Tag: Pie

I’m Dating Everyone

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Little known fact: I’m dating everyone.

It’s true.  It’s evolved into my motto for 2011.

I’m dating everyone.

I was in long term relationships for pretty much all of the aughts, and I’m taking a breather this year.  I’m feeling emotionally worn out, to be honest, and I’d like to focus on my work.

Is that okay with you?  More in a second.  I’m going to talk about chocolate for a second, and then juxtapose it with a poop joke.

Chocolate covered pretzels are super easy.

Just temper a buncha chocolate.  That means add heat to it, in a double boiler.   Use a double boiler so you don’t scorch the chocolate.

If you don’t have a double boiler you can make one with a metal bowl and a pot of water.

Figure it out.  I’ll wait here while you do fifteen seconds of internet research to find out about Double Boilers.

So, yeah, I’m Dating Everyone.  Did I tell you?  I told you?  Good.  I am.

It’s become the thing I say when people condescendingly ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend.

‘I’m Dating Everyone,’ I say.  And yes.  I’m smug and arrogant when I answer the question.

“At your age, with your personality etc. I can’t imagine you having to be single?  Don’t you have a boyfriend?“

No.  I don’t.  Nor do I want one.

I don’t like your implication, that people have to either be coupled up or cower in fear of being forced to live out their golden years with nothing to support them but their own thoughts and musings.  Perish the thought I actually get some peace and quiet in my retirement.   Just kidding.  I’m never retiring.

My grandmother’s single.  She seems to be having a good time of it.  She’s been single for 20 years since my Grandpa died.  She likes to do puzzles.

Do you honestly think everyone is wandering around, desperately trying to find the ‘missing half’ of themselves that will make them whole?  I hope not.  Sounds like a good way to waste time you should have spent pooping and writing shows, and baking for lovely people.

And pooping, darling.  And all that pooping.  Everyone knows, people in relationships don’t poop.

It implies that you’re not good enough on your own, and most of you are!

The rest of you, I dunno…  Get a boyfriend, I guess.  Quickly.

But for me, that person will either turn up or he won’t.  I’m not looking.

I don’t like the implication that at my age I should really settle down.  And if you ask me, I’m Dating Everyone will be what you hear, with varying degrees of smugness attached to it, depending on how I’m feeling at the moment.

Isn’t that precious?

No. It’s not.

It’s arrogant.  I think arrogant behavior can be funny, though.  I’m really arrogant and humble and arrogant.  And grateful.  I feel grateful pretty often.

I feel really arrogant sometimes too, when I’m onstage or when I’m writing my blog and things are going well.  I feel arrogant sometimes when I’m directing or coaching comedy and I’m getting through to the actors.  I also feel humble in those moments.  If I nail an improvised song, or a written sketch at Maude Night, or an audition, I feel arrogant.  Bulletproof.

But there’s always a humble part of me that knows that the important ingredient, the x factor that makes any actor special, just comes and goes whenever it wants.  If I practice more and work more, it comes more often, but it still can leave whenever it feels like it.  That makes me feel humble.  And arrogant.  And humble.

And sometimes shy.  Don’t ask.  That’s a whole other can of worms.

I’m not sorry for being humble or arrogant.  It’s part of the process I go through to do comedy and music.  It sucks a little, but I don’t think I would trade it for anything at all.  It doesn’t suck a lot more often.  I have talented friends who care about me, and I get to share the stage with the best comedy minds of my generation.  I get that.  That’s what luck and hard work and life has given me.  It’s a gift and it’s mine, and it’s not for anyone else but me.   And that makes me feel humble.  And arrogant.

I’m pretty sure I’m not harming anyone by trying to make people laugh, except the feelings of my closest friends, once in a while, when I think I’m being funny (and I am) but I’m also inadvertently acting like a Jerk.

And my friends know that about me, and don’t make me apologize for it.  I don’t have a whole lot of close friends, but the ones I do have are excellent human beings.  I could have done much worse.

Darling, see what happens?  I start talking about my favorite subject (poop) and I get off topic.

Chocolate Covered Pretzels.  Temper the chocolate.  Drizzle the pretzels. Toss.  Refrigerate.  You’re done.   Take them out after 10 min, or they run the risk of getting ashy looking, like the Elderly.

You’re a superstar!  You made candy!  Share it with your friends!

But don’t ask me who I’m dating.  It’s arrogant, but I’m still going to say it:  I’m Dating Everyone.

Ever so humbly, that is.

Jerks.

SaturDATE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  Come over.

Me:  No.  You come over here.

Him:  No.  You come over here.

Me:  Noooo…  I have writing to get done, and I should bake and photograph stuff…

Him:  Your stupid blog….

Me:  Yes.  And I have to re-write the show.  It got picked up for a run.

Him: Come over!

Me:  No.  Come over.

Him:  Come over.

Me:  How was your week?

Him:  Come over, it was fine.

Me:  I have to write.

Him:  You’re always writing!

Me:  Tell me about it.  Plus remember last time?  You kept shushing me, even though it was the middle of the day.  You were worried that your landlord was listening to us talk.

Him:  He is stalking me, I think.  I think he’s listening to me have sex and hang out with my friends.

Me:  I didn’t know that.  I only knew that you wanted me to whisper at 3pm.

Him:  Come over.  I won’t shush you.

Me: Of course you will.  It’s 1am.  Is your roommate home?

Him: Yes.  We’ll have to be quiet.

Me:  No.  No way.  I’m not coming over.  I live alone for a reason.  One of those reasons is, I don’t like to tiptoe around after 11:30pm.  Come here.

Him:  No….

Me:  Every time I come over there we make out for a while and then you send me home.  I tell you you’re pretty over and over again and you roll your eyes at me.  Then I go home with a boner.  I think you’re playing games.

Him:  I’m not playing games.

Me:  I know you are, but I like you anyway.

(pause)

Him:  If you come over, we can talk about how good your show was.  Plus, I’m really in the mood for sex.

Me:  What’s your address again?

Him: Hahahahahahaha! 

Me:  Ugh.  I’m such an ego maniac.  Fine.  I’ll come over.

Him:  Don’t expect me to gush about your show if you do.

Me:  You just said…  okay fine….

(20 minutes later, at his place)

Me:  You still have crates of Honest Tea in your kitchen.  That’s the real reason I came over, you know, because I knew you had at least 75 bottles of Honest Tea lying around, and maybe you’d give me one.

Him:  SHHHHHH!!!  Do you want some Honest Tea?

Me:

#1) Do I want some Honest Tea?  No.  It’s waaaaay to late for me to have caffeine.  I’m like an old lady – can’t have it after 8pm.

#2) Do I want some Honesty?  No.  We live in a Society.  Things grind to a halt if we start being honest with one another.

Him:  I hope that joke’s not going into the show.

Me:  It wasn’t, but now I’m going to put it in, just to be willful.

Him: Nice.  Good luck making it work.

Me:  Thanks for all your support.

Him:  Will you come over some time and help me hang things?

Me:  Pictures and stuff?  Sure.  Although I kinda dig the minimalist vibe going on here.  Also, won’t you just shush me when I bang nails in the wall with the hammer?

Him:  SHHHH.  No.  I will take a break from shushing you.

Me:  Well, I suppose it would be wrong of me to deny you help.  I’m so tall and you’re such a cute shawtie.

Him:  Never mind.  I have Architect friends that will help me hang my pictures.

Me:  YOU’RE FRIENDS WITH ARCHITECTS????  Wow.  I should network more.

Him:  Great.  Everything’s a joke with you.

(we kiss for a while)

Me:  You’re super pretty.

Him:  You always say that.

Me:  It’s annoying?

Him:  It’s manipulative.

Me:  I know.

Him:  See?  You’re being manipulative.

Me:  Of course I am.  Everyone is.  At all times.

Him:  What a terrible view of the world.

Me:  Not at all.  An infant can manipulate its mother, and the mother can manipulate the infant.  Every relationship is a negotiation.  If you behave this way and say these things, I behave this way and say these things – and so forth.

Him:  It just sounds terrible, manipulation.

Me:  It has a terrible connotation, the word.  But what’s wrong with manipulating someone to feel good about themselves, especially if it’s true.  Especially if they really are pretty as hell?

Him:  Nothing, but I don’t manipulate people.

Me:  Yes you do.  You manipulated me into coming over by promising sex and an ego stroke about my show.  BTW, I haven’t gotten either yet.  You look super sexy in those shorts.

Him:  You’re doing it again.  I don’t want to feel like you’re part of a movement.  I don’t want to be part of a movement.

Me:  Well then don’t hang out with a bunch of other Asians who feel like sitting down in front of a tank.

Him:  Oh wow.  The jokes never stop.

Me:  They never do.  They never ever do.

Him:  I just don’t want to be part of a movement where we all sit around and compliment each other all the time.

Me:  Yes.  It sounds awful. Look.  It’s not damn movement.  I just think you’re attractive and I say so.  I give compliments, when I think a show is good, or a comic is funny, or a guy i kiss is pretty…  Can we just kiss?  I want to kiss you.

(we kiss for a while longer)

This isn’t going to escalate to sex, is it?

Him:  I don’t really feel like it tonight. 

Me:  You’re the one being manipulative, I think.  Who booty calls someone and then no booty?

Him:  Don’t say that!  My friends always say that about me and it drives me nuts. 

Me:  Your ARCHITECT friends?  They’re probably right.  But you’re still likable.

Him:  Stay over.

Me:  Writing.  I have to do my writing.

Him:  Okay.  I’ll walk you out.

Me:  Can I have some Honest Tea for the road?

Him:  Sure, do you want one? 

Me:  No.  I just think it’s funny you have crates of it in your kitchen.

Him:  Thanks for kissing me.

Me:  Thanks.  You’re sweet, and kind, and I’m lying.  I barely like you, but there’s something about you I can’t get away from.

(pause)

Me:  Will you say it?

Him:  Me?  Sure, I guess.  Right now?

Me:  Yeah.  This has been going on for a while now.  Just try to fit it into the narrative.

Him:  How’s this? 

(pause)

Thanks for coming over.

Jerk.

Me:  That works.

Sponsor Me

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

I’m doing the AIDS Walk!

I’ve got a little more than a week before we do it.  Please sponsor me!

It’s easy!  Just click here!

It should be fun, and we’re raising money for AIDS patient care in the New York City area. You can click and donate 25 dollars or more.  I’ll be posting a link soon, for smaller donations.

Thanks, Jerks!

ThursDATE: Aphasia

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Place:  The L Train.

Time:  Afternoon

(What appears to be a Homeless Man is talking very animatedly to a creeped-out stranger.  He is speaking gibberish.  He looks terrified.)

Homeless Man:  Otamad Krik.  Ayulac!  Niwre! Enialb Sonaj!

(This goes on for a long time, the whole train ignores it.  Then suddenly:)

Him:  Yes brother!  Let it out!  Let her hear the pain!

(A couple of people titter)

Him:  He’s telling the WORLD!!!

(pause, nobody laughs)

Me:  I think we’re witnessing aphasia.

Him:  What??

Me:  When someone has a stroke they sometimes can’t speak right.  I just thought you should know what you’re ridiculing.

Him:  Oh are you a doctor?  Can you go and help him?

Me:  No.  I’m not a doctor, smart ass.

Her:  Don’t talk to him.  You don’t have to talk to him.

Me:  You should know what you’re making fun of, at least, right?  I think it’s aphasia.

Him:  I was just being positive!

Me:  You were ridiculing him.

Him:  Yeah.  Well.  Yeah.  I…

Her:  You don’t have to be such an asshole.  You don’t have to turn the whole train against my boyfriend.  The guy is (whispers) homeless.

Me:  And therefore less than human: I get it.   Sure.  He’s had a stroke or brain damage, but let’s consider your boyfriend’s feelings here! You’re right.  I’m an asshole.  In this whole situation, I’m the asshole.

Him:   Hey, if you’re such an altruist why don’t you go help him?  You have a chance to prove how good you are!!

Me:  Oh no.  You’ve got it wrong.  I’m not an altruist.  I just couldn’t process my shock and anger at your behavior without pointing out that the man is clearly brain damaged.  I’m just processing it.

Her:  Are you taking photographs?  DON’T TALK TO HIM.  (then, to me:) He was just having fun.  You made everyone on the train uncomfortable. 

Me:  Did I? Did I do that?  Was it me?

(The train stops.)

Me:  I believe this is your stop.

Conductor:  Bedford Avenue.

(They leave the train.)

(I try to gather the courage to photograph the Homeless Man, but I feel icky about that, so I don’t.)

(I get off two stops later and tell the station agent there’s a sick passenger on the train.)

Five Things

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Gentlemen.

Here are five things not to say on a date with me:

#1:  “I know you’re a comic, but seriously, what job do you do – you don’t seem that funny?”

No.  Wrong.  Seriously.  Not the right thing to say.  That IS what I do.  I pay my rent doing this.  I’m not at work right now, and you’re not paying me to be funny.

Remember when we ordered our appetizers and you were condescending to the waitress?  Right after that you gave me a cocky smile and said “I’m a surgeon,”  with the intonation that one might say “I’m heir to a vast fortune.” And what did I do?  I smiled and asked what type of surgeon you are.  I did not look at you suspiciously, and then patronizingly point out that you don’t seem like a surgeon.  I really wanted to though.  I really wanted to say “That’s not true!  Surgeons are smart, and they wear hospital scrubs, not Old Navy Jeans.”

#2:  “I like your blog, but what’s with all the Asians?  I just don’t get it.  I tried having sex with an Asian once and I don’t know.  It’s just not for me.  Ick.”

Nope.  That ain’t gonna get you laid, kiddo.  Up until now, I’d been thinking, wow, he’s attractive, and sort of nice. I hope he’s a sweet, down to earth white guy, and not an entitled, mildly racist white guy who acts ‘over’ everything.

Maybe you didn’t mean it to sound racist, but we’ve only known each other for four minutes.  Don’t say that my friends are ‘ick.’  Also – nobody pressured you to have sex with an Asian.  Well maybe some Asians did, at some point, but that’s not me, or my friends from the site.

Guys – if you want to get laid, you have to hide your racism.  You have to hide it.   2011.  Get with the program.

And why do we hide something?  Because we’re ashamed of it!

Great!  Now you’re learning!

#3 I try to live my life for Jesus.

Not with me you don’t.

Here’s an idea.  Try to live your life for yourself.

Also, creep-o, after you talk about Jesus and God and how religion is good for the world for an hour, don’t offer to blow me ‘real quick before you go teach your class.’  It undermines the sanctimoniousness image you spent so long cultivating!  Also.  Less teeth next time.

Jokes.  There won’t be a next time.

Jokes.  There wasn’t a ‘this time.’  I said no.

#4: “Wow, two auditions and two rehearsals?   You should get more sleep!  You look exhausted!  Seriously!  You look awful!”

Thanks.  You’re right.  I am exhausted.  You’re tiresome.

I just complimented you on your hair and your choice of clothing, and you come up with that??  Also, we just met.  Don’t tell me what I ‘should’ do with my life.  Everyone knows you wait until the third date before you start the gentle browbeating that will continue for the rest of the relationship.

Also. Floss.  When I kissed you I could tell you ate a BLT three days ago.

Floss.

#5: “Ugh!  I’m so glad you don’t act as GAY as you seem like you might online.”

Wow.  Really?

So.  I run a website where I talk about how much I hate homophobia, and you contacted me off that site. Did you think I just meant straight people being homophobic?  Where do you think straight people get the permission to say stupid, insensitive, homophobic shit?  From Gays like you!  They overhear you saying shit like that in restaurants and on subway cars and they think, hm, I’ll try that out on my Gay co-worker – HE’LL LOVE IT.

How about, love yourself?  How about accept your brothers? How about, stop tearing other people down for qualities you hate inside yourself?

Because, that’s what that is:  If you look down on someone, or are grossed out because they act ‘too Gay,’  it’s you showing your own self-loathing.  It’s you saying, okay, maybe I’m Gay, but I’m not as Gay as that guy – I’m one of the good ones!

Guys, we’re all one of the good ones.  We all have the capacity for goodness inside us.  Don’t punish yourself, or your Gay brothers/sisters for something that Straight people have taught you to hate inside yourself.  Reach out with love in your heart and you’ll find the love you’re looking for.  If you have a racist or homophobic thought, acknowledge it and laugh at yourself, and let yourself off the hook.  It takes the power away from it.  Eventually, you’ll stop thinking that way.

Or don’t.  I’m not going to tell you how to live.  Except on this blog.  And all the time.  I’m annoying like that.  You’re welcome.

Sometimes it’s me.  Sometimes I’m the…

Jerk.

What Makes You Smile?

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Be very, very quiet.

I’m hunting a wabbit.

Er, more specifically, I’m braising a rabbit.  An entire rabbit.

I’m going to bake this bunny into pie.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, Michael, did you buy a frozen rabbit from the butcher, make him cut it into 1/8 pieces with his band saw, braise it, and then pull out the bones, like you would for pulled pork?

Yes.  That’s exactly what I did.  I braised it with scallions, onions, and celery.

Yes.  I feel bad about it.  But only because today is opposite day.  (no it isn’t – I’m late by a few days – GET OFF MY BACK)

It was a special occasion.  I had a tech rehearsal for my sketch team, Thunder Gulch.  We put up a new show every month on the first Monday.  It’s hard work, and I usually bake something simple for tech rehearsals, because they’re long and arduous.

But this one was more like a party.  It was Shannon O’Neil’s  birthday, first of all.  And then secondly – one of my team mates (he’s shy and doesn’t want me to say his name)  was offered a job as a writer on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  Both of those people are actors on my team, so it was party time.

My friend Kris came over.  He helped me braise the bunny and bake it into 20 miniature pies.  I’ve known him for almost a year now.  He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he learns stuff quickly.  Also, in case you don’t have eyes, he’s super cute.  So pretty.

So, this is the first time I’ve tried to make mini-pies.  There’s about 15 people involved in making Thunder Gulch happen every month – 6 actors, 7 writers, a director and a tech person.  I wanted to make at least 20 pies.  I wanted there to be more pie than people could eat.  Usually that doesn’t happen if I make a single pie for 15 peeps.

I braised the rabbit etc at a reasonable temperature.  400 maybe?  I don’t remember.  I don’t cook my pie fillings from recipes, I just go by instinct.

We added potato after the bunny had braised for a few hours in its own juice.

My butcher said it would thicken up the filling without using cornstarch or a butter roux.  He was right.

For good measure, flavor, and texture, I also added some collard and turnip greens i was making for this week’s lunches.

Give them some fiber, right?  Let the funny idiots have a little fiber, I say.

Look at that guy.  What an idiot. But not a constipated idiot.

Fiber.

(Not-Opposite Day:  Get your fiber, guys)

Me:  Come on, Kris – you’re the boss.  You’re the boss of that bunny.  Get that meat off the bone.  Pull it.

Him:  I just want to do it right.

Me:  Okay, but quickly, huh?  Aren’t there sweat-shop workers in your family?  Aren’t you Chinese?

Him:  Great.  A sweat shop joke.  Made by a white person.  Just what the world needs.  More of that.

Me:  Touche.  I shall think of a good poop joke.

There was a carefully staged spill!!!  We got some bunny bits on the floor!!

Kris was nice enough to clean it up.

Look at those socks.  Cute.

So, Kris is currently working on a really cool project for his thesis.

He wants to know What Makes You Smile?

Him: Smiling is one of those innate reactions in human life. This isn’t to say that happiness is the only reason why we smile, in fact, it isn’t. There are an infinite amount of reasons to smile and there are various types of a smile. I am fascinated, however, by what makes others smile. The kind of smile I am looking for is a Duchenne smile, or simply put a genuine smile. I see this thesis as a way of being able to change someone’s life by simply talking to them. In a world where digital interaction is on the rise and physical declining, the act of having a conversation in-person can be seen as refreshing. By asking people I have never met “what makes you smile?” an unfamiliar experience is made which can then inspire those to talk to those around them and re-create the experience.

Um.  Isn’t that the nicest thing you’ve ever heard?

You should contact him, and get interviewed.  Unless you’re too cool for that sort of thing.  You’re probably too cool for that.  You’ll probably hang around on Data Lounge all day complaining about stuff that doesn’t matter, instead.

Well, as long as you’re having fun. That’s my philosophy.

No, scratch that.  That’s not my philosophy.  I’m pretty sure the Columbine kids were having fun.  And Stalin.  He had a blast.  Manson was a good time Charlie.

New philosophy:  Don’t have any fun, if you’re an online hater.  Just hate.  It’s what you do.  It’s who you are.  Have fun!  (Opposite Day)

Anywhore.

Contact Kris, if you want to interview with him about what makes you smile.

Contact me if you want to hear sweatshop and poop jokes.

Or if you have a question you’d like me to answer.  Like, should you leave your  boyfriend?  Or, why does your younger brother act homophobic around you?  Or, how can you smile through dinner (and serve pie) when your condescending hipster friends say things like ‘you should put that in your comedy routine?’

Reminder:  Poop comes from my butt.  It’s where half of my sex happens too.  (The other half happens in YOUR butt).

Calm down.  WE WASHED OUR DIRTY GAY HANDS FIRST.

(Opposite Day – we never wash our hands because we’re filthy homos!!)

Kris liked tidy little flat top pies.  I favored bulging, abundant ones.

We put an egg wash on top of them and sprinkled with coarse sea-salt.

We spiced the filling with French Tarragon and Cumin.

What’s that hater?  Those two spices don’t work well together?  You’re wrong.  Go fuck yourself.

(Opposite Day – no sex for you.)

Big thanks to Thunder Gulch for a great tech rehearsal and a great show last night.  Big thanks to Kris Louie for helping me with these 20 pies – THEY TOOK FOREVER!!!

Big thanks to the Data Lounge for being massive Jerks this weekend.

As for the rest of you?  I love you all and don’t think you’re Jerks.

(Opposite Day)

SaturDATE: Vinny’s Deli

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  My friends say I’m self absorbed but I don’t think I am.  I just like focusing on myself, and what I’m doing, and I get wrapped up in it to the extent that I don’t notice other people.

Me:  That doesn’t sound self absorbed at all.

Him:  You’re an idiot.

Me:  You’re adorable.  Hey, let’s duck into this deli.  I want some coffee.

Him:  Okay.

Vinnie:  Hey, Mike!!!  What-a can I a get for you?

Me:  I’ll have a large coffee – milk, no sugar.

Vinnie:  And-a you friend?

Him:  I’m good.  Unless.  Do you carry Four Loko?

Me:  He’s kidding.  You’re kidding, right?

Him:  Jerk –  It’s the middle of the afternoon.  You’re not the only funny person in the world.

(I smile.  I love when people call me a Jerk now.  I also consider that he might be right: There might be other funny people in the world.  Nah.)

Me:  Just the coffee, please.

Vinny:  Comin’ right up.

(Another Customer enters.  He’s clearly old friends with Vinny.)

Another Customer:  A!!!!!!!   O!!!!!!!!  Look who it is!!!  It’s Vinny.  Vinny the fuckin’ HOMO!!!

(Vinny is not a homosexual.  He has a wife and children who I am well acquainted with.  His deli is next door to my apartment and I’ve been going there for years.)

Vinny:  You are!!!!  You a fuckin’ HOMO!!!

Another Customer:  You!!!  You’re the fuckin’ HOMO.

Vinny:  All the dick you suck, and you think-a I’m a HOMO???

(Pleasegivememycoffeepleasegivememycoffeepleasegivememycoffee)

Vinny:  Hey-a Mike!  You think-a I’m a big HOMO?  Or this-a guy?

Another Customer:  Yeah!  Who’s a bigger faggot, me or him?

(Long pause.  I consider saying something diplomatic.  I consider just walking out.  Instead:)

Me:  Why don’t we try this?  Why don’t you two bend over and pull your pants down?  Then, I’ll take turns fucking you both and we’ll see which one enjoys it more?  Then we’ll know who’s a bigger HOMO!!!!  A!!!!!  O!!!!!!  On second thought, maybe I’ll just take my coffee and continue on my date with this attractive, polite young man, since you two are both dumpy, middle aged idiots.  Capiche?

(Silence.  I pay for my coffee.  There is a long pause.)

Me:  Now is where you tell me to have a nice day.

Vinny:  Have a nice day.

Me:  Thank you. O!!!!!!

Surprise Ending!!!  I’m never going back to that deli!  It’s the closest and most convenient to my house, and I won’t ever set foot in there again!  I’m not humorless and I know Vinny was joking, but I still won’t do it!  I don’t need that energy in my life and I don’t need to associate with people that put that energy out into the world.  I don’t wish him ill, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to send his kids to college with my candy bar money.

P.S.  The rest of the date went really well.  He’s so sweet and cute, and kind!  You can’t let someone steal your joy, kids.  Don’t let your whole day get ruined just because of the actions of one –

Jerk.

The Easter Lamb

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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.

Tuesdate:

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  So here he is. 

Me:  So here HE is.  Look at you, small drink of water.

Him:  STOP IT.

Me:  I mean it.  You’re gorgeous. Better than your pics online.

Him:  Isn’t Grindr weird?

Me:  I kind of think it’s amazing.  It’s like Chat Roulette, but in person.  You never know what you’re going to get.

Him:  Believe me.  I know.

Me:  That sounded ominous.

Him:  I’ve met some real creeps.

Me:  I’ve met jerks and nice people.  No real creeps.

Him: Maybe that’s because you’re the creep?

Me:  Nice.  I tell you you’re pretty, twice, and you imply that I’m a creep.  You should write a book on dating.

Him:  Uh oh.  Am I one of your online Jerks?

Me:  Are you?

(pause)

Him:  No.

Me:  Well there it is.

(pause)

Him:  Anyway, who keeps score?

Me: Of what?

Him:  Of that sort of stupid stuff?  Compliments and whatnot. 

Me:  Obviously I do.  I just demonstrated that I do.

(pause)

Me:  Relax.  I might be joking, you know…  I might just still think you’re an attractive little wonder, at 5’6”.

Him:  Stop saying little.  I don’t like to feel little.

(i’m feeling brave, and so i take a step toward him.  i put my face next to his.  i can feel the breath come out of my nose against his cheek.  he smells spicy.  like cinnamon or ginger, but not quite those things. )

Me:  What about now?  Do you feel little now?

Him:  Yes.

(i put my hands on his ribcage and squeeze gently.  the hair stands up on my arms.  i have goosebumps)

Me: But don’t you kind of feel really powerful?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You’re pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

(he moves away)

Me:  Haha…  okay.  So, no saying you’re little, and I’m guessing – no ‘pretty’ either?

Him:  Why not handsome?  Why can’t I be handsome?

Me:  You can.  You are.  You’re very handsome.  You’re also pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

Me:  Well the good news is: I like pretty.  So dry your eyes on that.

Him:  You’re cute. 

Me: Compliment number one.

Him:  What?

Me:  That’s the first compliment you ever gave me, in person.

Him:  Oh great.  How far behind am I?

Me:  Only a few, but I’d rather stay ahead in the compliment game, if you don’t mind?

Him:  Why? 

Me:  I’d rather you owed me.

Him:  What??

Me:  It’s a thing that my grandfather says.  I used to borrow money from him, sometimes, at the store to get comic books.  I would ask to borrow five dollars.  He would give it to me.  When I got my allowance I’d try to pay it back, and he would say ‘No, I’d rather you owed me.’  Then he would smirk, as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Him:  That’s cute.

Me:  It’s infuriating.  He’d smirk at me, here and there, for the next few weeks, and I knew he was thinking ‘You owe me five bucks and it really bothers you, and I love that.’  He was right, too.  It was exactly what I was thinking.

Him: That’s cute.  He sounds pretty awesome. 

Me:  He’s a good man.  For sure.

Him:  Can I ask you a question?

Me:  No.

Him:  What?

Me:  Sorry.  That was supposed to be funny.  I said no, when the only appropriate answer was yes.  I thought it would be funny.

Him:  Was it?

Me:  Yes, but you’ll just have to trust me.  You didn’t see your face when I said it.  It was funny.

Him:  I guess I’ll have to believe you.

Me:  Good.  Because I’m lying.

Him:  What??

Me:  Sorry.  That was another joke.  That one wasn’t funny.  I get nervous and act like an idiot.

Him:  You make it charming, somehow. 

Me:  You didn’t know me in college.

Him:  Were you different?

Me:  I was nearly insufferable.

Him:  You’re pretty too.

Me:  Shucks.  Okay.  That’s two for you.  Fuck.

(long pause)

Him:  You’re not some sort of creepy Rice Queen, are you?

Me:  Uh…  I mean..  I thought that was obvious?  You’ve been to my website, right?

Him:  Yeah.  There’s lots of Asians. 

Me:  But not ALL Asians, right?  I like a lot of things.  A lot of people.  I like kind people.  Asians are kind, frequently, if you’re kind to them.

Him:  I guess that’s not so creepy.  I guess that’s okay for Asians.

Me:  Yeah.  Well I forgot to say:  I feed on their tears.  Keeps me young.  I’m like a succubus, or a psychic vampire of some sort.  I’m 183 years old.  I make them cry and then drink their salty tears.  But it only works with Asians.

Him:  Really? 

Me:  Yes.  And did you also know that Black people can levitate?  They’re hiding it from you.

(long pause.  he starts laughing a lot)

Him:  You’re joking! 

Me:  Yes.  And you’re laughing.  That means…..

Him:  What does that mean? 

Me:  It means, you get a kiss, if you want one, later.

Him:  I’ll decide later if I do.

Me: Oh.  I. Like. That.

Him:  Really?

Me:  No.  It’s infuriating.   I’d rather you owed me one.

(we kept talking and walking.  later, he gave me a quick kiss.  it was a good kiss.)

He’s not a jerk…

But you are.  Come on.  You know you are.