goodbye, refries, goodbye

In case you missed it, go here: http://www.hendrixcat.com/
thats her new url, so update your blogroll (do as i say, not as i do...yeah, yeah.)

Well, I have diabetes. Barely, but there ya go.
I don't doubt it for a moment. I was expecting this. The way I've been eating for the last 20 years? Shit, yes.
I do not regret one single moment.
No I don't.

What will I miss most?
Mostly, I will miss not having to worry.

I tell you what, though, I am not going to go around all penitential eating fucking ry-krisps and smacking myself in the head with a board. Food is a celebration and I damn well intend to see that it stays that way.

I'm going to have to learn a whole new repetoire of staple recipes. After all, the ones I have in my head now are what got me to this place! Does anybody have any suggestions for diabetic cookbooks? Particularly with Mexican and Italian recipes? Is there such a thing as a diabetes cookbook put out by a master chef? Jesus, if there is, let me know. I don't care if it's complicated; I can do complicated.

I got myself into this place; I'll damn well get myself out of it.


Because of the heat, I had to take the clippers and shave my poor girldog the other day. Poor wooly sheepie! She has Labrador retriever blood back there in the woodpile someplace so she has an undercoat like felt and a long topcoat to boot. I swear I don't know how one small animal could have so much hair. It was appalling! Now she feels better, though. Looks smaller, too. Lots smaller. And guess what; I'm not done yet. Oh yeah, I'm gonna be her BEST FRIEND.

We are gradually getting the Playboy of the Western World moved in to his new place. Thank God the man was not a packrat. Still, there are a lot of small things that he thought were special, and they are all sitting here in my house now, *sigh* waiting to be boxed up, and eventually donated.
Now goddammit, this is sad. I don't like any of it. Neither does the Yummy Biker. None of it is particularly valuable either, but it's not exactly crap...what it is, mainly, are trinkets he picked up in Greece, or things he saved from when his mothers house caught on fire years ago. Mismatched cups and saucers, figurines, glasses, things like that. I hate boxing it up and then having to lie to him about where the stuff is. But we will.*
Fortunately all his buddies have been given first crack at the large furnishings. Have at, gentlemen! When we finally throw open the doors to the relatives they're going to be rather puzzled by all the empty carpet. I DO hope someone gets shitty with me; I've been spoiling for a fight. Probably won't happen.

Come to think of it, that's a pretty nice statement about the family, isn't it?





*The Yummy Bikers' mother had rather regrettable tastes in her younger years. Her worst judgment, beside marrying the same man three times and a gay man the fourth, was the purchase of the infamous Chicken Dishes. You'd honestly hesitate to put food on them. They're glazed this really odd, mustard-diaper color that's speckled with gnats or pepper or birdshot or something...and smack in the center of each is a huge picture of what can only be described as a gravely psychotic chicken. Each one hefts approximately the same as a boat anchor. She passed them on to us. Gee, thanks. And she always asks about them. "Do you still have those dishes?" and we nod and smile real big. "Well, are you ever gonna use them?" Not even on a dare, honey. We have them stored safely away from young children and the nervous, waiting to be thrown into Bellingham Bay the instant you go to your reward. In fact I may arrange for the hospital to call me. Until then, they're packed away, and we lie.