Category: Food and Drink

Table for Eight; Party of One

~ riggledo ~ 2 Comments

Saturday evening, I was invited to a dinner party at a friend’s house.  The friend is someone I met on Twitter.  I don’t even remember how, but that’s no surprise, because I can’t remember becoming friends with most of the people I’ve been friends with.  We were just strangers one minute and the next, as best I can remember, we were friends.  I tend not to remember or retain how it comes to be.  John is much the same.  I know I met him on Twitter, but who followed whom first, or how we became aware of each other, or how we went from being strangers who stalk follow each other on Twitter to two people who actually cared about what the other had to say, I do not recall.

Several months ago, John mentioned having me over to his house sometime, but it just never really came together.  Meanwhile, his company moved their offices from San Francisco to Downtown Oakland, just a few blocks from my office, and when we realized we were going to be in close proximity to each other we determined to meet for coffee.  Now I no longer consider John to be “this guy I follow on Twitter” but he is my friend.

A few weeks ago, John told me that he and his husband were having a dinner party on July 10th and that they would love to have me come over.  I was thrilled because I don’t spend a lot of time socializing and I really wanted to meet John’s dogs (and his husband – but mostly his dogs.)  🙂

When I first arrived at John’s house, a very boisterous black cat, sitting on top of a fence started talking to me and making his way to the ground and toward me.  “Hi!” I said to the kitty, “Are you the early warning system?”  I knew that John had two cats but I only knew what one of them looked like (’cause he looked like Mischa) so I thought maybe this was the other cat; it was not.  The cat walked right up to me,  I reached down and let it sniff at the back of my hand.  He took one whiff of my hand and ran away.  I guess he didn’t like smelling other kitties on me.

Walking into the house I was introduced to the rest of the guests and told “These are all of our dearest friends.”  I was very honored to be included in that gathering.  One of the couples hosted the hosts’ wedding, one of the other guests officiated over the ceremony and the other two were long time friends.  The company was great and I did my best to hold my own in conversation.

The food was fantastic!  John’s husband whose name also happens to be John is a wonderful cook and grill meister! We had kabobs and veggies, artichokes and for desert there was a delicious cake with berries.  They had the biggest bottle of Champagne I had ever seen and I resisted temptation for a while opting to drink only water instead, but eventually I caved in and had a glass of bubbly shortly before we sat down at the beautifully laid out table.  I saw Second John pull a bottle of Zinfandel from their wine cabinet and put it on the table.  Zinfandel, happens to be one of my favorite wines and I couldn’t resist having a small glass.  It was delightful.

The conversation over dinner was wonderful and I learned a lot about the history of this group I had been invited to be a part of, for the evening, and I was having a wonderful time.

Unfortunately, I do not know how many times my wine glass was refilled, I only know it was too many.  The next day, I knew I had overdone it and learned a valuable lesson.  But all in all, I had wonderful time.

Sunday, in addition to nursing my spinning head, I spent entirely too much time second guessing the previous evening.  There was somewhat of an age difference between me and the rest of the group which is relevant only in that they were all established and seemed to be secure in their lives.  All but one of the attendees were partnered up, and I don’t know if the one remaining person was single or if her significant other just wasn’t in attendance.  By the hazy light of the day Sunday, I worried that I had not fit in as well as I first thought.  I felt a little as though I’d been wearing my father’s clothes and sitting at the grown-ups table when really I belonged in overalls and sitting with the rest of the kids.  This is my own insecurity and in no way the result of how I was treated.  I even know that it’s probably inaccurate, but I couldn’t shake the sense.

Michelle once told me that women will sometimes leave something of theirs behind at a guy’s house so that they will have to be invited back.  Well, I swear I didn’t do it intentionally, but Sunday evening I got a direct message on Twitter from John letting me know that he had found my sunglasses.  Apparently, I left something behind, and now I have to be invited back…

On Donuts and Fluff and Stuff

~ riggledo ~ 2 Comments

Well, I can’t put it off any longer.  I’ve procrastinated and procrastinated and put it off and put it off and repeated myself and repeated myself and been just a little bit redundant and then did it again.  Long enough!  It’s time I wrote a blog post.  Only… I’m not sure what to write about.

It seems as if posting only on Fridays is my new thing.  I need to get a new, new thing.  Only posting on Friday’s isn’t good enough.  I was reading some blog posts in my Google reader and I got to this post on Jennsylvania where Jenn Lancaster talks about being out of practice with blogging.  It seems funny for her to say that because she is, after all, a very successful, multiple times published writer of books, but I can tell you from my own limited, first-hand knowledge that writing books and writing blog posts is so not the same thing.  Anyway, in the posts she says:

I hate when I get out of the habit of writing because it takes such effort to get back into the swing of things.  I always tell budding authors that the best way to be a writer is to write; the ability to write is a muscle and it’s got to be worked daily.  Presently my writing muscles are flabby and weak, chugging along at two point five miles an hour on a treadmill with no incline.

Worked daily…  Gosh, I can’t even seem to manage to work it weekly at this point and that frustrates me because I really do love to write and I want to be able to do it more but finding the time is a real hassle.

There’s another blog I like to read, another blogger who has become a published writer of book.  One thing has always stood out to me about his blog.  I remember reading in one of his posts once that it takes him 15-20 minutes to write his blog posts, “these things practically write themselves” he said.  My blog posts don’t write themselves and they take a lot more than 15 minutes to write.  I’m not saying that to draw a comparison between us, either.  There is a valid reason behind it, because the truth is, it takes on average two hours to write one of my blog posts.  Maybe that’s because I don’t do it daily, or maybe it’s because I don’t know how to be brief or maybe it’s because the things I write about can’t be short and simple, I don’t know.  I just know that lately, sometimes when I’ve thought, “maybe I’ll write a blog posts now”, I’ve then looked at the clock, realized it was after 4:00 and remembered my determination not to stay at the office until 7:00 and decided not to write.

I have given some thought, on more than one occasion, to undertaking something called NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month.  It’s sponsored by the same people who do the National Novel Writing Month program in November that I abandoned you all for last year, only NaBloPoMo isn’t a specific, designated month… I don’t think.  Honestly, I haven’t researched it, I’ve just heard other people talk about it.  But really?  A post a day for 30 days?  I couldn’t possibly commit to that.  I barely touch a computer on the week-ends and I don’t have time for writing in the evenings.  I’m much to busy with food prep, clothes ironing and vegetating in front of the television!

And besides (or maybe it’s because), I spend all day on the computer at work and a good portion of that time is spent dealing with my own personal interests, it hardly seems worthwhile to think about it when I’m at home.

Things haven’t really changed much since my last post as far as feeling overloaded and not being able to get anything done.  I’m frustrated because there is so much I want to accomplish, both professionally and personally and it feels humanly impossible to get much of it done, let alone all of it.

Boy this really isn’t going in the direction I would have liked it to go…  I spend too much time on this blog talking about all the things I wish could be, or all the time I do not have.  What a bummer.  That’s not my intention.  I’m not sure why I have such a hard time writing fluffier stuff… I guess I’m just not a fluffy person right now.  Maybe some day I will be.  Maybe you can stick around and find out?

~~~~~~~~~

Here’s something fluffy, sort of.  Today is National Donut Day.  No kidding.  If you don’t believe me look it up.  Then again, if you’re reading this, you’re clearly familiar with the internet and with some level of social media and you must already know that today is National Donut Day.  Dunkin Donuts, Krispee Kreme’s and Tim Horton’s are all giving away free donuts today in honor of National Donut Day, or so I read on-line.

Today is also Friday, so it’s Another-Friday-At-Riggledo’s-Job-Where-The-Boss-Always-Brings-In-Donuts-On-Friday Day.  It’s really not as exciting as it sounds.  And if you’re anything like me, it doesn’t sound very exciting to begin with.  Anyway, I walked into the office today, and sure enough, there was the giant pink box filled with sugary, glazed goodness that I try so hard to ignore and pretend isn’t’ there and isn’t calling out to me, only today is National Donut Day and what kind of red-blooded American would I be if I didn’t celebrate a national holiday?  Six times.  Serioulsy!  SIX.  TIMES.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go lie down now.  The sugar coma is taking over.

K is Evil

~ riggledo ~ Leave a comment

A year or so ago, she decided that she wanted to become a coffee connoisseur and open her own coffee shop.  I suspect that desire has fallen a bit by the wayside, which I can not judge because I too have a tendency to latch onto an idea, only to burn myself out on it, or determine, sometimes prematurely, that I can’t make it work and give up before I ever even get started.

K became a coffee snob, determining that the free coffee we have hear at work, though available in more flavors and varieties than the average non-coffee nerd could think of, was no longer acceptable for her to drink.  We have a machine that makes one individual cup of coffee at a time so the coffee is always fresh brewed and she’s in control of the ordering so she could have any variety she wanted, but it simply was beneath her sensibilities… suddenly.  More power to her.  If she wants to go across the street and pay $4.00 for a latté a couple times a day, great!

At one point, she wanted to learn how to roast her own beans and learn the intricacies involved in bringing out various flavors depending on what kind of beans you’re using and how long they’re roasted and possibly a bunch of other criterion I couldn’t even begin to guess.  She started following coffee nerds on Twitter and found coffee Nazi forums on-line.  Along the way she managed to connect with coffee people and won a contest to get some free coffee of various types and flavors which leads us to her evilness.

See, some of the coffee that K won was flavored, odiferous coffee.  Things like Chocolate Fudge, Chocolate Mint and Caramel Apple.  She got her hands on a whole portable set up and brought her coffee and accoutrement to work and has stored it in the cupboard under the counter on which our unsuitable coffee maker sits.  So now, every time I go back to get a cup of coffee from our perfectly lovely, one cup at a time, always hot and fresh coffee maker, I get a whiff of her delicious smelling coffee beans in the cupboard.  My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips in anticipation of the wonderful flavors my mind tricks itself into believing I’ll enjoy.  I mean, I’m making a cup of coffee and I smell a delicious smelling kind of coffee, it only stands to reason that the coffee I’ll be drinking will taste like what I smell, right?  I bring my hot, fresh coffee back to my office and take the first sip and—Ho hum.  Booorrrriiiinnngggg.

K is evil!

And A Good Time Was Had By All

~ riggledo ~ 3 Comments

I’m sure this will come as a complete surprise to most of you who read this blog on a regular basis, but I have a tendency to freak out about things I shouldn’t, from time to time.  I worry about being in uncomfortable situations and my default reaction is to avoid them as best I can, often by  ignoring opportunities or declining invitations I should accept.  I usually feel like an outsider in social situations and I fret about not being accepted or  feeling like I don’t belong.

Frequently, I am proved to be concerned for no reason.  My panic is  groundless and I leave the situation at the end of the event having faired just  fine and glad I took the chance.  More often than not, in fact, I have a good time and enjoy the company I kept.

You would think that given this “mountain of evidence”, I would stop worrying and start enjoying myself.  You would be wrong…

I moved to California in early 1998 after having received an invitation to stay  with my best friend from high school… and his wife… and his 18 month  old daughter… and his mother-in-law… who ran a day care out of their home,  until I was able to get a job and find a place to live on my own.  Not long after moving in with this friend and his family, he and his wife took me to a party  that was being hosted by friends from their church.  It was sort of a 20  something married’s Sunday School class type of gathering.  Shawn, my  friend, and his wife, lead me into the house where we were greeted by the  hostess.  They introduced us and then they walked away.  I didn’t see or  speak to them again for the rest of the evening until they told me it was time  to go.

I had only been in town for a few weeks and had just experienced two of the most psychologically traumatic events in life; loss/change of employment and relocation.  The fact is, I was in the beginning stages of my first deep  depression and I’ve no doubt that I was wearing my misery on my sleeve.  Certainly, there are things I could have done to handle the situation  differently and make myself more approachable.  There’s no question about  that.  But the fact remains, I was a stranger in a house full of people who all  knew each other.  I believe, and will believe till the day I die, that it was the  responsibility of the people at that part to approach me and to include me in  their conversations and activities.  Not to wait until I approached them.

This experience was twelve years ago.  It took place in another town many  miles away.  I’m not friends with Shawn and his wife people any longer.  I’m talking about ancient history and yet?  I’m tearing up, just a little bit, telling  this story.

Yes, I have a “mountain of evidence” to support the idea that I get by just fine in social situations and yet, every time an opportunity presents itself, the  only thing I can think of is this party twelve years ago.

So last Friday night, when John, the facilitator of the coming out support  group I attend, invited me to come to his house for a “gay men’s dinner party” later renamed a soirée – which turned out to have more straight  people than gay men in attendance – I was, of course, terrified at the  prospect and part of me really wanted to decline and hide away at home in  my recliner and big screen TV (is 37” considered “big screen” in this day and  age?) I knew it would be in my best interest to go.  I knew that I would probably have a good time once I got there.  And I knew, unlike in 1998, that  John would be a good host who would insure that I was included in the  events of the evening.  Also, I was informed by the boss of me that I was of  course going to go.  (I was also informed that she was the boss of me which I  did not previously know, and man does that take a lot of decision making responsibilities off my shoulders.  Phew!)

So, I went.  And of course I had a great time, even if I was quiet—especially as compared to some of the rest of the group.

I’ve never been very good with names.  I don’t know if it’s a short term  memory thing, or if – as is more likely – I’m just not paying enough attention  in the first place, but I frequently forget names within seconds of being told  them.  So when John introduced me to everyone, I did my best to remember all the names.  There were five people at that moment and I remembered four  of the five names, but drew a complete blank on the last name.  Fortunately, a few minutes later two more people arrived and the names were listed again.  I never had to ask for the lost name because it was  repeated in my earshot.

The food was very good and the drinks, of which I abstained, were free flowing.  The conversation was light and the barbs were aplenty.  Once the  drunkenness set in for some, the “I love you” was free flowing as well.

Five hours later, I was back in my car heading home content with a pleasant  evening among potential new friends and ready for sleep.