Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


Ain't talkin' 'bout love

(just lots of appostrophes)

Guys, you may want to go ahead and skip this posting, for herein, I am about to get semisquishy, and reveal particulars about the "Special Sauce Guy Grading Guide".

Really. This is your last chance...

OK. Everyone else? He made dinner last night. And I'm not talking "He threw hunks of meat on the grill and poked at it. No. He cooked. He utilized multiple preparation methods (only one of which was the grill), wouldn't let me (in the nice way, not the diva french chef way) help, and he did the dishes by himself. (Again, I offered, but he declined.) Do you know how awesome that is? And? He knows the proper use/care/seasoning of cast iron.

We had blackened catfish, grilled asparagus, and a nifty little pilaf.

And it? Was excellent.

And while we're at it? The statement "I'm trying to be well-behaved, because as much as I'd like to get laid, I am not just trying to get laid." was uttered. More points.

And? Total touch-monkey. But none of this? In the skeezy way. Some guys do that and it's unbelievably creepy. I was talking to Magicdude on the way home last night and shared some of the more salient points, and he's echoed what G. Monkey said... "From everything you've told me, I really like this guy. What's wrong with him?" I mean... he likes football, hasn't attempted to tear my clothes off with his teeth (though the thought has crossed both our minds), does not show signs of being an x-box/playstation junkie, cleans, can dress himself, smells wonderful, is polite, has a decent relationship with his mother, doesn't dis' his exes, lives in the same county/state as I do, and cooks. The hell?

Anyway. Just wanted to let that out somewhere, eh?

Not like I'm hitchin' my life to anyone/anything right now- but this whole "being happy" thing? Kinda nice. But, just to balance out the sweetness and light:

Dear Fundraising Moms:

I think it's wonderful that you chose to send your kids to a Christian, private school. That's delightful. I'm sure those tuition fees really suck. I know they need cash, and you're selling subs to support them. However, when I got the sheet, and didn't sign up? That meant I didn't want one. And your calling back every several days, while annoying, did eventually wear me down.

But guess what. Part of the responsibility of harassing people into buying your stupid fucking subs? Means delivering the damn things. That doesn't mean that I answer the phone at noon, you call me by my coworker's name, and tell me that you're "In front of the hospital with our subs, and you have your kids in the car" because last time I checked? I didn't have to report to you. Your shit? Not my priority.

Oh? and Delivery? YOUR JOB. Either park, and bring the little bastards in, or get a fucking sitter, because I am too damned busy to track down who gets what sub. And if you don't like the fact that I whipped them into the fridge, tacked up the sign up sheet, and threw a note into the nurse manager's office? Tough shit. We were slammed, and last time I checked? I don't have kids, much less kids in private school, and you? Not the boss of me.


Special Sauce


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