Today is not the best day to mess with me.
Our cafeteria served panko-coated chicken breasts today—think chicken pounded flat like a pork tenderloin. As I was walking back to the office with my plate, some random dude looked at me critically, then at my plate, then back to me and said, “That’s enough for two.”
At that point, my “don’t say it out loud” filter suffered a critical malfunction and I said, “You know what rhymes with two? Fuck you.”
So, I gather that someone on Game of Thrones drank something disastrous last night. Please tell me that the prop master had enough of a sense of humor to put the pellet with the poison in the chalice with the palace.
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood!
Six months ago, my feet looked like most of yours.
These are my feet now.
This is what diabetes can do. What it does.
From blisters. Not major trauma—blisters.
Without IV drugs and surgery, I could have lost half of my right foot.
My left foot would only have four toes.
That quarter inch that’s gone from the end of my left second toe doesn’t look like a big loss, but with it went my ability to bend my toe. I’ve always had “monkey feet” that could pick things up off the floor; not any more. It doesn’t sound like a big loss.
I joke about it. About buying fake toenails and getting 10% off on pedicures. “Just the tip”. I got fake-offended when my friend played the “Amputee” card in last night’s Cards Against Humanity game.
The reality is I’m scared to death. Sad. Embarrassed. Traumatized. And feeling bad about being all of that. It could have been so much worse. Other people have lost more. Feet, legs, life. What’s a quarter inch of toe?
These are my feet now.
When I ask for my burger with no lettuce, I still want the tomato. Stop 86ing both of them when I say no lettuce.
This doesn’t happen when my friend says no tomato; her burger arrives with lettuce. This clearly means that tomato the young circus acrobat sidekick of the pairing. Batman by himself? Sure. Robin alone? Don’t do it—you’re just asking for disaster.
Tomato needs to pull some Dick Grayson/Nightwing shit and stop accepting second billing.
I decided almost blacking out twice was my body’s way of saying that the marathon cleaning was done for the day and that I should eat lunch and take a nap in the shade. Far be it from me to ignore my health needs. :)
I’m guessing when the world goes grey and fuzzy a few times it’s a bad thing.
For Kat—some happy thoughts.
If it tells you about my chocolate preferences, despite my numerous samplings of the ganache and the orange dust, and despite literally licking my hands clean (prior to washing them) after rolling the truffles, my blood sugar is lower than it is after eating a bagel.
When I say dark chocolate, I mean it.
On a side note, heavy cream + salt + Demerara sugar + American Honey = heaven. I’m thinking there’s a panna cotta experiment coming up.
Far from the prettiest things, but really really tasty. Grand Marnier truffles dusted with ground, freeze-dried mandarin oranges.
Waiting for the American Honey ganache to set up now.