Hi! How are you? I'm sorry I'm so shitty about keeping in touch. I've always sorta had this problem of losing track of time... anyway...
Tonight it was my turn to make dinner for the folks. So I spent some time at the big corporate newsroom--between making calls to the mall to find out what Santa's hours are, and arranging to interview the costume designer wife of a famous movie director--to find an appropriate recipe utilizing the meat my parents are insistent on thawing out.
And though you must read this with the sardonic tone of a raven-haired, bespectacled angsty goth teenager in a graying, dry contacts-wearing, bloated and angsty 30-something-year-old body, I am grateful for all of this, I swear.
But so I ended up making this fresh herb, roasted garlic and apple-bacon wrapped pork tenderloin with lemon glazed sweet potatoes. And it was pretty good. But honestly, I think my mom was a bit too drunk to really enjoy it, although she exclaimed shock and delight that her "little girl" knows how to do anything beyond boiling water. And then she blew her nose repeatedly and looked at it, like she always does after dinner. My stepdad does it, too. Only this time I couldn't hide my disgust.
"Does that offend you?" he asked. And I wondered if he was talking about the drunkenness, the weird snot ritual, or the disturbing practice they both had of letting their two rottweilers slowly and rather loudly lick my parents' feet and faces clean. And yes, in that order.
"Uh, no. I am grateful to be here," I said.
"Well, it's just remnants of our drug-filled past," he answered, clearly about the nose-blowing, though I promise I didn't ask. "Believe me, Sam, if we could take back all our cocaine years, we would."
And for some reason, I totally sympathized.
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