the hounds of HELL

Sasquatch and I were just hanging out. It had been another grueling day...the office for me and dealing with remodeling changes for Sas. So we were watching the Game Show Channel. It was showing a retrospective, The Price is Right: The Bob Barker Years. It was going to be on for several days, I believe, so Sas was in heaven. She loves Bob Barker and knows what an animal lover he is, although she doesn't buy in completely with his tag line, "Remember, get your pets spayed or neutered." Sasquatch regrets never having had children. She would have been a good mother, tender and protective, but fun! Well, she has enough to do taking care of me...

I did check my HELL email while Sas was wagging over Bob. I was surprised to see that Shih-tzu2u4u8u had sent an "intimate" message. I thought I'd gotten rid of him once and for all. Perhaps you remember Shih-t...He's married, but his wife doesn't understand him at all, especially his raging sex drive. He thought HELL might provide him a little action on the side, unbeknownst to the "missus," perhaps with me 3 or 4 days a week, at my house, of course, since his house had the missus in it and she just would not approve. No, he was quite certain that she must not ever catch wind of his plan. He had asked me for my phone number so he could call me from his car on his cell phone. (He said he'd looked up "Tizzy" in the White Pages...whatta dope.) Well, no, I didn't think I'd be sharing my number with him. And told him to leave me alone. I am not interested in having him come over 3 or 4 days a week for a quick roll in the hay. I don't even know what he looks like! He may be a ringer for Marty Feldman for all I know (thanks, M, for reminding me of Marty...need to see Young Frankenstein again, stat.). I'm no beauty, but I do have my standards!!

One day, Sas snapped a picture of me as I was reading that classic novel, Slugs in Love, by Susan Pearson. The photo, taken from behind me, shows my hair, but not my face. Since it showed little that could be used to identify me, I included in my HELL profile. Shih-t has always seemed fascinated by my hair...perhaps he has a hair fetish...Is there such a thing? So, in his latest message to me, he said that my hair looked just like the hair of a woman who'd been on the news for killing her husband and wondered if she were I? Well, I don't know...I don't watch the news. I wrote him back and said that yes, I had done it, but hadn't meant too. It was an unfortunate emasculation accident. I thought this message would scare him off. But no, our Shih-t is a brave man. He sympathized with me! He called me "poor thing" and hoped I wouldn't go to jail! Damn! The thing to do, of course, would have been to just ignore him and not answer, but those of you who know me know that I cannot resist a challenge. So I answered him and said that indeed, I already was in jail, but I had assembled a team of the best legal minds in the country and was sure they'd get me the lightest possible sentence. I assured him that I had reconsidered and was now ready to meet him 3 or 4 days a week, but since the jail was not enlightened enough to allow conjugal visits, I would need some help making bail. While I awaited trial, we could meet and his every urge would be satisfied...all he had to do was withdraw several thousand dollars from his account, and send it to my favorite local attorney, AJ, who would take care of everything. (Must remember to alert AJ to the possibility of a large amount of cash arriving at his office and emphasize to him that I know where it came from; otherwise, he might keep it all for himself and I cannot allow that to happen. I have remodeling and new furniture to pay for.) I'm awaiting Shih-t's response...it's been 2 days...Either way, it's win-win for me...I've scared him off with talk of big money or he's sending big money and my financial worries are over. Sometimes, I'm a little frightened of how devious I can be. Since I learned most of it from Sas though, I in no way consider it a character flaw.

--Ina

another day in remodeling hell...

Sasquatch finally got her day of beauty. She was very excited and romped with delight. I had talked her out of letting her bangs grow out, and she came home with a completely different look. I'm not sure I would have emphasized the eyebrows quite so much, but she likes it and that's all that matters. She really looks much better with a shorter 'do. If I were good with scissors, I could trim her from time to time and save an expensive salon visit, but I'm no stylist and she has had the good fortune to have found a good one, so it's worth the money. There's nothing like a day at the spa to cheer a girl right up!

It was good that she was out of the house because it was chaotic in there! Carpet and floors were being ripped up with abandon; the shop vac blared, plus the radio. You have to have it pretty loud to hear it over the shop vac! There were large male creatures who were generally in the way and it was best that she was spared the ordeal, especially after what she's been through with the winter weather and her many bad hair days. "Lucky dog" took on a whole new meaning...


While H. and A. were happily working, I decided to take a look at my handbasket from HELL, which had arrived the night before. Well, there were some interesting selections this time...interesting, not appealing. One called himself Flirty4U...He looked like Samuel L. Jackson (thanks for noticing the resemblance, M...I couldn't think who he reminded me of.) and had trouble spelling...lots of trouble. He wondered wy he didt get tons of emails sinse he was no diffrent from nobody els. He was afecshunut and compasshunut just like everone els, so wy he got few emails was hard to understand. He liked walking around the house nude, and yet the first thing folks noticed about him were his clothes. He spent a lot of time thinking about getting laid...off. Well, I've always liked men who are a little different and if he's just like everone els, then I'm just not that interested. Sory, Flirty.



There was another one...I can't remember his name...I don't remember anything about him, except he used the words "worst case cinerio" in his profile. That was enough for me. And then there was...well, his moniker is just appalling and I cannot reveal it. I'm sorry I ever saw it, but I'll tell you a little about him because its just too revolting to keep to myself. According to his self-summary, he's a very large man who is looking for a very sexual woman. He likes long kisses...he mentions his very large hands and feet, and all that they say about him! He wants to whisper sweetly to us in his "deep baritone voice." That's funny...usually the timbre of one's voice doesn't come through in whispers. Actually, he spells pretty well, but it was his picture, plus that disgusting moniker, that told me I must reject him. What was he thinking? I fail to understand what some of these men do in the hopes of finding a woman. How can he possibly think that any woman in her right mind would go all oh baby over that awful picture and his stupid description of his large hands and feet and all they imply. Well, maybe some women would, I don't pretend to know. But not this woman, not in a million years. I must not let Sas see this photo. She's far too innocent and I'm afraid she might be scarred for life. I'm thinking about turning in the key to my handbasket. If this is the best the administrators in HELL can do, then I might very well be done with the whole thing.


When Sas returned from her day of beauty, she was undone by all the changes that had taken place in her absence. She looked at me like WTF?? I tried to explain, but she just wandered around her home, sniffing and looking for familiar things...her carpet was gone, her rug where she chewed happily on bones, gone. She was bewildered, but still pumped up by her new coif and bandanna! Her stylist, knowing that Sas was tired to death of winter and snow, had given her a bright floral bandanna to remind her that Spring was near, and she wore it proudly. She paraded around, swinging her hips, to catch the eyes of her new best boyfriends, H. and A. They were appreciative and patted her head and called her beautiful. She was aglow from their attention! But the day had exhausted her and soon, she was ready for bed.

She was so tired, she refused most of her dinner, which for Sasquatch, is rare indeed. I'd spent the whole day cooking, but I didn't really mind if she wasn't hungry...she'd had a big day, and it was enough for me to see her happy and confident again. Sometimes, a day of beauty is just the thing.















--Ina

and now for something completely different...

Sasquatch and I had discussed it and we came to the conclusion that we needed to remodel. We were tired of our surroundings and needed a change. We spent many hours thinking about what we'd like done and finally arrived at a plan. Now, we needed someone to carry out our vision, and I just happened to know somebody! I'd met H. when the company he worked for moved into the building where my office is. He was a very charming man with lovely manners. (You may have noticed that I'm a sucker for nice manners...) Over the course of our conversations, I learned that he did remodeling. Well, I needed remodeling done and we spoke of it and he agreed to take on the project. It was a good thing I wasn't in a hurry to have the work done...Yes, that was indeed a good thing. I was patient...extremely patient....more patient than normal for me. But I didn't want to interview a dozen contractors and he seemed most capable. So, I waited. Actually, I waited for several months. In fact, I was almost out of the notion. My patience paid off though and he came by to measure and look and figure and discuss. We arrived at a plan and a price, and suddenly, there Sas and I were in the middle of a remodeling project! How exciting and how noisy!

H. and his helper, A., (a very polite young man) came by to start ripping up stuff and generally disrupting my life. But that was their job and so I didn't mind...too much. (I was a little distressed when I heard H. say, "A., do you know how to use a nail gun?" And A. said, "No, but I'd like to learn!") Great! A nail gun neophyte in my house! Sas, on the other hand, has been a little confused by these recent developments. She isn't used to men wielding crowbars in her house...well, I'm not either, but, being slightly more sophisticated, I'm better able to hide my confusion. Sasquatch has been delighted with the prospect of other people in her house. She has danced around and generally made a fool of herself in her shameless bid for attention from attractive men. Sometimes she's such a whore! I have lectured her extensively on the dangers of throwing herself at any new man who enters her life, but she has refused to listen. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and really, who's to say she's wrong? And so, she's flirted and invited H. and A. to play and has been a pest, but H. and A. have taken it in stride, almost as if they're used to this kind of wanton behavior. I think they're being polite.

And so now our home is in disarray...well, it's usually in disarray because I'm so busy working and blogging and emailing Internet boyfriends and picking up random piles of cat throw up that I have little time for housework. What I need is a maid. And I think I might look into that. Actually, my workload would be diminished if the cats disappeared. (I'm considering asking H. if I can borrow his nail gun...to nail some stuff. No, I don't know how to use one and if an unfortunate accident were to happen involving cats, well, it it wouldn't really be my fault, being nail gun unsavvy and all. Yes, I think I must discuss this with him as soon as possible. I'm sure a nail gun is most appropriate for hanging pictures and I have many that need hanging...)

When I arrived home this evening after a grueling day at work full of corporate bullshit and incomprehensible spreadsheets, I found that H. and A. had been hard at work, taking up flooring. The racket was incredible...but one must endure unpleasantness to appreciate the good things that come from it. And now, I'm walking on plywood! It's most distressing, but will be worth it in the end. I hope. I didn't even have a chance to check with HELL to see if I had any more perfect boyfriend prospects (right). My HELL matches are a sad story, and will be discussed at length...later. There will be more to this saga of floors and countertops and light fixtures and faucets and sinks and no, I have not picked out everything yet, H., but I will. Those of you who've been reading but are bored by tales of home improvements might want to take a break for awhile. Soon...well, I'm not exactly sure how soon, but eventually, Chez Ina & Sas will be transformed!

--Ina

another kind of HELL...redux, part II

Sasquatch was wild to get my attention. I was in a stupor caused by 3 days of performance appraisal writing. In fact, I was near catatonia or perhaps even cataplexy, but Sas persisted and managed to revive me by smiling broadly and pawing at my knee. She wanted to watch Hawaii 5-0 on the Crime Show Channel. She'd heard of this show, but had never seen it and was curious about Dan-o. Plus, she thought it might help her remember that Hawaii was, in fact, a state and so would improve her geography skills. Sas looks for any opportunity to enrich her education, which is an admirable goal. I still haven't figured out how she knows the television schedule, but she does. So I was brought out of my trance-like state and gradually regained my senses. Sas was dancing with desire to see Hawaii 5-0, so I found the channel and she was content.


I had spent Friday in frustration, writing reviews, dealing with corporate nonsense, and then had to go back to the office on Saturday to finish reviews and make up snow time. As an exempt employee, I didn't think I should be made to make up time, but da man saw it differently, so I did my corporate duty.


Valentine's Day at the office...five more depressing words have never been written...However, on a bright note, there were Valentine's Day Doughnuts! But wait! The box was there, but where were the doughnuts?!? It was just an empty box! Damn! No doughnuts, no Valentines, just reviews. Shit...So, I evaluated, I appraised, I typed and saved and typed some more. It was a long day...And it was only 5 hours! It's amazing how long a Saturday hour is at the office, and yet how short at home...I think its a time warp thing. Finally, I was finished. The last review had been written, saved, and sent. Whew! Mr V and B and I decided to go to lunch to celebrate...Well, Mr V and I were celebrating...B was just taking a break. I was astounded when Mr V said he was treating us to lunch! I felt like I'd gotten a Valentine! A platonic one, of course. Thanks Mr V!
Thus fortified by a delicious hamburger and some home-made chips, I went home. But first, I had to stop by the grocery because I had told J&G that I'd bring gumbo to their house for dinner and I needed bread to go with it. I shopped quickly and finally arrived home! At last! It was wonderful to be there and Sas was happy too! I checked the mailbox and guess what? Valentines! Wow! How exciting! There was this one and that one and the other one, and a couple more and surprisingly, one from Sasquatch! How could that have happened? I know too well that all her credit cards are maxxed out and she hasn't even been anywhere to shop lately. Well, she had some help...Oh, and an assorted chocolate sampler in a heart-shaped box sent through the mail and only slightly squashed (although, to tell the truth, I'd have rather had an imported shoe sampler, but I suppose that would have been too much to ask). I read my cards and put the chocolate somewhere out of sight and then finished up the gumbo, which, you may remember was supposed to be my contribution to the office pot luck. But apathy had cancelled that so I was left with a huge pot of seafood stock.

At J's house, the gumbo happily simmered and I added some frozen scallops and a bag of shrimp, which were peeled, but still had their little shrimpy tails. Well, G was appalled at the shrimp tails...it bordered on disgust! J, always the loving wife, patiently de-tailed the shrimp in G's bowl, while I looked on like WTF?!? The gumbo was extraordinarily delicious. It brimmed with shrimp and scallops and crab and andouille sausage plus onions, celery, and peppers (but don't tell G...he hates those last three things). And so, despite the office, Valentine's Day ended on a happy note. I was disappointed that HELL had not sent me a special Valentine's Day handbasket, but if recent handbaskets were any indication, it would have been a disappointment too.

--Ina

another kind of hell...redux

Sasquatch was delighted to see me again this afternoon. Sometimes, I think my homecoming might be the highlight of her day. Often, when she's especially happy, Sas licks her nose. Yes, if you or I were to lick our nose in happiness, it would be weird, but for Sas, it's an expression of joy. I do not judge what I cannot understand about superior beings.

Today was exactly like yesterday...another day in performance appraisal hell. Exactly like yesterday...except possibly more frustrating. Yesterday, I had gotten off to a shaky start, but found my rhythm and blazed down the stretch...and if I faltered at the end, well, I figured that today, with a little more conditioning than yesterday, I'd be able to rate and finish strong. But something happened. Like Arazi, the odds-on favorite who finished eighth in the 1992 Derby, I had a bad day. Perhaps I was off my feed...maybe I woke up sore...it might have been that someone had tried to kill me with a poison cupcake that morning.

As the pot luck lunch had been cancelled because of apathy, it had been suggested that the leadership team might want to provide cupcakes for the staff, in celebration of Valentine's Day and as a naked plea for acceptance and respect. One editor knew of a cupcake establishment that baked superior cakes, and with the blessing of da man, she ordered cupcakes for the staff.

On the morning of the Cupcake Caper, the managers were frantically writing performance appraisals...or were frantically thinking of writing them...or were sobbing in despair over the prospect of writing 15 or 16 (it's so hard to keep up with the exact number) appraisals in the next 2 days. It was chaotic. Nerves were frayed. Tempers were short. But then, da man appeared with his box of sugary, buttery deliciousness and strolled the aisles between the cubicles, dispensing treats to one and all. I had had to go outside to get some air...all that sobbing had made me all stuffed up and I thought a few deep breaths of sub-zero air would clear things right up. And when I got back in my office, I saw it there on the desk...the red cake of death...Oh it looked innocent enough, sitting there with its wreath of white fluffy frosting and its perky red sugar sprinkles, but I knew what it was right away. Red velvet!

Those of you who were not brought up in the South may be unfamiliar with Red Velvet cake. It is an abomination. It is a cake that tastes of, well, nothing really, except sugar and a slight tang from buttermilk. It typically is dry and relies on too much sweet, greasy cream cheese icing to make it at all palatable. But the worst thing about Red Velvet cake is the source of its screaming red hue...bottles and bottles of red dye #3, the dye of death. There's enough red dye in one of these cupcakes to kill a normal human several times over. The only reason most people survive is because they cannot finish one or even take more than a bite or two before the gag reflex takes over and saves them from certain death. And this is what had been left on my desk two days before performance appraisals were due?

I was stunned. Why was I being singled out? Did upper management think my performance was so dismal that death was to be the "overall rating" on my own appraisal? Was my staff attempting a coup? I couldn't think. And I certainly couldn't work on any performance appraisals. I went to Mr V's office for advice and found him near death, choking and holding his hand to his throat. I quickly opened his cherry Coke and poured it down his gullet. I think the fizz must have worked its way through the clogged up cupcake, much like Drano works on those stubborn clogs in your kitchen sink, because he soon began to breathe normally and his color returned. When he regained his ability to speak, we talked in hushed tones about what might be going on. We called our colleague, B., who reported that since eating her own cupcake, she'd been oddly not able to have a coherent thought. It would take much deep thought and perhaps help from the outside to get to the bottom of this .

Meanwhile, another colleague, Buford, had found the top of one of the cupcake boxes and had been happily playing with it. He asked for a photo, so I obliged. It wasn't like I was getting any work done...I was touched by his childlike glee and was determined to make the best of my frightening situation. But, I also was determined to get to the bottom of the killer cupcake caper, but not today. I was tired and hungry and needed a nap. So I worked at simple things until it was time to go home to my most wise and reassuring boon companion, Sas. Perhaps I'd take a look at the Valentine's matches HELL had sent or maybe we'd just watch a little Game Show Channel. But NOT the Golf Channel, not tonight.

--Ina

another kind of hell...

Sasquatch, as always, was delighted to see me when when I got home this afternoon. I was glad to see her too because I'd spent the day in hell...Not HELL. No, this was another kind of hell...one so terrible as to defy description...it was Performance Appraisal Hell. There was a time that performance appraisals didn't necessitate time in hell. There was a time, oh those halcyon days, when performance appraisals were spread out over the year rather than all being due at once. We still griped and bitched about them, but my colleagues and I had no idea what was in store. I'm a manager in an editorial office. I have a staff of 16 editors, coordinators and other associates whose work isn't easily defined. Until about 2 hours ago, I thought I had 15 on my staff...imagine my surprise to learn that I actually had one more! I should have counted myself, but when my colleague, Mr V., told me I had 15, I believed him. He's usually right, but not this time. (No, I don't call him Mr anything, but to use his first initial would be far too confusing...trust me.) Thanks V, way to confuse the hell out of me. Did you do it on purpose? You know who you are...

So, 16 performance appraisals, due Valentine's Day...How sweet. My strategy, after I got over my panic attack, was to do the easiest ones first and knock out as many as possible in one day...today. I logged into the Performance Appraisal Management System (SuckCess!...thanks B...you're way too emotional, but funny as hell.) but my password would not work. I knew what my password was. It was the same as it's always been, but it would not work...not the first time, not the second...not the 10th. I was frustrated...I was pissed. I sent the please-help-me-for-I'm-too-stupid-to-keep-up-with-my-passwords email and sat back to wait. I got coffee...I read the paper...I chatted with various associates...I answered emails from the corporate office. Sixteen appraisals to do and I'm dead in the water. This cannot be right. I work for an important corporation doing vital work. No, really. Well, it seems vital to the executives. And I am not able to do these most important appraisals because of some password glitch? I know my password! It's written down on a post-it note, stuck to my PC! Why won't it work? Oh, who knows...What was important was that I get logged into SuckCess! as soon as possible before I lost my motivation. So I did what I had to do. I sent another email. I'm sure this is strictly forbidden, but it worked and within moments, a new password had been sent.

By now, I was a little out of the notion of doing reviews, but I really had no choice, so started on the one I thought might be easiest...hoping to ease in gradually until I found my rhythm. It worked pretty well...So I wrote and evaluated...I calculated averages and ratings. I was doing reviews and I was on fire, until about 3 pm, when I felt my motivation go far away. But I got several finished...not as many as I'd hoped, but nevertheless, a good start. I can do this, and it's a good thing, since I have to do it again all day tomorrow...

And now I'm home and Sas is watching You Bet Your Life on the Game Show Channel. She loves Groucho Marx, but she really loves that stupid duck that delivers the money when a contestant says the secret word. It's a really old show, and kind of corny by today's standards, but that Groucho...he's one funny guy. We're also enduring another storm, this one wind. It reminds me of that one we had in September, but this one seems worse to me...I'm a little afraid the electricity might go away again. If so, well, I just don't know.

--Ina

for richer, for poorer...in sickness and in HELL

Sasquatch is beside herself with joy now that the electricity seems to be reliably back and she can watch the Game Show Channel again. Last night, Who Wants to be a Millionaire was on. Sas has always had a little crush on Regis Philbin...I'm baffled by it, but it's harmless. And she has always hoped to be one of those "phone helpers" that the clueless call when stumped by a question like, How many states are in the United States? (Sas would not be a good answerer for that question; she always forgets Hawaii.) She's been having a little trouble seeing the television since her bangs have gotten so long. We had to postpone her day of beauty at the salon because of the ice storm. Now, she says she wants to let her bangs grow out...I hope she's not planning to pull them up into a topknot like some stupid little Yorkie at Westminster! (How odd that Sas doesn't want to watch the Westminster competition...I think she's a little sensitive because she's not a purebred.)

While Sas was enjoying her Philbin-fix, I thought I should check email in case someone from Nigeria was trying to give me a million dollars. Well, there was nothing from Nigeria. Crap! I could have used a million too. I think a piece of jewelry in diamonds and platinum would improve my outlook tremendously. But, there was an intimate message from someone in HELL!! His name was Inhuman_Being. Well, that didn't sound too promising, but I had to see what his intimate message was...Besides, his photo wasn't bad...if it was really him of course. You really can never be sure. So I opened the message and whoa! did he have a lot to say!! It was more a novelette than HELL message. First of all, he told me that he didn't expect me to reply, or even read his message...good show of self-confidence there, big boy. He yammered on about this and that...where had I lived most of my life and did I like the mid-west (I don't think I live in the mid-west....isn't that more Indiana and Iowa? I think I live in the upper south and my city certainly tries like hell to be a southern city. I think the mayor would like us to be Atlanta North.) He loved making new friends and he liked getting email and he wasn't sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life walking the dogs and his wife had no problem making new friends and getting new lovers and...wait! His wife? I read on, even though that freak light had come on and it wasn't just blinking "caution." No, it was a steady and bright beam...It turns out that his wife had helped him write his profile because she was good at profile writing and he wasn't...Well, I hadn't read his profile, but if it was anywhere near as long as his message, then I doubt the whole thing would have fit into the HELL profile form. When I finally got to the end, (Yes, I read the whole message...it was like a traffic accident...I couldn't look away.) he mentioned that I probably thought he was one of the freaks I'd cautioned not to contact me. But he wasn't, he said, really, he wasn't. And he invited me to come to his town in Indiana and have coffee with him...and his wife. And what must he do to convince me to join them for coffee, or a drink, or even dinner?? I wouldn't be sorry!!!! Oh, they weren't into swinging...no indeedy. They each had their own lovers and did not engage in threesomes, but apparently, his wife had more success in the finding-lovers department than he did.

So, what to do? Well the obvious answer is "nothing." Don't answer, don't think about it, don't look at his stupid profile...just let it go...right? So, of course, I sent him a message and asked him what he didn't understand about my admonition that freaks were not to contact me and hadn't he read the emasculation portion of my profile and did he have a death wish or what?

I expected, after that sound scolding, he'd crawl off to his corner and lick his wounds...but no! He answered and he was not contrite! He asked...no...demanded to know...what I had against married people having lovers on the side. Well I have nothing against it...I just have no interest in being a party to it. Then he wanted to know why the mid-west was so weird...how should I know? I don't live in the mid-west! He said he visited my city regularly and could not understand why people here smiled at him and said, "Hi!" and waved and gave him directions and dressed nicely for work and said "please" and "thank you" (or "no problem"...ick) and spoke to him in restaurants...what was the matter with us?!?? Well, I couldn't send him a reply. If he can't understand common courtesy and has no appreciation for genteel manners, then I have no use for him. Well, I had no use for him anyway, but for someone to complain that folks are too mannerly...that's just beyond the pale. What he doesn't understand is that those manners are what make it possible for us all to live together without wanting to kill each other like animals on a daily basis. I did ask him where he was from...Washington DC...

--Ina

HELL's kitchen...day 2

When Sasquatch and I went out this morning, it smelled like Spring. Sas noticed it first, being a dog and possessing superior olfactory prowess, but it didn't take me that long to catch on. So, we sniffed and smiled and I had a little urge to skip, but my feet kept getting sucked into the soggy ground, which saved me from skipping, and thus, looking like a complete idiot.


In some cruel mistake of planning, I'm finding myself in the kitchen again today. What?? Two days in a row?? Well, there's a very important pot-luck lunch (Winterlewd 2009) coming up at the office this week, and I must begin my dish today since it takes awhile to complete. The theme of our lunch is...well, we have a number of themes from which to choose...Groundhog Day, Mardi Gras, James Lileks' Gallery of Regrettable Food (love Lileks...you should visit his website)...there are some others that I can't remember. I have chosen Mardi Gras because that theme gives me the opportunity to make seafood gumbo, and those of you who have had my seafood gumbo know that it's the stuff legends are make of. So, today, I'm stirring my roux and chopping onions, bell peppers, celery, garlic (lots) and making my seafood stock from crawfish (my supply of frozen shrimp and lobster shells for stock-making bought it in the recent power outage. Damn!). Later, I'll saute some andouille sausage and maybe a piece or 2 of chicken to enrich the whole thing...Of course, I cannot reveal the whole recipe, but the seafoods will include shrimp, scallops, crab and crawfish. Sounds tasty, no? It will provide much entertainment at the squirrel feeding station on the big day. I'm thinking some Valentine cupcakes would be a nice addition too. Well, it depends on how irritated I am with performance appraisal progress...


Speaking of Valentines, I got a nice one from an e-boyfriend. The weird thing is, I haven't heard anything from this particular one for quite some time and had thought the whole e-romance had disappeared into the cyber...so strange. Valentine's week might be interesting in HELL. The days leading up to it certainly have been. The season of romance plus the impending full moon have led to some interesting correspondence...from freaks. My HELL profile specifically states that freaks are not to contact me, and yet, they persist. One of the recent ones even referred to himself as a freak in his initial email to me! I said no freaks!! I think they've gotten together and conspired to piss me off. I suppose it's amusing for them, but it just takes up my time, reading their drivel and trying to parse it out into something that makes sense. It's my own fault for reading and trying to understand. You can usually tell within the first few sentences if he's a freak and I should stop reading when the freak light comes on. Sometimes it takes longer though...there was that one guy (PrfesrLuv) who seemed perfectly normal and charming until the day he asked if we could meet face to face and would I mind if he wore his little black dress. I thought it was a joke until he assured me it was not. I guess I'm just too old fashioned or something, but if anybody is going to wear a black dress on a date, I want it to be me. What's the point in engaging in beauty rituals if the man you're with looks prettier than you do? I guess it might make things easier...no worries about hair and makeup or even fashion...just show up in a pair of old jeans and hiking boots...and a baseball cap. Well, no, I don't think so. I'm much too much a girly girl to go for that. Besides, I like men to look like men. Is that so wrong? So I told PrfesrLuv that I really didn't think it would work out, but thanks for asking...



--Ina

HELL's kitchen...

Sasquatch and I are about back to normal after our icy ordeal. Sas, of course, bounced back quicker than I did. I will spare you an account of the last couple of days in the ice. It's too painful to remember (the long cold nights, the doorknobs so cold they hurt my hands to grab...and that was inside...poor Paul Varjak, shivering on his little swing, but he did survive! Critters most often have indomitable spirits.). I must thank J&G for providing a warm place to stay that last night before Just Fair Gas & Electric Co. got the power back on in my house. I also must thank my neighbor (the nice one) for helping me with my car travails. I'm sure he won't drop in here, so as a thank you, I made him brownies, iced with ganache. I share my brownies with only a few, so he's a lucky man, although when he was out there trying to get my car unstuck from Snow Mountain, he might have disagreed.

So Sas and I decided to celebrate the weekend, lights, heat and snow melting with some big cooking. We like to cook...well, I like it better than Sas. She's really not that good in the kitchen. In fact, she kind of gets in the way, but is amiable about moving when I shout, "Move!!"

Surprisingly enough, I found some cross-cut veal shanks at the grocery, so thought osso buco might be a nice dish for a winter weekend. I have to thank a most charming gentleman caller from HELL for reminding me of this excellent dish. I'd made it a few times years ago but then veal got so hard to find, and I just forgot about it. So thanks, M., you know who you are.

Let's take a moment to talk about veal...many people will not eat veal because of the conditions in which it's raised. Other people won't eat it because they're vegetarians and I cannot relate to them at all, so there it is. Well, yes, the calves for milk-fed veal are kept in small stalls to limit movement, resulting in a more tender product. But older cattle are herded together in close conditions at feed lots...chickens are kept in small enclosures...pigs too. But they're animals destined to feed humans. That is their lot in life, like it or not. The food chain is never a pretty picture...just watch out your back window when hawk swoops down on dove and you'll see. Not pretty, but just the way it is. Cows, chickens and pigs are no less noble for fulfilling their destiny. So, yes, I eat veal...and beef and chicken and pork and shrimp and other farmed critters. Guess what? I wear leather too...and fur. So, if you don't agree, that's fine. If you see me in my fur coat, just look the other way. Those mink were going to die anyway, no matter who wears the coat. And if I invite you to dinner, you should make an excuse because animal products are going to be featured. They're tasty and I like cooking them and eating them. So, it's an emotionally charged issue for many, but happily not for me. I already have enough emotionally charged issues to think of to take on another...


For the osso buco, I sauteed some diced pancetta until it had given up its porky, delicious fat, and browned the shanks and removed them to a casserole. I cooked chopped shallot, garlic, celery and carrot until soft and added some vermouth. After the vermouth had mostly evaporated, I added some chicken stock, a squeeze of tomato paste and a very small squeeze of anchovy paste, brought it up to the boil and stirred to get all the fond. I poured this over the veal, added a couple of Italian parsley sprigs, bay leaves, the pancetta, and salt and pepper. Into a 325 degree oven it went to braise for a couple of hours. I decided on Risotto Milanese and roasted asparagus and mushrooms as sides...How odd to have had saffron in the spice cabinet! And so I stirred and roasted and grated...cooking, a very satisfying activity. For the gremolata, I used orange zest instead of lemon...A suggestion from M., although I think he suggested it for piccata...no matter, it was perfect. It added an unexpected note that lifted the dish from just good to excellent. Thanks M!...the only way it could have been better is if you had been here to share it with me and heap praise upon my head for my superior culinary skills!

I don't cook big that much just for me, but sometimes, it's just the thing to do. We'd had a hard patch, Sas and me, and we needed to do something nice for ourselves. The veal was amazing...fork tender, it had almost an unctuousness that's rare in such a lean meat. The risotto was creamy, but not mushy...the only disappointment was the asparagus, which I cooked a little too long...so what, it was but a bit player anyway.

--Ina

HELL froze over...the office

Sasquatch gets no snow days. She's on the job all day and all night seven days a week. Of course, she feels free to take numerous naps, but she sleeps lightly and is ready to bark at the slightest provocation. I had set out for the office, reasoning that if Sas was working, so should I. The roads were kind of clear...well, there was one lane right in the middle that could be driven on with dubious safety. The traffic lights were out, but there weren't that many commuters, so the trip was doable, if not pleasant.

I arrived at the office, jittery from my adventure on the road, and was struck by how warm it was! It was bliss. Also, the lights were on, there was coffee...and other human beings! This was going to be great! I went to my office and settled into my chair to fire up the PC to see what I'd been missing. There were the usual emails about the usual work topics, boring on a normal day, but fascinating on this day and I read them all. I sighed with contentment...There was my office tree...my bulletin board...my calendar...a working thermostat! I decided to wander around to see who was here. It didn't take too long to determine that not that many office workers had braved the conditions, but some had and we had happy chats and swapped snow horror stories.

I did a little work...nothing seemed too urgent, then went to lunch with colleagues. It was my birthday!! And they treated me to lunch, plus there was a beautiful bouquet of roses on my desk, a bottle of wine (!) and good wishes from many.

Since my PC was right there on my desk and turned on and connected to the Internet, I thought I should check in with HELL and see what was going on. Imagine my surprise to see that I had been sent a special set of birthday matches!! How exciting! I was sure dream date would be included. After all, it was my birthday and my special birthday set! I clicked and there they were...my birthday boyfriends. The first one looked like Hitler...same stupid bangs...little dumb moustache...mean, shifty eyes. I was confused. If you kind of resemble Hitler to begin with, why would you emphasize the resemblance with hair and moustache? Unless perhaps you admire Hitler, which I feared might be all too likely...rejected.

Bachelor Number Two wasn't...a bachelor, that is. I didn't even have to open his profile to find out this fun fact. It was right there in that random snippet of information the HELL administrators use as a tease. He was married and happy most of the time, except when his raging sex drive kicked in and his wife just didn't understand (Oh she understood all right...) and he needed someone to satisfy his needs...rejected.

The third guy was my favorite. He wanted a "good woman" who had "some morals about her. " And she couldn't be even a "pound or 2 overweight" because he "cannot stand obesity." Well, those of you who know me know that I have no morals whatsoever. Plus, as a size 6 (sometimes 8, depending upon the garment), I fear I would be much too "obese" for him and so, reluctantly, I marked him rejected.

I checked my personal email to see if any e-flirters had checked in. They had! So I spent a few minutes being e-charming and e-flirtatious...what fun! Well, it was my birthday, so I felt justified in spending a few minutes on personal email. Is that so wrong?

All too soon, it was time to climb Snow Mountain to my car and steel myself for the ride home.

--Ina