|From thegreenmonreview.com Lucious, no?|
Last Friday on the "T" was one for the books. 7 noisy girls and one boy got on at Quincy Adams. They did not use "indoor" voices. Although the train became crowded, nobody sat in their area. A girl, one of the loudest, wore a "North Quincy Apaches" sweat shirt. Now as one from a western state, and a westerner by birth, the idea of North Quincy (Quincy is that most Boston of suburbs) Apaches boggles the mind. Why didn't they choose a new England tribe?
You might want to know I have both New England Indian blood and Cherokee Indian blood from various sides of the family. Not a lot, but some. I think my parents love of nature and mine is carried in these Native American genes. But no matter.
The loud-mouthed girl had thunder thighs, and an enormous butt which she had squeezed into very tight jeans. Where the sweat shirt and the jeans didn't meet, was an area revealing an old green thong.
Ladies, if you exhibit your thong, make sure it's fresh and new looking.
On the way home, when we picked up the "T" at Park Street, the crowd was so huge that no train must have come by for an hour. A nice couple offered us their seats. She had really cool sandals with studs. Note to self: search for same in spring.
The Red Line from Quincy Adams is always an adventure. One acquires an entire repertoire of "T" stories. I have a lot. At the end of the month we have out of town relatives visiting, and I suspect that neither of them have ever ridden a subway. They will be initiated. I've done this before. It's fun.
Tonight we have some pork tenderloin sliced, dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and fried, served with a yogurt caper sauce. And Brussels Sprouts.
New flash! The reasons a lot of people won't each their veggies is that said veggies are undercooked and under seasoned. A pat of butter, a cheese sauce, a toothsome garnish and the veggies approach deliciousness. I guarantee you that EVERYONE eats my made from scratch green bean casserole with fresh beans, fresh mushrooms, and a homemade sauce. Trouble? Sure, but delicious.
O.K. A scene to write, the last with my drug lord. It pains me to say goodbye to him. Adios, Lotto! May your life in Colombia be mellow. He's retired now. At least I hope so.