Carlos and I are off for a weekend in Atlanta, so, except for a few preplanned funny, gossipy, catty, cartoony posts, I won’t be around this weekend. But I will say Hello to Patti LuPone for ya’ll, though.
See ya next week, and play nice!
…which, in my mind, at least, is a much better thing.
Our Second Annual Cinco de Never Again Party was quite the success. The name of the party, Cinco de Never, comes from a few years back, when a group of friends had gathered somewhere and Carlos announced to the group–without my knowledge–that he wanted to have a Cinco de Mayo party and make some traditional Mexican food. Everyone was keen on the idea and then….it never happened. Carlos simply forgot all about it.
Cut to the following year and someone asked me if Carlos was going to come through with his Cinco de Mayo party and I replied, “Make it Cinco de Never cuz it’s never gonna happen.” And a tradition was born.
The first CdN was last year and quite successful, and this year was more of the same. I loaded up on Tequila and beer and wine and Tequila, while Carlos made Tamales, Pollo con Poblanos and Marinated Flank Steak with Grilled Onions. He also made Coffee Flan and Coconut Flan. I made a Pinto Bean and Corn Salad with Cumin-Lime Vinaigrette, Salmon Ceviche with Peaches and Jalapenos, Shrimp Ceviche with Spanish Olives and Capers, and, together Carlos and I made 75 Chalupas with Chorizo and Queso Fresco.
It was crazy, er, loco.
And then I found a recipe for Sangria, which called for Hibiscus Water, which is a traditional Mexican beverage and something Carlos had as a kid. You take dried Hibiscus flowers and boil them into a kind of tart–think really tart lemonade–beverage. You add sugar and drink. Well, I added sugar, six bottles of Chardonnay, a bottle of Brandy a half bottle of Triple Sec and some orange juice and it was nirvana. It made so much and I worried about having too much, but it was the drink of choice on Saturday.
It was, yes, I’m gonna say it, rapturous. All in all, rapturous.
We had nearly thirty people at Chez Smallville, out of the deck and scattered throughout the house. A great blend of good friends who all know one another, and some new friends who fit right in. It was a Sangria-Tamale-Chalupa kinda day. And it was spectacular.
I had such good intentions of taking pictures of the food and the friends and that rapturous Sangria, but then I got Sangria’d and Tamale’d and Chalupa’d and Ceviche’d and forgot all about it. Maybe next year, at Cinco de Never, Numero Tres?
Carlos and i will be having our Second Annual Cinco de Never party this Saturday, so posting will be light, and preplanned, for the next couple of days.
We have Chalupas to fill, and Ceviches to make, and Guacamole and Salsa and Green Chile Salsa, to prep. There are Margaritas to make–and my special Bob-a-rita, too–and Sangria to create, and Flan to bake. There are rooms to clean and dishes to set out and flowers to get and music to ready.
Plus, there’s that whole Rapture thing set up to ruin the day. I friended God on Facebook, and sent him….her[?]…a private message asking that the Rapture be put off for a while since we had planned this day long before the announcement of the End Times was made. I mean, had I known, I would have had the party last weekend.
Anyhoo, I may not get much of a chance to comment over the next couple of days, but I will play catch up after the weekend.
Happy Cinco de Never, y’all!
It was a weekend of highs and lows, and CostCo.
The highs were the weather, which was just lovely all weekend long, allowing for the last bits of winter to be swept away.
Another high was the arrival of a package from my father, who is planning a move from Smallerville, Oregon to EvenSmallerville, Washington this month, and was cleaning out his house in preparation. He had asked each of his three kids if there was anything specific they wanted form the house, and was kind enough to provide a list of Mom-and-Dad items.
Now, I am not a keeper of things. I don’t like having a lot of stuff, especially stuff I don’t use or need, so there wasn’t a lot on the list that I wanted. Except for an Anniversary Clock that belonged to my parents. I have my Grandmother’s–my father’s mother–Anniversary Clock, and I liked the idea of a pair of them, so Dad sent it along this weekend.
He also sent a set of Little Leather Library Corporation books that had belonged to his grandfather, my Great-grandfather, that I have always loved, along with some Christmas ornaments my mother had made over the years.
I must admit, it was a bit of a weepy feeling, seeing those things that my mother had painted, but I am going to love hanging them our tree next Christmas. It’ll be a little more like having my Mom around.
Dad also sent a history of my mother’s family that my Aunt Norma had accumulated and written. I didn’t know a lot about my mother’s family, probably due to an ugly incident in the 1940’s that involved infidelity and a murder trial–I may tell this story one day on the blog–but it’s interesting to read the stories about them. The funniest part was the story of my grandfather, on Mom’s side, being just two pounds when he was born, and being kept warm in a shoe-box near the stove. Seriously.
Of course, having this package, with these pictures and stories, arrive the day before Mother’s Day was a bit unnerving. I had odd dreams that night and kept thinking of my Mom almost constantly as we moved through the day. I’ve always said that, after one loses a parent or loved one, it does get easier, but it never gets better, and yesterday was one of those days that wasn’t easy or better. I did get some lovely news from my Dad about an upcoming event in his life that made me smile. My father is getting remarried to a woman he worked with a local aquarium near his town, and they will wed May 21st, in a quiet ceremony in Oregon. Carlos and I will visit them in Washington sometime in August once they’re settled.
And how was your weekend?
Well, Carlos’ birthday festivities have finally wound down. Like any good queen, he doesn’t celebrate just once, but often, for several days, each passing year.
Last Wednesday, the day before his actual birthday, Round-The-Way-Gays, Neal and David, took us out to dinner to celebrate. A fabulous meal, some great cocktails, and the usual rip-roaring conversation. I had made Carlos a birthday card that said, on the front: Happy Birthday……..Now Back To Me….and gave him grief, when David and Neal presented him with a gift bag, er, bag’o’gifts, saying he wasn’t allowed to open it until his birthday.
The Little Boy Pout that ensued was precious. And annoying.
|Peanut Butter Cake
with Chocolate Icing
|Pork Loin and Pesto|
Proscuitto and Asiago
|Dinner is served!|
Sunday we did housework. There was a plan to mow lawns, but with all the rain Saturday night, that was put on hold. When we bought Case de Smallville, the mailbox was one of those ones that looks like a little barn, only it was gray, and old, and ugly. I’ve wanted to replace it, but Carlos decided he wanted to paint the body of the barn red–of course–and the roof of the barn brown. I again told him I’d like a new mailbox.
So, we broke out the red paint, and the brown paint, and painted our little barn mailbox. We also got some very cool silver house numbers, and some Black semi-gloss enamel to paint the post–we’ll do that once the wood dries out from the rain. I was surprised that it didn’t look cheesy. but actually looks very nice.
All in all, Carlos had a lovely birthday festival; three days of good times and gifts, and one day of barn paintintg. And now he’s a happy camper.
Until next year.
>I’m a smartass. But I’m also extraordinarily polite. I think with being gay, and a bit shy, comes lovely manners. Now that doesn’t mean the straight folks aren’t polite, but, for me, being gay, and shy, instilled in me some lovely manners.
I’m a Please and Thank you guy. I say My pleasure when someone thanks me for something. I hold doors open. I let people go into buildings ahead of me. I’m nice.
Once, years back, I was picking out a birthday cake for a friend, and I was asking the Counter Girl some questions. I kept saying Please and Thanks as we talked and then she disappeared into the back to finish icing my cake. Suddenly she reappeared and asked if she could tell me something.
She said, You’re just about the most polite person I’ve ever met.
I said, Thanks. But could you just shut up and ice my damn cake.
Like I said, I’m a smartass, and nice. To a point.
Okay, so here we go: yesterday was Carlos’ 67th birthday–he’ll kill me for that because he’s a couple of decades shy of that number, but that’s what I always tell him–and as I am a procrastinator of epic proportions–though not as epic as Carlos who took three-plus years to paint the kitchen ceiling, but I digress–I went out shopping for some birthday trinkets yesterday.
The day before his Big Day. Pro.Crasti.Nation.
Now, to be fair, I had ordered him a new briefcase since his last one is falling apart at the seams, but it won’t be here for a week or so. Don’t worry, I already told him, because i was worried he’d find one on his own and then we’d have two, and that would just be odd. But again I digress.
So, I’m out at The Stores, doing some shopping, which I hate because I’m a get-in-get-what-you-want-and-get-out type of guy, but I was stuck perusing the shelves at every kind of store imaginable. And finally, at one store, I found something–I’ll keep it a secret because he gets the gift today which is his actual birthday–he would like.
I took it to Cashier–like Karen Walker, I call people by what they do…Counter Girl, Cashier, Hustler–and Salesperson asked if I wanted to sign up for a store credit card and receive ten-percent off. I said, No, because I was paying cash and I don’t like having store credit cards with their 87% interest rate. But she persisted.
You can save an additional ten-percent off every you purchase today.
Oh, thanks, but that’s okay. I’m getting just this, and then I’m done. But thanks.
Well, that put a sour look on her face, and she proceeded to ring me up, collect my cash, give me my change, bag the gift and rip off, and hand me, the receipt without so much as a smile or a pleasant word; hell, without so much as a word.
I took my purchase and headed for the door, and I almost made it….I turned around and went back to Cashier.
You know, I said, I’m sorry I didn’t want the store credit card. I’m sorry I didn’t care about an additional ten-percent off. But what I’m most sorry about is that the mere idea that I didn’t want the card has ruined your day.
And I left.
Second store. Same deal. Save ten-percent and get a credit card. I declined. I got the sour apple face.
Again, I said, I apologize, but do you get some sort of commission for getting people to sign up for these cards, because you seem truly pissed off that I don’t want one.
See, I said, I think that next time someone declines your lovely offer, you should just smile and say, Thanks. It’s called customer service for a reason. Don’t take it personally.
And I turned. Then turned back.
And thanks for your help, I appreciate it.
No wonder I hate to shop.