Necro-Squared Motherfuckers I

Necro-Squared Motherfuckers I

It’s been a helluva couple of days at Casa dels Ossos (House of Bones). After a six week sabbatical my father-in-law returned home from Florida and immediately began fucking with shit. Within 12 hours of stepping off the goddamn plane the motherfucker managed to mess with some of my altar work, single-handedly compromised the controlled environment we keep the mushrooms in, nearly lost our ticket-receipt for our Christmas goose and immediately returned to "hiding" potentially gluten-contaminated dishes, cooking utensils and cutlery.

(The long-short? Wheat and gluten are intestine-destroying poisons that cause Italics’s body to attack itself. Any trace of either – whether stuck on metal filaments of toasters, or dusted across used plates and dishes – is enough to make him seriously sick. Despite knowing how severe his symptoms are his parents never seem to clean up after themselves (I tried getting them aboard on the gluten-free express to make our kitchen more safe, but they won’t buy into it), so I’m constantly sanitizing the kitchen because they don’t even sweep their food crumbs off the fucking counters.)

(Our #1 gluten-free problem? Mr. Awesome, my father-in-law, doesn’t normally use detergent when washing dishes by hand. (Yes, we DO have a dishwasher, and no, I don’t know why he refuses to use it.) Which, obviously, is pretty fucking problematic when you have one person with a crazy-serious medical condition triggered by a food group that 1/2 the house indulges in. Worse yet, he’s begun "hiding" the unwashed dishes amongst the properly cleaned ones so he doesn’t get caught out. To ensure Italics doesn’t get sick I actually have to clean every fucking plate, fork, pot and cup before using it because I don’t know if it’s safe.)

But wait! There’s more! (<- Almost all of Ms. Dirty’s dealings come with an extra helping of WHAT THE FLYING FUCK and/or ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?.)

In addition to my father-in-law returning home and completely destroying the rhythm of the house, we were forced to give away our Tori Amos tickets because we just couldn’t afford the travel cost (our two concert tickets were equal to the cost of a single one-way train ride), I’m so fucking far behind with shit that I have no idea how I’m going to finish up all of my promises, obligations and duties (everything from working on packages for people to making our Last Harvest offerings at various cairns, standing stones and graveyards) before the holiday season hits, let alone hold a motherfucking Harvest sale at the end of this fucking month and – LOL! YES, THERE’S MORE! – yesterday we learned that I might’ve potentially lost everything I had on my fried computer because, for whatever divinely comical reason, my files didn’t transfer properly to our external drive.

(As in, every-motherfucking-thing; my entire effin’ life to this effin’ point. Projects, notes, my baby pictures, all of our pet photos, recipes I’ve created from scratch, unseen homemade porn I made for "Santa Claus" and years worth of fucking work (I mean, like, actual career work-work). Everything I ever saved, created, scanned or noted in my 31 years of life was on that fucking computer.)

So things have been a bit…intense…here recently, and because of that some of my goals for this week (i.e., write some VIP emails, finish a few projects and sell all 11 jars of Papa’s rum-infused plum sauce) got unexpectedly jostled around. One minor luxury of working for yourself, though, is having the ability to take a step back for a day or two to get your mind correct. After a long ass crying session – and a good night’s sleep – I’m feeling a lot fucking better about everything*, and I’m totally ready to hustle some motherfucking sauce.

(* Although I’d really like my computer shit back, Universe. Christmas – you know, the season of peace’n’love’n’good-effin’-will to all (especially those who’ve worked REALLY FUCKING HARD this year despite those pesky motherfucking rabbits) – is just around the corner, and I know you don’t wanna disappoint Santa’s favourite reindeer.)

(Correlating journal entry: NECRO-SQUARED MOTHERFUCKERS at GRAVEYARD DIRT)

Posted by Ms. Graveyard Dirt on 2011-11-10 23:56:44

Tagged: , home , kitchen , food , cooking , papa , hooch , sales , preserving