Thursday, April 10, 2003

After a twelve-hour work-day chock full of chaos, trauma, and more than my fair share of GAM issues*, and considering that Eric and I both had to get up at 4:30 in the morning – I to go to a board meeting, he to get on a plane to Milwaukee, for fuck’s sake – I decided not to subject us both to a late-night cooking fiasco.  I told Eric when I finally left work that I would pick us up some take-out.  I have this outer borough perception that Manhattanites spend their lives eating fabulous and exotic takeout, but being an outer-borough schmuck, I myself have never learned the knack.  I went to my Turkish grocery, which has a wide array of prepared foods, but I don’t know man.  Looking at the curry shrimp salad and chicken cutlets and salmon steaks and paninis, I’m sure they were good and all, but they all looked shiny and old and sad.  So I got sandwich makings instead.  Baguettes and asiago cheese and arugula and I sprung for the prosciutto di parma, I felt like such a goddamned foodie, sometimes you have to do this kind of thing for yourself.  And once home, while Eric washed more, but not all, of the remaining dishes, I sliced up a red bell pepper and sautéed it in some olive oil with pepper flakes.  And made us up pretty little sandwiches with prosciutto and asiago and arugula and peppers and a drizzle of the oil the peppers cooked in.  And there’s enough leftovers for Eric to eat some prosciutto on the plane tomorrow for breakfast.  What a good wife I am. In other news, I’m really and truly, my-clothes-don’t-fit fat.  To which, when I complained to my husband just now, he responded – “Women.  It’s true, you know.” I hate being a cliché. And now – off to run a powerpoint presentation. *GAM, for that happy few of you not employed by LMDC or a similar government agency, is an abbreviation of “General Administration Manual.”  It is a great tome – a “Living Document” – delineating all office procedures, that precipitates many long, long meetings detailing its proper use.  As Eric pointed out, “If it lives, it bleeds; we can kill it.”  I’m just distressed that there’s no procedure for getting a fucking liquor cabinet in the staff kitchen, where it’s really needed.   5:12:37 AM    comment []