Sleepless and I were hungry the other night and, instead of making dinner, decided to bake a cake. Some people are like Martha Stewart in the kitchen. Not me. I’m like Amelia Bedelia, in the kitchen and elsewhere. I have all of the amenities for baking – aprons, pans, measuring devices, ingredients, oven, wine – unfortunately, I rarely use all but the latter. Thus, it took some time to actually bake the cake. In the midst of all of the baking, we received an invitation from Oreggano and Cream of Tartar to join them for pimp sticks on the porch.
We, of course, graciously accepted the invitation and started packing up the cake and ingredients to make the frosting. Oreggano and lactose aren’t friends, so we had to pack milk. As I looked around the kitchen, trying to decide how to transport the milk, I was reminded of my babysitting club adventures and opted to put it in a zip top snack bag. “This reminds me of Q’s breast milk for Baby Q. Do you think I should write ‘breast’ across the bag?” I asked Sleepless. “Absolutely,” she responded.
So, with the breast milk in tow, we headed to their house for pimp sticks. When we arrived, Oreggano told me, “He thinks you came over because you need blog material.” “Yep,” Cream of Tartar confirmed. “That’s not true. I don’t just need blog material. I also wanted to smoke one of your pimp sticks.” We then wowed them with the bag of breast milk and took our positions on the porch so we could enjoy the propane heat lamp and pimp sticks.
Cream of Tartar is a bit of a handyman who loves a challenge, so I was discussing some projects at my house that might be of interest to him. Once I mentioned my garden/back lot, he was sold. “You should grow hops there and sell them,” he told me. “Actually, you’ll probably only be able to trade them for beer, but that’s still worth it. Do you have security back there?” “No security,” I replied, “But I’ve got Alice. She regularly walks by and provides me full reports.”
“Alright, well, we need to be very careful about who we allow to garden with us,” Cream of Tartar told me. “You can’t trust people with a garden – it’s been proven.” “How are we going to screen people?” I asked. “Interviews,” said Cream of Tartar. “We’ll ask a few basic questions: How dedicated are you? How much time can you commit each week? Are you familiar with the acceptable use policy? What is compost and what does it mean to you? What are your long-term gardening goals?” “Those are good questions,” Sleepless told Cream of Tartar, “Hopefully you’ll get some good applicants.” “Hopefully,” he replied and then warned me, “Being the proprietor of an urban garden is hard.”
We brought out the cake and, knowing that the frosting had been made with milk in a zip top bag, Cream of Tartar couldn’t have been more excited, “Mmmm, breast milk cake.” “We should start ordering our lattes with breast milk,” I suggested. “Skim or whole?” Oreggano asked. “Breast, please,” Sleepless replied.
By this time MiniMe had joined us and Cream of Tartar was sharing his excitement for her 21st birthday. “He may be more excited about this than you,” Oreggano told MiniMe and added, “I’ve already resigned to the idea that my anniversary will be put on hold.” In addition to sharing a common love for Jameson, MiniMe and Cream of Tartar share a day of celebration – her birthday and his wedding anniversary.
Cream of Tartar was going on about a few matters specific to MiniMe’s life and, every now and again, he would drop a ‘f’ bomb. “Sorry about that,” he apologized to MiniMe and added, “You might need ear muffs when you’re over here.” “I’m in college,” MiniMe replied, “I’ve heard a thing or two.” “Maybe you need mouth muffs,” Oreggano advised Cream of Tartar. Sleepless did as she had been most of the evening, giggled in the corner and sipped her white zinfandel.
MiniMe began telling all of us about her upcoming trip to India when Cream of Tartar jumped up from the couch and started pulling knives out of storage. “We’re talking like adults now,” Cream of Tartar told MiniMe, “You’ll be in India, you need a goddamn knife.” That’s Not Chinese had been texting me and I had been sharing some of the conversation and concerns with her. She had her own concerns about Cream of Tartar’s perceptions of India. “She is obviously in denial,” Cream of Tartar told us. That’s Not Chinese shot me another text, “India is not like us – very peaceful people.” “I’m more worried about the leeches,” Cream of Tartar replied, “This is a matter of personal defense. You need a knife.”
Cream of Tartar than preceded to demonstrate his various knives and provide commentary on their quality. “I’ve got a plethora of knives. Not guns, knives. I’m a Democrat in a Republican’s body. Trust me,” he instructed us and continued on with the demonstrations. “This here is a real small package but you get a lot of punch.” “This one, well, maybe not this one. I don’t think it is legal there. In fact, I don’t know if it is legal here.” “This would be a good one if you want deep penetration in a compact size.” “Lash this to a stick if you need to kill a pig.” “Clip it on your bra strap in case someone tries to get aggressive. Then (he pretends to pull a knife from his faux bra strap), you’re the aggressor.” In the end, he ended up giving – not loaning – MiniMe a small, practical knife. “This is a survival knife and it is yours to keep,” he told her. “If, however, you manage to get it autographed by a Shaman, then I’d like it back.”
“Wow. That was amazing,” Sleepless told Cream of Tartar, “Best show and tell ever.” She was right. His game was on. He hadn’t been drinking too much and had only smoked one cigar so I had to assume his energy came from, hmmm, breast milk cake.