AllLivesMatter. The problem is that left to its own devices ALL quickly gets reduced to and prioritized to straight white men, and the closer you are to being a straight white man, the more your life matters. I love straight white men, but they’re already protected. Their concerns and problems are the ones everybody has: livable wages, providing for family, keeping home and property safe, basic personal safety. They don’t have to worry about what the Supreme Court decides they can do with their bodies. They don’t have to worry about being refused service and humiliated by a business’ religious objections. And they don’t have to worry about whether a routine traffic stop might result in their death.

So yes, All Lives Matter, but we’re not yet at a place where ALL actually includes everyone.

BlackLivesMatter isn’t exclusionary. Nobody is saying that ONLY black lives matter. I suppose we could say that BlackLivesMatterToo – but that makes it a reminder, an afterthought, an ‘if you have a chance’ please address this. That approach requires time, and patience, and hope, and we’ve run out of those things.

There is anger in the words BlackLivesMatter, but most of what you’re seeing and hearing, is fear. BlackLivesMatter is a plea to armed authority, for humane consideration. It begs those who could kill us with impunity, to stop for a moment before pulling the trigger. To stop just long enough to ask themselves “If this person was white, would I handle this differently?”

You were in seat 14B on July 4th, American Airlines flight #3150, YYZ to LGA, I was the girl to your left in the window seat. I wanted to tell you that I thought you were quite handsome, but I refrained as I feared I would wind up having to share my candy with you – you had offered me a stick of gum, remember? And not offering you any candy in return was already somewhat ungracious. So anyway, now that my candy is out of jeopardy, wow are you ever handsome!

If our flight was crashing, I’d have been totally open to making out with you, even though I’m much older and kind of married. I understand that you might not be as cool with the prospect at first blush, but think back, I really was the cutest person between rows 13 to 15. You would have had to go pretty far to reach the blonde with the side ponytail, and I think she was travelling with someone. And the man with the crooked smile and shaggy brown hair was even further still! Sure, that petite gorgeous brown haired woman was just a little bit behind us, but she was clearly Orthodox and it was NOT going to happen. I know that looks are a useless way to make determinations about people, but in a plane crash make out situation, I think it’s a safe go-to.

Anyway, as a polite young man I think you would have gone along with it to avoid hurting my feelings, which, by the way, I totally appreciate.

“How could this happen to me! I’m a good person!”

“Obviously you’re not,” I shrugged.

“What?!”

“Good peoples’ cars don’t break down, and they don’t get the flu, and their banks cards are never eaten by ATM machines. Clearly, you’re a terrible person.”

“You know I fucking hate you right now, right?”

“Maybe if you didn’t use such bad language, your car would still be running.”

And no, we’re not actually friends anymore. 🙂

Bitches be stealin’ my clothes!

I like for the ladies to be built pretty much like I am, about my height, about my frame. I also like when girls are into fashion and style. Put these two things together and you wind up with the opportunity to double your wardrobe just by dating! Sounds great, right? Lesbian!

How can this possibly be a negative?

Because every single person who I have ever lent an item of clothing to, has looked better in that that item of clothing than I did!!! Every single time! This is okay if the person I’ve lent something to is going out with a group that I’m not a part of, but if they go out with people I know, then I can never wear that item with those people again! Sounds paranoid? Well fuck you.

The problem of course, is boobs. So long as the item fits, boobs make everything better: sweaters, blazers, blouses, even skirts and pants somehow. And everybody I know has bigger boobs than I do, which means they instantly look better in everything of mine that fits them. I could of course simply refrain from being with women who have bigger boobs than me, except, well, that sounds really depressing.

The Princess will have to do for me – his boobs may be bigger than mine, but he never wears my clothes. At least not in public.

The original menu wound up with a few tweaks after the testing phase, a few substitutions once I was in the grocery store and couldn’t find a couple of items, and a few total changes when I decided to just totally change things (or just forgot about them).

We normally do a separate Amuse, but decided to just do a bigger appetizer once we (my sister and I) saw these huge new plates my parents had bought.

On Christmas Eve I put some fresh sage and about a cup of whipping cream in a jar and set aside in the refrigerator to marinate? season? make sage yumminess spread to whipping cream. I whipped the cream (leaving in just a few smaller bits of sage) a little before serving time, and the taste of sage was definitely present and delicious. Scallops were seared in olive oil, plated immediately, and then topped with a bit of the sage cream and a dollop of caviar.

The other side of the plate houses an escargot pie. I used a cream cheese crust (1 c butter, 16oz cream cheese [2 c], 3 c flour – mix and form), and filled it with a mix of egg, milk, and butter/garlic sauteed escargots.

Of course nothing is complete without alcohol, and everyone in my family does better after a personality drink, so we make sure to get something extremely yummy so no one will consider not having any.

Have I used the word yummy enough yet? Probably not. I’ll make up for that in part 3.