The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker

We have our 4th of July carnival on the 3rd

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So many midpoints, so little patience. I’m half way through my summer classes: Midterm tests and papers are complete, and I’m gearing up final tests and papers. I will never take TWO summer classes at the same time again! By August I shall be free, but for now I don’t have much time for anything except homework.

Bunny didn’t get the summer job that she wanted, so she’s making money doing extra work around the house. It’s cut my own housework burden in half! Now if only I didn’t STILL have to scream at her to get her to do it.

I am half way to my weight goal. I’m enjoying my cardio very much these days. I love breaking a sweat because - and I know this probably seems weird - it gives me flashbacks of my nights at the burlesque. The dance bug may be biting me again soon, and I can’t wait until August to find out!

Half of me wants to start dating again and half of me doesn’t. Andrew has been calling; he wants me to fly out to Hollyweird to see him again and has offered to cover all my expenses. I enjoy his company (in measured doses) and it seeing him would more than make up for my Summer Sex deficit, BUT. I’m really starting to wonder about the man: I think he may actually be a sex addict, and by that I mean more than the typical man: I mean NOT in a happy kind of way, but in an anxious and seeking relief via constant, rapid-release sex way. I’m anxious enough these days without adding THAT to my vibe. I want a man to DOUBLE my pleasure, not cut it in half!

I’m excited because I found American flags at Target that were actually made in America. WHOOPIE! So I bought one.

I might have a Fourth of July party, if for no other reason than to inspire myself to 1) finally clean this damn house; 2) show off the fact that I CAN, in fact, grill, and 3) feature my new favorite dessert, which happens to be red, white and blue.

It’s not “just” vanilla pudding with berries: This is an ALL organic venture with real sugar, cream and vanilla and OMG you can taste the difference. This is die-and-go-to-heaven good, and this is how you do it.

Vanilla Pudding

Mix sugar, cornstarch and salt; granually blend in milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, till mixture thickens. Cook 2 or 3 minutes more. Add vanilla and powdered vanilla bean. Pour in SMALL dessert glasses. Remember, this stuff is RICH.

Berry Sauce

Washte! Russell Means outlines the reasons why Lakota Nation is in the process of cutting itself from its treaties with the U.S., not as if the U.S. were living up to them anyway. Native reservations are already SOVEREIGN, the way our states were before the Civil War. Consequently there will be no “secession,” because none is needed. The existence of casinos, the operation of which makes them subject to Federal law, might pose a tricky problem for their attorneys. Also, two Lakota reservations have publicly announced their lack of support for Russell’s venture. Since each reservation enjoys varying levels of sovereignty things will probably get complicated. This does not bother the Lakota mind: Politics on the rez have always been complicated and they’re used to it.

For the record, money is not the issue here and Russell has big plans: Free energy from a windmill farm, casino income, no taxes, and a libertarian approach to governance. Did you know that Russell Means is a colleague of Ron Paul? They even ran against each other in the Libertarian Party the first time Dr. Paul ran for U.S. President.

The District of Columbia - the United States of America and not the U.S. (there is a difference, which is why the District is hearing the case), is conducting hearings of WHY, for God’s sake already, the District has not returned the Indian Trust Fund money it stole and spent? There is a huge settlement due to several indian nations, which makes me wonder: Is this settlement, like the Farm Settlements, one of the many attached to the Leo Wanta multi squibillion dollar settlement? Could be!

Americans all over the country are offering to help the Lakota in all sorts of ways: Constitutional attorneys, businessmen who want to invest, conservationists and alternative energy activists, and landowners who want to donate their farm land to the Nation. Russell Mean’s phone is ringing off the hook from people who want to defect!

I majored in Native American (Dakota/Lakota/Nakota) studies for awhile at the University of Minnesota and spent a lot of time at Prairie Island during those years when Amos and Ion Owen, the “first family” among Lakota community and spiritual elders, were hosting weekend sweat lodges in their back yard. I spent weekends in my boyfriend’s tipi and stoked the fire that heated the rocks, cooked at countless powwows (Mankato was a is a popular meeting place) and even witnessed two Sun Dances (Greengrass and Rosebud in South Dakota), something that palefaces were seldom allowed to do back then. They called me Zitkada, or “little bird,” or “chickadee.”

To the West, I pray to the Horse Nation
and to the North, I pray to the Elk People.
To the East, I pray to the Buffalo Nation,
And to the South, the Spirit People.
To the Heavens, I pray to the Great Spirit
and to the Spotted Eagle.
And Below, I pray to Mother Earth
to help us in this time of reconciliation.
Grandfather, I offer these preayers
in my humble way.
To all my relations.
- Amos Owen

I remember sitting at the kitchen table with Ione, and her telling me stories. It was my 20th birthday.

“I don’t even know my birthday,” she told me. “Spring. It was the spring. April maybe.” When she was a little girl she was taken away from her family, made a ward of the state and placed in an orphanage/boarding school so that she would grow up “civilized.”

“We all had the same name (Winona*) so they had to give us all new English names. The nuns were so clean,” she said. The school taught her how to speak and write in English, how to cook, and how to wash her hands. While in her teenage years they taught her how to perform first aid.  “Always rinse the soap off before you use it,” she advised me, and told me to also rinse it off before putting it back.  “Most people don’t think about that. There are germs on the soap. You wash the soap before you wash your hands.”

She stopped and was quiet for about 10 seconds. I knew to keep my mouth shut while an elder was telling a story. “I’ve never told anybody about any of this,” she said quietly, “but I am telling you. Han. That’s interesting. Han.”

I even had a crush on Amos and Ione’s youngest son Duffy. He was a fantasy warrior, the kind you might see on the cover of a romance novel: Long shiny black hair, sparkling black eyes and a body that . . . mmmm . . . nevermind. He was really smart, too. Once, in Ione’s kitchen I remarked upon his gorgeousness she said, quite sternly actually, “Duffy is going to marry a nice indian girl.” I hadn’t planned to go down that road but wow: Apparently Duffy had no shortage of white girl admirers! Today Duffy is a filmmaker, producing what I believe are documentaries about Minnesota and Native American history.

I met Russell Means and his posse once or twice at Prairie Island a long time ago. I recall motorcycles and pickup trucks and a campfire and way too much yang energy about him. I sensed his prodigious temper and obstinate personality: Mark my words he was a controversial character back in the day. His handshake was warm and friendly and firm, though. It was rumored that he might take over the role of community leader for Amos someday; I suppose that was a big part of the controversy. Lakota (esp. the men) are attached to their subterranean political infighting, and they know it, too: It’s just their “thing” and sometimes I wonder whether intra-tribe bickering are characteristic of all tribal peoples. Amos Owen was the spiritual and tribal leader for the Lakota, while Russel Means was an activist and a politician, so was Means even right for the job? Amos was such a gentle person; he spoke so quietly that whole rooms full of people fell silent when he spoke. He was a prophet, and the legends about the eagles and hawks that flew above him are true: I saw them. However, Russell was so different. He was an activist and a politico on fire.

(1992: Russell Means braids his son’s hair. Photo by Ilka Hartmann)

It takes an awful long time for the Lakota to come to a group decision on anything, and the meetings of the elders last for hours and hours because it is taboo to interrupt or hold someone to a limit when it comes to telling a story or expressing an opinion. They’re done talking when they are done talking. They don’t make a decision until they reach a consensus. There is no “majority rules” bullshit; everyone needs to leave the meeting satisfied. It probably took awhile for a consensus was reached on Russel Means’ future as spiritual and/or tribal leader.

Look at him: Either they gave him a sedative for this video or he’s settled down! He’s so mellow and steady and gentle, yet still stubborn and firm. It looks as though the Lakota Nation has a strong leader speaking for (almost all of) them. Washte.

* Winona is the name for “first born girl”

(Photo: Black Hills News Bureau)

(Kittypuppet is sitting on a bottle of Sophia Zinfandel)

See that mess? Along with several other dreary jobs on my “list” tonight I needed to put my Goodwill Pile in order. But Scorpio was cooking! Some other time perhaps.

This dinner may have been his best yet: Steak from the backyard grill Pittsburgh style, with a sweet/tart onion and pepper relish; tomatoes and mozzarella with parsley and a drizzling of balsamic vinegar and guacamole on the side; potato pancakes with sour cream, steamed spinach with garlic . . . it was incredible. I ate with my eyes closed!

It was cold tonight, so cold that my full length mink was (”almost”) necessary to keep the wind off my legs, which were bare, my feet in snake skin stilettos. I try to arrive at Scorpio’s with as little clothing on as possible . . .

. . . Desert was insane. I’m an addict.

I think I just got picked up? I don’t remember doing anything but staring. Now I’m staring at the telephone. Will I be in the mood to pick it up when it rings?

I don’t believe how that night kicked my ASS. I only had that ONE drink before my posse picked me up at about 7:30pm, and it was enough to make me loopy. While in AC I didn’t have any alcohol at all! Just some pickle juice for my stomach at the Foundation Room (they went to another hotel to get it!), 3 tiny buffalo wings, and a cola at the Gypsy Bar. But by the time we got home at about 2:30am I was sick sick sick, and by that I mean head-in-toilet sick. Why? My belchy stomach couldn’t take it, and it took me all of today to recover. Crazy.

For five years after Pottery Barn brought out it’s Santa’s Reindeer china pattern I went there every Christmas just to drool. I always thought having a special set just for the holidays was kind of lame. OK, really lame, but these were funny! I wanted them but they were too expensive, so every December I pretended the dishes in the store were mine and that I was visiting them.

As fate would have it this was the china pattern my now ex-fiance and I settled on when we got engaged, which made gift giving easy for Joe’s Christmas-crazy family. He and I were coming together with two households full of stuff and already had two full dish sets, so why not the funny reindeer?

Joe Cool was a big fan of Christmas and always went all-out with the house lights, the huge tree and the presents, while I was the mom who thought of the stuff in storage and sighed, do I really want to crawl behind my stair case to pull out all that crap, only to put it back in a few weeks? Suffice it to say that once Bunny turned fourteen I gave up the Christmas dress-up in favor of seasonal decorations I could keep up until spring without people looking at me funny.When we called of the engagement I got the dish set.

EGG NOG

1 whole egg
1 tablespoon superfine sugar
Pinch salt/4 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup milk
Nutmeg

Beat the egg with the sugar and salt and pour into a 10-ounce highball glass. Add vanilla and milk and stir to mix. Grate a little nutmeg on top. Note: If there is a problem with eggs in your region, do not prepare this recipe.

My favorite reindeer is, of course, Vixen. My second favorite is Blitzen. If I were ever to add to the set I’d go to Replacements Limited and order all Vixens dishes. Any additional cups and mugs will all be Blitzens! Too bad they don’t make lowball glasses in this pattern; my guests and I could all get ‘nogged up in style!

This year is the 10th anniversary of this china pattern, so the store has introduced some new serving pieces. I was just about to indulge in a serving platter and large bowl when it occurred to me I had no place to put them! It’s true: My kitchen is full. I don’t even have room for another dishtowel, let alone more dishes! So I bought a set of napkin rings instead. They’re small.

I’m off again for our yearly Sisterhood is Powerful Holiday Conclave in New England. It’s a small group, only two of us, but oh! The things we do! Such as read and drink coffee and nap.

What, no Christmas carols? No big family reunion? No fancy feast? No church? You’re kidding, right?

Don’t worry about us; we have our own special Christmas traditions, like getting drunk and cow-tipping at the neighboring farms.

What? You’ve never heard of cow tipping? It’s where you sneak up on a dozing cow and tip him over. You have to be really, really drunk, as it’s the only way to approach a huge bull minding his own business in the middle of a field. The bull needs to be nodding off, almost asleep or it won’t work.

Oh. You know cow tipping is an urban myth? There are articles all over the web explaining how cow tipping breaks the laws of physics?

Damn internet. It used to be so funny, watching those drunk city boys being chased by the neighbor’s enraged bull. Priceless.

But my dad and his buddies did put the neighbor’s bull on a roof once. Really; that story is true. When Grandpa told him and his friends never to do it again they put the car on the roof instead.

Don’t believe it?It’s done with scaffolding and ramps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a REAL cow being hoisted to a high roof with a crane. That’s just mean.

The party was small but successful; we had a few last minute regrets, but that just meant more food for us, heh. Everyone wore their costumes as instructed: We had a gangster, a flapper, a Renaissance serving wench, a purple fairy, a gladiator, a pirate, and me as a French maid. We ate and drank and were merry and then one of them said “Let’s go to the Hideaway!” Everyone thought that was crazy but she was the Designated Driver and we were all pretty drunk and figured what the hell! So that’s what we did.

When we left we took the bartender with us back to my place. At about 2am we were still playing amateur mixologist, trying to get the best performance out of a blend of banana and pineapple vodkas. We found the best: Banana vodka straight up, forget the pineapple. This stuff is GOOD. It was close to 4am when I finally rolled into bed!

The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker cannot button her tailored dress pants, and she is most displeased. Of course the soda, cheese fries and booze she consumed last night while out-on-the-town certainly did not help the situation.

What’s a “hammer?” The nice man from across the bar insisted. It had pineapple and was very good. And very strong.

Time to lie down again.

Scorpio says he’s more wrecked from this weekend than I am but I don’t think that’s possible. It was the last weekend at the Jersey shore so we made the most out of it. Don’t expect much from me tomorrow . . .

My nice Indian tailor called: My dress is ready! It’s a brown sparkly version of the above graphic, a one-of-a-kind garment since this dress, until now, did not exist anywhere but in a commercial artist’s imagination. I already know what shoes I’m going to wear with it:

I suppose this is one way to flip off the garment industry and it’s sweatshop labor: Home-made clothes. There are several stores in the garment district in Philadelphia that sell specialty fabrics woven by artisans overseas. Are these fabrics made with sweatshop labor? Or are they the products of women-run cottage industries? Time to find out! In the mean time, I will get my clothes from EBay and Goodwill for CHEEP-CHEEP.

Except I don’t know what to do about socks, underwear and T-shirts. Any ideas? How about don’t wear them?

OK, who’s in the mood? I do SO love that moment I walk through my front door on Friday evenings, but just imagine how much better things would be if someone like this met me at the door with an open bottle of champagne?

Let the games begin! If anything happens at this party you’ll be the first to know!

Maybe.

We’re “retro” tonight, not any era in particular. Whatever we wear, eat, watch or listen to, however, must be campy, cliched or really cheesy. See if you can place the decade:

Jello Mold

Sloppy Joes

Deviled Eggs

Motown

Cocktails of yore (yes I have a book!)

Jello Shots

Poker

Twister

Quarters

Answers:

1. 1920’s

2. 1940’s

3. 13th century Andalusia

4. Late 1950’s

5. 1860’s

6. 1950’s

7. Poker, early 1800’s; dogs playing poker, early 1900’s

8. 1966

9. Unknown