What the fuck, people?
No seriously, I realized, upon having to create some fabulous homemade pasta salad that called for it just the other day, that I have no idea what the fuck is up with broccoli.
I don’t like it so never in my adult life have I purchased it, let alone have I had to fucking chop it up to bits into some tasty concoction for the masses.
I mean, really. I like all sorts of other greens just swell. But put a head of broccoli in front of me and all the sudden George Sr. and I have something in common which truth be told I don’t like to admit that sort of thing – but trying to even cut that stuff to feed people and it’s like a nuclear blast of tiny green bits of nuclear natiness in my kitchen and I am not having it.
But I managed. And the masses who like to get competitive about picnic dishes loved it, so really who am I to complain?
Ok, so how are you?
Me? I am just trying to update before I go on my super top secret trip which really isn’t all that exciting but must remain super top secret for many reasons.
So, before I go, I thought I’d give y’all a shout out in a drunken got to keep backspacing and backspacing to keep up with my Weiss influenced fingers to spell things correctly kind of fashion,
And sadly, I’ve not much to update other than trying to chop broccoli was such a recent struggle I felt it necessary to bitch about.
Oh¸ and apparently all the ladies of the world have been watching some sort of cable teevee show called Sex and the City where some sassy 7k a month in rent paying lady poured some lethal concoction called a Flirtini which, in theory is probably a tasty treat that combines vodka, champagne and pineapple juice which is probably satisfying and refreshing to all you hard alcohol drinking people o’ the world but managed to kick my ass after two tiny glasses which is unprecedented in the normally ann-frank heavy six pint dark beer drinking world.
I mean, what I am saying, is at a recent get together, something called a Flirtini kicked my normally beer drinking ass.
A Flirtini y’all.
ann-frank doesn’t go down like that.
That’s all I’m saying.
That and I am really really tired is all. From many things.
But you don’t worry yourselves. All I need some really great road music *, then eventually time to read some trashy books and a comfortable bed with a soft downy mattress laid out on a sleeping porch for me with the earth spinning stars and crickets and rustic breezes and all that bullshit telling me to calm down and just enjoy myself
I’ll see y’all then, huh?
thanks for the CD you musical Johnny Appleseed it’s a nice addition to the summah trip.