts. 😉
Oh, and did I mention that I also bought a dark-chocolate bar with cayenne pepper as well? :9
I’ll write off the one given away, but I wouldn’t be opposed to selling my delicious chocolate bars for an interesting deal. …
It’s sad that I saw so little of San Francisco outside of the hotel, although a nice hotel it was indeed — my dream is to own a Marriott bed.
In any event, although we did eat at some magnificent restaurants with outstanding vino (and I somehow got trapped into talking about my past life as a sex-toy salesgirl), our main view of the city was from the inside of a cab. One colleague bought postcards upon which she planned to write, “I didn’t see this, nor do I even know where it is.”
Don’t forget the caveat that we will all be mailing them from D.C.! 😉
I did try to get my Tarot cards read, but I couldn’t find the entrance to the place but ended up inquiring about said Tarot business inside a nice crappy porn store.
A vacation highlight: Flipping through a copy of “Barely Legal” and getting accused by the store merchant of trying to get away without paying for it. Ha! I’ll leave the rest of the story unfinished, but it involved trying to hail a cab with boobs. (Not mine!)
What a strange and fun weekend. Moments of happy were brief, but lasting. After buying garlic condoms at The Stinking Rose (it’s a garlic restaurant that I want to try next time around — it came highly recommended) and reading amazing works by Bell Hooks at the City Lights bookstore, I was hooked on the charm of the city and just the feeling of being somewhere important. (And this is coming from a D.C. denzien!)
Other vacation highlights? There were quite a few, when I think about it. I’m just too tired to type them right now. 😉 I need to have them in my head for a little while longer before the baggage I’d dropped at the East Coast curb gets shipped back to my conscience.
As far as tangible takeaways from the city, I didn’t end up with any San Fran souvenirs outside of some divine chocolate I’d sampled at Bittersweet Cafe, particularly the Red Fire Bar with ancho and chipotle peppers, cinnamon and dark chocolate. (Or. Gaz. Mmmmm.)
The girl who sold me my stuff said that they’re adding a shopping cart to the Web site and it’s going to be launched shortly. Woo!
But finding a souvenir that lasts or has the city name on it? Not so much. But I had a layover in Pittsburgh and saw a cute, sparkly pink Steelers T-shirt, so I picked that up. Because a girl cannot have enough Steelers wear during football season, can she now?!?!
Oh, what the hell — I have to do it. What girl DOESN’T want a lil designer dark chocolate in her?
I feel better now. Carry on. …
Seen at the lovely Shawn’s over at Everything and Nothing, CocoaBella allows you to handpick a sumptuous assortment of chocolates ranging from Rosemary Caramel to Bananas Foster to Russian Tea (with cloves).
Of particular interest to me: Prairie Thyme Habanero Sauce. With a jar full of that, I suspect that when I utter my usual command of “Eat me,” I wouldn’t get any protest!
In any event, I probably won’t have time to get there when I go to the left coast later this month, but I do understand a field trip to Bittersweet Cafe is on the itinerary. Believe me, it’s not the worst sacrifice/setback I’ve had to encounter in regard to this trip!
Warning: Repressed memories ahead. Skip to a happier blog. I don’t even know why I’m capturing this shit.
Little pisses me off more than a weekend full of shitty weather. What’s the point of sunshine and light when you’re hidden away all week? It seems cruel on Mother Nature’s part to make it 80 degrees and gorgeous on a Tuesday but then make it 50 degrees and rainy on a Saturday, especially when there are fall street festivals of which to partake.
That said, we did the Taste of Bethesda festival Saturday. It was drizzly and cruddy, weatherwise, but for the opportunity to sample food from Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, McCormick & Schmick’s and a whole slew of other local eateries, bakeries and coffeehouses, well, what’s a lil rain? Rain be damned — that ain’t enough to keep a fat girl away from food! 😉
Ruth’s had little steak sandwiches, with a medium-rare slice of meat on a tiny onion bun with a dollop of horseradish sauce. It was almost too pretty to eat. Almost, I said. 😉 M&S had a crabcake sandwich, but the bread wasn’t anything to brag about. And as we got there late and they wanted to close up, they were practically giving them away.
I was bummed to miss out on Morton’s and Jaleo, but really, I’ll live. The key to these festivals is scoping out the high-end restaurants first and then figuring out what else you want. (Like a cannoli from Cafe Europa. Yum.)
It was so freaking cold, I gladly waited in line for a half-hour to get a cuppa java from Quartermaine Coffee Roasters. It was quite tasty, and I’d never heard of them before but apparently the original founders of Starbucks established Q’s in Rockville in 1991.
If I’ve lost any weight recently, the Taste o’ Bethesda reversed it. It also inspired me to cook today. (*gasp*) I’d forgotten how much I like to cook — I tend to destroy the kitchen because I’m doing four things at once.
Speaking of the kitchen I’ve now cooked in exactly twice since I’ve moved, I bought a cute chandelier for it at IKEA today. I figure I should do red and black accents, as my mom sort of started collecting Southwestern shit for it. And as I’ve not even unpacked the rest of the house (and don’t plan to, quite honestly — I have a bad feeling about getting too comfortable here), it’s nice to have one room that might have a theme other than chaos. Although, I did forget that the kitchen is the only room with adequate lighting and I didn’t need the black wrought-iron thingn with red glass tealight holders after all!
In any event, ramble ramble ramble. Steelers at San Diego tonight. Kick some ass, Stillers!!! Seven-to-zip in the first quarter, baybee!
Busy, busy weekend. I’ve neglected a lot of housework because on the weekends? I’m out. I don’t go anywhere special — mostly on unplanned field trips. I don’t care if it’s pouring (and for awhile, it was) — I just need to be in a thousand different places, preferably with sunlight. As long as I’m a moving target, I’m happy.
Folks who tag along with me either think I’m a mastermind at finding shit to do on a whim and others who are more planful want me to just pick a direction and go with it.
Anyway, because I spend way too much time cooped up with my whereabouts always accounted for (*headslam*), this weekend’s theme was to find something fall-ish to do. Back in Pittsburgh, I knew where all the farms were and could drive you blindfolded to a pumpkin-picking hayride odyssey. (I particularly loved Triple B for activities but Trax Farms for its amazing country store. God, I miss it.)
So I found the poor man’s Trax, Butler’s Orchard. I’ve been there before and was wholly disappointed in it, but I’d forgotten how much of a waste of time it was until I started driving there early yesterday morning and it was RAINING like a mofo. As it was a sucktacular day I didn’t get any fall photos, as I’d intended. But then again, all the foliage is dry and crackling and not even turning pretty colors, so I definitely don’t want to remember this crappy excuse for my favorite season.
Anyway, the store at the orchard? Sucks. I spent way too much money on their baked goods and pumpkin-type cake mixes and apple cider and shit like that, but I wanted decorations and that dream burst pretty quickly. There were no fewer than two dozen kids in the tiny shop, ripping around and knocking shit over. We were not awake enough to have chitlins underfoot and certainly not amused when they’d pick up apples and throw them across the store.
Not to mention, but this one family had four strollers and parked themselves in front of an area we wanted to peruse. And let me put it this way, I’m pushy. I’ll stand back and smile and sort of send death glares if everyone ignores me. But then I’ll just squeeze my way in and push you out of my way if I’m so inclined. These bitches weren’t moving. And even when I did get to the display, it was fug anyway.
What I failed to realize was that B.O. is right behind Wal-Mart. Where, of course, I found a punkin wonderland full of delightfully hokey crap that made my morning. Of course, I also got “scary” to accompany “cute” just with the odd variety of redneck shoppers there. My one friend who just left the area always told me to never, ever venture beyond exit 10 on I-270 (Wal-Mart’s around exit 16) or else you’ll feel like you’ve entered “Deliverance.” He’s right. *shudder* I usually try to stay below exit 4, and will continue to do so in the future.
However, we did drop down to exit 6 briefly to attend to the Rockville Music Festival yesterday. I mean, Blue Oyster Cult was the headliner and it was also a chili cook-off. (See “fall” theme — hot, spicy food. Mmm.) I really only tried the chili from Hard Times Cafe (very spicy and tasty) before heading to California Tortilla for takeout.
Now, I’ve rambled about all this to come to the conclusion, which is that I’ve climbed onto a kick where I want to bake spiced pumpkin muffins and make a pot of chili. Which, I’ll tell you exactly how that’s going to turn out. I bought canned pumpkin and evaporated milk and chili-starter stuff, and next year at this time, I’ll be going into the pantry with the same shit and realize, oh, yeah I’d had the same idea last year (and the year before that …).
Talk about the poison pen:
These trinkets were available to attendees of my company’s fall picnic today. There are days when I want to light myself on fire instead of coming in for the day (early morning, regular business hours, evening, night, weekend — whichever), but then there are days like today when I’m fed and too stuffed to think. As you can tell, I’m doing everything within my power from getting started on real work. …
