1.3.2004
This is the shit
I love Ichiban. It's not the best sushi in town, but it's tasty and relatively cheap, and our check always comes with mochi ice cream. Besides, Musashino has never jammed a paper cocktail umbrella into our rainbow roll in the name of presentation.
I love Ichiban. It's not the best sushi in town, but it's tasty and relatively cheap, and our check always comes with mochi ice cream. Besides, Musashino has never jammed a paper cocktail umbrella into our rainbow roll in the name of presentation.
1.2.2004
Don't put into mouth to prevent from choking
Our friends Jillian and Mosley have been staying with us, so much of this week has been a dissolute slumber party fueled by drinks, cigarettes, and an obscene amount of cubed cheese left over from New Year's Eve.
Today, though, I dragged my bloated fleshbag out for a nice wholesome hike at Wild Basin Preserve.
Some of the trails are pretty lush, especially for January:
Other spots looked like they were about to spontaneously combust:
I saw deer, too, and people with fanny packs, but they scattered when I approached.
Now back to drinking, all of you.
Our friends Jillian and Mosley have been staying with us, so much of this week has been a dissolute slumber party fueled by drinks, cigarettes, and an obscene amount of cubed cheese left over from New Year's Eve.
Today, though, I dragged my bloated fleshbag out for a nice wholesome hike at Wild Basin Preserve.
Some of the trails are pretty lush, especially for January:
Other spots looked like they were about to spontaneously combust:
I saw deer, too, and people with fanny packs, but they scattered when I approached.
Now back to drinking, all of you.
1.1.2004
Ung.
Happy New Year.
Happy New Year.
12.30.2003
Dear Diary,
We have houseguests on the way for the rest of the week. I cleaned the toilet in their honor.
Yep. That's about it.
Yours,
Joolie
We have houseguests on the way for the rest of the week. I cleaned the toilet in their honor.
Yep. That's about it.
Yours,
Joolie
12.29.2003
12.28.2003
Beef soup recipe
Place a pound of beef bones in a large pot with far too much water, half an onion, a bay leaf, and six cloves of garlic. Boil vigorously for two hours. Pat yourself on the back for cooking from scratch and drink a few glasses of cheap red wine.
Taste the broth. It will have no flavor and will leave an unpleasant coating on your tongue. Glug some wine in the pot and add a lot of salt. Throw in some vegetables and a bunch of spices randomly culled from the pantry. Simmer for an hour.
Taste the broth again. It should taste like salty greasewater. Wonder aloud why you even fucking bother, Jesus Christ, any moron with just a brainstem could make soup....Trail off when you notice your friends watching your outburst with identical carefully blank expressions. Feel very silly.
Liberally pour in more wine and salt and whatever fresh herbs you have on hand. The broth will taste no better after 30 minutes. Get the bright idea to consult a cookbook. It will tell you that you need six times the amount of bones you used and should really have strained off all the fat and debris before you added two pounds of fresh vegetables. Sigh dramatically and throw in some beef bouillon cubes, which you should have done in the first place.
It will be about eleven p.m. by the time it's edible. You will not be hungry anymore. Garnish your creation with some freshly baked bread and ingest.
Leftovers
Take the soup out of the refrigerator and pick off the largest and most offensive clots of solidified fat with a pair of tongs. Decide you don't really want some right now, but who knows, you might later. Willfully ignore the enormous soup tureen taking up an entire shelf in the fridge for five days or until all the other food starts to take on a strange oniony odor. Quietly pour the remaining soup out in a dark corner of the backyard. Go out for puffy tacos.
Place a pound of beef bones in a large pot with far too much water, half an onion, a bay leaf, and six cloves of garlic. Boil vigorously for two hours. Pat yourself on the back for cooking from scratch and drink a few glasses of cheap red wine.
Taste the broth. It will have no flavor and will leave an unpleasant coating on your tongue. Glug some wine in the pot and add a lot of salt. Throw in some vegetables and a bunch of spices randomly culled from the pantry. Simmer for an hour.
Taste the broth again. It should taste like salty greasewater. Wonder aloud why you even fucking bother, Jesus Christ, any moron with just a brainstem could make soup....Trail off when you notice your friends watching your outburst with identical carefully blank expressions. Feel very silly.
Liberally pour in more wine and salt and whatever fresh herbs you have on hand. The broth will taste no better after 30 minutes. Get the bright idea to consult a cookbook. It will tell you that you need six times the amount of bones you used and should really have strained off all the fat and debris before you added two pounds of fresh vegetables. Sigh dramatically and throw in some beef bouillon cubes, which you should have done in the first place.
It will be about eleven p.m. by the time it's edible. You will not be hungry anymore. Garnish your creation with some freshly baked bread and ingest.
Leftovers
Take the soup out of the refrigerator and pick off the largest and most offensive clots of solidified fat with a pair of tongs. Decide you don't really want some right now, but who knows, you might later. Willfully ignore the enormous soup tureen taking up an entire shelf in the fridge for five days or until all the other food starts to take on a strange oniony odor. Quietly pour the remaining soup out in a dark corner of the backyard. Go out for puffy tacos.
