Twitter Turd

I haven't posted in over three months. I feel shitty that I have left you, dear reader, high and dry all Summer. I hope you have missed me; I have missed you.

I am working my way back to your love, but in the meantime: do you twit? Twat? Tweet.

I've taken my shit to the Twitter world and I am hoping you will follow me there. Follow me, retweet me, I am a turd looking for some exposure.

Imagine how much less annoying I will be in 140 characters or less.

See you soon back here my friends!

Power Gem Activate!

I just clicked on a blog and was totally surprised to see this as their top post for the day.

The subject matter and even more specifically, the color, reminded me of this one time after beauty camp.

Okay, not so much camp -- college.

I finished* a skin care program at a ... you know ... school of beauty about 5 years ago.

Anywho, two of my friends went in on this lavender, sparkly, multi-featured, sleek, racy sports car of a vibrator to help me "celebrate" my graduation from beauty college (there - I said it, happy?).

I thanked them profusely for the very thoughtful gift. After all, they sincerely did have my happiness in mind when they chose it. However, when they left, I threw it in the bottom of my sandal basket. I don't know exactly why, but it just didn't really interest me.

A year later, I went to dig through that basket and give a few things away, and there it was. Looking as shiny and new as the day I hucked it in there.

Sometimes my mind wanders and I daydream about who ended up with the brand new vibrator I donated to Goodwill.

Did an employee snag it before it even made it to the warehouse? Did a manager angrily confiscate it, while making an immediate beeline for the bathroom, muttering how awful people are with the things they will put in bags to the Goodwill? Or maybe it got a price tag and a prime spot in the electronics section, where someone down on their luck was slurking to the back hoping against all hope that Goodwill might have a new Power Gem for an affordable price. Amen.


*I hesitate to use "graduated" because mixing "graduated" and "beauty college" together in the same sentence is a real witch's brew of Mondo Loserdom

The Cure For Epilepsy

If you do it right anyway.

Pull Ovah!

[Via: Auto Insurance>

This is the way a pull over should go. Don't forget to smile.

I've Got A lot On My Plate

I like making time to cook. The more I do it, the more I wonder why I waited so long.

Don't get me wrong - I have cooked before, but not until just recently have I made such a study of food. Where does this come from? What's in season? Is that what I really want to eat? What I really crave? Can I make that myself?

I like it. I am reconnecting with myself in the process of getting to know my kitchen better.

I was hungry, so I made a plate.

Then I grabbed a beer, sat down, and nibbled, gnawed, scooped and savored.

It was tasty.

What's on my plate, you ask?

Fresh Ricotta - easy, inexpensive, relatively fast and absolutely delicious! Try it.

Tomato Relish - that's what I call it anyway. It's sort of just a jazzed up marinara that gets cooked down a little more than you would probably do for pasta. Any marinara sauce skeleton will work and then you can go crazy with what you add -- fresh herbs, mushrooms, fennel etc.

Chickpea dip - this is hummus-esque. It's my lazy way of getting some of those flavors without really having to follow a traditional recipe that would involve tahini. I threw canned chickpeas in the mini chopper with some parsley, olive oil (enough to move things around and get a cream consistency going) lemon juice and toasted sesame seeds (about a teaspoon or so) and salt. Blend to desired thickness and season additionally if needed after taste test.

Fresh veges are just that - I drizzled a little olive oil over them and scattered some salt and pepper on top of that.

Olives - I love em. I picked up these at the olive bar at my grocery store. Olive bars are my second favorite kind of bar actually. Lots of different varieties and you can mix and match to your heart's content.

So what's on your plate? Have you connected with your kitchen lately?

Jesus Christ Quiz Score Report

Jesus fascinates me, so of course I am up for a quiz on Big J trivia.

Jesus Christ Quiz Score Report
Total number of Questions in JC Quiz : 14
Total number of Correct answers : 12
Your Score : 86% [Jesus Christ superstar scorer!]
Average Score for this quiz : 56%
Result : Pass [Yesssss!]
Number of People taking this quiz : 992
Number of People Passing this quiz : 748
Number of People failing this quiz : 244 [Jesus thinks these peeps are losers]
Maximum Score for this quiz : 100% [duh]


Let the record show that I scored 23% higher than the average and I am not even religious. That is awesome of me, and Jesus tells me so.

The link to the quiz is here

Your Tax Dollars At Work

Seventy seven of our country's wild horses died after the Bureau of Land Management's last round up. An additional 39 late term foals were aborted as a result of mares being run for days over rocky terrain to the BLM's holding pens.

Most of the deaths occurred as a result of being run (read: chased by a low flying helicopter) to exhaustion, for days during this last winter. Many of the foals and yearlings were simply not strong enough to survive.

Is this okay? Do we care? Is it more important to clear this land of it's original horse herds so it can be reappointed as grazing area for cattle to feed you and other Americans?

This video talks more about the issue and shows some footage of the last roundup.



Do you want to tell the Secretary of the Department of the Interior, Ken Salazar, that he is doing a great job? Or perhaps you would rather tell him this movement against these horses is an epic fail?

Either way, a link his site is here.

Not coolio with this? Outraged perhaps? You aren't alone.

The Cloud Foundation has been looking out for our country's wild horses for a while now. I think they are an excellent place to start if you are feeling called to action. A link to their site is here.

Oh Grated Butter and Sports Bras, How You Liberate Thee!

Necessity is the mother of invention, right? Well forgetfulness has to be the daddy then. Or maybe it's more of a bitter younger sib to invention, always trying to feed off of the limelight. Pain in the ass piggybacker that can't be disow-What? Oh yeah, anywho -- I digress....

Almost every time I set out to bake something, I forget to take out the butter to soften ahead of time. No matter how far in advance my baking is planned out, my reflex to pull the butter out of the fridge fails me.

Lamenting this to my step mom one day, she told me that she grates her butter into her recipes when she forgets to take it out in time to soften.

What is this genius idea of which you speak?! I don't have to wait or screw up the recipe? Sweet!

It works too, grates easier than cheese even and incorporates right into the recipe.

The rare occasions that I remember to warm my butter, seem to coincide with completely spacing on the fact that the eggs are supposed to be room temperature in most recipes too. Dammit!

The saving innovation for that, I came up with myself. I nestle the fridge chilly eggs into my bra. I do. Works like a charm. My boobs, like two hens brooding side by side in a nesting box, warm those bad boys right up. And in a fraction of the time it would take just leaving them out on the counter. If you have boobs, or know someone that does, I suggest you try it.

Sour cherry buttermilk cake ~ brought to you courtesy of grated butter and boob-warmed eggs. Don't judge me.

I've Got Baggage

I hate the French, but how fabulous is the word "portmanteau"?!


I know there are several meanings, but I am just lovin on one in particular right now....

Will you please sit on my portmanteau so I can zip through the bulge in the middle where the body is bunched up?

Hey man, look alive - your portmanteau has already gone around for three dirt laps on the luggage carousel.

Aw fuck me running! - I am late for this flight, and the wheel just blew out on my portmanteau!

Luggage language is lovely my friends.

I saw this poem on another blog and am sharing it here........because it makes me want to work "portmanteau" into every sentence.

Portmanteau

It will clasp
itself shut
around the dark
compartment
we have stuffed
with our splurges-
I mean the shimmer,
the silver, the slivers
and trinkets.
I mean,
it will mantle
the hollow
core, cradle the cloaks
and cyborg novels,
the trash and slang
and Sunday brunches
over silent toast
we've smushed
inside and, I mean,
all we'll have to do
is lock it.
All we'll
have to do is lift it,
chuck it, really,
into the attic.
You'll love it-
it's humongous,
ginormous,
fantabulous-
I'd guesstimate there's space
for the unfinished bookcase,
the sorry motel with its sign
on the fritz,
the unloved afghan,
the unspoken insult,
your dumbfounded mother,
my collection of twizzle sticks,
the hamster
that died when
we left for a fortnight,
geometry, hassles, casseroles,
and under the false
bottom, a hidden
slot for all of 1986.
I mean, you'll barely
know it's there-
maybe at night a faint
clang or chortle
upstairs.
But that's the past
hinged shut,
clamped tight
beneath the attic eaves,
spread like wings
above our necessary
dreams.

~ by Gigi Thibodeau*

* You can find out more about the author here.

If I Die Before I Wake...

Before last night I had never seen much of the television series House. I fell asleep to an episode and it must have creepy crawled into my subconscious because Hugh Laurie stole my after dark brain-show and became my boyfriend for the night.


I'm not going to lie: He did a stellar job in his role as my lovah. When I woke up, I still had the doctor on my mind. So imagine my delight when I channel surfed this morning and saw that there was a House marathon going. I get to spend my Sunday morning with the guy from last night? Sweet!

Well, here's the thing, love fuzzyed my brain a bit, and I sort of forgot that I am a ginormous hypochondriac. Even without the help of graphic, hospital/medical themed television shows, I diagnose myself with about thirty rare/incurable diseases a day. Catching part of the marathon didn't just amp my love, it pushed my hypochondria right off the charts!

Below is an abbreviated list of my current health concerns as a result of spending a little too much time with my new boyfriend while he is working:

* So far I have Legionnaires disease, Listeria, multiple allergic reactions, nonspecific brain inflammation, and Syphilitic neuropathy.

* I am going to have a seizure at any moment - I just know it. [They almost always have at least one seizure per episode]

* No fluids for me - have to hold off on going onesy for as long as I can, because I am probably going to pee blood due to a kidney blowing out.

* On that note, one of my eyes could very well launch from it's socket due to cranial pressure. That would be followed by blood shooting everywhere, by the way.

* Lots of vomiting is probably on the horizon as I decline. [They throw a lot of surprise puking in these episodes.] And if you don't know how I feel about that, then you didn't read this post.

* Another good reason to stay out of the bathroom as long as I can is that I don't want to go in there and have my scrotum burst open and spurt blood all over a doctor. [It could happen -- trust me]

* My throat is tightening just thinking about the emergency tracheotomy I am going to need. Exacto-knife to the throat - yikeys!

I know I ask too much, but I think I am going to need you to pray for me - again. Also, please send lots of cookie baskets when I am in the hospital. Once my throat and scrotum heal a little, the yummies will really help to bolster my spirit and speed my recovery. Thank you.

Fritter

Remember George Costanza's angst ridden cry of "Serenity now!"? Well, I've got my own version: "Sicily now!". Every time I hear about another tool cheating the system, or another sue-happy jackass, I get that much closer to fleeing to a foreign land. I'm outtie. I will go back from whence my oily haired ancestors came. When I have my little secluded island villa (complete with hot Sicilian houseboy), you are cordially invited to visit anytime....well most of you anyway.

If you are one of the aforementioned Jackasses or tools, then all bets are off.


What in the french toast is a Fritter? Click here.

A Comfy Couch To Hump

I stole this off of Facebook and the caption read, "Inseparable"

The dog in the background of this photo belongs to my brother. Her name is Kona. The dog in the foreground is named Hef, and he belongs to my brother's girlfriend.

Kona was given to Sal as a puppy, and when she got to be around a year old I asked my brother what was up in the hizay* since Hef isn't neutered. He told me there was no prob Bob, because Hef only humps the couch cushions.

I am not making this up. That's is what he told me when I asked him a few months ago.

How cute are puppies? Soooooooo cute!

Guess who decided on a little more variety after humping that couch for a while?

Nine puppies later I wonder if my brother still thinks Hef only gets a case of the humps when he sees large pieces of furniture.

Good times.


*And by "hizay" I meant that I had seen this commercial enough times to know that we are all good on puppies in this country, so fix that shit!**

**And by "fix that shit!" I meant: Everyone thinks their dog is special. There are approximately 9 million companion animals put to sleep in this country every year, and they are no less special than the one you chose to feed. You merely got attached to that one. Your dog ain't that special, so you know....fix that shit!

If my brother finds out about this post, I am going to be in big trouble. Pray for me.

Vegetarians Are Stoopid

And so are Environmentalists

Irony

I love irony. Do you love irony? I'm totally into it.

Take for example one of my neighbors. He needed a strip of my property to run a power line out to his detached garage. I agreed to allow the encroachment if he would agree to go the legal route and get an easement drawn up and recorded. He didn't want to muddle his project's efficiency with these sorts of things and would yell, threaten, and try to steamroll me instead.

His big talking point to anyone who would listen was the loss of the use of his garage. Without power, that is how he saw it. And while I didn't believe his garage was a tear-down merely because he was too big of a candy ass to open the roll up door manually (on a temporary basis), I did sympathize with the inconvenience of it. I thought that was remarkable on my part, considering I was his definition of evil.

He really tested my sympathy too. We went back and forth for almost a year with me insisting on trifles like licensed/insured contractors, permits from the city, and recorded easements before I would grant him use of my land. He suggested I let him in with no notice to do a permit free 3-inch deep trench where he could just direct bury some line (that means right in the dirt) and be done.

We finally ended up seeing eye to eye when he realized he wasn't going to be able to fit his shoe in my ass, and I think maybe someone might have helped him pull his head out of his own as well.

The permits, contractors, and easements magically appeared, and the project was completed without a hitch. His garage has had power for just about three months now.

That's not so ironic is it, but can you see where this is going?

And wait for it.........he doesn't use his garage. He doesn't use the fucking thing.

I haven't seen the door in use one time since power was restored. What I do see is him pulling his car up to the front of his garage door and leaving it there, partially blocking the main driveway to other garages.

In fact, if I was a good photographer, I could take an artsy shot of his car and the No Parking - Will Be Towed sign because the proximity would allow for it.

So that right there my friends is a little bit of layered irony -- and well...venting.

Good times.

Torn In The Time Of Cholera

Did you watch it? Even just the trailer is yummy, right? I told you! Now go Netflix it and savor the whole thing - you can thank me later.

I saw Love In The Time Of Cholera when it came to DVD, and it completely captured me.

The cinematography was breathtaking (sorry to be a drama queen, but it was), the soundtrack was awesome, it had great actors. The plot and character development completely drew me in, and made me never wanted the story to end.

Triumphs, tragedy, love, heartbreak, sex, life. What can I tell you, it was simply fabulous.

I mean come on now party people, it was based on a novel written by a Nobel Prize winning author; of course it was going to be phenomenal, right?!

It got the shittiest of shit reviews. I was hard-pressed to find anyone who had anything good to say about it.

"... Newell and Harwood completely missed the mark with this one, turning a complex love story into a superficial period film with no heart or heat." ~ Viewer - DVD Review

"If you've seen Gone With the Wind, you've seen what Love in the Time of Cholera isn't." ~ Kyle Smith, New York Post

And this one scared me the most...

"Listless, poorly scripted, badly acted and displaying an unforgivable misinterpretation of its source material, Cholera is easily one of the worst adaptations of a great book ever mounted." ~ Anonymous

That last review there strikes a special brand of fear in my heart because I have been waiting to read the book for over a year now. That is a common practice of mine when it comes to my dessert books.

Dessert books are the extra special I Just Know I am Going To Love You books. I come across them in a variety of ways. Many times it is as a result of loving one or more books an author has done previous. Sometimes, it is from reviews and/or recommendations. And every once in a while a movie will make me want to jump on the book (it is usually the other way around). No matter how I find them, as soon as I identify a dessert book, I have the damnedest time cracking them open. I try to tuck them away like fine china or linens you never use.

How bad would that suck though to get mowed down by a bread truck one day, and leave this earth never having given yourself a chance to savor all of your dessert books? Lameski.

Anywho, I digress...

I just stumbled on the movie reviews yesterday when in an effort to prime my courage to finally start the book, I went back and watched the theatrical trailer for the film. I was shocked to encounter so much discontent in the time of Cholera, and now I am also horribly torn.

What if the reviewers are right?! I don't want to fall out of love with the film as a result of having read the book. On the other hand, I don't want to put down the book and feel like all this time I have set aside a not so tasty dessert(I have a 100% "loved it!" success rate thus far on my dessert books, by the way).

I am praying I have enough unconditional love in my heart to forgive any possible stumbles the movie makes on translating the book, and that the book treads softly on that place in my heart, and does not force me to fall out of love with the film.

Pray for me - seriously.

I Don't Want Mine - I Want Yours

Oh, I am so very nauseated from reading whiny articles written by mostly women, lamenting that in the wake of January's earthquake, they haven't had any lucky snapping up Haitian children for adoption.

One woman wrote a post that her child needs her now, but all the red tape in Haiti was going to make it impossible for her to adopt from there anytime soon. Her child. When did a Haitian orphan become her child? Asinine.

Like I was saying, they are all pretty much along this same vein, so I won't bore you with every subtle nuance of whining style I came across. That will also wipe out the risk of me whining about the whining. I would much rather think of myself as sweeping and angry, than weak and whiny.

When I am not staving of the heaves, I do have questions about all of this.

Why are these Americans so obsessed with adopting an orphan from another country, when they are children right here in the US that could use loving parents and a secure home?

The foster care system alone includes over 100,000 children up for adoption in this country. Are those kids less abandoned? Do they suffer less from that loss, and the system they are thrust into so young? Are these women making a judgment that moving through the system to legal adulthood here is "good enough" while Haiti's system isn't? Or is it more romantic, and higher up on the Personal Jesus scale to run to an impoverished nation for your little bundle of charity?

Kids these days

Who knows, but they are annoying the hell out of me. When all the children here have what they need to thrive, then I say we look abroad to reach out.

On that note, I sometimes wish I didn't suck at relationships so badly. I have ovarian moments where I muse about finding a partner and adopting a child. In these visions, I co-parent with someone healthy and raise a child who is kind, generous, bright, and filled with drive to give back to his or her world.

These moments usually coincide with wine and cheese, and abruptly end when I remember that I am the only important person I know. Oh well.

Happy Birthday Ruth!

Ruth's parent's had to flee the country today. I like to think it doesn't have anything to do with the anniversary of her birth, but you know...it's a huge coincidence.

Ruth is my cousin and she is two years younger than I am. As a child, I only got to see her occasionally, during my visit to the grandparents we shared, one weekend a month. When that weekend would come, one of the first things I would do is hop on the eggy yellow rotary phone in their kitchen and call Ruth. That wheel of fun fortune couldn't slide back and forth fast enough over those numbers as I dialed. When she got on the phone, I didn't understand much of what she had to say, but we always made sure we were clear on when we were going to get together.

We had a lot of fun.

One day complete good fortune struck while we were hanging out at our grandmother's house. Mamanonie was going to take us to Toys R Us to pick out an outfit for each of our Cabbage Patch Kids. Oh, big day! We hopped into SPOSA (my grandfather got her personalized plates for her 80s Oldsmobile) and headed over to the store. The actual shopping is pretty fuzzy in my memory now. I only recall Ruth's small voice as we waited in line, "Grandma, I don't feel good" Then she passed the fuck out! Just went down cold, executing a perfect drunken sailor backwards fall into my grandmother's arms.

Next thing I know, I've got $20.00 shoved into my hand and my g-ma is dragging Ruth out of the store. She came to in the parking lot.

The story gets even better: Ruth didn't die (it turns out that low blood sugar is a bitch to little kids trying to buy doll clothes) and we got to go to Jack In The Box drive-through on the way home! This was huge. Mamanonie being a big believer in cooking at home, made overpriced fast food stops pretty much unheard of.
New stuff from Toys R Us, Ruth not dying, and fast food. It was a very good day.

We are quite a bit older now, but we still have retained our magic, and she has turned out to be so much more than a younger cousin with a propensity for the low blood sugar faints.

She is funny - we laugh together a lot. She makes fun of the 82 year old woman that lives inside of me, and I mock her body dysmorphia. When we aren't picking on each other, we team up to mock whoever we deem appropriate at the time, and look out - we're good at it!

Some of our fave targets are the special needs peeps in our own family (he's not really a Special, but dwelling on that part lowers the fun factor by a ton so go along with us and suspend disbelief for a while).

She is interesting - we chat up a storm about food, books, and the latest entertainment news. I didn't know about half of the Hollywood deaths last year until Ruth caught me up. This lack of up-to-the-minute breaking entertainment news knowledge on my part horrifies her, so I try to keep more current these days by following not one, but three trashy pop culture blogs. It's the least I can do to keep us fresh and poppin.

Ruth is also our resident event coordinator - she is fab when it comes to making sure we all get to enjoy our family instead of talking about getting together and then running in fifty different directions when it comes to planning (it's like she has JLo from Wedding Planner living in her head).

She is a fabulous friend too. I say that because she has like 700 of them. And not Facebook friends, or voices in her head friends either. She has droves of real people that love her companionship, and they can't all be crazy. She's my friend as well.

The world is a prettier, more creative place with Ruth in it. She is a very talented artist. Without her, we would be missing a vibrant color in not just the art, but the people palette too.

So happy birthday to Ruth! Big loves to you on your special day (don't pay attention to your rents)!!

This isn't Ruth and I, but I wish it was. Being the older of us means I would have to be The Poker, but I don't care. It would have been worth it to have that story in our repertoire. You never know, maybe someday the fates will align and we will get an opportunity to do a cover of this classic shot (Photo courtesy of Awkward Family Photos .com)

Author's note: This post is Ruth approved. She offered up the highest compliment upon reading it yesterday. She said she would like it to be used as her obituary. Thanks Ruth. If anyone else would like an obit from me, please direct your requests to the email on the sidebar. Thanks.

The Romans Gave The Irish Their Holiday

I suck at history very much badly. I can't seem to retain the information. I am a semi-curious soul though so I do still attempt to know a little something about what went on before I got here; even though it isn't all that important, since you know, it happened before I got here.

Anywho, on a whim I did a little reading this morning about Saint Patrick, and came across this:

"Saint Patrick, The Apostle of Ireland, was born at what is now Kilpatrick, near Dumbarton, in Scotland, in the year 387; died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, 17 March, 493. At the time of his birth it was known at Briton and ruled by Rome. His parents were Calphurnius and Conchessa. The language of the time was latin and his given name was Patricus. His father belonged to a Roman family of high rank and held the office of decurio in Briton."

Ohhhh snap! He was Roman! What was I just saying last week? I swear, it's pretty much shaking down to us being responsible for about 97% of the good in this world. You are welcome Ireland! Call us if you need anything else.

Happy Saint Patricus Day everyone! Celebrate with Eddie Murphy - a man with genuine appreciation for the awesomeness of our people.

They Keep Working Your Booty Even After You're Done Working Your Booty Call

White shorts really are the wisest wardrobe choice the morning after a booty call.

I just came across this ad in a magazine and I got all excited; I just have to share. This is special people.

Angry Lesbians have been fighting for womens' rights for decades, and we are finally getting somewhere. Finally! How long have we waited for this day?!

This new penis equality era in advertising when we will be seen and addressed as something more than sex objects. We're here people! We. Are. Finally. Here.

Now, back to the ad above. I know the small print is too small to read, but the magic of the message is within, so here it is for you:

EasyTone uses balance pods in the shoes to create natural instability, much like walking on a sandy beach, which encourages toning through increased muscle activation in 3 key areas of the leg.

The best part is that EasyTone works while you walk the dog, walk down the aisle, country line dance, chase after a bus, do the walk of shame...actually, when doesn't EasyTone work?

Did you catch the magic? Feel the hearts and stars? In case you need a hint, the fun is encased in the "do the walk of shame" part.

Wikipedia defines TWOS as, "The walk of shame refers to a phenomenon in which a person must walk past strangers or peers alone for an embarrassing reason before reaching a place of privacy. Most commonly[citation needed], it occurs the morning after a night out at a bar, dance club, or party. People undertaking the walk of shame are understood to have spent the night at the house, apartment, or dorm of a sexual partner (or perceived sexual partner), particularly a one night stand. The topic is often of the subject of college newspaper commentary."

Urban Dictionary simplifies the term a bit: "n. The course walked home after a night of boozing and fucking that ends in a booty call. One usually wears the clothes they went out in."

Isn't that awesome? No more appeals to our desperation. No more preying on our endless need to be forever considered beautiful. No, no, no. We aren't just seen as sex objects anymore. We can be whores too!

Wait a second...we were whores and sex objects before - godammit!!

Sorry Angry Lesbians. I called an early victory and I was mistaken. I think you won this one for us somewhere around 4000 BCE.

So please disregard this post. Much like the ad people at Reebok, it turns out I am full of shit.



Author's Note: Reebok doesn't appear to make an EasyTone shoe for men. Skechers makes a shoe for men similar to the EasyTone, but nowhere in their ads that I could access online did I see any verbiage about how dudes could stick their dicks in a chick, and then trot home the next morning, building their gluts all the way home.

Just Who Do You Think I am?

I ask that (even though I am not really asking) because everyone has a different opinion about us. No surprise there, I know. It's when these viewpoints are become shitty ones, or not linked to the reality of we you are, that they get interesting.

Take for example an opinion one of my aunt's has had for a while now. On the average of about once a quarter, she loves to blurt out, "Oh, you're so bossy!" It has never been said in reaction to anything I have done, but yet I can tell in the way she expresses herself about it that she entirely believes what she is saying. That is her reality.

This particular opinion is deemed shitty by me because I do not want to be considered bossy. As a matter of fact, I am tempted to come to my own Anti-Stalin defense by pointing out that she is the only person who has ever said this, and by telling you a bajillion stories of my being the very opposite of bossy (like the time my hair stylist was burning my scalp with the blow dryer and I winced through it instead of speaking up because I considered anything else to be telling her how to do her job, which would be bossy). However, the point of this post is not for you to outclick convinced I am not bossy.

So what is my point then, right?

Well here's the jam man: once I stopped being defensive about what she thought, that is to say, I dropped the knee jerk reaction to label her opinion as "shitty", it got interesting.

With defenses down one time, I asked her why she thought I was bossy. And then I waited. She told me I was bossy because all Italian women are. All of them.

So okay, some aunt who sees you on holidays stereo-stamped you bossy in context perhaps with her Italian experiences. Not a far fetched thing, right? I mean, how well could she know you over a bustling table of food and conversation twice a year?

Well actually, I sort of anticipated she would know me a little bit better. You see, she raised me for several years when I was a teenager. I see her nowadays on a weekly basis. So it is actually a total curiousity to me that she doesn't know me all that well at all.

It also reminds me that she is not alone.

I had been hanging out with one of my guy friends regularly for at least a year when he made a comment that revealed he thought I was college educated. He just assumed it he said. Really? We have been hanging out all this time, talking about everything under the sun and you just filled in the blanks like that? I didn't take offense, I found it fascinating in a way that he had just sketched in whatever went along with his evolving image of who I am for him.

There's a lot of other examples I could provide you, but who cares?

The truth is what you make it. Your truth is what you believe. That's the interesting, hilarious, shitty, fascinating, terrifying reality folks.

And you probably knew that, but I am still learning.

A Plague Upon Our Lasagna

Sometimes I like to switch away from all the down-hearted shit I watch on television, and take in something uplifting. Have a good laugh, bring a little light in.

It was one of these times when I stumbled on to a documentary about the plague. Perfect. The Black Death was getting pretty black at this point in the show, and daily death tolls were being discussed. Most areas of Europe were losing several hundred people a day at the height of the epidemic in their villages. One historian popped on the screen to talk about the mass graves in Italy that were born out of the necessity to bury all of these people.

It was said that the Italians were constructing their mass graves much like a lasagna. No shit - that's what he said. My interest was piqued. So apparently they would put in a layer of people, and then a layer of dirt. Follow that with some ricotta, then another layer of people, another layer of dirt, and so on.

This got me thinking about a couple of things.

First off, nicely done Italians. The modern day lasagna design really is an ideal medieval mass grave layout. Just add that to all of the other things we have given the world. Among the vast list is the Renaissance, Fabio, liposuction, Bagpipes, and the barometer.

This new knowledge also begs a pretty big big question: Which came first, the lasagna or the mass grave?

Did some poor Greaseball serf survive the plague, have flashbacks about the mass graves, and then translate that experience into a tasty pasta cheese and tomato dish? Or was the lasagna already in existence and someone was pulled from the kitchen to help bury the dead and in the heat of the moment, thought ahead and implemented the old May You Rest In Peace Mass Grave Lasagna design?

Who knows, and I am not going to research it. My people have already done enough for you.

You can thank me later. Right now, I've got to get a lasagna in the dir...er - I mean oven.

I Got Nothin

Sorry folks -- lately I just seem to keep smacking into the Nothing To Talk About wall. I don't even have anything to share about having nothing to share. Weird huh.

Not So Great

"Being a piece of shit and then occasionally doing something that's good and true, it's a much easier place to be." Amen Kenny, amen.

All faces resemble each other, yet how easily we see in each uniqueness, individuality, an identity. How deeply we value these differences. The ocean is a whole, but it has countless waves, every one different from all the others; it has currents, each unique, ever-changing; the bottom is a landscape all its own, different everywhere; similarly the shoreline. The atmosphere is whole, but its currents have unique signatures, even though they are just wind. Life on earth is a whole, yet it expresses itself in unique time-bound bodies, microscopic or visible plant or animal, extinct or living. So there can be no one place to be. There can be no one way to be, no one way to practice, no one way to learn, no one way to love, no one way to grow or to heal, no one way to live, no one way to feel, no one thing to know or to be known. The particulars count.

~ Wherever You Go There You Are (p. 230)

That up there is some deep shit my friends. It's a passage in my current read and it totally resonated with me. It's like the universe is giving me permission to be whatever kind of nutball freak job I need to be - sweet!

PCP

It's not nearly as bad for you as they say, my version anyway.

Parsnip Carrot and Potato Soup

Soup
2 large carrots
2 large parsnips
1 large potato
1 smallish onion
3-4 cups of low sodium chicken stock
salt/pepper

Garnish
sliced bread
dill
sour cream
shredded cheddar cheese
nonfat plain yogurt



While you are preheating your oven to 425 degrees, peel the vegetables. I think peeling the potato is definitely optional. Personally, I liked the texture of the skin on in the soup, but your meal won't suffer if your tater goes skinless.

Slice all your veges roughly the same size so they will cook evenly but don't make a big deal out of it because they are headed for the blender after roasting.

Then you want to show them the love with a generous oiling and some salt and pepper. Salting preferences tend to be very personal - like thongs and religion - you just know what works for you. I will only offer that you definitely want flavorful PCPs (and onion) when you are done roasting because they are the star of your soup show, so taste them when you pull them out of the oven if you are unsure about the salting.

Once you are done seasoning, spread everything out on a sheet pan in a single layer and roast until fork tender. I roasted mine for about 20 minutes. If you have cut your veges into smaller pieces, you will probably need to shorten that time.

Give everything a few minutes to cool off and then slice into smaller pieces for easy blending. If you have an immersion blender you can throw everything into a pot with the chicken stock and puree. If not, simply do that step in a regular blender and then pour into a soup pot to heat.

Once your PCP is nice and warm, you are ready to roll with garnishes baby! It's like liquid taco bar........except not really...but sorta.

Toasted bread can be cubed into perfect croutons to add some crunch. I like a sprinkle of dill and dollop of sour cream action with my PCP. Shredded cheddar is also yum because it adds a sharp to the sweet. Non fat yogurt is also really good for tang and creaminess. I stirred in a half of an individual serving of plain yogurt when I was heating my soup.

Want to go spicy? Try some curry! Allergic to vegetarian meals? Throw some bacon on that roasting pan before it goes in the oven and then crumble a slice or two on top.

This is your PCP people -- the sky's the limit -- be creative! And enjoy!

Curiosity

may have killed the cat; more likely

the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.

Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.

Only the curious have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

~ By Alastair Reid

If the last fifty four seconds don't crack you up, then I fear for your funny bone.

Saint Francis Soup Kitchen

I just got back from Saint Francis Soup Kitchen and I am all spunkified from my visit! I wish I could have taken you with me, or at least remembered my camera.

Today was delivery day for the first monthly installment of Guerrilla Goodies (check here if I am confusing you).

SFSK has been serving the hungry for over 25 years. Each day a hearty meal of soup, salad, bread, coffee and milk are served to over 180 people at noon. The Kitchen is one place where those in need will find a kind welcome, food, and an opportunity to rest in safety.

This month we had four different kinds of sweet treats to share and the Director of the kitchen, Richard Crowe, seemed very happy to accept our goodies. In fact he asked me to thank the ladies for him, and everyone at the kitchen.

"Thanks for all the lovely desserts ladies!" ~Richard (Scroll down and see if you think Mr. Crowe had a hand in choosing the paint color for the dining hall)

Richard offered me a little tour and we walked through the small crowded kitchen. It looked like a combination of regular staff and volunteers were working away. The kitchen emptied into the dining hall - what a lovely space [insert no camera on hand remorse here]!

Beautiful high ceilings with walls painted a rich, warm yellow. Every table had a little vase with a flower in it, and the room was filled with light from the wall of windows.

The only picture of the dining hall that I could find online. It really doesn't do it justice. I will have to remember my camera next time.

I think our tasty treats might add a little more light to that room. This month we had two different kinds of cookies - chocolate chip and sweet potato spice cookies. We also had a yummalicious lemon cake and a big batch of brownies.

A quick picture of our sweet treats before I hopped in the car to deliver them. This is just a sampling actually as we had a couple of containers of each. It made for a very nice overflowing bag to share - thanks ladies!

On my way out of the kitchen, I got a treat too. A man with Jesus-esque hair and a little bit of a lazy eye gave me a rapid fire, Rainman cadence blessing. From what I could gather about the risings, the savings and the graces, I think it was a bible passage.

It was actually very sweet and I appreciated him taking the time to try and save me. I might play the lotto this week before the magical powers wear off.

Before you know it, we will be all set to do it again. I am already looking forward to it!

For it is in giving that we receive.
~ St. Francis of Assisi

I think Francis may have been on to something...

Anger Management

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd
forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.
A man answered, saying "Hello."

I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn
Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right blankety blank number!" and the phone was slammed down on me.

I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked
down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the wrong number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're a jackass!" and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word 'jackass' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell,
"You're a jackass!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic jackass calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're a jackass!" and hung up.

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first jackass (I had his number on speed dial), I thought that I'd better call the BMW jackass, too. I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"
He said, "Yes, it is.." I asked, "Can you tell me where I can see it?"
He said, "Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax .
It's a yellow rambler, and the car's parked right out in front."
I asked, "What's your name?" He said, "My name is Don Hansen."
I asked, "When's a good time to catch you, Don?"
He said, "I'm home every evening after five."

I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
He said, "Yes?"
I said, "Don, you're a jackass!"

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two jackasses to call.

Then I came up with an idea.
I called Jackass #1.
He said, "Hello."
I said, "You're a jackass!"
(But I didn't hang up.)

He asked, "Are you still there?"
I said, "Yeah."
He screamed, "Stop calling me!"
I said, "Make me."
He asked, "Who are you?"

I said, "My name is Don Hansen."
He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?"
I said, "Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax , a yellow rambler, I have a black Beamer parked in front."

He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don.
And you had better start saying your prayers."
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, jackass," and hung up.

Then I called Jackass No. 2.
He said, "Hello?"
I said, "Hello, jackass ."
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
I said, "You'll what?"
He exclaimed, "I'll kick your tail,"
I answered, "Well, jackass, here's your chance.

I'm coming over right now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax , and that my gay lover was on his way over to kill me. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd in Fairfax .

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax I got there just in time to watch two jackasses beating the devil out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.

NOW I feel much better.

Anger Management really works!


Author behind depiction of this totally well adjusted way to deal with people and telephones is unknown.

Six Word Memoirs - Daniella Style

Do you remember back in this post when I promised to do some of my own SWMs? Well I came up with a few for your consideration.

My she dog has many balls.

No hate, but not exceeding eight.

Doughnut, you had me at 'sprinkle'.

I never saw that salsiccia coming.

Think. Over think. Speak. Awkward. Repeat.

My life supposed to be punchline?

Fat chicken still has skinny face.

Shoebox by the sea, lucky me!

Drinking problem. I missed another round?

Orange scented olives. God loves me.

Want to see world without travel.

Rats way bigger than cats - drats!

You're a big ass. Thank you.

Your ass is big. Thank you.

You Can Keep The Puppy Dog Tails

I like snails. Water snails. Seriously. I have them in a couple of rooms in my house. I don't know exactly what it is about them but I have had many over the years and would have even more if I felt like cleaning all the bowls.

My very first snail was Babbalucci. A gold Mystery snail I got the year I was married (don't say it with diamonds, say it with water snails). He lived for many years and grew from the gumball I got at the aquarium store to the golfball he was in his golden mystery years.

Santo moved into my bedroom about six months ago. A rich yellow like Babbalucci, he is in his gumball era right now too. He's a good eater, respects the house rules of not sliming out of his bowl and breaking his snail ass on the dresser below. He also has a great sense of humor - he loves to wing out his peen when my room gets dark so when you flip on the light, everyone gets to do that awkward laugh for having walked in on him during private time. He always gets a "Whoa tiger! Let's roll that bad boy up and put it away!" out of me every time. I know, I know, he's a total crack up.

Pepino was a little chocolate brown nugget that lived out in the living room, but he died last week. I am not sure what happened to him, (actually I am pretty sure he killed himself after the Jersey Shore marathon, it's just that suicide is a hard thing to come to grips with)but he wasn't with us for long.

The two in the photo are shacked up in his old bowl. I just got them. Unlike other snails, Mystery snails aren't trannies, so you have to have a boy and a girl -- and they have to be in love to hump out some baby snail eggs. Keep your fingers crossed, this is potentially the first honeymoon snail suite we've had.

Now I am learning there are jade colored mystery snails, so I may just have to get another bowl going...

Toss It In And Get It Over With Already!

I think I am going to throw it in. Give up. I know we aren't supposed to do that, but I am just so damned tired.

Tired of being completely mortified every time I ask for money. Sick to death of looking at inventory in my garage that I have no money to ship. Cringing every time I take money out of my savings to pay down corporate debt.

I still marvel at the corporation part. That's right party people: I started a corporation. I still remember my delighted shock when the IRS loved me enough to approve my 54 page exemption application. I know, who would have thought?! OAP will be three years old next month.

The upcoming deadline to renew the website (and corresponding expense that goes with it) has compelled me to really stop and look at the state of my corporation. It's a sorry state, truth be told. I so believed in what OAP was set up to do that I always had this fantasy that the funding would follow based on their sheer rightness of what we were doing.

It was perfect in my mind. Almost everything went directly towards our mission. We didn't pay salaries, office or storage rent, nothing. We bought our supplies, paid our shipping, carried our insurance and did our basics for exposure like modest printing costs and the price of the website.

I thought I was upholding an ideal that I always wished more charities could run on. Now I am so tired I don't even give a damn.

I didn't ask for enough help or enough money and I ended up running both myself and OAP's potential, right into the ground.

I keep thinking I am wrong for being done. You aren't supposed to ever give up, right? I am letting people down because I don't fund raise better. I should try harder. I should wait it out and somehow everything will get itself back on track.

Oh but live and learn Daniella! Failure is such a great teacher! Next time you are going to know so much more! Yeah, whatthefuckever.

I should have learned more this time.

All Other Tropical Storms Must Bow Before The Nino

I just read an article about how this week's group of storms in California is moving through in a "classic El Nino pattern". So for those of you who don't know what that means......El Nino...is Spanish for...The Nino.

Taking A Sit

Ask Anne - that's a real meditation term. When you settle yourself in and meditate, you are taking a sit.

Or maybe you just got done taking a real satisfying sit. It's been one of those days, and you really feel like you have to take a sit. Your pants fit better after that last si....alright, maybe I am taking it a bit too far, but you get my drift.

I have wanted to try a regular meditation practice for a long time now, but apparently the road to anti-zen is paved with good intentions, because I never got around to it. Then a couple of weeks ago Anne and I were discussing a group she meditates with once a week. She enjoys it and on the days in between their meetings they are broken into texting groups where you text someone to tell them you did your daily meditation. If you miss more than one day in a week, you get booted out of the group. Tossed from the herd. Ostracized to a prison colony.

My heart sang at the potential for social humiliation, so I got Anne to initiate me into her group.

I try to concentrate on my breath. I try to become aware of my whole body. I do my best to allow my thoughts to pass through without judgment. All the good shit.



So here are a few of the things that went through my head while I was supposed to be using my third eye to Zen it up:

"I'm not doing this right."

"Another day and I am still not doing this right."

"That donut upside down cake on Serious Eats looks absolutely fabuloso."

"I'm not doing this right."

"My hands are cold."

"I hope I moved enough of the dirt they didn't repack enough in the yard to keep it from flooding with all these storms that are coming."

"When is the alarm going to go off - it's been three hours already."

"What's up pain in my knee - ow!"

"I want to move my desk"

"I was with so-and-so when I bought that desk -- ewww!"

"I want wall to wall built-in bookcases."

"There's no way I am doing this right."

"I wish I had a long hallway where my two big bookcases could go at the end."

"What should I have for dinner?"

"Why do I still feel like my stomach is trying to digest rocks?"

"Alarm is broken. I swear I am going to open my eyes."


Doesn't look like I got anything close to mediation done, right?

"The monkey mind jumps from thought to thought like a monkey jumps from tree to tree. Rather than existing in the present moment, the monkey mind focuses on one thought after another, and these thoughts distract us from existing in the present, which is one of the goals of yoga."

I will be at it again tomorrow.

Hummers

All the 18-34 year old males just outclicked when they saw that picture. Sorry boys - no videos here, just a little bird talk.

I am not a huge fan of the nickname, but they used it repeatedly during the program about Hummingbird's last night. It was an installment of the PBS series Nature, and it was so interesting!

Fun Facts

• There are over 350 different species of Hummingbirds.
• Hummers are the smallest* warm blooded animal on the planet, and can only be found in the Americas.
• They lay eggs that are about the size of Tic Tacs. Well actually, that's what Tic Tacs are - you've been macking on Hummingbird embryos all this time. Nice going.
• There are actual Hummingbird banders out there who have documented some birds to be as old as 12!
• Hummers are the original hover craft. They're ability to move their wings in a figure 8 pattern and hover has given them mad flying skills, including flying backwards and upside down. Take that Aflac duck - you fucking show off!
• They're cute as hell.
• Hummers know sweet is an anytime treat. They believe this whole Diabetes thing is a government created/funded way to torture all of us, and I believe them. Think about government cheese people.

You absolutely must check out the magic in your air and see this program!



* I like the irony that Hummers are the smallest warm blooded creatures, and most of the people who drive Hummers are the biggest douchebags.

You're Probably Going To Hate Me For This...

...but what the fuck are we doing giving $100 million in aid to Haiti?!

I'm sorry but it's ridiculous. You are probably already convinced I am Pat Robertson's evil twin, but maybe you could just let me have a chance to tell you why I think we are being lame: Our country is in a fucking shambles and we are jumping up to bleed out a little more! That's why. Thanks for letting me get that out.

Let's refresh on the current state of our grand old union, shall we? And I will throw the net wide and keep things as general and positive as possible. The current lowhighlights include:

Unemployment rates the highest they have been in decades

Complete healthcare crisis/meltdown

Complete banking crisis/meltdown

National Debt at an all time high

Many small businesses and homeowners struggling to stay afloat

For all intents and purposes, our debt to China means they pretty much own us

Eighth year of US military action in the Middle East

Do you wonder where we just happened to have $100 mil lying around with everything that is going on? Do you ask yourself why our government hasn't made sure that it's own citizens don't suffer? Doesn't it sound at all silly to you folks?!

It does to me.

America has become that lame-ass twenty something guy that is in the hottest car (balloon lease payments), blinging the most tricked out phone (massive security deposit on it), buying the whole club a round in his Armani suit (charged it yo!), before he goes home to sleep in his twin bed (the one his parents got him when he stopped using diapers) back at mom's and pay all the minimums on his secured credit cards.

Whoo! I know I am waving my asshole flag really high here, but I am going to take a shot at redemption here. I am not advocating in the least bit that we ignore the horrific damage and loss the people of Haiti are suffering. I wholeheartedly believe there is something we can and should be doing to help. Of course it is only right and just to honor their need, and do our part. We just make our part way too much of a starring role; and at a time when we literally can't really afford to do so.

We need to learn our limit before that last round goes out for a toast, and we are face down on the floor, getting that Armani all stanky before we can even get it paid off. Which brings me to another thought - who would pick us up off that floor?

Now I have seen like .08 of an episode of that So You Think You're Smarter Than A 5th Grader so I know we as a nation suck at geography...but do we suck to the point where we think we constitute 90% of the countries on this planet? Europe can't help a Haitian out? Is Dubai too strapped from making snow all summer for their indoor ski resort, to send a little food and water?

And maybe they are pitching in - I don't know. Researching facts gets in the way of my anger and sweeping generalizations, so I avoid it like a hooker dodges churches. I am just using them to soften the blow of my very unpopular opinion anyway.

Now that I have bitched about the problem, believe it or not, my lame opinion includes some solution too.

Let Americans decide how much aid goes to Haiti.

In just two days of mass exposure on television, Facebook, Myspace and Twitter, we have donated over $5 million dollars to Haitian relief through the American Red Cross alone, and that number continues to grow. And that is just via their texting option. I am sure many more have mailed in checks and donated on the web.

Many celebrities have also pledged very generous donations to the cause as well.

There are also several not-for-profit organizations that are set up for exactly this sort of need.

Don't believe me? Here's just a tickle of what is out there:

Doctors Without Borders

Partners in Health

International Rescue Committee

International Medical Corps

CARE

American Refugee Committee

Yele Haiti

Save The Children

When I went to get these links, I noticed that several sites are already posting their thanks for the overwhelming amount of support they are receiving for their efforts, so obviously we are pitching in. Doing our part to help a global neighbor in need. Just as it should be.

Don't hate me for having opinions, hate me because deep down inside I am arrogant enough to believe my opinions are important enough to be blog worthy.


PS ~ I love you....and I donated to an org for Haitian aid.

Tummy Monster Force Field Failure

I am one of those people that lives in fear of puking. So much so that me and my body have been in a successful 15 year no urping pact. Fifteen years. My fear and apprehension at the prospect of it actually seemed to create an anti-tummy monster force field that kept me safe for a really long time.

Even prior to the pact, I didn't urp very often. The first time I recall, I was only about three or four. I was in my grandparent's den one evening, looking super cute in my pink footy jammies. My grandmother had made strawberry milkshakes. One minute I am looking like a cuddly little piglet sucking down the pink yummyness in my glass, the next minute my grandmother is rushing me into the bathroom. I looked like one of those garden statue cherubs that arcs water into the basin below. Luckily, I made it all look damn cute in those jams.

This was taken a year or two before my water feature performance in the bathroom. By then, I am assuming I was wearing my brother's hand me down pink footy pajamas. What?

Even though I remember every time I was forced to reacquaint myself with something I had previously swallowed, I won't recount. Suffice to say everything changed on Tuesday night. Just before midnight my body went towards the light, the light at the bottom of my stomach.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think my body meant to fail me and wipe out our decade and a half run. The stomach flu is sort of a non-negotiable - it's happening.

I tried to pretend it wasn't happening though. I started out with my nightly routine and put myself to bed. That wasn't working, so I got up and cleaned my kitchen. Symptoms quickly progressed and left me hanging out in the bathroom, so I shaved my legs. You know, all the things you do to avoid being labeled "hairy" and "dirty" by the paramedics who rescue you half-dead off your bathroom floor.

And then it happened. While not at all pleasant, it wasn't nearly as awful as I thought it was going to be. I was also surprised at how much better I felt afterwards. Thankfully, the wave of green moved through quickly. And while I don't at all aspire to Pukey Pukerton status, I do have to own that all the times I dreaded it over the last fifteen years were probably more uncomfortable than what actually happened in my bathroom, after I shaved my legs on Tuesday night.

I also didn't end up having to call 9-1-1, and I could see my clean kitchen from the bed yesterday while I sucked down ice chips.

Now once the fever and achy chills pass me by, I will be back to my old....well...something.

Chiquita Bonita Cheezits

The Mexicans don't have a cracker, and I don't mean Larry the Cable Guy's comedy tour hasn't come to Tijuana yet. They know their way around a tortilla like nobody's business, but in their rich and flavorful Con Queso culture, how can you completely void out the cracker? Answer: You can't. It's disturbing and unacceptable.

I have decided to help. Really roll up my poncho flaps, tip back my somebrero, and remedy this problem la raza has.

I give you the Chiquita Bonita Cheezit. Named for the lovely lady who received the maiden batch, they are the offically unofficial cracker of la raza. You can muchas gracias me later amigos.


The original inspiration was a food basket I was putting together to give as a secret Santa gift. The finale present had to be homemade, and I knew my SS giftee's fave cocktail is a margarita. I decided to deconstruct some of the flavors of a margarita for the basket. On my quest for yummies in that theme, I decided on a cheese straw recipe that I thought would lend itself pretty well to some traditional Mexican spices, like cumin and chili.

The recipe is pretty simple and only took me a few minutes to put together. Once I had the dough made (and chilled briefly), I simply rolled it out nice and thin and then rectangled it off with a pizza cutter. Making smaller rectangles after that, then three pokes to each with a small fork, and a nudge onto the baking sheet is all that was left to do.

(I don't think I have to remind you that I take awful photos...)

Too hip to be square

They brown up (not a Mexican joke, haters) nice and flaky and in just enough time for you to get a pitcher of Margaritas together. Fiesta time (or siesta time, depending on how many of those Ritas you are going to be downing)!

The mustard and cheddar team up for a really nice little sharpness to the flavor, while the chipotle adds just enough heat to remind you that you've gone south of the border baby!

Try them. You will never go back to boring old Cheezits again.

Just add queso - bonita!

Chiquita Bonita Cheezits TM
adapted from the Lottie + Doof blog's Cheese Straw recipe

* 1 2/3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
* 1 tablespoon of yellow mustard
* 1 teaspoon kosher salt
* 1/4 teaspoon chipotle chili powder (or more, to taste)
* 1/4 teaspoon cumin
* 1/2 pound extra-sharp Cheddar cheese, coarsely grated (2 1/2 cups)
* 1 stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
* 2 tablespoons water


Sift the flour, cumin, salt and chipotle chili powder into a medium bowl. Using an electric mixer, beat the cheese, mustard, and butter on low speed until well blended. Gradually beat in the flour until completely incorporated. Add the water and beat for 1 minute.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 5 times. On a large sheet of wax paper, roll the dough into a 12-by-9-inch rectangle. Slide the dough onto a cookie sheet and refrigerate until chilled, about 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400°. Cut the dough in half crosswise, then cut it into 1 1/2 -by- 1/2 -inch strips (this doesn't have to be perfect). Take a small fork and poke tops of each 2 or 3 times.

Transfer the strips to 2 cookie sheets. Bake 1 sheet at a time for about 10-12 minutes, or until the CBC's are golden brown (especially on the bottom) and crisp. Let cool slightly, then transfer to a rack to cool completely.