First things first: I successfully ate the rest of my green beans last night WITHOUT EATING SOAP. You’re not going to laugh at me when I report that I was seriously, in my heart, very trepidatious when I made the attempt. I’d been thinking about it all day and so I barged right into my kitchen the minute I got home, determined to prove that I am in fact a competent adult and not, as evidence would suggest, a gibbering soap-belching fool with a squeaky clean intestinal tract. Me = Adult, friends. That’s right. By the way, I oughtn’t mislead you by suggesting that my kitchen is a place into which one can successfully “barge.” I just said that for literary effect. In reality, my kitchen is a place that one holds one’s breath and sort of shimmies into, much like getting into your skinny jeans. Not good for barging at all.
Regardless, I trimmed the beans and popped them in the steamer and set the timer and that was all good, but that wasn’t really the hard part, because I’d done that the other day with no problems. While they were steaming I took every precaution I could to avoid making the same mistake twice. I moved the soap bottle as far away as I could from the sink, which, given the minuscule proportions of my kitchen, was not very far. (I ended up hiding it behind the toaster oven). I had the balsamic vinegar right there. By this point I was talking myself through the whole thing, as if I was landing a space shuttle. “Houston, we have correctly identified the proper condiment for vegetable-dressing purposes, Houston. We have read the label that says “Olive Oil For Eating” several times and are ready to proceed with drizzling protocol in five…four…three…two…one! Houston, we have green beans.”
In other news, Seattle continues to be a saucy tart that plays with my emotions, weather-wise. Right now it’s beautiful outside, and some of the pink cherry trees are starting to bloom and there are little daffodils coming up outside the hospital bus stop. It’s fresh and windy and very reminiscent of spring. Of course, last night I was shivering in my living room, all huddled up trying to read a book, and it rained rained rained all night, so I’m not paying too much attentions to the signals Seattle is sending me about spring, like Seattle knows I’m kind of into it but it sort of ignoring me yet is watching me to see if I’m paying attention to its pretty colors and flirty little flowers. I’m onto you, Seattle. We go through this little game every year, don’t we.
I’m going to the ABL tomorrow afternoon. I’m bringing Anna a matching pair of knee high boots so we can be all matchy-matchy and cutie-cutie, and I haven’t decided yet whether to force her to convey me to the San Francisco Lush or to make her make marble magnets with me all day long, or what. Usually I go down there with Carl, either for the party or just to spend time down there for non-party purposes. He’s still in DC though…actually, he’ll be back in Seattle before I will this weekend. I’m therefore expecting the weekend to be a little girlier than usual. Which is great with me, as I am all for being girly. Anna has the greatest costume collection ever and I think some more dress-up time is definitely in order. That’s the one thing about going down there…there I am in the Bay Area, with a ton of fun things to do, and I hardly ever go out and do any of them because I’m playing Dance Dance Revolution in their living room or sitting in their hot tub or just playing with them in general. Man, it’s fun just to think about not leaving their house for thirty-six hours. Maybe we’ll go to brunch or something.
I’m having a hard time writing lately because I’ve been mostly thinking about two things: my trip and my relationship, and I don’t want to write much about either one, although I can assure you that as we get closer to May 13 the reticence about the first item will be completely gone. All my journal entries will start to have titles like “I Decided To Get A Pair Of Clogs To Wear On My Trip” and “The History Of The Pack I’m Taking On My Trip” and “Is It Appropriate For Someone My Age To Stay In A Youth Hostel On My Trip?” and so on and so forth. I’m warning you now. The relationship stuff at this point is better left in my paper journal I think. I will tell you that I’m really looking forward to seeing Carl on Sunday, so that’s very cool.
And lastly, the beans, you’ll be happy to know, came out deliciously and I ate them right up. I just wish I had kept up my I’m An Adult cred by not attempting, later in the evening, to wash my dishes with the olive oil.