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dinner and confusion
Apr. 8th, 2016 05:08 amPurple and I kept trying to connect for our now-traditional midweek dinner but kept missing. Monday was supposed to have been a conference meeting with R, but it got delayed until Tuesday, so Tuesday was out too; Wednesday neither of us was feeling it quite. So it was today.
There's this little place that I know Purple and R and I have been before; that's where Purple suggested today. (I think our fourth that time may have been the Other Guy? or maybe phone? or zune? idk. It was the time R was complaining about some of the bus-related tour shenanigans on one of her vacations.) Purple was up for that place again tonight, and I was amenable. So we went. I was running a little early, and called him. I was just being led out to see a table when he arrived, and we settled down to contemplate what exactly we wanted in the way of food.
We wound up splitting the rissoto of the day and a four-seasons pizza (olives, artichoke hearts, mushrooms, and some sort of pork-based preserved meat). Purple ordered a drink, and I claimed a sip. That was not the best idea -- the rum was very much on the top. He sloshed it around and I got a second sip, which was nice and gingery. (Mr. Bananas had had lunch with pickled ginger that day, which got Purple in the mood for something with ginger, and the drink was just the ticket.) ( My current relationship with alcohol )
It turns out that the phrase "make sure you don't have any olives down there" is possible to interpret in a dirty fashion. (Purple does not enjoy olives. I do. Therefore all the olives were mine, and it was my responsibility to remove them from the shared slices.) Purple laughed at me as I removed an olive from his piece.
It turns out that when you're trying to validate that about 10 terabytes of data copied over successfully from your old NAS to your new NAS, it can take about a week once your tool is working. Purple's adventures continue.
I'm not sure how the topic came up, but he mentioned some work by some actress who'd been in things that go over his grossout humor threshold, and (since the topic was right there) apologized again for subjecting me to Drawn Together. I pointed out that he was much better than BJ in the department of regrettable media, as he had suggested it in good faith (it does contain many concepts I'd enjoy!) and upon realizing that I had not enjoyed it, reassured me that I could and should safeword out at any time, and he wouldn't hold it against me except that he'd keep my preferences in mind for future recommendations. (Which I don't really count as "holding it against me", but potato potato1.) Purple resents being put in the same category as BJ (or Shawn, really) on much of anything, as it's ... rather a low bar. "Hi, you're a decent human being." Which ... point.
We were both contemplating dessert. Half a dessert each. He was in mind of the bread pudding, as it wasn't as frightening as one might think, but we wound up having cannoli after some debate. Mmm, cannoli. There were bits of candied lemon peel in the cream, and I had to have a moment.
"What?" Purple asked.
I looked over at him in surprise.
"I thought I just heard you squeak?"
"Lemon peel again."
"Ahhhh."
I mention here for the sake of documenting my Complicated Feelings About Things: ( Lengthy feels. )
While we and some others had been eating outside, a great big white van had pulled up in a somewhat traffic-and-parking obstructive way, and a guy in well-worn work clothes and a safety vest had got out with equipment. I had overheard something vaguely about waiting to start until after "these people" were done eating. Around about when we finished dessert, the guy hauled a little portable generator over and plopped it on the hood of a car (presumably his?) and stepped in the puddle of mysterious liquid on his way to get at some of the other equipment, disturbing the surface enough for me to tell that yeah, that was pee there. He then pried open a 6-inch or so access cap of some type. Water, and not clean water, burbled forth and started overflowing the sidewalk into the gutter.
Purple and I decided that now was a really great time to split. So we headed garageward. He'd parked down on the bottom, but he decided he'd walk me upstairs to my car.
( Read more... )
Of note: that guy in a certain social group who does that "your mom" jokes a lot, was sort of oblivious to the other guy who had said "my mom's dead". DON'T DO THAT. Purple contributed that one of these days Mr. Antisocial Butterfly is going to get socked pretty good for making the wrong "your mom" joke to Purple.
And I will see him tomorrow! ("It's forever!" he joked at me, and I immediately stifled the impulse to declare that he was being Pippin.)
1 Backwards. On roller skates. ^
There's this little place that I know Purple and R and I have been before; that's where Purple suggested today. (I think our fourth that time may have been the Other Guy? or maybe phone? or zune? idk. It was the time R was complaining about some of the bus-related tour shenanigans on one of her vacations.) Purple was up for that place again tonight, and I was amenable. So we went. I was running a little early, and called him. I was just being led out to see a table when he arrived, and we settled down to contemplate what exactly we wanted in the way of food.
We wound up splitting the rissoto of the day and a four-seasons pizza (olives, artichoke hearts, mushrooms, and some sort of pork-based preserved meat). Purple ordered a drink, and I claimed a sip. That was not the best idea -- the rum was very much on the top. He sloshed it around and I got a second sip, which was nice and gingery. (Mr. Bananas had had lunch with pickled ginger that day, which got Purple in the mood for something with ginger, and the drink was just the ticket.) ( My current relationship with alcohol )
It turns out that the phrase "make sure you don't have any olives down there" is possible to interpret in a dirty fashion. (Purple does not enjoy olives. I do. Therefore all the olives were mine, and it was my responsibility to remove them from the shared slices.) Purple laughed at me as I removed an olive from his piece.
It turns out that when you're trying to validate that about 10 terabytes of data copied over successfully from your old NAS to your new NAS, it can take about a week once your tool is working. Purple's adventures continue.
I'm not sure how the topic came up, but he mentioned some work by some actress who'd been in things that go over his grossout humor threshold, and (since the topic was right there) apologized again for subjecting me to Drawn Together. I pointed out that he was much better than BJ in the department of regrettable media, as he had suggested it in good faith (it does contain many concepts I'd enjoy!) and upon realizing that I had not enjoyed it, reassured me that I could and should safeword out at any time, and he wouldn't hold it against me except that he'd keep my preferences in mind for future recommendations. (Which I don't really count as "holding it against me", but potato potato1.) Purple resents being put in the same category as BJ (or Shawn, really) on much of anything, as it's ... rather a low bar. "Hi, you're a decent human being." Which ... point.
We were both contemplating dessert. Half a dessert each. He was in mind of the bread pudding, as it wasn't as frightening as one might think, but we wound up having cannoli after some debate. Mmm, cannoli. There were bits of candied lemon peel in the cream, and I had to have a moment.
"What?" Purple asked.
I looked over at him in surprise.
"I thought I just heard you squeak?"
"Lemon peel again."
"Ahhhh."
I mention here for the sake of documenting my Complicated Feelings About Things: ( Lengthy feels. )
While we and some others had been eating outside, a great big white van had pulled up in a somewhat traffic-and-parking obstructive way, and a guy in well-worn work clothes and a safety vest had got out with equipment. I had overheard something vaguely about waiting to start until after "these people" were done eating. Around about when we finished dessert, the guy hauled a little portable generator over and plopped it on the hood of a car (presumably his?) and stepped in the puddle of mysterious liquid on his way to get at some of the other equipment, disturbing the surface enough for me to tell that yeah, that was pee there. He then pried open a 6-inch or so access cap of some type. Water, and not clean water, burbled forth and started overflowing the sidewalk into the gutter.
Purple and I decided that now was a really great time to split. So we headed garageward. He'd parked down on the bottom, but he decided he'd walk me upstairs to my car.
( Read more... )
Of note: that guy in a certain social group who does that "your mom" jokes a lot, was sort of oblivious to the other guy who had said "my mom's dead". DON'T DO THAT. Purple contributed that one of these days Mr. Antisocial Butterfly is going to get socked pretty good for making the wrong "your mom" joke to Purple.
And I will see him tomorrow! ("It's forever!" he joked at me, and I immediately stifled the impulse to declare that he was being Pippin.)
1 Backwards. On roller skates. ^
