05 March 2002 - 7:06 p.m.

One of these days, I will have the ability to roll nice, neat enchiladas that stay in one piece when I am putting them onto the plate. But until then, it's a gooey, spicy, free-for-all. That's cool. One could do worse than be a roller of messy enchiladas.

I can't believe I just applied Robert Frost to Mexican food. I used to heart that poem, "Birches," to death. I'm not sure why. Not that it isn't good, or at least better than I could do. Maybe at a time when the goth movement was sweeping high schools, I appreciated anything life-affirming.

Whilst enjoying our enchiladas, Gus and I mixed strange drinks from the party I had a few weeks ago, because strange parties make for strange leftovers. I think I stumbled upon a triumph when I mixed:

1 shot light rum with 1 generous shot strawberry daquiri mix

and filled with a 50/50 mixture of sour mix and Coke.

I'm calling it a Nurse Kelly, in honor of the drink-making contest we were supposed to have after Harvey, but never did. For yinz teetotalers out there, you can call it a Ruthie Sanderson, since she prolly had to cut down on her alcohol consumption while pregnant with the bastige's (thank you for that) little egomaniacs. Oh, wait, no one knew drinking was bad for fetuses in the early 40s. Ok, scratch that, it's a Nurse Kelly either way.

Yummy, yummy.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: