Good morning, internet. I have the house to myself for the morning. Due to a dermatological emergency, Brian stayed out of work for today, and Mom is dragging him to the urgent care. The sun is out today, and the forecast looks like the day should be pretty good, if a bit warm.
We went to the Compound yesterday. We were promised chicken and rice, and that’s exactly what we got. Chicken thighs, rice, and cream of chicken soup. Not even the purported “all the flavor is in the dark meat!” thighs could give this meal flavor. Additionally, the chicken was … not good. I’m not saying it was spoiled, but it wasn’t good. It was fatty, I don’t think I’ve cut that many fatty bits off of chicken in my life. I’m pretty sure all the thighs were cooked skin side down, which meant they didn’t crisp up at all, and the skin had the texture of half-cooked bacon.
There were also peas, which varied in texture from “did I just eat a pea?” to “what was that crunch?” I’m not even certain how peas, cooked in a casserole dish until dead, could come out with such a variety of textures.
Brian’s drunk uncle has moved from several states away and now lives about five minutes from our house. Drunkle was down for a visit last summer, and has met me several times since I moved here last year. However, he has spent the better part of the last two centuries drinking himself into whatever black void people like him like to go to. As a result, he introduces himself to me every time we meet.
When we arrived at the Compound yesterday afternoon, he almost immediately asked Brian if he could drive him back to his place when they left. He’d already been drinking, and didn’t want to stop. We drove him to his new trailer. The trailer is nestled between the trailer with the doberman that runs loose and the trailer with the couch left exposed to the elements on the front stoop, three loose pitbulls that have a beef with the dobie, and a Corgi mix. You’ll recognize Drunkle’s house by the confederate and “KILL ‘EM ALL” flags hanging from the porch.
I had a decent night outside with the poi. My Pick 2 menu worked out a little better than usual. The hype men helped elevate the mood a bit.
Update: the trip to the urgent care has been upgraded to a trip to the ER. I’m going to have to remember this diagnosis because it happens at least once every year or so. They spend two weeks assuming he caught poison ivy and basting his legs and feet with calamine lotion like a fucked up pink chicken.
