to the birthday boy

Expatriate
The appropriateness of Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day is eerily applicable today as I feel far removed from the revelries at home in the desert. Today marks the 22nd birthday of my little brother, a day sure to be filled with liquor, mexican food, and good music. In an attempt to be close in spirit, I spent way too much money on a 6-pack of Corona. [Over $15 ffs!]

So cheers to you, Brandon. 

I hope you have an amazing 23rd year and that you'll come see us in Philadelphia soon. Miss you, kiddo.

need to eat more soy

I don't claim to be many things. Not many things at all. In fact, I frequently abjure self-portraiture opting to retain an undefinable aura... or I just keep to myself because I'm a Molly Ringwald type wallflower. 


Living in a big city, after a move from a big-little city, brings change. From that change brings a new sense of awareness.
Case in point: I live with three boys. Even with a quart of soy milk in the fridge and some tofu from the Vietnamese place on Washington, estrogen is the underdog in this house. Granted, one of the males is a neutered dog, so it's not quite out of balance as I'm making it out to be, but still. 

He might not have balls, but that doesn't make him any less of a man.

Generally, it's enjoyable. They're entertaining. I learn about angry nerds, new video games, and other ridiculous pop culture reportage. Things I would otherwise be completely left out of the loop. Boys, I genuinely appreciate these contributions to my knowledge stores. 


Thank you for demonstrating the latest RPGs. 
Thank you for sharing your gratifying Japanese rice/mayo concoctions. [Trust me, there's nothing better at 2am than a steamy bowl of sticky rice, piled like Mt. Fuji, with rivulets of kewpie mayo, sriracha, and eel sauce, sprinkled with that fish-food-like rice topping.]
Thank you for forcing me to learn where all the trash cans in the neighborhood are. [Cleaning up after your pooch is harder than it should be when there exist no receptacles in a 3 block radius.]


I am glad to be the recipient of such testosterone-laden philanthropy. I embrace the responsibility of moving the toilet seat to a more usable position. I can deal with dodging karate chops in the hallway and stepping on chewed-on tennis balls in the middle of the night.


Nonetheless, there's a dearth of femininity around these parts. Having spent the last year as a single woman living alone, there must have been a point when I forgot how the other half lives. Evidently, for the male lifeform, it is not necessary to have any counter space in the bathroom. I've never contemplated the complexity of toothpaste storage before - it was never an issue.


Which demonstrates my point precisely. Though I've never characterized myself as exceedingly feminine, or of the high-maintenance persuasion, I suppose I am. Reluctant to point out life differences based on gender, they're out there. 


And that's ok.


I pee sitting down.
I need room to stash hair products.
I require a mirror to leave the house.


And that's ok.


Embracing femininity isn't a weakness. It's not giving in to vanity or a reduction to materialism. In this household, it's part of a balance. Inasmuch as I have learned from the boys I'm shacked up with, I like to think they're learning from me. [If nothing else, I know they're bogarting my hairspray.] 


And if I find things get too out of balance, I'll just make them eat a ton of soy.

math, food, and musings

It's Pi Day.
Happens to be Steak & Blowjob Day, too. Which makes fabulous, though heavily caloric, dinner plans. For next year, I propose instead of pi pie, a celebration on Euclidean geometries with 3.14159 scoops of ice cream on a cone. (Although most documentation has been lost, Euclid was one of the first mathematicians to develop conic sections.) Though pie is a beautiful thing, ask anyone who's had my Thanksgiving feasts, it seems a too-simple answer to the Pi day comestibles.


As for the other half of today's holiday happenings, I can't entirely buy-in because of my pragmatic view of Valentine's Day. The tit-for-tat attitude that because chocolates were exchanged on February 14th, cow products and sexual favors are due a month later, seems asinine. If you weren't able to swindle a steak dinner and some good sex on Valentine's, chances are you aren't getting any ass today either.


I'm content with my part in today's jovialities, as it gave me a fanciful quest to roam about the city, but someone else should be concerned with not getting their fair share. Unbeknownst to him, the clock has struck midnight and I'm about to curl up like a pumpkin in bed. Hopefully he's battened on the epicurean steak sandwich (with balsamic caramel baby carrots and roasted garlic/shallot smashed potatoes) and is surfeited with such delicacies. 


More on my wanderings about town tomorrow...