So it's kind of late for dinner, but Daylow* is outside grilling the most bizarre, delicious looking chicken I've ever seen.
It's chicken breasts stuffed full of crushed pistachios wrapped in an entire package of bacon. The sides are just about every vegetable known to man, slathered in butter and grilled in tin foil.
He's a culinary pot head. This is either going to be completely devoured in less than five minutes, or it's going to be an epic, totally inedible FAIL.
Based on prior experiments of his, my money's on YUM YUM GIMME SOME.
And because we roll like this, our rats are hanging out on the kitchen counter while we prep the food. Super duper sanitary, I'm sure, but they fucking LOVE the pistachios and got dirty on them like it was their last meal.
We're kind of celebrating Daylow's decision to leave a super abusive job behind, an we're also stoked about my highly successful job interview this morning, which (PLEASE DEAR GOD) may land me the best job I've ever had with a company I am really digging so far working with people who were cool enough that I'd hang with them voluntarily, and hopefully will.
I quit my job with Canterbury Park in October, partly out of laziness, mostly out of frustration. Ever had a job where you get paid to do nothing? It sounds fucking sweet, right? And it totally was...for the first two years. After that, I decided I was being treated like a wasted commodity, and with no hope of change, I gave my dad (and most of my friends) a stroke when I quit with no alternate position lined up.
There are only so many videos of baby monkeys riding on tiny pigs, you know?
Why would anyone think I'm nuts for ending my marriage, getting three new tattoos (one of which is a GIANT profanity, stamped across my upper back), quitting my job, ripping out my bathroom floor, adopting (then un-adopting) a third dog, and falling in love right away?
It all seems perfectly rational to me.
Which is why I'm not allowed in 23 of the United States without supervision.
And now I'm off to eat some really bizarre food with my new love and probably practice some clicker training with the rats (we found a new home for Rachel Ray) and then maybe watch the first installment of Bag of Bones on demand.
I'll probably also drink a liter of Jag and remove a few of my ribs with my jumbo toenail clipper.
You know...for self-sufficiency reasons.
If you don't hear from me soon, I'm either dead from eating weird food, or I'm unable to type because I accidentally removed my hand instead of my ribs.
*In case you're wondering the extent to which my life has changed in he last four months, Daylow is the man I am engaged to marry, but not until after Gray and I are no longer married, which (in my [sadly] extensive experience) will take quite a while.