Hi. I’m not really much of a Coffee Achiever™. I prefer herbal teas. I pour a pot of water into the coffee maker, put three teabags into the pot, run the machine, and bingo-bango, I’ve got me a pipin’ hot pot of yummalicious tea.
The fun part is mixin’ n’ matchin’ the different kinds of teas. “Let’s get creative!” I say when I’m a-makin’ tea. Then I think, hey, you are talking to yourself again, mister. Knock it off, eh?
This week I’ve been hip on 1 Green, 1 Peach, 1 Cinnamon. Very complimentary. Ran outta peach today, so I just made a pot, 1 Green, 1 Ginger, 1 Kombucha.
And took it upstairs and drank a whole pint.
Went down for a refill. Melusine had just come home so we were bantering away in the kitchen and I noticed the pot of tea looked really strong. “Hmmm!” I pondered loquaciously. Opened the coffee maker up and saw Melusine’s morning grounds still sittin’ in there.
The embarassing thing is that I managed to drink an entire pint of green/kombucha/ginger/coffee-flavoured tea and had only a vague thought of, “Well this isn’t the best blend I’ve made yet. Oh well. It’ll do in a pinch.”
Helluva pinch. Wonder if I would have noticed if there were petrol in it as well.
“This tea tastes like almonds.” —Martin Sheen in “Little Girl Who Lives Down The Lane” as he’s being poisoned by a 13 year old Jodie Foster.
Here are some things people punch into search engines to stumble onto my site.
People are weird.
I just went to Melusine’s room to offer her a chocolate truffle sent by beautiful Pam outside Seattle (thanks Pam! Yum!), and she bit into it and I said, “No, don’t bite. Suck.”
Thank god Mr. Roper wasn’t overhearing that little exchange.
I had one of the most marvelous evenings last night. Paul and I were chattin’ on the phone because we were bored, so decided to hook up and be bored together. I went to pick him up. We popped by the ole’ A&P to pick up liquour for some absinthe batches I’m brewin’ up for xmas. Had a very domestic/alchemist time in the kitchen mashing up seeds and herbs. Sweet boy pounded away at the coriander in the mortar-pestle-doohickey, shell husks popping merrily about the kitchen while I worked my magic on the liquour bottles.
À propos of what I was creating, I decided to break into my precious, dwindling supply of Spanish absinthe. We sat in the living room amidst blue xmas lights and a black light, drinking the milky yellow elixir, rolling around on the floor, listening to Tori Amos and Kristin Hersh, taking pictures in the black light with his rather remarkable cigarette-pack-sized new digital camera, and just havin’ a grand ole’ evening of being high, mellow and gorgeous.
Crashed in my bed and slept/nuzzled. (Sorry, Paul, I was feelin’ mighty nuzzly-wuzzly. And the night was cold.)
Lazy morning, taking two hours to wake up. Perfect. “The world,” I bethought myself, “is a beautiful place.”
Then Paul said a Bad Word. Talking to his friend on the phone he mentioned that he was thinking of going to later.
I could have punched him in the face. I have this problem, you see. Whenever anyone says, , I get this irrepressible urge — a jones, if you will — for spicy fried chicken. It becomes an obsession and I am inconsolable until I have my prize.
One word, and my lazy, beautiful, fuzzy-wuzzy morning was ruined. There could be no peace of mind until I got me a piece of chicken.
So we did that, then.
Dropped him off. Came home. Tended to my paltry, poverty-induced, weak stab at xmas packages for a few friends and fambly about the globe. Went to mail those. Feelin’ like I accomplished sumpin’.
It’s just been a lurvly day, tra-la.
Know what I wish? I wish I had a bigger bathtub. That’s what I wish.
What do you wish?
Check out the Marquis’ Crush o’ the week! Due to her boss discovering her diary (BUSTED!) she has had to password protect it. Username: Partygirl Password: Bitch (all case sensitive.) Feel sneaky yet?
Ooo, she emailed me today! saying I was a filthy whore! I sure can pick ‘em!
|
|
