Archive for May, 2016
OK, as one of my former posts stated, I was refraining from ordering the cake I wanted… ice cream cake shaped like a turkey, if you must know. Why a turkey? It was the weirdest one I found and I wanted to see what ice cream shaped like poultry would be like. Can you even bite into the ass of a bird that tastes like cold chocolate heaven?
The wonders never cease on my planet.
Wow, tangents… I was refraining this year from ordering my chosen cake because my diet buddy who will already be partaking of this with me along with our respective families, decided to step all over my thoughts of ice cream gobblery to make me a cake this year.
Yes, so that is indeed very awesome and very thoughtful but I’m very hesitant when people offer me a dessert, especially one that should make me happy at the fact I’m getting fuck old, since I’m picky as hell.
- Keep your stinking pie, all of them.
- Hell no, to cobbler.
- Better not be a nut anywhere near my shit.
- Cooked fruit will get you banned for life.
- Please keep the frosting to a minimum and not buttercream or anything that starts with copious amounts of powdered sugar.
- It best not be dry.
- If it contains Crisco, I might hurt you.
- Don’t dye my cake. Red velvet just tastes like food coloring and sugar, I have no damn clue why this shit is popular. Though it would be entertaining if made into the shape of an animal, or a baby.
- Keep your gluten free shit to yourself.
- No jellies, nothing semi-transparent and buoyant, especially if it squishes under pressure.
- No cinnamon
- No coconut
- Nothing with candies or candies anything on it.
- Fuck the fondant.
- I don’t need glaze.
- I will be murderous if meringue is present.
Then I got a text last night from the friend making the cake and they ask:
“What flavor ice cream do you want?”
My immediate reply:”Chocolate!”
Friend:”Chocolate it is then.”
If I could have done a flip, I would have. Apparently, my comment about their making a good ice cream cake did not pass idly by their offspring after our comic adventures. I felt a bit guilty actually, but also thrilled that it wouldn’t be a shitty meringue fruit pie with nuts or something.
Here’s hoping the cake part is equally appealing, but this has me a lot less worried. Ice cream is fucking hard to frost and I have past experiencing liking their ice cream cake. So… wheeee!
The room was clamoring with all the familiar sounds of the first day of class, summer as always had been way too short. I would love to tell you that I was the kind of student who went to school eager to soak up every bit of knowledge my brain could squeeze in, but that would be such a load of crap. My father retired in a sleepy little southern town where everyone understood who belonged, and even more clearly who didn’t. I didn’t belong, so I adjusted my broken goggles to see who else didn’t belong.
I had made a lot of friends in the short two years I had been there, but most of my friends were never placed into my classes. I was the odd girl who partied with the other heads, who for some unexplainable reason found school to be quite easy. Unfortunately I was much more interested in the social side of school, but my test scores always seem to land me in the middle of the classrooms full of students who’s parents were raising future doctors, lawyers, and socialites. Even though there were only a few others like me, we always managed to find one another.
There was an unspoken understanding that this is who were academically, but outside of the classroom seemed to be where we really belonged. Then he fluttered into the room. His nose crinkled as he disdainfully surveyed his new surroundings. We made eye contact, and he fluttered his way over to the desk next to me. Looked me straight in the face, and said “Oh God just shoot me now!” Then he leaned over brushing my bangs from my face, and said “We will work on this hair later.”
It was the beginning of one of one of the closest friendships I would ever have, and I was completely unaware of it at that time. According to Sam I wasn’t a “fag hag” since I didn’t exclusively hang out with only gay men. He did however point out that if he wasn’t the only openly gay man in this state I might be. I liked to point out to Sam that it was he who fluttered over to me.
In that classroom it was not just Sam and I who were wearing “broken goggles.” Every student in that room wore a pair.The truth is that in this life everyone wears a pair of goggles. Your particular pair of googles have the unique ability to see others who are like you in some way that’s sometimes obscure to other people. Sam and I, happened to wear a pair of “broken goggles,” the ones with the ability to see those who have been broken. 😉
As she sat in her rocking chair a far away look that has become all to common to me these days, covered her face. Her rocking intensified along with the lines in her face. “I don’t hate anyone, in fact I feel sorry for a soul so filled with hatred.” When she is like this I find us both transported back into another time. She is vessel that transports us. Fueled by her vivid memories of years gone by.
“He had been drinking, something I suspect he did to cover the pain he held for hating himself. In my day black folks lived together in certain areas away from the sight of those without color. He knew this, it made it easier to find us after he swallowed the last drop that fueled his hate. We all knew this man, and we had become accustomed to his pattern.”
Then her rocking slows, and her far away look comes in a littler closer, almost as if this man were present in the room with us. She lowers her voice as though she is attempting to speak without him hearing her words. I’m not sure if she is talking to me, or if in her mind I am now someone from her past. The rocking stops, and she tells me that today would be different from all the other days.
Today her father would not listen again to this man as he violently pounded on their door screaming for us to bring our lazy black asses outside where he could see us. She leans forward in her chair whispering that “This time daddy got his gun. Momma was crying you see, because back in those days if you talked back to a white man in Mississippi, they would hang you with the same ease as a woman who hung her clothes on the line to dry.”
“My father told him to leave our doorstep that he had his gun, and that he would hear no more of his drunken disrespect. This infuriated the old man so he told daddy that he had better think twice. Daddy told this man no sir this time you had better think twice.” She began to slowly rock again, and then she said ” I was filled with fear, and pride. I knew that things were beginning to change, even in Mississippi.”
Ms. Lee is an 82 year-old woman with Alzheimers. Twice a week I take her for breakfast at the “Cracker Barrel.” This is one of her stories that she has shared with me many times. The interesting thing is that each time she shares this story with me it is always with the exact same wording. I am always unnerved by her ability to transport us so vividly into the past. I am even more unnerved by the thought that all of this took place only 75 years ago.
Even when he was small he was large.
He slept with such content that even the angels envied his peace.
My eyes held his every breath with such closeness
that his breaths became mine.
As he grew, so did I.
Ex-hubby is being some sort of a version of a “Father-of-The Bride- Zilla.” Weddings should be so much more stress free than they actually are, but then there’s real life drama to swipe that notion right to the side. I went over to Jane’s house Tuesday evening to try to help straighten out the whole wedding invitation situation. Since we have exactly 27 days to give baby girl the wedding of her dreams, I don’t mind telling you that I’m feeling a little more than stressed myself.
I’ve decided to call Jane’s daughter (our bride to be) “Khaleesi” in my posts. Those of you who watch Game of Thrones will immediately understand the reference. For those who do not follow the show “Khaleesi” is a complete badass female warrior who follows her own path in life without exception. I personally am a huge fan of the mother of the dragons style.
The final headcount for this wedding will be 100, and not one single guest more. This does not include Ex-hubby’s girlfriend! Ex-hubby was absolutely furious. He told “Khaleesi” that she could have his R.S.V.P. now marked will not attend! He also told her that since his feelings were of no consideration to her that he was also closing his wallet. This of course was the point where everyone started going ballistic. Insults were being thrown in every direction. Jane was in Ex-hubby’s face, and I kind of stood there watching in slow motion.
Then “Khalessi” stood up on her chair placed her fingers in her mouth letting out a whistle that would have made the dog cover it’s ears if he hadn’t of been outside, and the entire room stopped. She told everyone to pay close attention because she had no intention of having this conversation again. “I am the bride, and my husband-to- be has given me the go ahead to plan this wedding exactly how I want to, so this is how this is going to go. Mom I appreciate everything your doing for us, but Dad is no longer your problem. Tarzan I will be completely pissed if you do not attend our wedding. “Ya ya’s I cant think of a single important moment in my life that did not include you, and I am grateful that you are letting me hand out orders for getting this wedding going. We could not make this happen without you.”
“Dad I love you, and nothing would mean more to me than to have you give me away, but I do not love your girlfriend. I do not want to see her face in my wedding photos. If you are happy with your new life then I will try to be happy for you. To me she is a constant reminder of one of the most unhappy moments in my life, so I’m not inviting her to be a part of one of the most important moments in my life now. As for your wallet being closed well let that be a reminder to you that this subject is also closed!”
Then in true “Mother of the Dragon” style she stepped off of her chair, and turned towards me. She said “Well I think we’re making progress here, there will be 100 hundred invitations, and we already have one R.S.V.P. let’s talk about decorations.” Of course Ex-hubby wanted to bluster some more, but “Khaleesi” held up her tiny little hand making the stop motion. Her eyes remained on our list in front of us, then without another word he turned, and walked out the door.
“The Mother of the Dragons” did not mention her father again. We worked until we finished the last of the invitations which will be mailed out today. There were exactly 100 guests invited and not a single more. 😉
I refuse to explain the inner workings of my brain from the last post. Once I get going on one string of thought, you either join me or run like hell. I’m sure if I’d had a doc pay attention long enough, I’d probably already been diagnosed with something relating to attention a long time ago.
The low-cal thing is still going, I waver from 450-800 calories depending on the day, my mineral intake being too low, or craving for real food. I was at 470 last night when I realized my vitamin range was low so I had another shake to ramp it up.
I’m hating the shakes, or rather I’m bored.
Not the taste, mostly… I’ve figured out the combination to make them healthy and still not taste like vanilla sandy ass or lawn cuttings. Thankfully its on its last dregs, so I can pick a new one soon.
Right now, I guess I’m going through a flavor boredom. The shakes are the same, the veg is cooked the same. It’s my own fault, I was too lazy to make it any more exciting, but still. Spawn usually takes care of meals during the week and telling my kid to make up some variety of veg that tastes great is like handing a recipe for souffle to a three year old.
You’re not going to like the outcome.
Spawn doesn’t like vegetables. Spawn rages against the very idea. However, this past weekend Spawn was paying pretty good attention to when we blew through the store and I was on an exploration for variety and showed them calories, carbs, how to spot net carbs and when something is reasonable and when it isn’t.
My treasure this trip was … fennel.
I have no fucking idea what to do with it, but it was low in the carbs and just seemed interesting. I’ve used fennel seeds in cooking, but the white and green bull testicle-looking things we took home were just so different.
It makes me want soup. Fennel-testicle soup with a parm sprinkle? Nummers, right? Gimme suggestions, folks!
I can guess why these two things appeal to me so much since you mix a bunch of stuff together and flavor it. It’s like this constant surprise what flavor will punch you in the face each bite, especially with salads.
Spawn promised to research fennel and find a good way to serve it.
I’m not really excited.
Though, by accident Spawn seems to have a great knack with asparagus, which boggles my mind since their prior track record has me more in the “damn, what a waste of food” mindset. I know very well I can be pleasantly surprised, but I’m a cynic by nature.
Ironically, I’m still not “hungry.” I’ve had no lightheadedness. I was a raging bastard for the first few days, but then it eased off and my mood has been pretty good since. Sure I have moments where I really want a burger, but if the meat and cheese were wrapped in the tomato lettuce blanket, I would love it.
As Spawn was noshing on her cookie last night and I was sucking my second shake of the day, I had a momentary urge just to tackle my kid and lick their cookie, just so I could taste ANYTHING else. Kind of sad.
Yes, there are cookies in my house. Chocolate in a couple types even. Nope, haven’t had any. Wanted some? Sure. But right now, I think I’d take a burger first. Or hell just some fucking cheddar. I’ve been sticking close to hard cheeses when I bother to have any.
I suppose what is really a challenge for me, that we have been systematically avoiding whenever possible lately, is being able to enjoy the same thing together. This is where the social eating comes in. Spawn and I roll out of bed on Saturdays and go down to the old refurbished house turned kitschy cafe about a mile from our house and have an epic breakfast.
I always get the scrambled eggs (they make it with dill), bacon, toast (pumpernickel/rye) and grits (meh) and Spawn always gets french toast with strawberries and cream on the side. Spawn ate some of my eggs, half my toast and I got the berries and whatever leftover cream they didn’t want.
It takes an hour or so to get our food as its just one lady behind the counter named Kim who cooks it, and we usually chat and listen to the Geritol Squad at the next table gossip about people in the area, talk about old times, and past adventures. I get to sip on coffee made just how I like it and just enjoy the scenery. They know what we want and adore Spawn. I miss that. It’s our routine.
I wouldn’t even mind the selection having to be changed, but nothing they serve quite fits into what I’m trying to do. They have fantastic salads too, but they have LOTS of things on it. The math alone would make me cry.
Can fucking July get here already?
From my last ranting, I was whining how my calories were too low, carbs too high, whine whine whine.
Well, I’m an idiot.
There’s this thing called net carbs. Since fiber is indigestible, you subtract it from your overall carbs. So right before I freaked out one day over being at 71g carbs, it dawned on me when we shopped for Grand in the past, we always measured by the net carbs.
71 carbs -44 fiber = 27 net carbs
I went back to all the other days, and I’m just fine and well within my goal range of, “below 50.”.
I thought my fiber was a little on the low side, but I’d been basing it on eating closer to a normal range, so with that adjusted I was fine.
Though I have to say, the pipes just don’t move like they used to when you eat very little and mostly green leafies. Since it wasn’t making me uncomfortable and I was doing ok on my water intake, I didn’t think much of it.
My body finally got ready to do a house cleaning after a few days.
It took time.
It took a few tries to feel like I was done doing it.
It made me ask “Is this what The Hulk’s poop would look like?”
Once, I found out you can also turn poop purple when you consume copious amounts of blueberries after a particular prosperous journey to a blueberry patch, but this particular shade of green was new to me.
It made me wonder about radiation exposure.
Then it made me wonder if I would get superpowers.
Then I wondered what the hell kind of superpower would radiation poop be.
Then my mind kind of fast-tracked into various methods of “launching” said “ammunition” at bad guys and it just got ugly from there, including the type of pants that would enable fastest engagement of the orifice.
The business lunch also went ok. I ended up at about 700 calories, but I couldn’t figure out how to deduct a slice of bread without it costing me a lot of time I didn’t give a shit about committing to it, so I had some more dressing and left it at that.
Also, I have to wonder. I looked up dressing as I have to manually adjust this. One serving is TWO TABLESPOONS? Isn’t that like 1/8 of a cup? What size of a salad would justify TWO TABLESPOONS? Wouldn’t it be like a bucket-o-salad?
I think of dressing as a better-tasting-than-parsley accent you put on this pile of awesomeness mixed up on plate, not the main attraction.
One of my guilty pleasures is the buffalo chicken salad at Zaxby’s. They give you two packets the size of a hand of salad dressing. They look at me funny when I hand one back. I don’t think a salad needs to be drowned. It needs to be drizzled over like a lover with chocolate sauce…. or some ice cream, whatever works.
Though I’ve always wondered what would happen if you were trying to have sexy time and instead of the normal chocolate sauce or the “sex-approved” chocolate sauce, you grabbed the kind that hardens when it gets cold. Would that be considered sadistic?
huh, I think I’m hungry now.
I feel this way about most condiments actually. I would use mayo to dip fries in if they weren’t good fries and I was starving, but mostly I wouldn’t use anything. I avoid places that put ketchup or mustard on any sandwich by default. I request one packet of mayo when I get a chicken breast sandwich, but I usually find half a pound of variety packets in my bag when I stop to check.
Waiter who just put down my steak plate:”Would like some steak sauce?”
me:”Why, did they cook it bad?”
I guess I’m not much for condiments, despite the copious amounts of them I end up having to use anytime I have ever gotten any food from the hot bar at Whole Foods. I don’t learn too quick sometimes. I’m not sure if they are trying to appeal to the geriatric set or just don’t possess much in the way of taste buds. Or hey, maybe anything tastes awesome after that much quinoa.
In the west, they had this stuff called fry sauce. Sounds fancy but in reality its just ketchup and mayonnaise mixed together. It got so popular that McDonald’s had their own packets of it with their logo. You cannot find this in the south and mayo was the preference when I went to Bavaria.
What’s your verdict on condiments? Gotta have? Love em? Hate em? Favorite? Why and when? I think the only thing you will always find in my fridge is fish sauce. It’s kind of the Asian answer to worcestershire, but with a different kick. Then again, I’m kind of addicted to Asian food… seriously, I can’t even pinpoint it to one kind. I’m all about all of it, I want to be adopted by G-uno’s mom.