Archive for the ‘Memories’ Category

When life hands you a deadbeat father…

1 August 2006

Make steak au poivre and eat it off the good plates!

As loyal readers of this blog (both of you) will remember, my dad can be a bit of a douche when it comes to holidays.

¬†After Christmas’ Omaha Steaks brouhaha, I didn’t really talk to him for a while. He never remembers to save my phone number, and he changes his so often I can never call him. So, my birthday came and went back in March with no sign from him. “Grand,” I thought to myself, “This means I can skip Father’s Day.”

A week and a half ago, four months and four days after my birthday, a styrofoam cooler the size of a Mini Cooper showed up on my doorstep. Yum, more Omaha Steaks. Attached was a card that read “Happy (late) birthday. These should keep you occupied for a while.”

And indeed they will. For there were filets mignons, top sirloin, tenderloin tips (fondue party, anyone?), twice-baked potatoes, potatoes au gratin; lots of wondrous things. There were also marinated salmon filets, pork chops, and pork hot dogs.

I have never willingly eaten pork in my life, and the only fish I eat is on sushi. And I know it wasn’t a pre-packaged deal from the invoice.

I know it sounds whiny, waah, daddy sent expensive meat and I don’t like it. But really, I’d rather he not have bothered at all than done it all half-assed and four months after the fact. A phone call on my birthday would have been more than sufficient. As Bart Simpson said, “No offense, Homer, but your half-assed under-parenting was a lot more fun than your half-assed over-parenting.”

But, since I have a freezer full of meat, now is the summer of my eating like a king. Tonight, since nobody else is home and work’s been mind-numbing and the gym’s been kicking my ass, I decided to spoil myself. I took a nice thick filet and made a lovely steak au poivre out of it, complete with the theatrical flaming of the brandy. To that I added one of the twice-baked potatoes and served the whole mess (No, I don’t believe in vegetables or greenery) on the fine china, ate it with the sterling, and drank Two Buck Chuck out of Great-Grandma’s old crystal. That, my friends, is living. Of course, being able to afford gas would be nice, too, but one can’t be picky.

Can one?


Georgetown Memories

9 July 2006

A random memory that popped into my head this morning:

Our last summer at Georgetown was an especially pleasant one. My two best friends and I had steady jobs, steady income, and the motivation to go bouncing randomly around the city. Every Friday, we went out drinking to celebrate the end of another work week. If it was a payday Friday, we’d take the bus and Metro to Tortilla Coast and down pitchers of margaritas and palomas with our dinner. If it wasn’t a payday Friday, we’d go to Mr. Smith’s of Georgetown for the happy hour specials. Half-price appetizers and $1.50 well drinks meant we could get sloshed and fat for under ten bucks.

Toward the end of summer we started to get antsy about the start of the school year, which meant the loss of our elevated income and therefore, our booze cruises around the city. It also meant we had to worry about moving Jen and Irma into their school-year apartments from their summer dorm assignments. On one of our last Fridays out to Tortilla Coast, Jen, Irma and I were standing at the bus stop awaiting the 5:40 to Rosslyn and talking about moving. Out of nowhere, Irma gets a mischevious gleam in her eye, and says to me in a conspiratorial tone, “We’re gonna have an STD tomorrow!”


“Why, what are we doing tonight?” I asked with trepidation.

Irma looked at me like I’d just grown a second head on my shoulders.

“I said we’re going to have an SUV tomorrow.”

And indeed, the next morning, we were renting a Ford Explorer to help schlep the girls’ stuff to their new homes.

Ah, the joys of being phonologically inept.