Flap Meat

While My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I were in Virginia over the Thanksgiving holiday we did some amazing cooking with my Mom.

Chicken and dumplings. Steak, lobster, and scallops. Two turkeys, one fried one in the oven. Not to mention all the side dishes - spinach cheese balls, deviled eggs, cookies, etc.

The one dinner I was not too thrilled with was my Mom's Sichuan chicken. I love spicy food and love Chinese, so what's the problem? I didn't have one until I offered to help prep by trimming the fat off the chicken. Cutting the bags of chicken open I was horrified to find that it wasn't breast meat.

It was flap meat.

Seriously, what the fuck is flap meat? Where the hell is the flap of a chicken?

There was so much fat and gristle on the little bits of meat that it was impossible to trim. That kind of meat grosses me out and certainly isn't something I would want to eat.

To make light of the situation, MSMF and I started teasing one another about the flap meat - calling it the slappy flappy. Flappy yappy. Ol' flappy slappy.

This goes a bit further back than the janky chicken. MSMF can't stand to touch raw meat with his hands, which I find unique and totally hilarious. He also isn't the biggest fan of being teased by the sounds meat makes slapping together in your hands. You know the sound, that thick, funky slappy slappy sound like two people bumping uglies.

Thaaat sound.

So now we tease each other about our own private flap meats. Our shared flap meats. Our ol' flappy yappys.

I just have to remind myself not to make that sucking meaty sound with the inside of my mouth to accentuate our slappy flappyness. MSMF hates that and will give me a stern, "Baby!"

You're Like Borat

"You're like Borat."

My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") lost his mind the other day. He denies that he said but he said it.  Or something like it anyway.

Me: "What!?"

MSMF: "You're like Borat."

Me: "BORAT!? You gotta be fucking kidding me."

MSMF: "I didn't say you are Borat. I mean your sense of humor or way of saying things for shock value is like Borat."

Me: "Seriously!? You're really comparing me to Sacha Baron Cohen?"

MSMF: "I'm not comparing you."

Me: "Dude. No. You said 'you're like Borat'."

MSMF: "Honey I didn't say you're Borat."

Me: "I know what you're saying but Jesus, am I really that crass and offensive?"

Honestly I was amused more than anything else and genuinely laughed at the comment. But it gave me pause to contemplate... Am I really like Borat? I'm not the biggest fan of Cohen or any of his characters. They're too obvious and obnoxious and only serve to upset or cause discomfort. That being said, I wondered to myself; am I obvious or obnoxious and do I try to upset and create discomfort with my humor?

I don't TRY to be any of those things. But I'm sure I have been. On occasion.

Here's a fun recent example that you can use to judge for yourself.

A few nights ago MSMF, JZ, Beyonce and I were at my girlfriend's place to help trim her Christmas tree. I gave her an awesome cat scratcher about a month ago that my own silly elderly cat couldn't figure out how to use and I was curious if her kitties took to it or not. She said one of her cats was into it but her other cat not so much. JZ and Beyonce suggested that she put a dirty sock on it, to associate her smell with it. I know that's a thing with pets but the comment struck me as funny, so I blurted out - "Yeah, I'm gonna go rub my asshole on it..." JZ and Beyonce just laughed but MSMF looked horrified and blurted out "BABY!"

The best part was the comment didn't die there; as MSMF said later we put our wadders on and went further into the muck of my inappropriate comment. We couldn't stop laughing while babbling about what things we could rub and grind on. I'd like to blame the eggnog martinis we were drinking but I'm sure it was simply the ridiculousness of my remark.

So...

Am I like Borat?

Ho Fuckin' Ho

Ho Fuckin' Ho!

The holidays are upon us with all the happiness and madness that the season inevitably brings, year after year. Christmas is always my favorite time of year, though truth be told, my love of the winter season starts just before Halloween.

Halloween and Christmas are just the best, with my birthday falling in between the two. Making the holidays that much better this year, I'm happy to say that My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I are back together. I came to my senses and realized this blog is just shit without him.

Strike that.

I realized that my life just wasn't the same without him. And that, yeah, the blog was shit without him.

It's not the silly shit I say; it's the silly shit we say.

Already the season is brighter and fuller with MSMF. More love, more laughter. I want to see him and sit together, looking at our gorgeous Christmas tree, every night but most of the week we're in two different places.

There's a longing in general that consumes me during Christmas. Nostalgia and memories of Christmas' long, long ago with my Grandmother affects me in strange ways. I feel so happy and excited for Christmas morning, as I did when I was a little girl, but as I've gotten older there's an underlying sadness to the season. My Grandmother has been gone for more than 20 years and with her my fading memories of Christmas' together. The sadness intensifies by the feeling and want of perfection because Christmas perfection is not real. As a child, one knew no better. But now, that adolescent innocence of Santa coming down the chimney and all being right with the world has grown into adulting. You try to banish the worry of finances and the future, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes after a long work day, clinging to the smell of the tree - the glow and warmth of the fire - and the embrace of someone you love next to you. Not wanting to let any of it go. Hoping that someone else understands the twinge of contentment and pain that these fleeting feelings and moments bring.

How Nat King Cole's Christmas Song and parts of Alastair Sim's A Christmas Carol can make me cry on cue.

I'm always giddy to give gifts - I'm an awesome gift giver - but I also feel a little gloomy, knowing that I'll wake up to find an empty stocking. I am Santa now. I'm always looking out for others, to be their Santa. To bring a small thrill to anyone I spend Christmas eve and Christmas morning with, by staying up later than anyone else or waking up the earliest so I can sneak over to the stockings and illicit that feeling of wonderment when the stockings are found filled Christmas morning.

The stocking was always my favorite part of Christmas. My Mom would stuff mine full of all kinds of goodies, including a single children's book. Two years ago, after my Mom and her husband moved away to Virginia, she sent me a box full of gifts including my childhood stocking. For weeks the box was missing by the postal service. I thought for sure my Mom and I were going to literally go postal. Luckily the box showed up, intact. The following year I visited her in Virginia, stocking in hand, telling her never to fucking send it to me again. If it had gone missing our hearts would have been shattered. Silly, such a response for something seemingly so small.

But holidays and memories are like that. They're not small and they're not simple.

I dread the arrival of Christmas eve and Christmas morning because as much as I look forward to those 48 hours I dread the vacancy left in its wake. All the songs and lights and dressing up and eating and drinking and feeling overall more merry and carefree comes to a screeching halt.

Until then I'm going to keep binge watching Christmas movies (MSMF and I are watching as many versions of A Christmas Carol as we possibly can - I think we're currently at 7) and bask in the reason for the season. No, not Jesus. Indulging in all the things and gaining weight while being blissfully thankful that I have MSMF by my side to laugh together while riding the highs and have one another to hold when the seasonal lows try to steal our joy.

Doin' It Way Big

DISCLAIMER - Wrote this weeks ago. Just now posting.

Have you ever had that day? That day or night where you just did it way big?

To quote Lil Kim - "Doin' it way big."

A week before my birthday I went way big.

I didn't apologize for saying or being who I was because I had my crew around me.  The same people that have torn me down but also the same people that can respect me.

And I dished it out too.  I probably used "cunt" and "fuck em" way too loosely but then again who doesn't say some stupid shit. Who wants to be taken too seriously? Seems everyone's lives are so serious these days.  If you don't have COVID you either don't care, care too much, or are going to get it.

I personally would like to just get it and move on but I'd probably be one of those sad mother fuckers that gets the worst version of it.

Tonight, on the almost week of my birthday, I talked about all the things.

I grew up poor.  My family suffered. And tortured one another, and still do, because they don't know any better. I shared my random socio-anthropological beliefs with the group because God damn it I'm unique. 

Or at least I was.

But as the years add on and my skin sallows, I realize that I refuse to age. Refuse to slowly die. I took a stand tonight because damn it all I matter. My life matters. This fucking frustrating no seeming result life matters. To me. I'm trying to scrape by, paycheck to paycheck, and act like I know what the fuck is going on.

And everyone at the table just smiled at me and we all finished our over priced beverages because that's what responsible adults do. 

And because I'm being open I'll tell you - we lied about having a kid in our 5 person pre-lockdown crew because we wanted chicken fingers.  This God damn mother fuckin' place wouldn't give us chicken fingers because it was a kids menu item. And we seemed to NOT fit the bill of having a kid status. So we made up a kid that we had to "take chicken tenders home to". 

Of course we proceeded to eat them at the table, secretly, the moment they served them up in the to-go container.

I resent leaving them 20%. Honestly.

But that's what you do when it's COVID. And that's what you do when you're goin' way big.

You say and do shit you shouldn't but I'm not going to look back and think - meh, I shouldn't have said or did that. I knew exactly what I said and did all night. And frankly...

I did it way BIG.