In some ways, it seems as though our house is now “right” again with the presence of two pets. Jincy and Avi each fulfill individual needs that the other could not touch. I don’t really know how to quantify that: it would be easy to just say that Jincy is a snuggly soft face kisser who jumps on your shoulders when you stand at the magnifying mirror and pluck your eyebrows, while Ave is a snorting, trick-performing fart bomb that watches your every move and tilts her head in ways that we anthropomorophize are either confusion, derision or simply distraction. It’s not enough to say that Ave gets to go outside and ride in the car with us and either approve of or hate our friends (sorry Joe, we don’t get it either) while Jincy gets to go on tables and windowsills and stand on our shoulders while we sleep, watching over our dreams like a very adorable gargoyle. Maybe it’s just a question of Ave fulfilling that need to have something rely on you and maybe Jincy is just a million times more affectionate than any cat we’ve owned. It probably doesn’t hurt that they play together in ways that are both heartwarming and hilarious. You haven’t seen anything until you watch a seven-pound cat successfully pin a fifteen-pound dog.
This weekend, we purposely didn’t schedule anything (although my family has decided to get together for one of their patented uncomfortable/awkward attempts at going through the motions and is planning a half-hearted picnic today…damn it), although Esteban had the Making of the Beers for most of the day on Saturday. On Friday night, we did absolutely nothing, with the assumption that the mood would strike at some point. Finally at 8 pm, in a pique of wanting to salvage the evening, Esteban let me talk him into watching I Love You, Man, on the promise that it had Paul Rudd, who had starred in another film (Role Models) where I had successfully browbeaten him into watching. I don’t know why he gets so pissy about watching movies, in that he has to mentally prepare himself to devote the time, been coaxed and primed by the Hollywood machine. He doesn’t trust my judgment, which is fine, as I love movies that are admittedly trash, but seriously, dude, go out on a limb once in awhile. Alas, I Love You, Man was not as hilarious nor as charming as Role Models (nor did it have as many bare breasts), but it illicited several laughs out of the Captain (despite what I have now learned is his unreasonable dislike of Jason Segal) so it was deemed a successful evening.
The next morning, I woke up early for the farmer’s market, but apparently Esteban had been suffering from intense insomnia all night so begged off of tramping through the veggie stalls at an unreasonable hour so that he could try to catch some more zzzs before doing his Making of the Beers. I was fine with that, so took the dog with me so that she wouldn’t wake him up in her crate. Unfortunately, none of the local farmer’s markets allow dogs, but since it was a nippy 56 degrees outside, I didn’t worry about leaving Ave in the car with the windows and the sunroof open while I made my rounds. I ended up just getting some fresh cheese curds (still warm) and a few tiny plants for my terrarium project (more on that later). I hopped back in the car and then realized it was so early and without Esteban along, I didn’t have a time limit, so I had plenty of time to hop to Appleton and get a double hit for my insatiable farmer’s market jones.
I like the Appleton farmer’s market much better, I’m sorry to say. They seem to have more selection and the entire thing occupies much more square footage, even though I suspect it’s the same number of stalls. Because of the luxury of a very wide aisle (an actual city street, rather than between the rows of a parking lot), you get a much better look at what is at everyone’s stalls, plus they just have a better selection. To wit: the same damn cheese monger sets up stalls at both markets, but they had several wedges of Humboldt Fog at the Appleton market whereas they had a bunch of the same old boredom at the GB market. Also, there’s an actual goat cheese vendor at the Appleton market (who hits the GB mid-week evening market that I can never make it to due to work) that has amazing chevre but also, fresh goat cheese curds. GOAT CHEESE CURDS. They are, as one could imaging, heaven. I ended up with some sourdough ciabbata bread, a squash, some golden delicious apples, some natural pet treats, and said wedge of Humboldt Fog and some gorgonzola-stuffed green olives for June. I had scored some Humboldt Fog for our Real World Las Vegas house (I should probably write about that, but it’s hard to go back and do retrospective entries) and June absolutely loved it, and the closest I’ve ever seen it locally is Whole Foods in Milwaukee. I told the cheese monger that if she had Humboldt Fog at the GB market, I’d promise to be a loyal consumer and she said she’d tell the GB guy.
Since Ward and June’s house is on the way home from Appleton, I figured I’d swing by and drop off her goodies and say hi. I called them to see if I could stop by. Ave has had a respiratory infection and has been home from day care for the last two weeks, so their dog Cricket had been missing her bff something terrible. They were both crazy excited to see each other, and we sat down on their deck while the dogs chased each other around the yard. Esteban and I had had a suspicion that the extreme Fall weather had inspired Ward and June to start the process of shutting down the pool for winter, but apparently they had eked it out for the promise of a warm Labor Day weekend. Such was the case, as it was only 10 and already the temperatures were in the high sixties. June asked if I wanted to stay and hang out in the pool, which I hadn’t entirely planned on doing, but given that I’ve been in the pool practically zilch all summer and this being the probable last weekend, I ditched my plans to potter around the house and do the terrarium between laundry loads and offered to bring the dinner I was planning on cooking over there so that she wouldn’t have to cook. I just had to swing by the house and get the stuff. She suggested that I leave Aveline there so I rushed out and headed homeward, building the meal in my head. Had it just been Esteban and myself, we would have been good with my planned pulled pork sandwiches and perhaps some steamed corn, but since I was cooking for four, including people who actually eat more than four vegetables, I naturally started conflating the dinner plans in my head. This is my brain damage in action, right there.
With a firm course of action in place, I realized I still had plenty of time to swing by the farmer’s market again for some selective purchases. Oh my god, there is a reason that I get up at 6:30 to go, because at 11:00? It was like freaking Lollapalooza or something. There was nowhere to park, people were walking with zero regards to traffic around the place, there were four million strollers, it was insanity. I finally happened upon an ideal parking spot just as someone was pulling out, one that allowed me to only hit the end row where the rum cake lady was. Oh my god, these rum cakes are amazing, and I stopped buying them for just us, because we’re trying not to eat sugar, but meh, Labor day and whatnot, we could splurge a little. She only had a few of the big cakes available, so I tried her key lime version. I also snagged a red cabbage and some tiny yellow tomatoes that the proprietors swore were just like candy. Both of these purchases were in effort to replicate some of our experiences at the Real World Las Vegas house, where I had chanced upon these amazing little tomatoes at the grocery store that no one could stop eating, and also because we had had some amazing Maytag Bleu cheese cole slaw at Rosemary’s and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Since I would need bleu cheese, I stopped at the cheese monger and snagged some, and while I was checking out, I repeated my promise of buying Humboldt Fog if he would carry it here too, and he said that he’d have a wedge of it waiting for me every week. Of course now he’s going to hear about it from his partner at the Appleton market and now I’m going to feel obligated to buy it every week to make up for being such an annoying person. Ah well, there are worse problems to have than an abundance of Humboldt Fog.
I went home, pulled the pork out of the freezer, threw it into some warm water and the commenced to make up Esteban’s and June’s favorite pulled pork condiment, a Carolina-style vinegar-based sauce. The last time I made it, I just looked at three different recipes and made something up as I went along. It was pretty good, but Esteban declared it a touch too sweet, so this time I actually printed out a recipe so that I’d have the ratios right. I still ended up substituting everything, due to need or whim, but it was definitely tasting like a winner and I hoped that it wouldn’t get too crazy hot as it came together over the next few hours. I threw the ingredients for the cole slaw dressing into a jar, knowing that I could tweak as needed at June’s and then tossed all the makings for the pulled pork thing into our crock pot, topped with a still mostly frozen block of pork, then raced back over to Ward and June’s house.
Just as I was pulling into their driveway, my phone rang but the call seemed to drop when I answered it. I called back and got someone at my salon, telling me that I had missed my appointment. That was annoying on several points: first, part of their service involves a call to remind you of your appointment, and secondly, I had been there three days earlier and specifically asked if I had a facial appointment coming up and the girl behind the desk said that I hadn’t, and I was even confused, because I always schedule another appointment and also, my eyebrows were JACKED UP so I was certainly due. Also, the rando at the salon then told me that I HAD to come in for 2:30 or I’d get charged for the appointment anyway. Damn it.
I brought all of the stuff into the house, cranked the pork to high and hopped that it would be pullable in time for dinner, chopped cabbage for the cole slaw, whipped together the dressing with some sour cream so that it would be a little creamier without being mayonnaise-based like the stuff at Rosemary’s, and then explained that I simply had to go get a facial. HAD TO. You know, I don’t understand how people live with me without calling me nasty names right to my face because really. Really. And yet, it was so. Then I hung out, irritated, for the next 90 minutes until it was time to leave for this forced facial situation.
At the salon, however, everyone was stunned that whomever it was told me that I had to come in. Both my man Justin (the receptionist at the spa, who is like my best friend on the most shallow level imaginable) and my aestethician Em were horrified and said that no one should have ever told me that, as the policy exists for people who are not regulars, and I am apparently beyond regular. Ok then, but I was there anyway, so let’s get exfoliating, shall we? As it turned out, the rando who had answered the phone had jacked both Em’s and my day in one fell swoop, because she had been sitting around doing NOTHING in the interim while I was killing time before leaving for the salon. I apologized profusely several times, because seriously, I should keep track of my own fucking appointments like a big girl, but she rewarded me with an extra awesome facial just the same. And man, did I need it, because the job stress has done a serious number on my skin. I left vowing to be a better custodian of her careful ministrations, and went back to the parents where I could smell dinner even as I pulled into the driveway.
We had just enough time to get into the pool for an hour before dinner, so we floated around while Esteban slept with the pug in a deck chair. Dinner finally was ready! The coleslaw lended a crunchy texture, but eating it, I realized that the amazing thing at Rosemary’s was the way that they had basically somehow shredded the cabbage using the same grater that one would for, say, romano cheese, so you ended up with extremely thin strands of vegetables. I had done a rough chop, but it was still pretty tasty nonetheless. Next time, I’ll get all Top Chef on it, though, as I’m unsatisfied. The pork sandwiches were declared a hit, and June said the sauce was good last time, but amazing this time. For dessert, there was the key lime rum cake, and I whipped together some cream and then felt bad that I had basically caused a dirty dish explosion in June’s house. June decided that it was the second-best dinner I had ever made for her (the best one being the one that I had made when Kevin and Melinda were here). I wouldn’t go as far as saying that, because it was honestly kind of cobbled together, but I’m glad that everyone seemed happy.
We took a very exhausted pug home to a very lonely cat and they roughed it up for a bit, and then we all crashed out by 8:30. The next morning, we woke up happy and well-rested. We went out for coffee and bagels, then went home to potter around the house. As the morning went on, we decided that we’d spend another day in the pool. The parents had lunch plans, but had told us that we were welcome to come over. We packed up the dog and as we drove, discussed lunch options, finally deciding that it would be easier to stash the dog for her midday nap in her crate at the parents’ and then go out for lunch at someplace that had actual tables and service. We ended up at a new restaurant in town, in the midst of a cold open, and the servers were all freshly brainwashed: We heard literally the same line delivered by four different people, clearly something that was scripted during their orientation, but as such, the service was brilliant and the food was pretty good. Sadly, it’s one of those Western themed places that feel the need to play Top 40 country music, leading me to bemoan the fact that Texans listen to other kinds of music too. Y’Alternative much? How about a little Old 97’s or maybe even Patrick Park? It’s hard to enjoy a steak when you have to dig through all that twang.
After lunch, we went back to the parents’, where we were greeted by both dogs. This was not another case of Avi Houdini, though, as the parents had returned from their lunch and were out in the pool. We quickly joined them and spent the next four hours floating and playing, a low point being when Esteban managed to send a fart bubble into my open hand as I lay on the floaty with my eyes closed. Nice one.
As it got late, I finally succumbed to my bladder and got out of the pool. Once I dry off enough to walk through the house, I prefer to just ditch the wet stuff and get into dry clothes, and we were all semi-exhausted from all the sun and the fresh air. We went home and I crawled into bed, supposedly to nap, but ended up reading the end of one of those quintessential garbagey vampire books. The latest Sookie Stackhouse, if you must know… tv series are totally a gateway drug to pulp reading for me, because last summer was all about Gossip Girl. However, even my brain is ready for the leaves to change colors as I instinctively reached for one of my serious books (All Saints by Professor Dreamy) when I closed the cover on Bon Temps. I purposely read low brow material to give my brain a break, if only for the delicious moment when you sink back into something extraordinary and your brain suddenly goes “Oh, what’s this? WHAT’S THIS! Did they mean… could that have meant… oh it very much did.” and then you feel yourself settle in for an enjoyable ride that is not necessarily driven by plot, where language matters just as much as who did what to whom. Its as enjoyable as that first splash of scarlet in a sugar maple, I tell you what.
As I was finishing the final page, Esteban came in, respectfully waited, and then asked if I wanted to go over to Scotty Boom Boom’s for beers and a fire, as he already loaded chairs into the truck. I agreed, but probably wouldn’t want to stay very long, since I hadn’t actually napped. I insisted on taking the dog, since she’d been napping in her crate while I had been reading and I didn’t want to leave her in there for another three hours (yes, we are the pets’ bitches), and said that I’d bail if anyone objected. Scotty started a fire, the night was amazing, and eventually there were marshmallows and smores. It was a good evening. I came home around 11, and the dog was so exhausted (between playing and swimming (yes, she swims and in fact, demands to be in the pool, preferrably as pug commodore on the blue floaty) and then protecting Scotty’s yard from his neighbors, the Al Queda) that she literally ran full bore into the bedroom and jumped into her crate. Game over, ma’am, now put my sheet over the door and let me get some sleep! I‘m a lousy pug mom sometimes. And yes, I just LOLDogged.
This is why I never catch up on my blogging, because to talk about 2.5 days, it took 3160 words. Note to self: edit. EDIT. Sigh.
