erik always says i would be a bad poor person because i’m
picky selective about eating food that only tastes good. apparently, poor people eat stuff that taste bad. i’m spoiled a gourmand. when you’re raised in a home where your mama is known for her cooking throughout the great land, your palate becomes highly snobby in tune. so blame my mama.
according to my husband, i’m also a bad poor person because i don’t like leftovers. if you and i dine, you will NEVER see me get it to go (unless i live in san francisco and can give it to one of the plethora of homeless i’ll pass while walking to my car). i’ve tried taking food home. it’ll occupy mad real estate in the fridge and i’ll find it one day while looking for that one last beer — sadly, all that will remain in the box is a faint chalk outline and police tape.
it doesn’t matter whether it’s from a restaurant or cooked in my own kitchen. if food meets tupperware, it’s destined to meet the disposal. food tastes best fresh. made with the best ingredients. i enjoy savoring the taste on its highest note; anything after that tarnishes the sanctity of the original meal.
however, the exception.
pizza. or other italian varieties.
i like eating actual poor food (as erik calls it). aka hangover food, cheap dive/hole in the wall food, comfort food.
since erik’s from a third world country, apparently he’s well versed in poor peoples’ food. he didn’t cook much of it in the beginning of our relationship because he feared i wouldn’t enjoy the taste, but just cuz a girl doesn’t like to eat the same meal back-to-back doesn’t mean she doesn’t like comfort food.
loco moco is one of my favorite Heart Attack On A Plate meals!
tonight, he whipped up arroz tapado (it’s the beef fancily place in the rice below), papa a la huancaina (sauce for the potatoes) & garlic green beans.
papa a la huancaina
queso fresco (fresh cheese, bitches).
aji amarillo. (spicy yellow sauce from a jar).
today, my mother unfolded a page she’d ripped out from a magazine. it was an ad for a handbag. in the photo, two children are running toward the background while holding, what appears, their mother’s handbag. my mother says, “you can take a picture like this.” she flips the page where a couple are lovingly gazing at each other through a large pane of glass with fingers pressed on either side as mirror images. she repeats herself.
she not only birthed me, she provides tangible inspiration.
i am so grateful and fortunate to have a support system stronger than any industrial strength all day pantyhose. and it only continues with my husband and son. they are my life, my heart, my enablers.
a close friend just sent me this. i am humbly moved and beautifully stirred to sweet tears.
it’s been an emo day. imma go wash the sweat and tears. i have a heavy heart requesting a cold bottle of suds to remove the choke from my throat.
fill life with people you love and those who love you back. unconditionally.
i don’t believe in soul mates or Aristophanes’s bullshit.
i believe compatibility and good timing bring two people together.
i believe unconditional love and hard work keep them together.
does that make me callous. don’t care. i park my car in Realism, USA.
what’s real to me. when two towels hang parallel on the bar and after he hangs his, he moves yours closest to the shower so you can easily grab the dry one. when he turns your flip flops toward you so they’re easier to slip on. when you’re walking down the street and he walks on the outside. when he searches for your face in the dark to kiss you goodnight and ends up kissing your eyeball. when today is just a continuation of october 7, 2005, the very first date. when you act like a total freak asshole and he constructively lets you know that you’re being a total freak asshole. and.
when you make a baby together.
i believe we were at the right place at the right time. i’m confident my husband would’ve married some stunningly beautiful, intelligent, worldly dame had i not found him first. sliding doors. ultimately, it was good fortune
cookie and luck.
trust i am going somewhere with this. i continue later.