Fromage...
First off. Damn the evil elf that made me start writing again because I just can't stop it now... and it is truly taking its toll. The rain ended early this morning and it was so strange to awaken in somebody else's bed. (No, nothing exciting). Alison met me at the café I have been haunting, three days in a row was enough, but I was actually reading and thinking on Darío project that is killing me because while there are individual poems I like, there is nothing, I fear, to be said that hasn't already been said far more intelligently or knowledgeably, and I just don't feel like reading 1001 essays on the man... ughh and 10 more weeks of this, but at least it is prose... there is only so much Parisian Parnassian Greco-roman crap one can absorb...)
Whew. Deep breath... so we went lingerie shopping, but only half-heartedly so. She had a gift certificate and wandered around looking at thongs and such but then didn't feel like buying anything, especially because, underwear seems superfluous to her... and bras totally so. I wish that were my problem... but for many (mostly moral) reasons breast reduction surgery is not an option:( so I will have to live with myself as flawed unless I get mammary cancer and then maybe I would be the only woman happy about a double mastectomy (and no, I am not heartlessly making light of other's suffering).
End result? No expenditure, no transactions. The cobbled stones were glistening from the rain and because I keep forgetting to eat, it was necessary to partake of nourishment - really tasty spinach salad from the California pasta co? something like that... it seemed a dubious spot, and indeed had its failings (ie. no on site bathroom - and I thought that that was against health code regulations) but I was happily surprised by the excellent dressing. Then we decided not to go to Soho even though there was a band that sounded like it might have been worth it. We went back to her house instead, and drank a bottle of red wine. We had decided on a night in, on the comfy white couch, but then she knocked over the remainder of the wine and we decided that we needed to go out to the Firebird. Very mellow, pleasant enough atmosphere... the game plan was to have someone else buy the drinks... no such luck we thought, no one to tag-team flirt with beyond the bartender who had a complex with his age... we were young enough to be his daughters... now where have I heard that shitty line before? So what? we are not... long and short of it... He had an interesting theory on sex (all this while she and I discussed the kinkiest sex we had ever had and who had offered the best cunnalingus - the poor guy behind us didn't know whether to hover or take cover) which was that men and woman have age opposite sex-drives and that 20-something women should be with 40-something men and 30-something women should be with eighteen-year-old boys... hmmm. real or just self-serving rhetoric??? This, of course, is not new theory and has probably been proved empirically time and again, but alas, not by me. We polished off a lovely Pepperwood Syrah (Alison tasting it with minty gum still in her mouth - she rocks my world) and nibbled on dark chocolate truffles. mmmm. And then the sweetie only charged us half for the wine...so he got the other half in tip. Needless to say we were in no condition, by midnight, to drive a borrowed car in the rain back to Goleta, so we stayed over at her place.
I had a mild panic attack early, but once I was home and slept a little while longer and did a little work and read some crazy ass shit (could it be true?) about HIV being a cultivated disease whose development started in 1934 along with the Tuskegee project. And that the African-American genome was studied and targeted for population reduction and "eugenics"... Extremely creepy and not that implausible but... maybe we insist on believing that people couldn't possibly be that horrible... maybe that complacence is what keeps the status quo chugging along full-steam ahead. However, I can't be responsible for discerning truth from propaganda today, not on so little sleep.
This afternoon at the university, we wandered around the deserted lanes and I fixed some more of my financial woes. Well, I didn't actually fix the underlying problems, but at least the pretend money (ie-subsidized loans that I will pretend are the lottery!) that I have coming to me will make it to my new and improved bank account... dun da dun! Sound the trumpets... Now I have to redo all my online bill-paying things, but the insidious fear of commitment with the big box of mutual checks that was gnawing at the back of my psyche was squashed flat 'cause I have to buy new ones and I will buy only a box of 200 this time. Yes, a much more reasonable number of checks to share. I want to be out of debt! I want to be free of horrible responsibility! whine whine... this is a monthly thing... no not pms, pmhs - pre- money hemorrhaging syndrome... compounded of course by this stupid wallet loss thing.
So, after stopping in at my office and picking up next quarter's course materials (I should at least peruse what I am supposed to be teaching, no?) Miguel wanted to go somewhere. I was feeling sad (big surprise!) but it turned out to just be low blood sugar (I keep forgetting to eat!) Isabella suggested that they leave me and go to a movie, but that didn't work either. No. We ended up down town, again... but here is the crowning achievement of the night... The first totally unexpected and absolutely fulfilling meal in downtown yet! There is no good Indian food, and the place that is said to be the most passable is always not open when we try. The Argentine food is only vaguely reminiscent of what Argentine food should be. The Thai food is good but not stellar and the Italian food (ok, so I have only been to three places so far, and this, is of course the most abundantly covered cuisine) well, I don't know, insipid (or overly lipid?) would be one way to describe it (not the Country's fault, just the chef, who was undoubtedly Mexican or Central American so who can blame him, right?)
French food! A little crêperie “Pacific Crepe” off the beaten path, the owners are from Brittany and don't speak English, lucky for them their son does... an unpretentious little cafe, excellent flavor, and not overly-laden with fat, they even put the gruyere on the side for the soupe a l'oignon... It made me feel twinkly and the best part was that there was hardly any English being spoken in the whole place - a French conversation groups meets there on Wednesdays it seems -a group of Korean women, and of course us, speaking Spanish. I felt as if, for one moment I was transported from this rotten excuse for a country to a better place. And, I left totally satisfied (for the first time in a _long_ time). Nothing like crepes with nutella and strawberries, or a little fromage (brie with salmon and mushrooms:) to brighten your day.
Whew. Deep breath... so we went lingerie shopping, but only half-heartedly so. She had a gift certificate and wandered around looking at thongs and such but then didn't feel like buying anything, especially because, underwear seems superfluous to her... and bras totally so. I wish that were my problem... but for many (mostly moral) reasons breast reduction surgery is not an option:( so I will have to live with myself as flawed unless I get mammary cancer and then maybe I would be the only woman happy about a double mastectomy (and no, I am not heartlessly making light of other's suffering).
End result? No expenditure, no transactions. The cobbled stones were glistening from the rain and because I keep forgetting to eat, it was necessary to partake of nourishment - really tasty spinach salad from the California pasta co? something like that... it seemed a dubious spot, and indeed had its failings (ie. no on site bathroom - and I thought that that was against health code regulations) but I was happily surprised by the excellent dressing. Then we decided not to go to Soho even though there was a band that sounded like it might have been worth it. We went back to her house instead, and drank a bottle of red wine. We had decided on a night in, on the comfy white couch, but then she knocked over the remainder of the wine and we decided that we needed to go out to the Firebird. Very mellow, pleasant enough atmosphere... the game plan was to have someone else buy the drinks... no such luck we thought, no one to tag-team flirt with beyond the bartender who had a complex with his age... we were young enough to be his daughters... now where have I heard that shitty line before? So what? we are not... long and short of it... He had an interesting theory on sex (all this while she and I discussed the kinkiest sex we had ever had and who had offered the best cunnalingus - the poor guy behind us didn't know whether to hover or take cover) which was that men and woman have age opposite sex-drives and that 20-something women should be with 40-something men and 30-something women should be with eighteen-year-old boys... hmmm. real or just self-serving rhetoric??? This, of course, is not new theory and has probably been proved empirically time and again, but alas, not by me. We polished off a lovely Pepperwood Syrah (Alison tasting it with minty gum still in her mouth - she rocks my world) and nibbled on dark chocolate truffles. mmmm. And then the sweetie only charged us half for the wine...so he got the other half in tip. Needless to say we were in no condition, by midnight, to drive a borrowed car in the rain back to Goleta, so we stayed over at her place.
I had a mild panic attack early, but once I was home and slept a little while longer and did a little work and read some crazy ass shit (could it be true?) about HIV being a cultivated disease whose development started in 1934 along with the Tuskegee project. And that the African-American genome was studied and targeted for population reduction and "eugenics"... Extremely creepy and not that implausible but... maybe we insist on believing that people couldn't possibly be that horrible... maybe that complacence is what keeps the status quo chugging along full-steam ahead. However, I can't be responsible for discerning truth from propaganda today, not on so little sleep.
This afternoon at the university, we wandered around the deserted lanes and I fixed some more of my financial woes. Well, I didn't actually fix the underlying problems, but at least the pretend money (ie-subsidized loans that I will pretend are the lottery!) that I have coming to me will make it to my new and improved bank account... dun da dun! Sound the trumpets... Now I have to redo all my online bill-paying things, but the insidious fear of commitment with the big box of mutual checks that was gnawing at the back of my psyche was squashed flat 'cause I have to buy new ones and I will buy only a box of 200 this time. Yes, a much more reasonable number of checks to share. I want to be out of debt! I want to be free of horrible responsibility! whine whine... this is a monthly thing... no not pms, pmhs - pre- money hemorrhaging syndrome... compounded of course by this stupid wallet loss thing.
So, after stopping in at my office and picking up next quarter's course materials (I should at least peruse what I am supposed to be teaching, no?) Miguel wanted to go somewhere. I was feeling sad (big surprise!) but it turned out to just be low blood sugar (I keep forgetting to eat!) Isabella suggested that they leave me and go to a movie, but that didn't work either. No. We ended up down town, again... but here is the crowning achievement of the night... The first totally unexpected and absolutely fulfilling meal in downtown yet! There is no good Indian food, and the place that is said to be the most passable is always not open when we try. The Argentine food is only vaguely reminiscent of what Argentine food should be. The Thai food is good but not stellar and the Italian food (ok, so I have only been to three places so far, and this, is of course the most abundantly covered cuisine) well, I don't know, insipid (or overly lipid?) would be one way to describe it (not the Country's fault, just the chef, who was undoubtedly Mexican or Central American so who can blame him, right?)
French food! A little crêperie “Pacific Crepe” off the beaten path, the owners are from Brittany and don't speak English, lucky for them their son does... an unpretentious little cafe, excellent flavor, and not overly-laden with fat, they even put the gruyere on the side for the soupe a l'oignon... It made me feel twinkly and the best part was that there was hardly any English being spoken in the whole place - a French conversation groups meets there on Wednesdays it seems -a group of Korean women, and of course us, speaking Spanish. I felt as if, for one moment I was transported from this rotten excuse for a country to a better place. And, I left totally satisfied (for the first time in a _long_ time). Nothing like crepes with nutella and strawberries, or a little fromage (brie with salmon and mushrooms:) to brighten your day.
posted by ilana at 7:30 p.m.
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