Beer

Busy Busy Busy

Bee macro (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Yesterday was a busy day. It was also the first day I was able to stand somewhat close to upright with pain that’s manageable, so that’s ok.

Took the girl to school, came back home and went with Nerd Child to the grocery store, to buy soft, no-chewing necessary foods. He was getting the first round of braces put on in the afternoon. Did what I needed to do around the house, checked my email 80,000 times in hopes of query/requested material responses (nothing, seems like all agents left for the Bologna Book Fair yesterday), he left for the dentist, and I went to pick up Flower Child, planning to meet him at the office.

Because I was going to be out of the neighborhood, I figured I’d bring the camera. I remembered to charge the battery, remembered to bring the camera. Being me, I didn’t remember to put the freshly charged battery back into the camera. Sigh. Still everything seemed to have gone well for NC, and I signed all my dollars, present and future, over to the promise of straighter teeth.

Last night I had a beautiful first. A different type of Friday Night Madness. Man Child came in for the weekend with Miss Music, and we went out. For a beer. A legal, ordered in my favorite bar beer, with my 21 year old. Should it feel like a big deal? I don’t know, but it did. There was something so…sweet…about being able to have this nice, normal, adult moment with my oldest. Miss Music also recently turned 21, Husband was home and came with us, truly a moment. When we left the bar, Miss Music told me she had read Astonishing (I had emailed the file to Man Child) and loved it. YAY! I want to hear specifics–feedback from the perspective of a young person– but they are, after all, 21, so they continued on for more of a night out than a beer with the parental units, and Husband and I went home.

It’s a funny thing, this writing. There was a thread on the writer’s forum the other day about “stage fright,” not wanting to share work with others. I don’t feel that way. I want to be read, share, get feedback. Sure there’s a serrated edge flutter in my gut when I hand over a manuscript–will they like it? hate it? yawn their way through because it’s boring? think I’m the weirdest motherfucker ever and never want to speak to me again? not respond at all (the worst, to me)? But it doesn’t stop me from handing it over. I wrote, now you read. In my mind, that’s the contract.

Yesterday at this time Nerd Child was sprawled on the couch, relaxed and watching videos on his laptop, laughing. This morning he’s sprawled on the couch, relaxed and watching videos on his laptop, laughing. Guess he’s ok.

Brackets04 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Wanna Get a Belly Fulla Beer

Ok I’m not talking about Saturday night, I’m talking about Friday Night Madness.

Generally, Husband is off on Fridays, and he orders pizza with Flower Child while I go out with Fatigue. For this month, Husband is working on Fridays. Oh NO!! I need my hour and a half of Friday Night Madness. It’s like a get out of jail free card, only it’s bitch and moan to my heart’s content, or just sit peacefully with my beer while Fatigue moans. Plus all my favorite waitresses work on Friday evening. Blargh.

The other day, on Facebook, I was in a discussion with a group of friends about soups. Try not to be jealous of my glamorous New York lifestyle. One friend mentioned onion soup made with a dark beer base, and it’s been on my mind ever since.

So, I called Fatigue and asked him if he’d like to come here instead of meeting at the bar. Flower Child was very happy. So happy she was *gasp* willing to not have pizza for dinner. On a Friday. This may not sound like much to you, Fringelings, but in our world that is huge. She adores Fatigue and hasn’t seen him in quite a while. Thumbs up. Bought beer, bought onions, Comte, baguette, all good to go.

The weather cooperated when the day started out. Windy, sideways rain, perfect soup for dinner day! I worked on Astonishing, added about a thousand words. This took three times as long as it should have because of the damned noise. They’re STILL working on that building across the street. It’s been over a year. To redo the front and the first floor, where the retail spaces are. I could have built an entire apartment building, complete with plumbing, out of Legos by now. By the time I finished writing for the day and had Flower Child back home from school, the rain was gone, the wind was gone, the sky was perfectly clear, and it was 70 degrees outside. Of course. Well forget it, I had the makings for soup, soup is what I was making.

Except I was looking at that beer and decided I’d rather drink it than put it in the soup. White wine base it is! Shoot, then I should put in a dollop of brandy for depth. (Mrs Fringe, Flower Child, and Fatigue are all vegetarians, so I use vegetable stock, not beef. Poor, poor flesh eating Husband.) I didn’t have any brandy. Or cognac. What the hell, I added a splash of Cabernet.

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A good time was had by all, Flower Child showed Fatigue all of her more recent sketches. A lovely Friday Night Madness indeed.

Happy Saturday, Fringelings!

Dog Poop Picker Upper

Poop Scooping Bag Instructions (Photo credit: reinvented)

Last night I was out with Fatigue for Friday Night Madness. While we waited for our beers to arrive, we caught each other up on the bits and pieces of the last couple of weeks since we were last out. I talked at him, telling him what’s happening with my writing, he talked at me, telling me what’s happening with his singing. A nice evening, the bar wasn’t too crowded, all our favorite waitresses were working, and as usual, the customers were a cross section of our neighborhood. $16 a pint hipsters sitting at one table with a table of $5 pitcher drinkers next to them.

I was pleased to have a funny story to share with Fatigue. Earlier in the day I was cruising the writer’s forum, and came across a thread looking for some ideas for humiliating jobs that a character might have. Jobs that would be super embarrassing, easy targets for being looked down upon, lots of opportunity for humor. Yanno where I’m headed with this, right?

English: Pooper scooper detail at end of the Cherry Blossom Festival Parade in Washington, D.C. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No less than three people volunteered the idea of dog poop picker upper. Now it’s true, lots of opportunity for comedy in this, and it doesn’t have quite the same ring as “My Son The Doctah,” but we all do what we have to do. Fatigue is a singer, who walks dogs to pay his rent. Mrs Fringe is a Mama, a writer, and walks dogs to put the pharmacist’s kid through college. Yes, dog poop picker uppers. Try not to be jealous, as we spend our days skipping through the rain and snow, laughing and examining dog poop. Sure it’s a shitty job, but someone’s got to do it. *rimshot*

But we were laughing last night, assuming the posters were young enough to not intend any harm or insult. It’s innocence, to see these types of jobs as throwaway. We ate, and then chatted for a bit with one of the waitresses. The one who serves us beer on Friday nights so she can continue working on her doctorate during the day. Bar maid, ditch digger, lawyer, nit-picker and poop picker upper, we all do what we can and what we have to. Everyone has a story, whether we’re living life on the fringe, or just appear to be.

Cheers, Fringelings!