There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Fruit Schmoot

You know what's tiring? Drama. Having drama in your life is simply exhausting. I prefer calm, so I hoping my peripheral drama is over soon. I have no real news about the Lazy Co-Nonworker situation, except that he claims to be on new medication, feeling better, and ready to come back to work on Wednesday. I won't be here on Wednesday to witness this momentous occasion. Feh.

Larry McMurtry is an author who wrote the novel "Lonesome Dove," which was subsequently made into a tv miniseries in the 80s. A lot of it was filmed in Del Rio, Texas, a desolate, hot, windy, hot little desolate, remote, hot town in goat ranching country, next to the Rio Grande (which is not grand at all and smells a lot like poop). I used to live there. Larry McMurtry has a son named James who is a singer/songwriter. We went to listen to him and his band on Saturday night and boy howdy, it was white trash heaven. I may have been the only woman there not wearing a halter top, and I certainly had smaller hair than most and a lot less sparkly crap. There was one dude there who had clearly been out on the river tubing all day, drinking beer and baking his brain, because his brain was not functioning all that well. He was wearing a tank top with some big bass pictured on it, always a tasteful fashion choice. When the music started, he started dancing and fist pumping. All night with the fist pumping to the music. His own friends seemed to find him pretty obnoxious, so he went table-hopping to find new friends, who also found him obnoxious, but he didn't care. He went up to the bar and got beer for all of his new best friends. He was carrying about 5 bottles by the necks, 3 in one hand and 2 in the other, and stopped on his journey to enjoy a swig. He didn't take into account that the tops had been removed from ALL of the bottles, not just the one he was drinking from, and thus poured beer all over his own face. Ah, sweet karma. Together with gravity, you provided me with quite a chuckle.

On Sunday, we decided that we should be making homemade ice cream on a regular basis, as if our asses weren't already too large, so we got ourselves a symphony of lactose products, an ice cream maker machiney thing, and a vanilla bean, then we went to work making some ice cream and some gelato. The gelato came out a bit too chocolatey, although I'm having a hard time even typing those words. The vanilla came out like the nectar of the gods, although it wasn't hard enough to eat yet. It made a delicious sort of vanilla soup, though. I could use this to make sorbet, I suppose, if I thought that fruit was really an appropriate dessert base, but it's not. It's healthy and it's like having broccoli cake.

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