Hallo March
Hello--it is March in Tucson, the sun is out! It seems like Jan & Feb were a bunch of gloom & rain, kind of different for these parts, but now I am ready for the sun to come (or else I'm going to get a spray tan! Ha!) & all that snow to melt on the mountains & for spring!
I've been getting stuff done...writing-wise anyways. All the other stuff (errands, pay the rent, that stuff I've still got to do). I have cleaned the house though & have cooked some quality dishes here lately.
The best was an ancho chili, lime, cilantro marinaded tilapia for fish tacos. I made my own pico--tomatoes, lemon, lime, garlic, red & green onion, jalapeno, serrano, cilantro, etc. N made corn & refried beans--it was a taco feast, sided with a watercress & arugula salad. I got this new habanero (hottest hottest) sauce that burns me up but I love it. Ive been putting it on everything. I go to the fridge just to get a dab on my finger I love the burn so much.
I've been pretty blessed to only be at the bar a couple days a week & still not have to worry about money too much which is nice. Worrying about money is the worst! Still, I wish I could be teaching poetry or anything to get out from behind the bar. I've been losing my temper with folks a bit. I'm kind of mean as all hell sometimes.
Neil is in San Diego having some fun! He is visiting with family & with old friends until tomorrow. We miss him around here. Murderface is all gloom cause I won't play with him. Milo is a bear. The lashels are sleeping--what's new.
-------------excerpt from Belen*----------------------------------------------
Living in the ghetto I knew exactly what I’d do for fried chicken, what lengths I would go to. I usually have shrimp & fries delivered from the Chinese place down the road; the one with a plastic shield you order through, bullet safe, because it is not safe to go out as a girl alone of night let alone work the Chinese joint. I’ve seen people get irate & want to get at that barrier over left out duck sauce packets. This cold is unreal & in the ghetto I do not have a cocoon coat, but hustle to the train & back in a longish tan pea coat. I often times think I might die for chicken. Two miles away from my ghetto to the next is Popeyes. Would I put myself out in that danger for chicken? I ride that train, get off at the Utica Stop, the sky long past set in that monotone industrial pink color I think the whole damn sky will explode. It’s just rain & all these city lights, baby girl, I tell myself like Roger would. The woman out front is violently begging for rice & beans, I give her money for rice & beans, she does not seem gracious. I am shocked then I want to punch her in her face. I do not. When I make it to Popeyes & through the line, head down, I always get three fried chicken breasts, tub of mashed potatoes & creole gravy, biscuits for days. I get on train with my Popeyes, fills up that car, people eyeing my Popeyes, get off my stop & run with my Popeyes—& home. I pour myself a sweet tea, sit on the coach alone, watch TV, & am so happy I cry.
--------------------------------------Belen is a fictional character. I am now writing [fiction]. Nevermind the character is a southern grl living living in the City. Fiction is fiction. False. I heart fiction. I heart the song I heard two days in a row that says 'come on baby, don't feel the reaper... [& then a lot of of these las] la-la-la-la-la' but i don't know who sings it. it's on the taproom jukebox, i guess i could go over & look huh--------------------------------
