- Messages
- 12,017
- Location
- East of Los Angeles
I don't know...sounds too much like "Palimony".
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Experimenting on foods.
- Thread starter Trenchfriend
- Start date
LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
Sometimes, my Mom would make toast with mayonnaise because it was what we had. I sort of liked it, otherwise we went hungry.
Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,126
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
She might be asleep. I can't really tell. She's laying there motionless. Maybe she just pretends to be sleeping so that she doesn't have to talk to me. Our conversations are not the most gratifying. I think it's because she's academically brilliant, and socially retarded. She works midnight shift at the morgue, so that she doesn't have to deal with people who are alive. She once told me, that the only reason she socializes with me, is because she knows that I don't care about her. Mutual emotional detachment. I won't get all weird, and start sending flowers.
I get up and go to boil some water. She vocalizes her disgust, but she will still eat it if I make it. It's her house, and surprise, she doesn't have much beyond eggs and Cup Noodles. There's a can of coconut milk. And some ketchup packets from McDonald's. But I'm not making the effort.
"You know I hate that, because that's what your hooker ex-girlfriend eats."
She's not my ex. Just some hooker I met on a dark and stormy night. It wasn't like I was dating a hooker. I never took the hooker out on dates. I didn't pay the hooker either.
Rain was pouring. Highway speed winds. Power lines were down all over town. The utility company just did not have enough staff and trucks to handle dozens of down power lines and blown transformers all at once. I got the glamorous overtime job of blocking off traffic. Really just sitting in my car with warning lights flashing, behind a flare pattern.
They didn't even really need me. Just the car with the lights flashing. I guess someone had to drive the car there, and watch it, so that it doesn't get stolen. There was a 24 hour coffee shop nearby, so I go over to get something to snack on. Fedora Lounge members with fancy wardrobes would cringe that I was wearing a PVC rubber poncho. But it's perfect for the heaviest downpours.
I'm absentmindedly sipping coffee, and browsing the donut case. Donuts are best at night when they are fresh. Only night shift people know the pure joy of a fresh donut. "5150, is that you?" I look. It's a hooker eating a cup of noodles. "It's me. Trudy. From high school." Big Booty Trudy. She's a hooker now. What a surprise. We went out in high school. So I guess I did date the hooker.
I have no idea why Pale Amy is fixated, almost jealous, of a street hooker.
I get up and go to boil some water. She vocalizes her disgust, but she will still eat it if I make it. It's her house, and surprise, she doesn't have much beyond eggs and Cup Noodles. There's a can of coconut milk. And some ketchup packets from McDonald's. But I'm not making the effort.
"You know I hate that, because that's what your hooker ex-girlfriend eats."
She's not my ex. Just some hooker I met on a dark and stormy night. It wasn't like I was dating a hooker. I never took the hooker out on dates. I didn't pay the hooker either.
Rain was pouring. Highway speed winds. Power lines were down all over town. The utility company just did not have enough staff and trucks to handle dozens of down power lines and blown transformers all at once. I got the glamorous overtime job of blocking off traffic. Really just sitting in my car with warning lights flashing, behind a flare pattern.
They didn't even really need me. Just the car with the lights flashing. I guess someone had to drive the car there, and watch it, so that it doesn't get stolen. There was a 24 hour coffee shop nearby, so I go over to get something to snack on. Fedora Lounge members with fancy wardrobes would cringe that I was wearing a PVC rubber poncho. But it's perfect for the heaviest downpours.
I'm absentmindedly sipping coffee, and browsing the donut case. Donuts are best at night when they are fresh. Only night shift people know the pure joy of a fresh donut. "5150, is that you?" I look. It's a hooker eating a cup of noodles. "It's me. Trudy. From high school." Big Booty Trudy. She's a hooker now. What a surprise. We went out in high school. So I guess I did date the hooker.
I have no idea why Pale Amy is fixated, almost jealous, of a street hooker.
LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
Fifty150, this is a GREAT opening for a short story. Perfect! You need to continue it. Truly! I hope for more.
MisterCairo
I'll Lock Up
- Messages
- 7,005
- Location
- Gads Hill, Ontario
Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,126
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
No short story. Decades in the making. Vignettes of my life. I hope to continue the story of my life.
- Messages
- 12,964
- Location
- Germany
My loungers, you can try this!
If you got leftover mashed potatoes, just add poultry-sausages, cutted in small pieces. Super jummy!
If you got leftover mashed potatoes, just add poultry-sausages, cutted in small pieces. Super jummy!
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LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
How many birds does it take to make one sausage?
Harp
I'll Lock Up
- Messages
- 8,508
- Location
- Chicago, IL US
My loungers, you can try this!
If you got leftover mashed potatoes, just add poultry-sausages, cutted in small pieces. Super jummy!
Bangers n' mash, goes good with cold autumn nights.
- Messages
- 12,017
- Location
- East of Los Angeles
One, but the sausage has to want to be made.
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- Messages
- 12,964
- Location
- Germany
Looks good!
But maybe, I would prefer the german classic "Potato mash, fried liver and onions".
- Messages
- 12,017
- Location
- East of Los Angeles
Liver??? You can have mine. And the onions.
Hercule
Practically Family
- Messages
- 953
- Location
- Western Reserve (Cleveland)
I'd love to and wish I could. Sincerely I do. However, any more liver tends to trigger a gout attack for me.
LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
While in the military, during basic training, I was known to eat almost everyone's left-over liver when it was served in the chow hall. It may have been the most tasty meal they served us during our training.
Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,126
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
It's raining. I'm not riding a motorcycle in high winds on wet roads. I guess if I were truly committed, I would get into my truck, and drive down to the bar. I'm just a recreational drinker. Only in it for a good time. Sort of like a fair-weather friend. So instead, I'm sitting around eating cereal. No milk. Just dry cereal like it's a snack food.
LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
Kick it up a notch, add some sriracha.....
Hercule
Practically Family
- Messages
- 953
- Location
- Western Reserve (Cleveland)
Nah, that's so yesterday. Add some curry powder.
LostInTyme
Practically Family
- Messages
- 539
Perhaps that's why the only bottle of sriracha I have has a "best used by" date of 1995.
Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,126
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
A few days ago, I got my 3rd shot of Moderna. The "shot doc" somehow followed me home. I can't get rid of her. She's been here since. She does leave to go to work. She goes home to get fresh underwear. But she keeps coming back. I work rotating shifts. She grabbed one of the spare sets of keys from my key box. I leave for work, she is still hanging around and doing stuff on her laptop. I'm off a midnight shift, I'm sleeping during the day, and she lets herself in.
In between her vigorous demands for coitus, we are getting to know each other. We see the world through a much different filter. Where she is passionate about certain issues in society; I shrug my shoulders. She wants to change the world. I just want to have a cold beer. Even on something where we both agree, like Rohingyas mistreated in Myanmar; "So you don't care what happens to those people?" Look lady, I don't even know them. I read the news. I agree. It's not good. You want me to get on a plane, go over there, and do something about it? Get me another beer.
I have some produce growing in 5 gallon buckets. She picked some of the tomato that were red, some basil, and told me that I needed to do something with them.
Tomato beef. Cook some ground beef I had in the fridge. Cook the tomato. Add the beef and basil. Keep stirring it. We call it stir fry. The moisture will cook off, the sauce thickens, the flavors come together.
"That's Chinese food? It looks like spaghetti sauce."
I'm Chinese. I cooked it. It's Chinese food.
"You see what I'm talking about? Racial disparity and inequality. Poor children of color don't have access to fresh produce in neighborhoods with liquor stores. In those neighborhoods, there are no fresh markets. Those children, even when they become adults, have no idea how to cook something like this. When I was growing up, we ate spaghetti with the sauce coming from cans. It tasted like the tin can. It was horrible."
What do you want me to do? Give out woks to poor kids in the ghetto? Will that uplift the underprivileged? Get me another beer.
"It's like we see eye to eye, then you get blurry vision. You just don't care?"
You want me to give woks to Rohingyas in Myanmar?
She comes over, and drinks as much as I do. I think she's only using me for my beer.
In between her vigorous demands for coitus, we are getting to know each other. We see the world through a much different filter. Where she is passionate about certain issues in society; I shrug my shoulders. She wants to change the world. I just want to have a cold beer. Even on something where we both agree, like Rohingyas mistreated in Myanmar; "So you don't care what happens to those people?" Look lady, I don't even know them. I read the news. I agree. It's not good. You want me to get on a plane, go over there, and do something about it? Get me another beer.
I have some produce growing in 5 gallon buckets. She picked some of the tomato that were red, some basil, and told me that I needed to do something with them.
Tomato beef. Cook some ground beef I had in the fridge. Cook the tomato. Add the beef and basil. Keep stirring it. We call it stir fry. The moisture will cook off, the sauce thickens, the flavors come together.
"That's Chinese food? It looks like spaghetti sauce."
I'm Chinese. I cooked it. It's Chinese food.
"You see what I'm talking about? Racial disparity and inequality. Poor children of color don't have access to fresh produce in neighborhoods with liquor stores. In those neighborhoods, there are no fresh markets. Those children, even when they become adults, have no idea how to cook something like this. When I was growing up, we ate spaghetti with the sauce coming from cans. It tasted like the tin can. It was horrible."
What do you want me to do? Give out woks to poor kids in the ghetto? Will that uplift the underprivileged? Get me another beer.
"It's like we see eye to eye, then you get blurry vision. You just don't care?"
You want me to give woks to Rohingyas in Myanmar?
She comes over, and drinks as much as I do. I think she's only using me for my beer.
Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,126
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
Big Booty Trudy. That's not even her real name. When I first met her as a teenager, her accent was thick. I didn't understand. She tried to tell me that her name was "Julie", and it sounded to me like she said Trudy. I was watching a lot of Miami Vice, so she became Big Booty Trudy. Her name isn't even Julie. It's July. As in The 4th of July. Her name was July Gold.
Born in a refugee camp after The War. Mixed race Amer-Asian refugee. Except, she wasn't really a refugee. Her mom was a US State Department employee at the refugee camp, and her dad was a South Vietnamese officer who was evacuated after Saigon. Her dad wanted her mom's surname on the US birth certificate, so that she would have no trouble being an American. Only the clerk who typed up the paperwork typed in "Gold", instead of Goldman.
And then an even stranger twist of events was that her mother was ordered back to The US, leaving her with her dad. They came to The US years later. When her dad found her mother, it turns out that mom was actually married to someone in The US, and already had another family here, with kids and all. So here she was, a Jewish Viet raised by a single father.
When I met her, she spoke a little broken English which she learned in South East Asia. We were kids. I guess because I am Asian, and she didn't know anyone, she started speaking Vietnamese to me. I didn't understand a word.
She's actually not even a hooker. Not in that stand out in the rain and get soaking wet on the corner, kind of hooker. She makes adult videos. According to the girl at the morgue, it's the same thing. She sells sex for money. On Miami Vice, Big Booty Trudy was an undercover hooker. So, okay. That's good enough for me. We've known each since we were kids. And she keeps coming around.
Decades later, I wake up in the afternoon, after a long night of drinking, and there she is. She came into the bar last night. No surprise, since people who know me, know where to find me. After she buys me a few drinks, I take her home. I didn't actually take her home. I have a motorcycle which only rides 1. A solo saddle. No passengers. I went home by myself. She came over on the bus. Or maybe she took Uber. I don't know.
I had to feed her. I guess I didn't have to. I just felt like it was only right, since I was making something to eat. It would have been wrong in so many ways for me to cook for myself, then allow her to watch me eat, without making enough for both of us. The tomato beef was repurposed. With macaroni.
It will be an interesting conversation if she does not leave, and the doctor comes over.
Born in a refugee camp after The War. Mixed race Amer-Asian refugee. Except, she wasn't really a refugee. Her mom was a US State Department employee at the refugee camp, and her dad was a South Vietnamese officer who was evacuated after Saigon. Her dad wanted her mom's surname on the US birth certificate, so that she would have no trouble being an American. Only the clerk who typed up the paperwork typed in "Gold", instead of Goldman.
And then an even stranger twist of events was that her mother was ordered back to The US, leaving her with her dad. They came to The US years later. When her dad found her mother, it turns out that mom was actually married to someone in The US, and already had another family here, with kids and all. So here she was, a Jewish Viet raised by a single father.
When I met her, she spoke a little broken English which she learned in South East Asia. We were kids. I guess because I am Asian, and she didn't know anyone, she started speaking Vietnamese to me. I didn't understand a word.
She's actually not even a hooker. Not in that stand out in the rain and get soaking wet on the corner, kind of hooker. She makes adult videos. According to the girl at the morgue, it's the same thing. She sells sex for money. On Miami Vice, Big Booty Trudy was an undercover hooker. So, okay. That's good enough for me. We've known each since we were kids. And she keeps coming around.
Decades later, I wake up in the afternoon, after a long night of drinking, and there she is. She came into the bar last night. No surprise, since people who know me, know where to find me. After she buys me a few drinks, I take her home. I didn't actually take her home. I have a motorcycle which only rides 1. A solo saddle. No passengers. I went home by myself. She came over on the bus. Or maybe she took Uber. I don't know.
I had to feed her. I guess I didn't have to. I just felt like it was only right, since I was making something to eat. It would have been wrong in so many ways for me to cook for myself, then allow her to watch me eat, without making enough for both of us. The tomato beef was repurposed. With macaroni.
It will be an interesting conversation if she does not leave, and the doctor comes over.
