Shenanigans

Dickey decided he and Nursie wanted to go dancing on Friday. I agreed, but when it came time to go out I realized that I didn't feel like going dancing at 5ive and convinced Dickey of the same. Then, 5 minutes before we were to go, my Gemini kicked in and I called him back to say let's go anyways. Q just shook his head.

Well, it wasn't completely empty, and they had renovated since the last time I was there. That's about all there is to say. After a few drinks I realized that I was too old/not gay enough (left my capri's, sandles and sunglasses at home) and luckily so did everyone else. Well, except Nursie. There were other girls in the bar, but Nursie's not a fag hag so she didn't fit in either.

Our next visit to Zippers was one of remembrance - I remembered why I never set foot in the place.

So off the the Eagle we went. The whole night we had kept joking about there being fisting videos. Apparently karma caught up with us. As we stepped into the bar upstairs, I caught a glimpse of a hand and some Crisco on the TV. Nursie took it all in stride - she really is the perfect girl for Dickey. The bartender was more than courteous to the only girl in the bar, but I wasn't surprised really. Of all the gay bars in the city, this one is the least pretentious and most friendly. Plus I always run into someone I know there.

Saturday involved a visit to my parent's for Mother's Day. She wanted us to stay for dinner, so my father decided to BBQ some pork chops. They were thick, and juicy, and marinated. At least they were when he put them on the grill. By the time he took them off, they were charred hockey pucks.

I seriously would have taken them off about 15 min before he did. He somehow thinks that all meat should be cooked until every last ounce of fluid has evaporated, leaving a thick, black crust. It also makes it very difficult for me when steak is on the menu. I like my steak to moo when I cut into it, which means I have to watch him like a hawk.

But the absolute worst part of the BBQ experience is he got this "fork" which you stab into the meat and the colour coded lights on the handle light up telling you if it's rare, medium, well done, or urn-ready. Kinda like Homeland Security for meat. I want to throw the goddamn thing in the garbage. How does it know the difference between pork/chicken/steak? How do you know if you've held it in long enough to register the temperature correctly? And the worst, worst, worst of it is, my mother and father will continuously stab the meat to check it. Anyone who BBQ's knows that you're not supposed to pierce the meat, let alone stab it multiple times. I guess this helps speed up the drying process.

And let me add just one more thing - before the arrival of the magic fork, my father burnt the shit out of everything he cooked.
After the fork arrived, my father burns the shit out of everything he cooks.

Thank god my mother cooks most of the time.