Imagine if Saint Peter testified against you in court, and popped you on your entire grocery list of sins, crimes (petty or not) and bad parking… what would the resulting sentence look like? How big would that fine be, or how many years would you face? Look deep into the skeletal closet of most anyone, and you’ll find more black stuff swimming in their heart than in a Calcuttan water main. It makes little sense to weigh people by their mistakes, then, if we’re only as benevolent as what the rest of the world doesn’t know. I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, because, trust me, there is much in you (and definitely me) worth doubting.
This type of optimism is actually a point of contention in my relationship. That’s not to say Russell is a pessimist, he’s just very careful about who he lets into his weird little world (and, by extension, mine). Nor is it to say I’m naive, I’m just more willing to take a chance on the unknown. The latter is not always a good thing. For example, I seem to have a difficult time making male friends without lines being crossed. I love to flirt, true, but that isn’t a license to proposition. Somehow men get it into their man-sized brains they have the capacity to take attention away from my man, if only for an afternoon of curiosity.
If I’m not naive, why do I do it to myself? Why engage people knowing the angle being played or the subtext being implied? Hope. Like bacon, hope is one of those things that everything is made better by. (See? I work a food reference into my food blog sometimes.) I would rather sift through a hundred characterless troglodytes (such a great word) to find that one, genuine friendship than miss the opportunity altogether. I don’t begrudge my boyfriend for not being as outgoing as his little train wreck, however. In a sense, he has it right: He’s not constantly having to backpedal out of awkward misunderstandings, or fend off the opposite sex with a beating utensil.
If insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, I guess I’m just one crazy food bitch. Poor Russell. But he has to understand that if the other boys find out they’ll never drink my Kool-Aid, we’d lose our core audience. It’s marketing, bro.
Nice & Spicy Pork Roast
- 3–4 lb pork top loin roast
- 2/3 cup raspberry preserves
- 1–2 chipotle peppers
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1 tsp cumin
Preheat oven to 325˚. Season roast with salt and pepper. Combine remaining ingredients in food processor or blender and puree. Rub glaze on all sides of roast and allow to marinate for at least 20 minutes (the longer the better). Bake for approximately 30 minutes per pound, basting occasionally. Once done, remove from oven and allow to rest for 5–10 minutes before carving. I used 2 chipotles in my glaze and it was pretty spicy. I would recommend only using 1, unless you’re a hot and spicy fiend like me.
Reflecting on my accepting nature, I realize I’ve been entrusted with quite a few secrets over the years. People—men especially—tend to fling their personal owl pellets at me almost immediately after shaking hands. Everyone seeks catharsis, I get that. But… what? Because I listen well, and don’t judge anyone for their vices, I couldn’t possibly be opportunistic and filled with scheming goodness? Wait, I’m not? Well, shit.
TWTG says, “But instead I will eat sausage and dance in the kitchen.”