making people remember why they avoid this blog like a suspicious stain.

Would you please stop sending me telepathic requests for posts that I don't have it in me to write?  I feel terrible about it, really.  Honest.  But my stomach hurts when I try to consider it.  And that's not my fault. 
It's yours.

It's also kind of the result of 2+ helpings of the chicken-with-rice dish I made tonight that's kind of a bastardized version of a Brasilian dish I used to love when I lived there, a regional (i.e., state of Minas Gerais, a state below Brasilia, the country's capital, and inland about ten hours' drive from Rio) recipe that I sort of make kind of correctly.  As far as memory serves.  (... !! ... ??? .)  There's this amazing sauce that accompanies it, called vinagrete, it's kind of a salsa but with vinegar as a base, and parsley instead of cilantro, plus red bell pepper that you mix with the onion, garlic, tomato, salt and pepper.  The only side dish is refried beans, which I would normally make from scratch because they're prepared differently in Brasil than in Mexico, but I forgot until the last minute and had to pick some up from the store -- *shrug*.  Similar-ish enough.

Did you want something from me?  Because that's all I've got.  I tried to collate all the addresses from everyone who said they want a private password for when I private-up for a few, but my computer crashed and I took that as a sign from god to suggest that I should not be near my computer.  Which is why I'm here, only not trying to do the email-collating thinger, since that would've probably gotten me nowhere close to anything resembling progress.  This all looks a lot more progress-y.  That said, I still want to private up but by the flaming hand of gilgamesh, how do I make myself try and go through all that rigamarole again?  It vexeth me.

Whatever.

Anybody wanna be my secretary?  GOD that sounds sexy.  Just the idea of having a secretary makes me so hot.

Which is funny, because I'm kind of freezing.

Comments

[Maria]

Consider this my application.

[Major Bedhead]

Wait, what? You're going private? How did I miss this?

If you ever get the list up and running again, can I please be included? Pretty please?

[qt]

Heh - I won't hold my breath on the whole password protected post, but if it DOES come to fruition, lemme know, kay?

[Mary Ellen]

Oh no! I can't possibly qualify for the password because I NEVER EVER COMMENT. Hm. And I probably shouldn't comment because I sit here and think things like -- vinagret? you mean vinaigrette? Hm. No, she DOES mean vinegret -- what's wrong with me??? Vinaigrette is French! They don't spell like that in Brazil! (But it sounds like something very nice to eat.)

[apathy lounge]

I think I missed the privatization thing. Um...count me in, though. You have my email.

[magpie]

Oh skip the privatizing. Clearly losing all that work was a sign not to.

But if you do? Sign me up.

[Mary]

Mary Ellen, you misspelled Brasil. Or Debbie did. Vinaigrette? Rice?

Why am I hungry?

[sweatpantsmom]

I'm in. But why the private up? I want to hear the whole dark, sordid scandalous story.

[Kelly]

I'll be your secretary only if it's in the James Spader-Maggie Gyllenhal vein where you circle my mistakes with red pen and then spank me over your desk.

That's how I roll.

And yeah, if you ever go private, please don't forget about me.