Give yourself over to absolute pleasure
Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh
Erotic nightmares beyond any measure
And sensual daydreams to treasure forever
"Don't Dream It"
What with kids and dogs and friends of kids and dogs being here for ex-moose, I haven't rightly had a chance to blog about anything. And to be brutally honest, there hasn't been really anything going on that was blog-worthy.
Until this weekend.
I spent the weekend eating. Eating in a most unseemly, deeply erotic, hedonistic way. I ate eggs. I scoffed smoked salmon. I inhaled some of the most extraordinary Indian I have ever had the pleasure of consuming. I tongued cheese. I sucked pasta, I slurped seafood. I masticated fresh baked sour dough. I licked tandoori goat. There were exotic fruits and sorbets, and chocolate unctuosly oozing from fountains and cakes and custards and rose-tipped nipples of white chocolate and slow-cooked thighs and hocks. Yolk was licked from sticky fingers, fluids were exchanged on spoons, cheeses were left to melt on tongues and swallowed slowly, with orgasmic relish. I embarked on a positive orgy of self indulgence! It was positively pornographic in its consumption of carnal delights!
The corrolation between sex and food is what divides the "eat to live" from the "live to eat" brigade, of which, clearly, I am a card-carrying member. The idea of spending an entire weekend giving myself over to Dr Frank N' Furter's "absolute pleasure" is a far cry from my "normal" life as a harried wife and mother. But I did it, and I am all a-quiver at the prospect of doing it again.
There is nothing worse that a blog post that alludes to in-jokes that no one gets ( and yes, I AM talking about you, Squinty McSquinty-Pants ;) ), so I shan't bore you all with the minutiae of the weekend, but suffice it to say that erotic hedonism is alive and well, and living in a suburb near you.
Happy Gnu Ear to you all, and may 2010 bring all your dreams to fruition. Whatever they might be.