Thursday November 7, 2013 at Sambuca Grill
rebar modern food cookbook
Simmer down! He’d say, and every second from then on I would spend my life trying to figure out the best way to murder him without leaving a trace. Simmer down is for old ladies to yell foolishly at their million cats crowding the living room. Or for those lame teachers when they don’t like how rowdy their class is being. I don’t particularly enjoy it when my fiance of 5 years thinks he can tell me how to feel. My anger, he tells me, is a disturbed ocean. I want to punch him in his mouth when he says weird shit like that. Just because you’re a poet, doesn’t mean you get to turn me into something more beautiful. I know exactly who I am. A hot-tempered asshole sums it up nicely. I’m not upset about that even, I just don’t like when someone else who thinks they understand my brain, believes it’s a good time for me to change in some way to suit them. Simmering down to what? To cook onions? My personality is not making a fucking tomato sauce. I just want stew in my own feelings. And it pisses me off even more when BECAUSE OF HIM I start to say weird shit like “stew” after making a tomato sauce reference.