Ain't No Party Like

I tried a new pie recipe and the custard separated because I overbaked it. I stayed up late doing the pie again so I could get it right. It was a really good pie. Maple buttermilk. The custard was perfect on the second run. It was solid on the fork, but then it collapsed in the mouth. A familiar experience for me, obviously.

I'm making another pie for a party tonight. It's a divisive pie. People love it or they politely hate it. It's a vinegar pie with honey for the flavor and sweetness. I sprinkle the top with sea salt. It's complex, but it's heaven. It goes without saying that my butter crust is perfect. Whoops. I said it.

God. Enough about pies. Spring, y'all. It has sprung. Which means I walked to the grocery today wearing a t-shirt. I love the grocery because there are always men there I can use to develop quick crushes. Everyone has to get groceries, even hunks. One of my crushes actually works at the grocery. Josh and I caught him fist-pumping the air once. He's probably straight. He was out front today smoking a cigarette with a girl. The girl said, "Are you sure I'm not going to get you in trouble?" and the guy looked around like yes, she might get him in trouble. "No," he said. "I'm good."

Josh is going to be in another play. Get your tickets HERE. He plays about ten characters with different foreign accents. He's been sexing up for the role. He flexes his arms and muscles pop up now. It's not like begging a noodle to do something it can't do.

St. Patrick's Day sure was a day. A couple walked down our street eating pizza right out of the box. The girl of the couple came into our yard and tried to feed her slice of pizza to a tree. The tree was not receptive. The girl steadied her drunk self and tried again. No dice.

On the same day, Josh and I were walking home from the library and a drunk girl leaned out of her parked car and yelled, "Are you all gay? My boy here's gay. Yeah, he loves penis." There was a guy sitting next to the girl. He was drunk, too. Josh and I kept walking. The girl was yelling, "Hey! Hey!" but we were gone. If the guy wanted our penises so much, he could've said so himself.

My Kentucky friend keeps calling to talk about her snake problem. She has snakes mating in her trees. I'm fascinated by snakes. My friend insists on calling it a snake problem, but I like to think of it as a snake opportunity. My friend was picking up sticks and talking on the phone with her mother when she almost picked up a snake. I think that's just wonderful. I wish my yard was tripping with snakes. It is, instead, tripping with dog shit.

The only animals I've seen around lately are cats. There's a new stray and she has these short little legs but a regular body. She crosses the street at intersections like a person. In the dark, she looks like an opossum.

Speaking of, I have a story at Monkeybicycle. A man in England hates my story, but he hates everything. It's adorable. I wish I could watch him eat so I could see on his face how much he hates the food. My story has an opossum and a car accident and two men getting in the shower. But read it anyway.

Call Me Hannan

I just forgave summer for ending. It's fall and I need to get used to it. It's a good fall, though. I had the best weekend I've had in a while. Josh's show is over. An opossum walked in front of my car and peeled a flattened squirrel off the street like the squirrel was a fruit leather. I got drunk and made fun choices I've wanted to make for a while. I was called "Hannan" a lot and I really, really liked it. I submitted two stories. I read a magazine. I read a book. I helped Josh find the right pair of jeans.

Saturday night, I was at a party and this guy tried to talk to me about writing. He wanted to talk about how much he struggles to get anything written. I said the process of writing is different for all of us. The guy repeated what I said but in different words. Then he was like, "You know what I mean?" I just looked at the thickness of his legs and thought about his lucky girlfriend. His lucky girlfriend was standing there not saying anything. A drunk woman came up to this guy's lucky girlfriend and said, "Your job must be to stand there and look pretty." The lucky girlfriend did not respond in any way.

At the next party, I sat on the world's smallest porch and listened to a cute guy play guitar. The cute guy had a gap in his two front teeth, so I forgave him for everything he said. There was a banjo, too, but no one could play it. I drank a lot of beer and wine to catch up with everyone else. All the glasses were dirty, so I drank out of a coffee mug. It had a big A on it. A is for asshole. I don't know anything I said at that party, but I know everything I said after. One of the things I said after was, "Hello," to the toilet. I said this about three times.

It's that time of year when big, black snakes cross the street and look like pieces of animated tire rubber. I beg you to keep your eyes open. I ran over one of these snakes last year, and just today, I saw the remains of another poor snake. I have a heart for snakes, which probably means I'm evil. So be it. Wrap me in snakes and see if I don't ascend to a higher, shadowier plane.

Speaking of evil, I have a black dot on the bottom of my left foot. I think I'm marked for death. A few centuries ago, my lover would've seen the black dot on my foot and called me a witch. We would've been burned at the stake together, because duh, gayness wasn't allowed then. I'm so grateful to live in a time when you can be gay and a witch. You can be a gay witch. Or a gaywich, which is a pastry that resembles a macaroon, but when you eat it, it tickles the roof of your mouth.

Since all the leaves on the ground are cracking, I can hear whenever someone walks between our house and the neighbor's house. I'm usually in the shower when I hear it. We open the window when we shower to discourage the growth of mold on the walls and ceiling. Because of this open window policy, I would wager someone has seen me naked on accident. We have curtains, but they're thinner than tissues. If you've been creeping outside my house, I must ask you this: how did I look?