Room To Let

I like that old phrase. Anyhow, I was looking around in the newspaper and onlines just to see how expensive apartments and stuff are, in case it really did make sense for me and Molly to get our own place. Stuff is damn costly around here, I guess 'cause it's the Bay Area and so many folks want to live here for some reason which is not clear to me.

I was flipping through the back pages at the kitchen table and Gramma K wheeled in and yelled at me to make sure I folded the newspaper back up properly and not to do the crossword or "make any pencil marks" on the pages. Then Molly was leaving for work at Applebee's and Gramma told her she "better not get pregnant from those Mexicans." Oh my god what in the hell can you do. Maybe I'll ask Ray if we can move into his pool shed, I don't know if he would be down with that but it seems a pretty nice solution and he probably wouldn't charge us but a nominal rent.

Maybe not an ulcer

So Chris gave us the whole last week off and I didn't have to stress about being on call for casting or anything. It was pretty nice, me and Molly went on a little "vacation" by fixing up Ray's pool house to be kind of a romantic bungalow. I used some of the money I got from selling this big drum scanner he gave me—we hung like those oriental paper lights from IKEA and got a nice rug and a music player. Ray was down with letting us have exclusive use of the pool and hot tub at nights, and he even cooked us dinner a couple times (provided we would sample his latest brews and give him feedback notes). It was mega-relaxing, just sitting by the pool on those lay-down chairs while Ray brought us mandarin orange cinnamon ales and tamarind-spiced lobster/bacon shish kebab. In the afternoons we'd move to the other side of the pool and flip through the phone book for nice restaurants we hadn't been to yet. Molly really appreciated having time away from Gramma K, who stresses her out a lot. Maybe at some point in the future we'll try to get our own place. Who knows. Not just yet though.

After that week of stone cold relaxation I noticed that my stomach is back to normal, even with all the heavy eating, so I guess it was perfect timing. No more peptic ulcer symptoms or passing out or sweats or anything. Maybe it's me that needs to move away from Gramma K. Damn, I need to think about this.

Peptic ulcer ?

Man it is almost impossible to diagnose your own medical problems on the Internet. I thought I might be getting a peptic ulcer (coughing up lots of mucus plus weird stuff is happening in the bathroom and I don't mean that the toothbrushes are dancing around to songs) so I went on Google and it turns out I could have like 1,000 different afflictions. I need to get a health plan so I can see a doctor and not pay $485 for the visit. It is the modern age, I should not die of like a simple imbalance of stomach chemicals. Why in the dogg we do not have socialized medical care is beyond me. We have emailed a robot to Jupiter but we cannot go to the doctor. What in the chicken is that all about.

well if that wasn't a dirt dogg of a dinner

Alright well I guess I forgot that Molly is trying to lose a few pounds (she says her new Applebees uniform makes her look like she has a lady-gut) and so she really did not want to eat a dish of fried chicken with wine and butter sauce. She just pushed different pieces of the chicken around but the volume of the food on the plate did not change because I had forgotten to serve a side vegetable or even a potato item. I barely even ate any of my Chicken a la Francese because it was stressing me out how she was picking at her food. After about five minutes I just picked both of our plates up and threw them in the trash, silverware and all, and took off. I'm blogging this from an EasyEverything down in the underground and I think I'm going to sleep in Ray's pool shed tonight.

I am going to make a Good Dinner.

I got this idea into my head around lunchtime that tonight I am going to make a Good Dinner. Dinner is just a project like any other and if you do your research and follow directions there is no reason it should not turn out well. Tonight for Good Dinner (Good Dinner is capitalized because I want to make it a tradition) we are having Chicken a la Francese, which is thin-pounded chicken breast medallions in a wine butter sauce. I have read the recipe four times and bought all the ingredients, and I have done a mock run through to get the timing down, with all the pans out on the burners and everything. I even pretended to pound the chicken breasts using a meat tenderizer. There is no way I can screw this up.