The Easter Lamb

This is Jonathan.  He came over on Easter Sunday.

He contacted me online, because he saw my post about Cups baked goods.  Sometimes that happens.  People send me emails saying, hey, can I bake with you?  Sometimes I say yes.  He sent me a really cute pic of himself but this is the pic that sealed the deal:

I mean, right?

This guy sent me a picture of his dog, through the kaleidoscope of a frosted pink donut.

Clearly this guy is a weirdo with a sense of humor.  Just like me!

Also, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.

We wanted to make a savory Lamb pie, in honor of Easter.

You know.  Cause we’re so into Jesus and stuff…

He’s a great guy (Jesus) and his followers are always so kind and non-judgemental!!!

His followers do a lot of good for the world.  Except for the Crusades, and Imperialism, and West-ward expansion, the Genocide of the Native Americans, the Genocide of the South American Natives, the financial enslavement of Africa and Colonization in general.  (Dont forget Asia – they did a lot of fucked up shit there too). They’re good people, if you except all that stuff.  While we are forgiving them, let’s forgive how the Catholic church’s stance on condom use contributes to illnesses like AIDS and such.  And how they try to reprogram homosexuals to hate what they are.  That’s not just Catholics, that’s Christians across the board for the most part.

BUT IT’S OKAY CHRISTIANS!!!  WE SARCASTICALLY FORGIVE YOU.

Wow.  Tangent.  Sorry.

We braised the Lamb of God in Guinness beer with mixed veggies.  Jonathan brought over fresh herbs for us to chop into the filling too.  Thyme and Oregano, I think.  I took the juices and made a gravy to thicken the filling.

Yeah.  I braise now.  It’s kind of how I roll.

Here’s some interesting things about Jonathan:

“I’m 24 years old, a resident of Crown Heights and moved to NY from GA in July. I grew up mostly in Georgia and Tennessee, where I attended an all boys Presbyterian high school. I’m now pursuing my masters, work part time for a nonprofit and part time as an urban design consultant, and I also do illustration/sculpture as a hobby and occasional income source. I run far more than would typically be considered healthy, but I can’t help it. I cook 5 or 6 days a week and splurge on baking whenever I can. I love music and performed for years with a chamber choir and an ensemble whose repertoire consisted largely of gospel and spirituals.“

Jonathan.  You forgot to tell them that you’re incredibly hot.

Jesus!

Maybe hotter than Jesus, now that I think about it.

He is risen indeed.

What?  Don’t roll your eyes!

I had to show him how to roll the dough out.

It’s all perfectly innocent.

Perfectly.

We did a shitload of cocaine.

I’m kidding.  That’s flour, dummy.

Jonathan didn’t believe that I’m a total idiot.  So I got out the old uke and proved it.

I mean.  We had to do something while the pie was in the oven…

Holy moly!  I spiked the crust with Smoked Hungarian Paprika that I bought at the Brooklyn Meat Hook.

Good call?  Yes.

Great call.

We put an egg white wash on the pie, then sprinkled it with coarse sea salt.

It made a savory coating on top.  Crunchy, on top of my flaky recipe.  NOICE!!!

We ate the Lamb of God pie.

We didn’t share any with our Christian neighbors.  Mostly because I don’t think my neighbors are Christian, either.

Look.  I changed my mind.  If you’re Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim or part of any major religion that causes war and suffering and judgmental self hatred in the world, I forgive you.  NOT sarcastically.  I forgive you, just because I love you.  And if you don’t believe in religion?

Well, then, I love you even more.

You’re all perfect, wonderful creatures.  You have God inside you.  You don’t need religion to know that.  You are loved.  You are loved.  God is love, as they say.

Can I have a kiss?

Enjoy the love and forgiveness.

Jerks.

ThursDATE: Flash Back

Place: Inverness Florida, a Rural Town

Time:  My Senior Year of High School

Him:  Thanks for coming over.

Me:  It’s just so weird.  It was a weird phone call to get, in the middle of the day.  Just some guy asking if I’m gay.

Him:  Was that the first thing I asked?

Me:  You asked if I was Michael Martin, and then you asked if I was gay…

Him:  And you said yes.  I can’t believe you said yes.  Just like that.

Me:  Yeah.  Well.  I don’t lie about my sexuality.  It makes me feel uncomfortable.  I stopped lying about it a few years ago.

Him:  How many people know about you?

Me:  Whoever cares to ask, plus all of the people that my friends just mention it to.

Him:  Do you think your friends are telling people a lot?

Me: Well, yeah.  I’m friends with all the actorly types.  They love to talk.

Him:  Yeah.  I hate that about actors.  They’re always talking about other people.

Me:  It’s kind of our job.  To find out about people, what they’re like.  We’re not usually judging.  Just perceiving.  We’re interested.  But yeah – my actor friends like to talk.  How did you know to call me?

Him:  One of your actor friends told me about you, and gave me your phone number.

Me:  Weird.  So weird.

Him:  So I looked you up in the yearbook to see if you were cute.  Then I called you.

Me:  Such a strange way to meet somebody.

Him:  So what do you think of my place?

Me:  I like it.

Him:  I kind of live here alone.  It’s a long story.  My mom got a good job in Orlando.  So I’m here by myself about 5 days a week.

Me:  Sounds like a bunch of trouble.

Him:  I keep busy.  My friends are here a lot.

Me: I’ll bet.

Him:  Hey can I kiss you?

Me: You’d better.  How else am I going to prove that I’m as gay as my friends said I was?

(He kisses me.  It’s good.)

Him:  I couldn’t do that.  I can’t tell people I’m bi. 

Me:  You’re bi?

Him:  Don’t laugh.  It’s a real thing.

Me:  I know it is.  I just always thought a kiss from a bi guy would only feel half-interested.  But as I say that out loud I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

Him: But you tell people when they ask you.  Inverness is small.  It’s a small town.  People must hate you.

Me:  You know I’m class president, right?

Him:  Yeah.  But still.  I asked around.  Some people don’t like you much.

Me:  I suppose some people never will.  This is a redneck town.  There’s only what?  400 people in our High School?   In the only High School in town?  I think I’m doing okay, being openly gay here.  I think things are going  better than I expected them to when I started telling people.  Lots of people like me a lot.  Some people really can’t stand me.

Him:  You’re controversial. 

Me:  You’re hot.  I’m not controversial.  That makes me sound important, or something.  I’m just getting by, and trying to play by my own rules.

Him:  Maybe that’s what pisses people off. 

Me:  It might be.  Any chance I can get another one of those bisexual kisses?

Him:  Every chance.

(More smooching.  It’s good)

(There is a sound of a car pulling into the driveway.)

Him:  Oh shit.  That’s my friends.  Shit.  My friends are here.  Will you hide in the closet?  I’ll get rid of them.

Me:  Will I what?

Him:  Hide.  In here?  Please.  PLEASE.

Me:  Yeah.  Fine.

(A long time goes by as I hide in his closet.  I lay down on a pile of his dirty clothes.  I can smell him in his closet.  I feel comfortable and angry at the same time.  Eventually I hear the car noise again.  He comes back.  I debate whether or not to fake having slipped into a coma while he fucked around with his friends in the living room.  I decide I’m classier than that.)

Him:  Sorry about that.

Me:  You should be.  You made me feel ashamed.  I don’t like being made to feel ashamed of myself.

Him: I’m sorry.  They know you’re gay.  People kind of know that you’re gay.  It wouldn’t look good.

Me:  This isn’t going to work out.  I’m going to leave.  You can’t be wanting to date me, properly, if you’re going to shove me into a closet when your friends come over.

Him:  Come on.  Stick around.  I really am sorry.

Me:  I know, but now I don’t feel comfortable here anymore.  It’s not you.  I’m kidding.  It is.  It’s you.  But I’m not angry.  I’m just not interested in starting a relationship like this.  On these terms.  I have too much self respect.  It really gets in the way.  I’m not being sarcastic, or joking.  It really gets in the way of things, my pride.

Him:  That sucks.

Me: You’re cute.

Him:  You are.

Me:  Can I get one more of those kisses before I leave?

(We do.  It’s great again.)

Him:  (Under his breath) Fuck…

Me:  Yes.  We should probably do that.  Just so you know what you’re missing.

(We do.  Now he knows what he’s missing.  We lie there for about 20 min.)

Me:  Okay.  I’m going.  This was not the best date in the world.  You need to work on your dating skills, okay?

Him:  Okay.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know what else to say…

Me: It’s okay.  You’re nice.  It’s fine, really.  You’re good at sex.

Him: Thanks.  Will you come over again?

Me:  Probably not.  You’re cute, but I don’t let anyone make me feel ashamed.

Him:  Well.  Thanks for coming over.  You’re a great guy.

Me:  You’re not so bad yourself.  Just get over that shame business, and you’re kind of a catch.

Him:  Well thanks again for coming.

Me:  Well thanks for having me.  It was a wonderful time.  Except for that one part.  Thanks for the make outs.

Jerk.