I don't remember letting Ian Frazier into my home

> The New Yorker
>
> Shouts & Murmurs
> Easy Cocktails from the Cursing Mommy
> by Ian Frazier September 14, 2009


> Those high-priced bartenders in their red vests and white shirts who your caterers recommended to serve at your last party may know a thing or two, but for entertaining on a smaller scale—for parties of seven people, four, or even just one—a few simple steps to the perfect cocktail are all you’ll ever need. Take, for example, this drink I’m drinking right now. Where the hell did I put it? I just set it down five minutes ago. I had it when I was watching the news, I know that. Now what in hell could I have done with it? O.K.—I found it, thank heavens. I must have set it here on the stairs when I went to throw away the mail. Anyway, as I was saying, making this particular drink, which happens to be a vodka gimlet, is simplicity itself, once you know how.
>
> Plus, it’s so delicious! The tangy tartness of the lime juice combined with the antiseptic astringency of the icy-cold vodka—wonderful. Now, normally in this column the Cursing Mommy does not endorse any company, product, or institution, but just this once I’m going to make an exception, because, what the hell—I use Rose’s Lime Juice. It’s perfect for gimlets, so I always keep a few extra bottles in reserve in case I run out, as in fact I did just a few minutes ago when I mixed the drink I’m finishing now. The backup bottles, which are down here on the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet—don’t tell me they’re not here. Please don’t fucking tell me the Rose’s Lime Juice is not fucking here.
>
> If Larry took my last spare bottle to use in his fucking Sno-Kone machine, by Christ, I swear I’ll—oh, thank God. Here it is, back behind the Kahlúa and the walnut liqueur. Whew. That was a close one.
>
> Anyway, you take your Rose’s Lime Juice, you take your favorite gimlet glass (which, for me, is the one I was just using), and—fuck. I have lost my drink again. Somebody please tell me I have not lost my stupid goddam fucking drink again! O.K., it has to be close by, because I had it right before I was hunting around on all fours in front of the liquor cabinet. Wait a minute—can this be it? Here on the counter behind the flour cannister? I don’t think this is it. I’ll just take a sip and—Phewww!! Gahhh! Disgusting! This must be the drink I couldn’t find night before last. Fucking ants in it. Drowned ants. Good Christ, what was I thinking?
>
> O.K., we have established that that was definitely not the glass I was looking for. In situations like this, the Cursing Mommy recommends that you take three deep breaths, concentrate inwardly on some attractive and relaxing vacation scene, and scream “Fuck!” at the top of your lungs. There—I feel better. Don’t you?
>
> Usually at about this time of the evening I must begin making dinner. Larry and the kids will be home soon. Fortunately, however, tonight is Make Your Own Goddam Dinner Night, a recently instituted family ritual I shared with you in last week’s column. So basically I don’t have to worry about that. Instead, what I’m going to do is just close my eyes, wait until I regain a sense of calm, and when I open them again my missing gimlet glass is going to be right in front of me.
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> Oh, fucking hell. Could I possibly have left it down in the basement? Of course not—that’s ridiculous. I haven’t even been down in the basement, not since I vowed I wouldn’t touch another piece of laundry today even if it meant the clothes already in the washer mildewed and rotted away. Regular followers of this column know that at about this point every week the Cursing Mommy flips out due to one problem or another and begins cursing a lot, throwing things, and giving people the finger. Somehow, however, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to go to those extremes over a problem as minor as a misplaced cocktail glass. Instead, I will begin a systematic search, accompanying myself meanwhile with a sort of general, all-around cursing out of various deserving individuals and things.
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> For starters, God damn to hell my father’s fucking girlfriend, who expects me to do all the food and the cleanup at his seventy-fifth birthday party, and then she’ll take all the credit for herself, such a fucking jerk. Fuck the township, also, for changing fucking Bulky Waste Day from Monday to Friday and now I have to haul all that shit that I carried down this morning back up from the curb or they’re going to give us a ticket, the fucking bureaucratic red-tape, petty, time-server assholes. And, just in passing, fuck the fucking Bush Administration—I know they’re not in power anymore, but fuck them anyway, because they’re such a bunch of fucks. And on the subject of stupid fucks, fuck the—
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> FUUUUUUUCK! OW! JESUS CHRIST! FUCKING SHIT! I STUBBED MY FUCKING TOE! OW OW OW! JESUS! FUCKING LARRY LEFT THAT FUCKING BOX OF ADAPTERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DINING-ROOM FLOOR, THE FUCKING IDIOT! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT STUPID FUCKING BOX DOING THERE! I TOLD HIM TO PUT THOSE FUCKING ADAPTERS AWAY! FUCK! OW! FUCK!
>
> (Pause.)
>
> People say that when you misplace an object in your home, instead of tearing the place apart looking for it, you should just be patient, and the object you are looking for will eventually turn up. And now we see the accuracy of this saying, because as I sit here on the dining-room floor cursing and massaging my goddam stubbed toe, I notice that over there on the floor, just behind the door to the kitchen, is the stupid fucking cocktail glass I was looking for. And, thanks be to merciful God, there is still a fair amount of drink remaining in it, so I’ll down it now. What a fucking terrible day this has been.
>
> Next week the Cursing Mommy will show you how to put up the decorations for a child’s birthday party all by yourself with no help from your fucking husband. Watch for her column, entitled, “God Damn This Tape Dispenser to Hell: Party Decorating Tips from the Cursing Mommy.” ♦

New truths

I have always opposed the death penalty, but I found out over the last few weeks that I do will certain people to fall off the face of the earth.

A fella, who had been peripheral to our lives, tried to kill somebody I love and threatened to kill a group of us in general. With that, he became worth less than dirt to me. Actually, I really value dirt, so how about "he became a worthless piece of shit to me?"

The night this all came to a head, even before he tried or threatened to kill, I wished he would just choke and die on his own Maker's Mark laced vomit. He didn't vomit, and he didn't die. I can't look at Maker's Mark anymore- it's gross anyway.

I guess my own callousness has been a bit of a shock, but I'll live.

Scene from a Bishop Potluck

Labretta Suede and the Motel Six in our living room

Yay life and meeting these lovely folks serendipitously! As you can see, WHAT A FUN SHOW!
Exhausted. Babbo fighting impetigo.
Had a Childrens Hospital visit recently. Babbo's A1Cs got down to 7.2 for the last quarter, which vindicated the rather shitty sleeplessness that had been from March through much of June/July.
Still, rather happy about being young enough to boogie.

Whoa, that is summer flying right by

We survived Meatfest '09.
We have been married 10 years. Matt spent the day with Joel, who'd never climbed Mt. Emerson before. I spent the day hunting and gathering at the shops and getting meat ready for Meatfest. Anniversary dinner to happen later in the week.
We had wonderful visit with Karen O's family from Decatur. We talked rock and roll. Our kids played until they nearly vomited from having to part. We drank cocktails. Matty and I played guard one night and slept outside of a canvas tent full of children while the coyotes howled in the nearby fields.
We had a very wonderful visit with Dave and Naomi and Owen. Dave and Naomi are such wonderful parents and Owen, who is now one, is nothing but love and kindness. I am so very happy for them. Naomi walked to the top of Mt. Whitney in a day. Kudos to her and her kind friends Phoebe and Gloria.
The Verniers stopped by for a few days, with Lucie's aunt, uncle, and cousin from Czech Republic in tow. I had forgotten about Lucie's wonderful laugh. They all taught me "Na Zdravie!" the Czech way to cheers.
We are having a very fine and easy visit with Motorcycle Michelle and Jascha, who spend most days conquering peaks.

I refused to run around like a headless chicken at the party, and it was good. I actually caught up with a few friends before I crashed and burned when I put Babbo down to bed. I only had two drinks for the six or so hours, but I was tired. I left the party early, put my greasy face and party clothes self on the bed and just went to sleep. Janet was kind to stay up to play cleaning elf into the wee hours.

But I am exhausted. Wyatt is home from preschol this coming week for teacher break.

House concert @our house and the sights of Bishop, CA

Bishop, CA, welcomes Disasteradio and A Low Hum! Bless Simon Ward for capturing the fun and making us look like nonscary freaks.

Oooh, could have used a massive spring tidying of the yard! Yes, the Schoberlews, putting the trash in "white trash" since 2000!

Not given lightly

Chris Knox, a "godfather" of New Zealand pop, had a stroke last week. He's a manic genius, and all thoughts are for a strong recovery.

In addition to "Midget" I may no longer call Babbo

"Skidmark." By request.

Matty and the demin 3 piece he found on the street

We interrupt this incessant moaning for a bit of good news

Went on two WEE hikes* over the weekend en famille and am happy to report that the $100K of surgimitating on the left hip worked (praise be for insurance)! Glad I don't live in the bad old days when they would have just put the old girl (me) down.

We'll eat our first tomatoes tonight - Black Cherry. All two of them.

*Pine Creek - up to Pratt's Crack and Tyee Lakes Trail - about twice the distance from the Falls. Babbo really did well. Matty and I shared an Alaska IPA traveler on the trail. Everybody happy.

Monsoons!

We have had over a week of afternoon monsoons. Hardly anybody is complaining about it - it's so very exotic for 'round these parts. Rain in the afternoon. Rain in the evening. Rain meaning a very big drop or two of something wet from the sky - so big and so wet that you are sure it's a bird dropping and check. Cycling in it has been wonderful.

We are still getting an appearance of that hot yellow orb in the sky and a large enough dose that many of us are plenty nut brown enough for the season.

Some of the tomato plants are taller than me.

The Bitch runneth over

Tricia to Zach P. after he said "thanks" for hosting card night: I seem to have turned into a caustic bitch. I must apologize to Konrad. Glad you like Tricia v. 2.0 even if nobody else does.

I called Konrad a "pussy" at cards the other night. Folks thought it was funny because I want people to like me so badly that I tend not to say things like that. The sad thing is that my personality has changed a lot over the last half year. Chalk it up to the chain of events - the subpoena on Christmas Eve to testify against the beater next door, the 3+ months of sleeplessness from switching over to the insulin pump, the household bouts of gastroenteritis, the coming down from a great trip to New Zealand....I reckon stuff happens to most everyone. Why the hell can't I grow thicker skin and just get on with it?

Chatted w/ Matt about it, asked for a bit of help, but allowed myself to acknowledge the absolute rage I sometimes feel. I'm feeling better already.

There's no going back to the relentlessly cheerful and unrealistic Tricia v. 1.0. It is probably for the best.

summer is here

Pimientos de Padron. Calvin Trillin and Peter Keen were right. These are pretty damned good.

Day five post op

and only the sutures hurt a wee bit now.
Wow. There are benefits to being a bit younger and a bit fitter going into surgery!
There is a hummingbird nest building outside the bay window. I am honored and thrilled.
Matty and I are going to eat the first wave of Padron peppers. They set a bit early this year. I am honored and thrilled.

Mental holiday

That will be me enjoying the blissed out, if only slightly barfy, morphine induced sleep tonight. Going into Mammoth Hospital to have young, intrepid, ready-for-tv Dr. Perry remove the two drywall screws that I feel when I sit on the loo and the angle plate embedded in my upper femur that aches when the weather turns cold.

All this to get the legs ready for my second femoral osteotomy, hopefully this fall.

Not that I want to think about Babbo's sex life - other than hope he has a happy one

but poor fella will also never really get to experience the pleasure of falling into post-coital sleep.
Diabetics on insulin pumps who disconnect their pumps for intercourse often give themselves terrible overnight highs by falling asleep without plugging back in.

Oh, the things we take for granted!

Earliest year for fruitset that I can remember

The Padron peppers and the tomatoes I set in walls o water over a month ago are setting fruit reliably. We are going to have weather in the high eighties for the next few days. Long hot summer ahead, Kids?

I felt sad for Babbo tonight

He's had a stomach flu (yes, yes, was worried a bit there that it was H1N1, but the stomach flu is what's going around town and his symptoms fill the slots). He's been all over the map blood glucosewise. His energy levels are so low that I barely recognize him. We haven't done much other than to be close by to check his urine ketones (also all over the map), check his blood glucose, push water, push food, and push or withhold insulin.

Good thing for the Internet. I sit here and surf and post until something else needs doing.

At any rate, today, I was reminded that even with all our interventions, his numbers do sometimes go haywire. As an adult, he'll have to work at not being alone on days like this because his judgment can become impaired and his impairment can kill him. Man, as if the pressure of finding a nice partner, nice friends, etc. isn't hard enough.

Sobering thoughts for the mother of a little kid with this lifelong disease.

It is late, though, and it is close enough to 2 am to see if the mega correction of insulin and the catheter site change I gave him an hour ago worked....

Before this becomes habit

Matt and I are getting so close to dialing in those insulin doses. It's not going to be a moment too soon, either. I fear that this insomnia will become a longterm habit (I've been warned it can from a girlfriend who has been there and is still doing that).

Counting the excitement of going to New Zealand, I haven't slept more than a few hours uninterrupted since mid-February.

Did a bomber run down to Childrens for a gastro appointment Monday/Tuesday. Was a bit concerned about the swine flu, but in the end, we just had to go. Wyatt can stay on the Prevacid (proton pump inhibitor) for as long as it takes for him to outgrow this GERD (acid reflux).

Three cheeers!

Group hug, Kiwi-style

I have found my calling and it is plying pork products on Kiwi musos.

Disasteradio's show was so much fun. It was hot and sweaty with heaps of enthusiasm, on his part and ours. Black Sheep baristi Elliot and Reed did a great job interpretive dancing with Karen through the set. I danced my ass off, even with a splinter in my bare foot. My unoperated hip hurt like hell for days, but it was worth it.

It was another stone soup production with folks rallying around to help and donate time, gear, gifts, and muscle. Karen, Janet, and I turned the room from living room to dancehall in less than half an hour.

I got a bit nervous as the potluck had already started, and the Disasteradio crew were nowhere in sight. Blink, is a man good to his word, though, and he got everybody to Bishop with plenty of time to spare. They were coming from Vegas and stopped to experience the hottest weather they'd ever experienced. It was all of 100.4 degrees [Note to self, try not to book Kiwi bands in the dead of summer. They will die.].

Luke aka Disasteradio had just married his girlfriend Christina the night before in Vegas. They were giddy. Blink brought his beloved Sally on this tour. Yay! They all brought Simon Ward, a lovely and talented videographer and videomaker (see above). The show was very high energy and was particularly mesmerizing for me because the music meshed with the wee films so very well. Luke is a multitasker and can sing, twiddle with the knobs and dials, run a laptop, and control the disco ball we had with his foot.

The potluck was a hit. The next night, we had carnitas tacos for dinner, and the next morning, we had the local mahogany smoked thick sliced bacon (aka "crack bacon"). I made sure to cook the bacon slowly and not too crisp, like folks outside of the States like it. I was touched that they gave us bottles of Hawkes Bay wine and music pressies when they left. A few days have passed, and I'm still feeling the group hug.

Brainstorming now with friends on how to get Humphreys and Keen over to the States....