Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I also get bored and start working on various neglected projects, which is an all around Good Thing. Thus, as you see, last night I took some of this summers bounteous crop of cucumbers and made pickles. 10 pints of regular cucumber garlic/dill pickles and 2 pints of random stuff because, hey, why not? I have no idea if they're going to be good or not: last time I made pickles they were actually dilly beans and I had a really good recipe which I seem to have lost. This time I had a couple of untried recipes I sort of combined and let's all just hope they're a) tasty and b) edible, as in they don't kill us all. They look good, though and canning things is very satisfying in a sort of back on the prairie super homemaker depression era farmwife in a calico dress kind of way.
In other garden news, I became convinced that somebody was stealing my tomatoes just as they got ripe. I even posted an Ask Metafilter question about it but, after reading the replies, I think that my thieves might not be horrible rotten no good humans after all but instead, horrible rotten no good squirrels. I am ready to believe this because frankly I am not a fan of squirrels anyway and can believe any evil of rodents at any time. Squirrels are the antiChrist, you heard it here first.
And, in other other news, in a fit of disgust at my perpetual single status (it's been way too long since I heard Genesis Duke, after all) I joined OK Cupid and I have gotten two replies already! This is way better than I did on Nerve, where nobody answered my ad. This kind of thing can sap a woman's confidence in herself, let me tell you, even though I try to blame it all on my alarmingly advanced age - I've been told I should lie about it by 20 years in order to get asked out by men older than I actually am, but I'm kind of weirdly lie-averse. Unfortunately, since one of my suitors is a kinky bisexual looking for a dominatrix and the other is a polyamorous tye dye wearing contra dancer, I think that yet again it is just vaguely possible that online dating has failed me. They both sound like nice guys and I hope they find what they're looking for but, to quote the sage, it ain't me, babe. It's a pity I'm so boringly vanilla, I know, but I was absent the day they told us that to date after age 40 you can't just enjoy plain old sex anymore; you have to get into the whips and chains and small furry animals. Myself, I have always thought that one of the many great things about sex was that it was cheap - no props required - but alas, sex, like everything else nowadays is apparently not considered any fun without a lengthy trip or three to the specialty boutique first.
However, that fabulous picture of me above, looking anxiously about a singles bar - which is how I feel even on a damn singles site - is, in case you didn't know - I'm late to the internet again - from this nifty site where you too can become a wild early 60s temptress. My auntie is concerned about my perennial singledom as well and has decided to focus on it, may the gods have mercy on my soul.
Annie: "I've never even seen you flirt! You don't know how to flirt, do you?"
Me: "Well, um, you've never seen me around anyone flirtable. Okay, yeah, alright, I don't really know how."
Annie: "You have to make them think that you're crazy about them right away."
Me: "When I do that they usually call 911 or something. That's not a good strategy for me."
Annie, doing something unspeakable with her eyelids and looking up weirdly: "No, see, just do this. And say, Hey, baby. Hey, babeee."