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3:58 p.m. - 2012-10-05
The Marsala Cure

Wowzers! Who knew chicken marsala was this easy to make? For sure I had help, Mick played sous chef and flattened the cutlets for me. Whamming the chicken with a frying pan gave Mick the giggles. "Cooking is so violent!" He admitted that as a complete naf in the kitchen his recent lessons as my assistant had opened his eyes to why I like cooking so much. Mick had only ever seen preparing food as the dullest of chores. Something he'd never imagined could be so adventuresome and pleasurable. Not only does one get to beat the crap out of innocent chicken cutlets but there are all sorts of opportunities to express emotion and get one's creative ya-yas out! Plus you get to eat the results! Cool! Turning from my station where I was dredging the cutlets I gave him a floury kiss and congratulated him. At the ripe old age of 53 Mick had finally twigged to the joy of cooking.

On the less than joyful side of things the ex came to the backdoor this morning to drop off a post-dated child support check. Frankly I was stunned he'd managed to get it to me before the 20th of the month. The post-dating was to be expected. "Uh, you can probably deposit it on Tuesday." Shades of Wimpy and his IOU for hamburgers. *snerk* While he was here I filled him in on all the parenting news he'd missed. Why? I don't know. It's not like the man gives two shits about things like this week's IEP meeting and Open House. If he did he'd have been there, I'd done him the courtesy of telling him when they were scheduled. But keeping the ex up to speed about what's doing with our younger son is just dopey me pounding sand down the same rat hole I've been filling for almost 30 years. It's a reflexive superstition like spitting when a black cat crosses my path or forking my fingers to ward off the evil eye. I keep my karmic nose clean despite my staunch atheism. So, too, I keep the ex up to date on all the doings with our kid if for no other reason than nobody can ever come back and dun me about my not having done my part as the Mom. Wolf is 15 and there's not a chance the ex would sue for custody at this late date but until Wolf is all grown I'll operate like there's a family court judge hovering in the background. "Yes, your Honor, the child's father has always been given notice of and reports on all doctors', counselor's, special ed committee's, teachers', and coaches' meetings and was kept up to date on the results thereof." "Yes, your Honor, by phone, in person and in writing where applicable." "No, your Honor, I don't know why he never showed up or responded." (Actually I do- the man is a fool and an uncaring jerk, but my opinion isn't admissible in court.)

Mick has to work a football game tonight. The last of the regular season Friday night light games. So far this season Uber Sports School has tanked so there's little danger of post-season games. YAY! for having Mick home on Friday nights from now on. BOO! for no more lovely overtime pay. After nearly 20 years of mandatory football game duty Mick is more than relieved by this year's lousy season, but since he uses the overtime money to fluff out his holiday shopping he's also a little sorry too. Yes, he gets to be here with me and we can do our usual snuggy in the bed watching dopey home shows (our usual Friday thing if we don't go out for a movie), yet this crazy man of mine is all about spoiling me and regrets the skerce budget which keeps him from buying me more sparklies and luxe chocolates and theater tickets.

However treats are in the offing for tomorrow. My dearest beloved, Miss Steph, is coming down with her gorgeous mother and we're going to the Loaf. It's the annual Columbus Day weekend Fall Festival. We three ladies are going to ooo and ahh and most likely buy earrings and scarves and purses we don't strictly need but definitely want. I'll dish with them about the store owners and Loaf lore and my memories from the days when I managed a shop there. We'll mostly likely lunch at the Barnsider if the wait's not too long. But mostly we'll be enjoying our own company and getting our Girl Thing on. Something this overly-testosteroned chick needs quite badly right now.

Don't misunderstand, I love my guys. I adore being THE female in my house and wouldn't have it any other way. This doesn't stop me from enjoying the hell out of being with my own gender for a lovely autumn afternoon. A few hours when the fierce discussion about soap scents and the singing rightness of a perfect pair of boots isn't just indulgently tolerated but really matters. For all that I am at odds with my sisters and never, ever got along with my mother I still value and respect time spent with my own kind. Besides after Mick (of course) Miss Steph is the one adult on this planet who loves me without reservation or conditions. With her there is safety and fun and that thing- the intimate connection which comes from shared experience and symbiotic values. Steph and I revel in being women together. To borrow a phrase from Planet Fitness- we have our own 'No Judgment Zone'. No desire or thought or opinion is off-limits with us. Throw in the added value of Miss Anne (Steph's mom) and her unique take on things and tomorrow's adventure is already wonderful.

I can't wait!!!!!!!!!!!!

If I didn't know better and didn't already understand the balance of the universe in that while some are on top there are others who are getting the crap knocked out of them and it's ever been thus I'd feel horrible over being so pleased about the way things are going for me right now and my excited anticipation of tomorrow's fun times.

I am sad for other friends who've gotten really lousy news this week. And for others who are struggling to cope with a lot of the same kind of grinding-down garbage I had for most of my life. The wicked black dog of depression, mates who drain instead of cherish and enrich, plus the burdens of elderly parents, crooked contractors, layoffs, bad health, turncoat children, and all sorts of other fuckery by a universe whose only constant is, "Feh, shit happens."

Yes it does. Shit and bad things and tough luck and rotten breaks. They roll up more often than 7s in a crap game. Yet, against the odds there is love. And friendship. And shiny new earrings. And a good burger.

Tomorrow I'll be lucky enough to have the latter four things. And probably a bunch more unasked for and delightful surprises. YAY!!!!!!! ~LA

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