Wagering Taco Salad over clams

In Max Rager, Liv makes fancy clams. Not only is this higher budget than the imitation crab I've been eating, but it makes no sense to add fish to fish to make it more pescatarian. So...I've gone rogue and made my own recipe.

Here is pescatarian taco salad. I added kidney beans, imitation crab, tomato and avocado to salad and topped it off with a southwest chipotle dressing. It kicked ass.

Max Wager:

I don't have much to say about this episode other than:

Knowing nothing of the show, my roommate sat down to watch with me during the scene where Ravi practically breaks down the door to make sure Liv and Major haven't had sex yet. "The zombie virus is a millionth the size of a regular virus. I tested every brand of condom and it comes through all of them every time. If you and Major have sex, he will contract the zombie virus. That isn't a risk, that is a certainty"

I feel like that line told her everything she needs to know about this show.

Also, I'm so floored by the scene where Peyton meets Stacey Boss. There's an intensity both in the acting and writing that remains powerful without being overstated. It's just so fun to watch. I'm also pained by the references to Peyton's age because she's TV successful, young and beautiful. I don't know anyone her age that's as professionally successful, or maybe that's not my crowd.

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She waits by the phone like she used to wait by the AIM screen...like she used to wait by the phone.

She waits for it to light up. For the beep that shows he cares. That he’s thinking about her. She’s supposed to feel hope, optimism, maybe even love...but she only feels stupid.

I’m a naive silly girl, she thinks.

She goes back to the silence, the silence that hasn’t yet ended, but it started there, there in that dark bedroom. He had chased her to the front door, and stopped. He had held her eyes with his, but he hadn’t stopped her when she opened the door. He hadn’t stopped her when she walked through it. His gaze pleaded, but he hadn’t found the words she wanted to hear. And he hadn’t stopped her when she closed the door again.

She was silly for thinking he’d say it, she realizes. She was silly for believing something that he hadn’t ever put words to. And now she knows.

There was an excitement in being stupid. She awoke early those first couple days. Planned an outfit and a hairstyle. Took the time to dig mascara out of her purse and use hairspray. The can that loomed on her shelf, pulled out only for weddings and funerals, finally had a purpose. She used that can of hairspray and a heated straightener, and she had a bounce in her step. All of the things that were never worth taking the time to do, now made her happier. At least for now. She could see his posture change with a whiff of her perfume. And she was as intoxicated by that feeling as he was. Yet, it was stupid and she knew it. It was stupid to think she could keep it up. That it would make a difference. That she could put on a pretty girl costume and make her problems disappear.

No, her problems were not in conforming to the patriarchal ideals of beauty in order to get attention, but in that she was ignoring one large fact, and she was ignoring it well.

Don’t say something stupid. Don’t say something stupid. She repeated it, repeated it, but knew her mouth would ultimately betray her. She'd show her age, her immaturity, her lack of life experience, her inability to relate to adult matters like paying your own bills, understanding politics and taxes. She pretended to understand the words he said. She pretended she was cultured, sophisticated. She pretended there wasn’t food rotting in the fridge of her one room apartment without a bed. For just one second, he looked at her as an equal and not a child. And that one second gave her all the hope she needed to think this could work, and she wasn’t being stupid.

Back to the night. To the stupid question. Met with silence. She didn’t leave his bedroom because she was angry with him. She left because she was embarrassed. She let herself down that night. And she let herself down again by waiting by the phone. Like a child. Like a naive silly, child.

That’s the only way she could describe it. She blushed. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach up to her heart which beat faster and faster, until she couldn’t breathe. She had a school girl crush and that’s the only way she could describe it. Because she was acting like a schoolgirl. His smile sent the flush to her cheeks, made her stumble over her words. And that’s where the stupidity started.

It took weeks to make eye contact, months to form words.

And those words ever so slowly brought her to a stupid drink and an excellent decision. Or an excellent drink and a stupid decision. The talk was easy now. She laughed, smiled. In many ways, he became the stupid one. She was laughing at his dumb jokes. Pretending to be fascinated when he droned on. And when he took the check, she knew she was in trouble. She had grabbed at his wrist. (“You don’t have to do that.”) And his response was everything.

“I want to.”

That was the mantra for the evening. He wanted to. And who was she to say no to that?

When he wanted to drive her home, she let him. And when he wanted to walk her to the steps, she let him. And when he wanted to touch her cheek instead of saying goodnight, she let him kiss her. And she let that kiss turn ravenous, and let the lust burn through their bodies until he pushed through the door after her and their bodies found the couch. She didn’t let the kisses end. She didn’t want to give them the chance to ask her for a bedroom or proper bed or turn on the light. She ripped off his shirt right then and there and let everything unfold. When the passion subsided, she let him lie to her.

She knew he couldn’t stay long. She didn’t even have a place for him to sleep. She ushered him out and let him end along with the night.

And she didn’t feel stupid then. Maybe a touch of silliness, but it felt like the stupidity had been exorcised; straightened out so that she wasn’t the stupid one in the scenario. She had turned it into exactly what she wanted. And that was smart, right? She had done it.

The next day, she wasn’t stupid either. She didn’t wait by the phone. She told herself not to say something stupid, and she let nothing betray her. The day unfolded like a regular day and no one knew the secrets of her night.

There were late night texts and disappearing messages. And once again she felt like a silly girl with a secret.

The passion turned to ritual and she began to feed on it. It fueled her days and spirit. She knew when to expect a text and when to sneak away. She knew when he was about to fill her and she knew when she needed it. And when the deed was done she let him lie to her. She watched unblinkingly as if it were normal. It became part of their ritual.

And that was stupid. That she should have known. She should have known it wasn’t just his problem.

She left his door. He didn’t stop her.

She has laid next to him in bed and spilled her heart out onto the pillow. She asked the question, but left before he could answer. Because she could see in his eyes that he wasn't going to answer and couldn't answer. And she was the one being stupid. Even though he let her into his home. Even though he called her up to say that his wife wasn't home.

He told her his wife wasn’t home and she came on over. And with her in his arms, he called up his wife to say everything was good and he was going to bed. And she let him lie to her. Watched him do it as if that were normal.

And she was a stupid, stupid girl for thinking it could end any other way.

She stares at the phone...and turns it off.