Solstice

Monday was the winter solstice. And, as you regular readers know, I take any opportunity that I can to be decadent - so this year it was a pesto lasagna shared with Lynn and a really good Italian red to celebrate the changing of the season.

I first had pesto lasagna at a small hole in the wall restaurant in Paris. Yeah, it's not French food, but at the time I was craving some pasta, and this looked intriguing. It was absolutely wonderful. I tried over and over again to make it - but the secret eluded me for quite a while. You'd think that you could just leave out the meat sauce and replace it with pesto and voila - pesto lasagna. No way. Turns out when you cook pesto, the olive oil separates out, and you end up with noodles in an oil slick - nasty. Next I tried putting chopped up basil leaves in between the layers of noodles. Bad. Then I though it might work if the basil was chopped up and put in the ricotta - like you'd add spinach. Nope.

I finally came up with this, which pales compared to what I had in Paris, but is still pretty good.

One of the nice things about lasagna is that you can do all the prep work and clean up before dinner. So rather than doing dishes after dinner, you can focus on more enjoyable pursuits.

We had this for dessert - in some very creative, uh, positions. Yum ;-) God I love dessert like that (aside from the obvious recreational aspects, that is some really good chocolate sauce).



Friday was the company party where Lynn works. She invited me. I really did not want to go - I first politely declined. She was, however, rather insistent. The event was being held in one of those chain hotels in Sunnyvale near Lawrence Expressway. They took up one of the ballrooms and there was a no-host bar, an appetizer/finger food buffet, and an area set up for dancing - so that folks who wanted to embarrass themselves in front of their co-workers could do so (probably after lots of alcohol).

The party was officially from 7 to 11. Lynn and I agreed to meet there after work. I decided to arrive fashionably late. I was really not looking forward to seeing either Heidi or Tim, both of whom Lynn told me would be attending. I stayed at the office until almost 8, when I got a call from Lynn. "I'm just leaving the office now, a few last minute details to take care of. I should be there in 15 or 20 minutes."

I went to my car and sat for a good 15 minutes - dreading going to the party - yeah - chicken shit. Then, after feeling like I could stall no longer I started the car and drove out to Lawrence Expressway. I drove past the hotel - stalling for yet a few more minutes. It was well past 8:30 and Lynn called again. "Uh, yeah, I'm on Lawrence - be there soon."

I continued to stall for another 2 hours - with regular calls from Lynn. Her words getting both more slurred and angrier with each call. Of course, each time she called I was closer and closer to the party. At 10:30 I got the final call. I was in the lobby of the hotel. Lynn was obviously drunk. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the lobby. Which room is it in?"

"You can stop stalling. They left."

"Both of them?"

"Yup. You big chicken."

"Good. I'll be there in a minute."

"Yeah, right. I'll buy you a drink."

I walked over to the ballroom. There were still about 100 people there, but the room was set up for probably 1000. The food was all gone and the bartenders were closing up. One very nice bartender gave us two half full bottles of pretty good wine as he closed down his bar. I gave him a $20 tip and wished him a merry christmas.

We sat in the hotel lobby and finished the wine. Where I was drunkenly berated for being a chicken. Whatever. I was hungry - in all my stalling I forgot to get dinner. So we sat in the lobby bar and had a couple more drinks and I had some food. Lynn was nagging me to catch up, drinkwise, and I was doing my best to comply. Drunkeness is always best shared - uneven levels of drunk is unpleasant (well, if I'm the more sober one).

I was no where near being drunk, but too far gone to drive. So I went to the front desk to get a room. Lynn stumbled with me to the elevator, up to the room we went. I opened the door to the room for her. She looked at me and shook her head. "This is so you." She slurred and pointed at me. "You're the only guy I know who would just get a room."

"What, I'm not going to sleep it off in my car."

"Yes! Yes! That's what guys do. Not only would they sleep it off in their car, they expect a goodnight blowjob in the parking lot." She pulled her top off.

"Yeah - college kids, but not grown-ups"

"No - grown men do that. Why are you so... you?" She was making no sense. She was fumbling with her bra strap - trying to undo it. "Oh fuck it." She pulled her shoulders out and pushed it down her torso and stepped out of it - like taking off pants. I've never seen that before (she does have narrow hips). "It's not fair that you're like this." She was naked now. "You made me feel soooo guilty." She sat down on the bed and started to cry. "Oh, fuck. I'm drunk. I didn't ever want to tell you that."

The wine goes in, the truth comes out.

"Why not? You were guilty - what you did was horrible. We both knew it was wrong." Thing is I always thought that she would feel guilty. I never considered that she might not.

"But I can't admit that to you!" She sobbed. "I would sit in Tim's office and just tell him how guilty I felt." She was crying. "I couldn't take it! And he would say that I didn't do anything wrong - that I was entitled to be with whoever I wanted." Well, I probably would have said the same thing. She broke down into a deep cry, mixed with hiccups.

Great evening.

I went to the bed to give her a hug. Don't know why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. She reached out and grabbed my belt as I got close. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Giving you a goodnight blowjob." She giggled. She tried to take off my pants, but was too uncoordinated. I helped. I laid down on the bed, quite ready for her attention (guys are like that). She put her head down in my lap. I ran a hand through her hair. Extreme anticipation set in as I waited for her to start.

Then I heard her gently snoring.

Pesto Lasagna

Boil 10 lasagna noodles in salted water. Extra al-dente. Run under cold water, pat dry and set aside. (this is for an 8x8 baking dish - perfect for 2 with leftovers, make more for a 9x13)

Next, in a blender add:

• 4 oz fresh basil leaves
• 1 pint milk
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 garlic cloves
• 1/4 medium onion

Frappe until it looks like a McDonald's St. Patrick's day milk shake gone bad. It will be minty green with small flecks of basil leaves. I know this seems gross - just stick with me.

In a sauce pan add:

• 2 tablespoons flour
• 2 tablespoons olive oil

Stir together and heat until bubbly. The add the milk mixture from the blender and bring the mixture to a boil. It should get fairly thick. Remove from the heat. Add:

• 1/2 cup of grated parmesean cheese - please use cheese from Parma, not the stuff in the green can.

Stir in the cheese until melted

Now taste it. It should be really good - cheesey, pestoey, and yummy. Add salt and pepper to taste.

In a separate bowl, mix

• 10 oz whole milk ricotta cheese (not that skim, part skim, or low fat, or reduced fat stuff - trust me, it makes a difference)
• 1 egg
• salt and pepper

Now, assemble the lasagna. I use an 8x8 ceramic baking dish. Layer noodles, ricotta mixture, basil cheese sauce, then shredded mozzarella (whole milk - not the part skim stuff) and fontina cheese. Repeat until you run out of noodles. Top with grated mozzarella, fontina, and parmesean cheese.

Bake at 350 covered for 30 minutes, then for 20 minutes uncovered. The top should get bubbly and golden brown and delicious.

Let set for at least 15 minutes before serving.

Pair with a good chianti

I'm Buff - and kinda healthy

I went for a physical yesterday. Yeah, you need to do that when you get old.

It turned out that I needed a tetanus shot. The nurse came to administer it. I took off my shirt. She put rubbing alcohol on my shoulder. Then she took the syringe and tried to pinch an inch or so of muscle on my shoulder to stab me. She couldn't grab the muscle. She told me "you need to relax your shoulder muscle."

"It is."

"Oh! Nice muscle tone." she raised her eyebrows.

In other medical related news, my LDL number is 168. Yup, that's dangerous - and I'm only 35. Anyway, my doctor has given me 3 months to clean up my diet and get the number down, or he's putting me on statins. He asked me if I regularly exercise, and then withdrew the question - he said I'm obviously getting a lot of exercise. I'm not fat, in fact he'd like to see me put on some weight. But he says I should not be eating so much saturated fat.

Well, sorry doc, I'm going to keep eating the fat. Give me drugs - I wanted to tell him to not bother with the 3 months. I'm not going to stop eating really good food. A daily dose of lipitor should keep my LDLs under 100, with very few side effects. And I get to keep eating bacon and hollandaise. This is a great country.

My doc says that in 5 years or so there should be a drug that will clean out all the plaque in the arteries. You'll take it once every 5 or 10 years and you'll have the arteries of an olympic athlete - even if you eat half a pound of bacon every morning. I can't wait.

Awkward

So Lynn has invited me to a Christmas party. The company Christmas party where she works. Where Tim and Heidi work, too.

Awkward.

For new readers, Lynn is my new girl buddy, who was my old girl buddy, until she started sleeping with Tim. While she was doing that I started dating Heidi -and eventually we ended up sleeping together. How's that for a soap opera. Lynn, Tim, and Heidi all work in the same office - so I guess Lynn has overcome the awkwardness.

You know, it wouldn't surprise me if Heidi and Tim have dated in the past. There's something about them together.

Uh, yeah, how tangled.

Contented Bliss

Hello, peeps. Yes, I've been actually having a life and not blogging about one. Lynn and I have been in a serious state of canoodling for the past week. Yes, a week. About 1/3 of the time of our last romantic encounter. And I must say it is probably the happiest I can remember being. We have been inseparable. Doing everything together - including showering. And the sex is amazing. OK, this is probably TMI and will gross you out, but I so love the taste of a woman. Heidi was fun. But she was very conservative when in comes to sex. Her idea of getting wild was doing it with a candle lit. Nothing but the missionary position for her. And seriously - nothing oral, at all. She said she didn't like it. I told her that was probably because she never had it done well. She agreed, but was never adventurous enough to try it with me. I really missed it. Lynn is - well - amazing and adventurous and - wow.

Tonight we parted, briefly, so I could go home - wash clothes and get another weeks worth. Later (after the last dryer load) I'll be headed back to her apartment in Los Gatos.

I have the key to her apartment again.

Maybe I'll get a drawer or two.

Sigh. (of contentment)

I did go paddling with paddle girl on Sunday morning. This was the only time I paddled in the last week. And I simply cannot keep up with her if I don't some extra mileage in during the week. Need to do something about that.

Anyway, she asked about my love life and I gave her the reader's digest version as we shared a thermos of french roast on the dock after our paddle. College buddy, to drinking buddy, to bed buddy, to cheating bitch, back to bed buddy again (new readers, go read here, here, and here, that's the gist of it).

"Do you trust her?" she asked

"Naw." I replied. "But I lover her."

"She's a lucky girl." She shook her head, "Men are weird."

Moth to a flame

I think we all knew this post was inevitable. Yup. I did it.

Wrong. So absolutely wrong. I did it anyway.

Here’s the thing. I wanted it. I really wanted it. I know my friend Kristen said that I should be able to stay away for myself. But that assumes that I want to stay away. I don’t. I so f-ing love her. I always wonder why girls go back to the bad boys. Why do I go running back to the bad girl?

Why does the moth fly into the flame?

You know, I do a lot of things that are bad for me. I eat fatty foods. I mean really fatty food – I eat hollandaise sauce. Which is really just egg yolks and butter whipped up together. These are two of the worst foods on the planet for folks who might develop heart disease. Guess what? I’m an American, in all likelihood going to die of heart disease. I love steak sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise. I love eggs benedict. I drink. I drink a lot. I like the way that alcohol makes me feel. I think nothing of sitting down and drinking a bottle of wine – at one sitting. No point in dying of that heart attack and having a pristine liver.

If it feels good, do it. I’ve made peace with the fact that this philosophy will probably shorten my life substantially. And it will result in hangovers, and all manner of other problems. So be it. Maybe one day I will regret this. But for now, I’m being true to myself.

It was Sunday. I was still recovering from a day on the water with paddle girl - so I wasn't up for any outdoor activity. I had read and re-read all the blogs I follow. Check all manner of e-mail accounts – nothing new here. I was bored. No, I knew what I was thinking. I was alone. She was alone – well I presumed she was alone. Maybe she’s banging her neighbor, or another co-worker. Who knows. I wanted to know. I was so hoping that she was alone.

When I could no longer stand it, I called her.

“Hey” she said answering the phone “it’s been a while.”

“How you doing?”

“Not that bad. You?”

“I’m hungry again.” She knew that that meant.

“Good for you. I knew you’d get there.”

I’m glad you had faith that I wasn’t broken for life. I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know what to say next.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah, I just… I’m…” I sighed. Here goes. Hold on heart. Here we go again. “I’d really like to see you.”

“I’d like to see you, too.” was that a sob I heard on the other end of the phone?

There it was again. Yes, it was a sob. Of shame? Joy? Elation? Remorse? Sorrow? Who knows.

“Come over. I’m home. Whenever you’d like.”

“I’ll be there soon.” I hung up.

I took my car (not the truck) and drove down to Los Gatos. I’m sure that I was speeding all the way. As I pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, I saw her standing in the parking lot. I pulled into one of the visitor parking spaces and she walked up to the car on the driver’s side. I got out and she hugged me tight. We kissed. She started to cry. (I’m just going to assume that these are tears of joy). I cried, too. We stood there in the parking lot for what seemed forever. She pulled back, put her hands on my cheeks, looked me in the eyes, and said “I love you, Rich.” She kissed me again. “I’ve always loved you.” This was like the end of Slumdog millionaire – but without the Indian music and the dancing. You know what I mean.

We hurried to her apartment and stumbled in the door. We hastily undressed each other – leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom. She was wearing that blue camisole that I just love. I stopped momentarily to admire it.

We made the maddest, most passionate love ever. Twice.

We collapsed into each others arms and I drifted blissfully off to sleep.

Your butt is steaming

That's what paddle girl said to me as I got out of my boat on Saturday morning. I usually wear wet-suit pants with a dry-top. But unable to remove the funk from the wet suit, I opted for a better smelling fleece pair of pants. Paddle girl makes me work pretty hard - and I work up a good sweat (hence the funk). My fleece pants were drenched with sweat (sorry if that's TMI) and it was probably 45 degrees out. And it was a funny sentiment.

She then invited me out for breakfast. I agreed to go if she let me use the shower at her house first. Her car is in the shop, so we loaded up the boats onto my truck and headed back to her house. She lives a couple minutes from where we were paddling. I took a shower and changed into fresh smelling clothes. Then she cleaned up. She lives in a 2 bedroom house with 1 small bathroom. She shares it with 3 other girls. She has 4 boats in her garage - including a surf-ski and an olympic racing boat. Cool.

We headed out to a local eatery near campus that caters to college students. While we were waiting for our food, and lingering over coffee, she put her hand on mine. OK, I've been dodging this for a while. Looks like I need to take it head-on.

"Um, I think you're really great, but, I'm not at a point where I can get involved with you." I pulled my hand out from under hers. She looked hurt, and surprised.

"The guys from the paddle club. They talked to you."

"Uh, yeah, they did."

"Bastards. I wish they'd mind their own business. They can't tell me who I can date."

"Before you blame them - first, they didn't tell me not to date you. They told me not to hurt you. There's a pretty big difference. I think they really care about you. At least they mean well."

She shook her head, "Yeah, I guess."

"Even if they didn't talk to me, I couldn't get involved with you, not now."

"Why?"

I might as well come clean. "I'm in love."

"I thought big boobs was gone?"

"No not her."

"Runaway bride?"

I laughed - "Shit, this is complicated. The girl that broke my heart."

"Are you with her?"

"No. But... I don't know. I'm not over her. It wouldn't be fair to you."

She narrowed her eyes. "What? You're going to pass on relationships until you're over her? What about Big Boobs?"

"Big boobs was a bad idea. And I know, it sounds stupid - especially when I'm talking to someone as cute as you. Give me some time. We can paddle together. You'll find some young college stud..."

"You mean immature, poor, boys?"

I laughed. I remember being so unhappy about Lynn being involved with inappropriately older men. Now, that I'm older and wiser, I can see some merit to the arrangement.