dave's Misanthropic Mondays
Feb. 28th, 2005 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7He had a lovely day, it just featured people being idiots.
He claims to have spent the day talking to himself. He was in a lovely chatty mood tonight, which I enjoyed. He was in a chattier mood than I, which was rare. He's been mercilessly persecuting a particular spammer as of late, and this seems to bring him an odd delight (he crashed the idiot's server two or three times-- he's a Chinese mortgage-selling spammer).
And I made him a grocery list this morning when we realized we were out of milk, yogurt, bread, (almost) cheese, juice, and ramen. So he went to the grocery store.
He text-messaged me at work and said, roughly (I'm translating from the txt leetspeak he uses) "dinner will totally rock", so I was pretty psyched.
"I thought to myself," he explained in the (slippery. Nice blizzard, there) ride home, "that you've been having a tough time lately. So I thought I'd make you your two favorite foods."
"Did you really," I answered, really pleased. But a bit puzzled. My two favorite foods, as far as he knows, involve hot fudge.
"Yes," he said. "But then I realized, I have no idea what your two favorite foods are."
I laughed. "Neither have I." To be honest. As a kid I loved beef stew and steak-and-mushroom pie. But they'd be weird together.
"So I made my two favorite foods instead," he said.
"Really?" I was curious, and amused. "What are those?"
"Well," he said, "it varies. I mean, food is too good to limit yourself to favorites. But I made you French Onion Soup and [the Dinosaur BBQ Cookbook's] Not Your Mama's Meatloaf."
"Yay!" I said.
Upon arrival home I opened a bottle of Oppidum Premium Syrah, which I don't remember buying so it must have been a gift, probably from my sister Katy who is clever like that. The bottle was dated 1999, and we (after dinner, a little tipsily [whoa we're lightweights now that I'm a bartender and never drink anymore]) realized that that made it rather a lot older than![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
qowf's kid, who's turning 3 tomorrow (happy birthday, Pookus!). It was really tasty, by the way.
In general it was a lovely night and it was fun to see Dave in his familiar old "mischievous" mode instead of his "surly" mode more common of late.
But I need to buy him a new electric trimmer so he can deal with the damn neck hair. His beard would be attractive except that the hair under his jaw is forming into these surreal kind of... wings. It's just weird.
And oh. My mom sent me an e-mail: "Oh, remember the account we opened when you were born? There's $750 in there. You want it?"
Pff, do I want it? Oh, no, thanks, I think I'll just sit here and be broke.
On the other hand, that savings account's been sitting there since 1979 and it'll barely cover the heat bill plus my student loans. If that. How depressing: 25 years of loving little deposits made by my impoverished parents gone in one heating season. (The bank book is really quite sweet to look at; they put in money when they had some, and there was a point where they had to withdraw some because things were so tight. They did this for all four of us. So cute.)
Ah well. Money is money. If it helps me get through until Dave can find a job (three months until graduation. Please, God, don't let him spend as long looking for a job as I did. Or as he did, last time. Or as I did, the time before that. Shit, man, please let there be a miraculous economic recovery in three months so he gets hired because I can't fucking do this. Er, did I say that out loud? Sorry.) then it's all good. It's kind of a drop in the bucket, though, but even a bucket can be glad of a drop.
He claims to have spent the day talking to himself. He was in a lovely chatty mood tonight, which I enjoyed. He was in a chattier mood than I, which was rare. He's been mercilessly persecuting a particular spammer as of late, and this seems to bring him an odd delight (he crashed the idiot's server two or three times-- he's a Chinese mortgage-selling spammer).
And I made him a grocery list this morning when we realized we were out of milk, yogurt, bread, (almost) cheese, juice, and ramen. So he went to the grocery store.
He text-messaged me at work and said, roughly (I'm translating from the txt leetspeak he uses) "dinner will totally rock", so I was pretty psyched.
"I thought to myself," he explained in the (slippery. Nice blizzard, there) ride home, "that you've been having a tough time lately. So I thought I'd make you your two favorite foods."
"Did you really," I answered, really pleased. But a bit puzzled. My two favorite foods, as far as he knows, involve hot fudge.
"Yes," he said. "But then I realized, I have no idea what your two favorite foods are."
I laughed. "Neither have I." To be honest. As a kid I loved beef stew and steak-and-mushroom pie. But they'd be weird together.
"So I made my two favorite foods instead," he said.
"Really?" I was curious, and amused. "What are those?"
"Well," he said, "it varies. I mean, food is too good to limit yourself to favorites. But I made you French Onion Soup and [the Dinosaur BBQ Cookbook's] Not Your Mama's Meatloaf."
"Yay!" I said.
Upon arrival home I opened a bottle of Oppidum Premium Syrah, which I don't remember buying so it must have been a gift, probably from my sister Katy who is clever like that. The bottle was dated 1999, and we (after dinner, a little tipsily [whoa we're lightweights now that I'm a bartender and never drink anymore]) realized that that made it rather a lot older than
qowf's kid, who's turning 3 tomorrow (happy birthday, Pookus!). It was really tasty, by the way.In general it was a lovely night and it was fun to see Dave in his familiar old "mischievous" mode instead of his "surly" mode more common of late.
But I need to buy him a new electric trimmer so he can deal with the damn neck hair. His beard would be attractive except that the hair under his jaw is forming into these surreal kind of... wings. It's just weird.
And oh. My mom sent me an e-mail: "Oh, remember the account we opened when you were born? There's $750 in there. You want it?"
Pff, do I want it? Oh, no, thanks, I think I'll just sit here and be broke.
On the other hand, that savings account's been sitting there since 1979 and it'll barely cover the heat bill plus my student loans. If that. How depressing: 25 years of loving little deposits made by my impoverished parents gone in one heating season. (The bank book is really quite sweet to look at; they put in money when they had some, and there was a point where they had to withdraw some because things were so tight. They did this for all four of us. So cute.)
Ah well. Money is money. If it helps me get through until Dave can find a job (three months until graduation. Please, God, don't let him spend as long looking for a job as I did. Or as he did, last time. Or as I did, the time before that. Shit, man, please let there be a miraculous economic recovery in three months so he gets hired because I can't fucking do this. Er, did I say that out loud? Sorry.) then it's all good. It's kind of a drop in the bucket, though, but even a bucket can be glad of a drop.
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no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 05:47 am (UTC)But I won't be in the Club much longer, and then I won't have such need for a laptop. And then I'll feel silly that I'm saving money while bills pile up and are charged interest. :-/
I'd rather have something to remember all that by, but I don't think I can quite justify it.