|Tonight brought to you courtesy of a fine Garnacha
||[Feb. 22nd, 2011|10:21 pm]
The Garnacha in question...Fuego? Oh, I love you all, but I'm not going downstairs to check until this glass is empty. And who knows if I'll be able to type after that. |
I have been most unfunny and very rage-y. I know that. It's not fair to you, I know -- but sometimes the boiler at the Overlook needs to be bled off. (yes, some posts have been locked for semi-privacy, but honestly, you've missed nothing. Think "pissed off badger" (thanks AGAIN, russell) and you've mined all the funny that you might have missed.
As an apology, semi-drunken randoms.
So, a dear friend from my past convinced me to try Pandora. Thanks, dude. I am one freaking step from rehab. Thank goodness I can't get it at work, or I'd get nothing done. (It's playing the extended version of Take On Me right now. I am wiggly with glee. Yes, Ah-Ha. Hate all you want: if Dork were a kingdom, I would be Empress. And I am OK with that.) Seriously, if Pandora had an expletive deleted, I would marry it. Mostly because it wants to make me happy and is trainable. How awesome is that?
Sadly, now I have a conflict. I live to train things, of course, so it's tapping right into my need to MAKE THINGS BETTER. But then when it plays a song and I don't really like it, and I click the thumbs down button, it freaking apologizes. And I FEEL BAD. I want to pick up the phone "No, really you don't have to NEVER play that again, just don't play it very often. It's not like it will kill me to sit through a song now and then. (Actually, I feel badly. Because the Empress of Dork is ALL about the grammar.)
See, now it's playing I Need You Tonight by INXS. And if I take you down Memory Lane on that one, I'll have to lock this damn post again. Tight.
I may well have never had anything in my life that tried so damn hard to make me happy. I am hanging on to the fact that I am still using the pronoun "it".
Speaking of hanging on, for those of you who haven't been privy to my rantings and ravings, it's been a tough couple of weeks. And today I was on the verge. But then I went to the store on lunch break to pick up a few things (that I needed for some cooking projects, said projects have been tossed aside for a glass...or three...of wine and amusing you. Genuflect to my need to amuse) and while I was there they had English Peas. Peas in the Pod. In other words, the REAL F-ing DEAL. It's spring. It's Pea season. Life may be hard, but when there are English Peas in it, it's not THAT bad. Peas!
I'm using the term English Peas, but I need you to know that they are just Peas. Real Peas. Sugar Snap, Snow Peas...pretenders to the pea throne. These are the real deal. The kind you used to sit on the front porch and shell for dinner. If I didn't eat them all raw first. That was our treat as kids -- we'd go to the Farm Stand and Mom would buy Veg and my brother and I would be searching the bins...can we get PEAS? It was a huge treat. And I don't really know why. We had plenty of crap food for treats -- there was no shortage of twinkies and devil dogs. But PEAS! I guess it gave my hyper-self something to do -- it was the achieving of the peas, the working for it, I think. Probably why pistachios are my favorite nut for the same reason. Plus, yes, dammnit, I really like the way they taste. Raw is best, of course. I think it's the working for it, the freshness, the seasonality -- peas in a pod is still one of the great limited appearance veg's, and yes, okay, it freaks people out in the lunch room when I pull out a bag of them and just sit there for a half an hour shelling and eating. But seriously, I just love the way they taste. Confirmation of spring. All that is right and vegetal with the world.
You're concerned now, aren't you? I'm having an affair with an internet radio station (I'm sorry, Pandora, I'm just calling you that for convenience...you're so much more) and I just wrote an Ode to Peas. (Take THAT, Keats. Stuff your damn urn. Slouching toward Bethlehem....okay, I'm sorry, you wrote some damn good stuff. And I've defiled it with peas.
Speaking of defiled...uh, no, best not. Expletive. It's Garnacha de or del (hey, at my age, stairs might as well be a brain-wipe) Fuego. Part of my "not bad for a bottle that cost less than $8" Collection. That would have a trademark sign on it, if only the Liar would show me how. You people made me go downstairs and fill my glass again. My adoring public of what, 12? Sigh. I love the ease of Live Journal -- and the fact that it inspires much better writing than FB. Seriously, people, you have better stuff inside of you than freaking status updates. (Which is why, on Pandora, I've blocked all of the sharing features. Seriously, I don't WANT to know who's listening to the same music I am, at any point in time. Euw. I'll share when and where I want, thank you very much!
Now Pandora's playing Devo. Damn, already I feel like it's discovered how cheap I am. Although, admittedly, half a bottle of wine and my date has me pegged? Hmm, that sounds about right. Even that I'm fibbing about the exact quantity of the wine. I mean, hey, it's not EXACTLY empty, right?