BUT WE NEED THE RAIN!

According to the news a ferocious earthshaking monumental apocalyptic storm is heading to California, which will hit the areas mostly down south where life is tacky and all-American. It's going to briefly touch the Bay Area, but we are on a different planet, so meh and whatever. This means that if you want to do your laundry this week it would be best to do so Monday or Tuesday. If you're in a different part of the country that is unimportant, because you eat too much, smell bad, and your mom dresses you funny anyhow.


As I understand it, the rest of the country eats buckets of fried food, vegs out in front of their televisions watching lifestyles of the rich and famous, and is addicted to weight loss pills and fentanyl. And mostly lives off manufacturing methamphetamine in their Christian trailer parks. While wishing that they could still put lesbians and those woke wheelchair users to work in the cotton fields, like in the good old days. Occasionally they look at all those foreigners infesting the big cities and think lustfully of the shapely native wimmins.
While banning dragshows and books about evolution.

It's Chick-fil-A country out there.
Cold, greasy, and dark.

Note to self: Don't hang your clothes out to dry on a nearby convenient structure (pictured above), don't eat at fast food joints, and don't think about watching the parade this coming Saturday evening because there will be over half a million people along the route making noise and being damp.


Late yesterday I was wondering what to do for lunch today. Chachanteng, rice noodle rolls, or claypot rice with chicken and lapcheung? I think I'll save the claypot rice for Thursday when inclement weather will suggest something comforting.


I've considered asking my apartment mate to go have claypot rice with me, as she has likely never had it. But the place that does several versions of that has all of the choices written on the wall in Chinese, which she doesn't read, and though she speaks Toisanwaa, which is the language of the people who run the place, my Cantonese is probably more fluent than she is in her parent's language so she might look bad, and in any case there are some issues with a smarty pants kwailo going into the heart of Rue Du Toishan with a female companion who is not very Chinese though looking the part. There is only one Chinese restaurant where we ever eat together. The proprietess is also from here, and is quite nice and understanding, American born. The claypot place is not very English-speaking, too Chinese. So I hesitate considerably. I should probably be far more comfortable there than she ever could.

[Also, Chinesy Chinese usually assume that two people of opposite genders eating together are romantically involved, and then start wondering what they see in each other, especially if she's Asian and he's white. How are they matched? What does she see in him? Is she "strange"? And what did it really take to tame him?]

Yeah, I actually don't know anybody I could go there with.
But claypot rice is quite ideal for single diners.
And I am not even seeing anyone.
Perfectly single.




Look at my picture in the top right hand corner. Does that look tamed to you? Domesticated? Capable of being house-trained? I assure you not! Quite uncivilized, possibly feral and rabid. And I probably read horrid stuff like political tracts and Dutch literature.




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