I had my job review yesterday and here are some highlights from the writeup: “the occasional attitude slip,” “a sense of surliness,” “his tone became negatively sarcastic,” “sarcastically interjected,” “an uncalled for comment toward a valued member of the team,” “cleverly sarcastic.” Well EXCUUUUUUUUUUSE MEEEEEEEEEEEE ha ha I kid of course. Anyway the end result? A three percent raise! Q.E.D., sarcastic interjections pay the bills, and now I’m off to blow my new influx of cash on a shiny new bag of discounted gym socks.

Also yesterday I did some cooking. My betrothed usually handles the food prep but she’s been doing all this hideous wedding work and I’m all: The least I can do is whip up some dinner. I mean it literally is the least. So first I fuck up a reuben real nice, and then I make a stab at something called “Authentic Louisiana Red Beans & Rice.” I got all excited because red beans and rice, right? That’s down-home, simple, kind of macho, and evidently authentic and from Louisiana? And I’m not unfamiliar with New Orleans, let me tell you, snorting the powdered sugar off the table at the Café du Monde and then washing it down with a Hurricane. Also, one time I bought a cassette of The Wall there.

But cooking is always full of catches. Cooking why you have to be that way. Like you need to soak the beans first — all night long? Party, karamu, fiesta, forever..? Suddenly I’m cooking something I won’t even be able to eat until the next day? I mean that’s just a level of long-term planning that TV burned out of me back in sixth grade. And matter a fact even after putting it all together the beans had to simmer for another three hours so it wasn’t done until late last night so I still haven’t eaten it. This recipe sincerely broke my longstanding rule where you never spend more time making a meal than you do eating it. And bitches know I eat fast.

And as I was stirring and watching it simmer, I thought: Do I even like beans, really?