Day 10!  It's all going quite well.  I like the cherry taste in place of the stale ashtray in my mouth.  I'll have to restock soon and am considering getting mint instead of cherry lozenges, but I do like these. I'm glad I've quit. Why wait for January 1? When that rolls around, I'll be at three weeks, that magic number, the threshold for breaking a physical habit. 

SHIT!!!! 

I just realized that I left out a VERY important part of the Farfalle Ronaldo.  Sun-dried tomatoes. Crap.  Anonymous who googled it and found my page, I heartily apologize.  Please see recipe below for the amendment.

olfactory offense

How often to I write about quitting smoking? I'm not about to research it. I feel really good about it this time, mostly because I feel like shit. The cigarettes were making me hurt when I smoked and they started to taste awful again. That's the sign. Yep. Whenever I've succeeded in the past with it, those two conditions (along with the desire to quit) were present.

I had one cigarette on Sunday. After that, I switched to lozenges. I've been fine. My roommate was gone most of the time from Sunday until today. He had a few friends crash late late last night when they got back so nobody would drive home drunk. No biggie. I'm sure they were smoking in the house but those rowdy idiots leave doors open walking in and out and nothing lingered.  I got up this morning to smell spilled bong water stench emanating from the roommate's bedroom. Bleagh, but not abnormal. 

This afternoon was different. When Josh & the one loser friend left here got up around 3 they started smoking in the house. It took less than a half an hour for the smoke to waft back to the office (my refuge today). I've been nauseated since. The stench makes me want to hurl. I'll broach returning to the non-smoking house policy we used to keep. He keeps talking about quitting anyway. 

Getting in my car the other day made me ill, too. I need to clean it, but I hate to get in it to do so. I'll have to dry clean a bunch of my clothes, wash the drapes, etc. At least we don't have carpet to store up the smell.

Not the topic on my mind, but now that you mention it...amended

I was going to write about quitting smoking again & my roommate's smoke in the house, but I logged on and found an "unmoderated comment" inquiring about a recipe from Macaroni Grill. It was left anonymously on a post from SIX years ago. Who digs so far back into my blog? Weird. Well, so, maybe I don't want to know. I'll just address it now and whoever left the question can shout at me later. Okay. Good.

Farfalle Ronaldo was my favorite dish years ago at Macaroni Grill. I guess I can't say that I have a current favorite dish there, not since they got rid of the spinici e aglio salad,  the lentil bean soup, or the tomato-leek soup. There's no way it could all be a grand plot against me, a plan to excise my favorite dishes from the menu. That would be retarded. I surmise that the best things are lost as the restaurant itself declines, entropy taking the best & leaving only the bland, mediocre yet strong-selling items in its wake.  

I digress. P-Ron. Farfalle Ronaldo. It's pretty simple:

• farfalle (bowtie) pasta
• feta cheese
• kalamata olives, seeds removed - leave the whole or halve them, whatever
• sun-dried tomatoes - reconstituted in water(if not stored in oil) & chopped 
• pine nuts
• red pepper flakes (to taste)
• olive oil 

Cook the pasta, that's pretty simple. While the pasta is boiling, toast some pine nuts in a dry skillet. Don't burn them. It takes less than five minutes. Pay attention to the pine nuts, tossing them so they don't burn. (Yes, that's redundant but really, burnt pine nuts are awful and they're not the cheapest of nuts to waste.) So now you've removed the nuts from the pan, drained the pasta. Toss the all the ingredients together (in a bowl, away from the heat). Serve. Simple.

I've not listed amounts because I do it to taste. A few rules of thumb per eight ounce serving of cooked pasta: no more than an ounce of cheese; teaspoon to a tablespoon of chopped sun-dried tomatoes; maybe an ounce or just a half of olives; teaspoon to tablespoon of nuts; half a teaspoon or LESS of red pepper flakes. Don't use more than a tablespoon of olive oil to toss all of it - use less, really; it'll get greasy & disgusting if you overdo it. You can always add but you can't remove.  If you use oil-packed tomatoes, you may want to reduce the amount of olive oil even further. Maybe you might want a hint of the oil from the tomatoes. Maybe. There's no need to salt it; the olives & cheese are enough. Crack pepper over it before tossing if you like. 

Also, if I've reconstituted the tomatoes, I like to toss that water in with the boiling pasta. It adds a subtle flavor I like. The restaurant didn't do this, it was just something I experimented with at home. I remember how to make most of the dishes from the mid-90s (when I waited tables there) as my manager made us learn how to make anything from the menu. I don't think it was company policy, it was just him.  If you want the basics for any others, just ask. I'll try to accommodate. (I don't remember how to make the soups I've mentioned, sadly.)

Does that cover it?

It's fast, easy, and delicious. I should make some soon. You should, too, unless you don't care for tangy, briny dishes.

I was driving home from a friend's house this evening, listening to a book on tape rather than more coverage of Fort Hood or healthcare. I've recently taken to listening to the occasional book on tape when I'm driving or knitting. It's better than tv and I can do two things at once (drive, knit, cook, etc). The narrator of this story said something inconsequential about her dinner or lunch that day, noting that she'd eaten a sandwich on her patio, then went back inside to eat a salad. Later, my passing thought in reaction struck me as odd, or maybe at the heart of some of my general discontent. "Gee, sometime when I have my own fridge in my own place, I'll keep salad stuff on a shelf where I can see it rather than in the rotter to be forgotten." My own fridge, my own place. But don't I already have my own fridge and place? The passing thought, like a bas relief, revealed very clearly that I do not feel like this is my home. I feel a stranger in this house, a guest in this home of another. Perhaps it's that I don't like having a roommate. Maybe it's that I rent the house from my old boyfriend who moved out of state shortly after he'd finally convinced me to move into his house with him. It's his house.

Should I channel this into creativity, sketching out a storyboard of my life here, my impressions, and then carving them into stone? It's not an entirely bad idea, but I've not done anything vaguely so creative since I was a teen. Perhaps it's time I do.

Inspiration aside, it only serves to remind me that I need to get out. I need to move back into a place without roommates. A dear friend wants me to move back into an apartment complex that I had generally liked and which is very close to her house. I've been considering doing just that for a while. I left on good terms with them. I won't, however, take just any apartment. I'll wait until a place open on the courtyard where I used to live is open. The rest of the place just sucks.  I kind of liked that I lived above an apartment where several people had died - never at the same time, just a series of suicides. It tended to freak people out, which meant that I often had no downstairs neighbor.  I liked the layout, generally. I liked my front porch which opened onto the stairs leading up to my place. I liked sitting outside and eating breakfast amongst my potted plants.  

Although I like the quiet of this house abutting a nature preserve/park with no one behind or in front of us (and on a street that is nigh on impossible to find, offering much privacy), sometimes the solitude frightens me. It's dark out there. The house has lots of windows. Although I love the morning light (I have FOUR windows in my bedroom - two west facing, one north, & one south) none of them have window coverings and I've been too lazy to put any up. I'm not crazy about windows on a ground floor, ever. I suppose I should visit the complex's office tomorrow and see what they have to offer. I can wait until what I want is available, even if it means staying on in this ersatz frat house with scary windows (only scary when I've spent the evening listening to thrillers on tape). 

I look forward to not sharing a kitchen or bathroom. 

I'm staying in tonight. Three nights out in a row is far more than I can do anymore. I need down-time. So, I sit here on the couch, "unwinding." Yeah. My pulse is racing & I'm a jumping bean. I'll get to the laundry piled up, but not yet. I've managed to clean up most of Josh's kitchen mess (no grumbling today) while I smoked too many cigarettes & watched USA's new show White Collar. That guy reminds me of guy #2 from Thursday. Yummy. If you do catch the show, then you should understand how I couldn't just NOT talk to him even if I was being unabashedly hypocritical in doing so.)

I did go out last night. Much slower evening. Boring, even. I'm pleased that I didn't remove the book from my purse (or returned it- I may have been reading some yesterday afternoon, and in the end the effect is the same). At one point sitting with Lee & his friend at a loud, boring TCU bar, they were both consumed with their i-phones. Rude, right? I pulled out my book and entertained myself. They noticed. They also acknowledged the lack of difference in the acts, and apologized. Tick that one up to the many reasons to keep a book on one's person at all times: a gentle reminder to others to be present, in the moment, when with other people. Look at your fucking computer or phone or whatever when you're alone. Be engaged with the people around you.

It's been a busy week, high drama abounding. Maybe not high, but definitely not subdued, and enough to keep me out of the house two nights in a row at a favorite dive bar, where good things came of bad.

Met an interesting guy night before last at said dive bar. He's on leave, visiting his son here until just after the end of the month. He's done two tours in Iraq and looks eerily like my high school boyfriend. He was surprised and relieved to have a conversation involving his brain. I'm pleased to assist people in that way.

I saw him again at same dive bar last night. I was busy reading some poetry of W.H. Auden, which I then made him read. I'm helping the world, one person at a time. Right? So, the evening meanders along, I talk to various people, mostly Army guy, then we decide to go to another bar I've told him about. We got there and - well, I'm a damned fine wing-man. We got on well enough to openly discuss whom we found attractive. I introduced them (the two girls he found attractive) to him. Then I met an adorable guy and spent the evening chatting with him. I can't recall how Auden came up, but he was astounded that I read him, much less that I had a book of his work in my purse.

At one point I got up to get a drink and the guy stayed at the table to watch my stuff. I got back to the table to find him not there, but at the next one talking to other people. For once, I was honest and I told him that he was talking to ME and that I'm a bit possessive. So there. He smiled, and picked up my stuff and pulled a chair for me next to him at the new table. Problem solved. He was much more attentive after that. I think it may be best if I stop trying to convince myself or others that I'm not possessive when I am terribly so.

Then, I met another guy. Tacky, right? I'd just told the guy at the table to wait while I paid my tab, and then I go talking to someone else. I went back to the table as if nothing had happened. I think everything was still okay.

And tonight, a I'll probably (though I still might cancel) be hanging out with a guy I went on a couple of dates with in June. Just as friends, I think. What a strange week.

I've chatted with both new guys today, so I'm still pretty sure everything worked out alright.

Has anyone noticed the flashing fake ads at the bottom of my page? When first posted, I thought of them more as a joke, but as the years go by, I see they're not. Valium is wonderful, though I don't have it very often. If I have to work in another nursing home, I'm insisting on a prescription for it in addition to the clonazepam. And euthanasia? I can't really - no, it's not legal.  But why isn't it legal for a person to decide when and how? It's our puritanical streak, no matter what religion you subscribe to (or don't). It's hard to escape. 

Can't blame the puritans for everything bad.  They were reactionary, after all.  With limited economic opportunities for women in the 18th century, prostitution was the only was to earn a living. It was encouraged. Sex trade everywhere. Disease, licentiousness. They ran. To Holland. Weird, that the Dutch helped clean up the streets of England from its dirty dirty business. Is that true irony? 

words I like: defenestrated, disarticulated, 

Nope, still haven't gone to get the meds. I'm less dizzy. I can't help but wonder if my body is getting a bit past the norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor withdrawl. It's ugly shit. Maybe I should switch to effexor. Same crap, different name, maybe something I can afford.

I passed out on the couch. Oh no don't fucking tell me that TNT has preempted my shows for golf. Those fuckers. I love my shows. Fuckersfuckersfuckers. I generally only watch golf with Daddy. It's a thing we do. Well, he does it. I watch it with him if I'm there. It used to be a guarantee that he could clear the room by putting on golf or a preacher of any sorts. It still pretty much works, but now that I'm willing to chat (quietly) about it with him, it's ok.

I can get off my ass and get the meds, if they have them. Otherwise, I must scrape up $300.

I'm going to troll through the internet (and maybe even go to a real library) to see what, if any sociological and/or demographic studies have been done on rates of suicide amonst different socioeconomic groups, levels of education, and general intelligence. Adrian insists that the toothless mouth-breathers don't commit suicide as often because they're not as introspective. Is that just our (because I agree with him that it's a possibility) prejudice and/or class-ism.

I didn't edit, except to take out an extra letter hither and thither where the machine noted them out of place.

Food is over-rated. People are over-rated. I'm not dependable if you  have no other help. I will stay in bed and sleep and not because I hate you but because I can see no real reason for anything.  It's all just another day pushing that rock. I wish it would flatten me and get it over with. I'll probably end up like Dorothy Parker living thrice, at least, as long as she wanted to.  So, I'm on a hunger strike. Sort of. Maybe. I'll eat something with my pills so they don't just come back up, but as I've said and said and said and said it's all over-rated. 

If you call me about any of this I not only will not take your call, but I'll remove your number from my phone, so fuck off.