Internal Gordon Ramsay - Round 1

There is a lot of pressure when you cook for other people. I have this paralyzing fear of being judged entirely on my cooking skills, which are virtually non-existent. I wonder if it’s a remnant psychological glitch somewhere in my psyche that harbors the idea that all women should get married, whip up a gourmet meal at a moments notice, keep a neat and tidy household, raise a flock (herd? murder?) of babies, and grow up to be nurses or teachers, but only as an option to spinsterhood.

Hmmmm… nah. F*** that. More likely it’s the fear that people might find a hair in their food.

GAK!

Because the mere thought grosses me out so much I made that cat-horking noise (Gak!) out loud as I’m typing this, I’ve started to wear a shower cap when I cook. There was momentary consideration of the standard food service hair net. But it’s only a net. There’s still a chance that a hair might slip out of one of the little holes. I realize I look totally insane standing over the stove in hot pink and purple flowered shower cap, but better safe than hairy.

For the past week, I have been stressing about today’s potluck at work. I signed up to do a dessert then immediately started freaking out.

My Internal Gordon Ramsay: WHAT?!! Dessert?! Are you mad? You’ve only made two desserts in your entire life and I shouldn’t allow the mud-pie when you made when you were three to count.

Me: I know I can do it. There has to be a three-ingredient, five-star dessert recipe for a beginner out on the internet somewhere. [Frantically Googling.] The internet has everything! Right??

My Internal Gordon Ramsay: Dear god, this is the worst predicament I’ve ever encountered! Why didn’t you stay in your specialty area and volunteer to bring drinks and paper plates like you usually do? You can’t afford to start experimenting now! Especially with this group!

Me: I’m tired of being mocked as the soda and silverware person. I want to do contribute an actual dish.

My Internal Gordon Ramsay: This will end in tears, mark my words! Probably tears followed by puking!

Me: [Punching myself in the head] Shut the f*** up, Gordon! Get out of my kitchen!! And my head!

I made custard pie, then as a Plan B I made a fresh fruit salad and bought a can of Redi-Whip. We’ll see how it goes. Now my fear is that my dishes will be the only ones no one eats.

Next time I’m calling in sick on potluck day.

I Am Lush Armstrong

I would ride my bike a lot more often if it had one of these on it. GENIUS.

If you would like to have one too, check it at this etsy shop.

Hop AWAY As Fast As You Can

James Marsden must really have needed the work.

On Easter Sunday Conlan and I went to see a matinee movie. Going to the theater has become one of our few bonding opportunities without his little sister underfoot constantly demanding everyone's attention. Conlan (age 6) got to pick the movie.

He selected HOP.
.
I am an adult who will readily admit to a love of animated art form. Often times I prefer to see an animated film over the other live-action selections at the theater. Not this time. I had a sinking feeling going in that I wasn't going to find the experience enjoyable based on the fact that I hadn't found the trailers even moderately interesting. Everyone knows they show the best bits of the film in the trailers.

But it was Conlan's pick and I didn't try to dissuade him.

Uck. About halfway through I was hoping Conlan would say "I'm bored. Can we go now?" I would have happily sacrifice the $15+ admission. Unfortunately, he didn't despite my prompting "Are you bored yet? How 'bout now? How 'bout now?" every 90 seconds.

And they say today's children have a short attention span. What. Ever. That kid has a scary, laser-like focus.

Three-quarters of the way through I was ready to stab a spork in my own eye just to end the suffering.

Finally, mercifully, the credits rolled and we headed home in a colossal thunderstorm that had water pouring across the back-country roads in rivers. As we advanced on one of the a larger bodies of water flowing across the road, Conlan quizzed me on how to  traverse it in order to achieve the "cool" end result of water shooting over the hood of the vehicle onto the windshield in blinding sheets. Setting the windshield wipers on Ludicrous Speed, we yelled like invading Viking barbarians as we approached each puddle.

Disclaimer: I don't want you to think that I was behaving irresponsibly with a child in the car. I wasn't. I'm not a complete idiot. We live in the country. I have a Jeep with water-shed tires and an outside oxygen intake valve. We were belted in. We were driving under 10 miles an hour. We didn't drive into water that I wasn't completely aware of the depth of before starting across. We weren't fording unknown, hippo-infested rivers in Africa. We had to get home and puddle jumping was going to be a necessary part of the journey no matter which route I took. We just added the yelling and the windshield wipers to make it more exciting.

Later when I asked him what his favorite part of the movie was, after several seconds of intense deliberation he replied, "The ride home. Oh, and the Twizzlers."

Man, I love that kid.

If I Were a Gay Man

... I would find David Sedaris the sexiest man alive.

He's rather geeky, but I find that attractive anyway. It has been a development in the last few years that I have been inexplicably drawn to men that are pencil-necked, pocket protector wearing WoW nerds I could bench press. Add to that a sense of humor and the ability to make me laugh and I become putty. Silly Putty, to be exact.

On Monday, when a friend and I went to hear him read, he was wearing a bowtie. "I have a policy against the wearing of bow ties," he said by way of a disclaimer, "but I bought this shirt in Japan and it has really big buttons which you can't see if I wear a regular tie."

And with that statement my nerdy attraction gauge registered off the charts.

I own all of his books except for the most recent, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk. His writing I knew to be brilliant and funny, but hearing him read it out loud added a whole different dimension. During the reading there were moments I laughed until I could only wheeze in semi-silence. My face and my sorry excuse for abdominal muscles hurt after, but it was a good sort of pain.

A Modest Beastiary

After the lecture when I finally had my moment with him at the book signing table, I couldn't take my eyes off his shirt buttons. They were like clown buttons, pearly fasteners the size of silver dollar coins. You could have seen them from space.

I concluded at that moment we were soulmates. Unfortunately for me, he's gay. Which would mean I'd need a sex change to even have a shot. Even then it would be highly unlikely to happen as he has been with the same partner forever.

It was the only time I have ever wished to have been born a gay man.

Gaiam Challenge - Earth Day 2011 | Gaiam Life

My Gaiam Challenge - Earth Day 2011 Gaiam Life

"This year I pledge to grow some of my own food in a raised garden bed, compost all my appropriate food waste, and continue to volunteer on my company's Green Team committee to try and find ways to positively impact our community at a corporate level."

Captaaaain Underpaaaaaants!!

This afternoon my sister hosted a baby shower for my sister-in-law. My younger bother got married last year and they are expecting their first baby next month. Her name will be Ava Daisy. Or, where I'm concerned, because I can't seem to say it as two separate names, Avadaisy.

I was in charge of cake and balloons and my mom and sister were doing the rest of the food. They volunteered to do it all despite my protestations that I, too, could contribute more than a bakery-ordered specialty cake and decorations.

I never should have told them about the lasagna.

Attendance was good, probably because we told everyone there weren't going to be any games. You could hear the collective sigh of relief, so I must not be the only person who loathes baby shower games. I am a person who loves most games most of the time, from sport games like co-ed softball right down to Clue. But I hate baby shower games. I usually try to lose as fast as I can so I can remove the painfully fake, rictus grin I force myself to display as I try to appear friendly and innocuous and not my usual bloodthirsty, highly-competitive self which is secretly urging me to just KNOCK HER DOWN AND TAKE HER FREAKING DIAPER PINS!!

Strangely enough, despite the fact no alcohol was being served, this party ended like many parties I attend end - with me wearing a pair of underpants on my head.

My sister has two children and they are the best, most brilliant, most beautiful niece and nephew on the planet. However, my niece Kimber, who is under the age of two, simply didn't understand that the wondrous pink packages weren't for her. She was heartbroken that she got scolded every time she reached for one.

GRANDMA AND AUNT HOLLY TO THE RESCUE!! My mom and I had puchased a few presents for her though, just so she wouldn't feel left out. I bought toys and my mother, ever the practical gift-giver, bought clothes. Clothes that included Kimber's first package of big-girl underpants.

Suffice it to say, she was excited and fascinated by the concept. Right away, she pulled a pair on over her jeans, then handed me a pair to put on.

"Sorry, chicken (that's my nickname for her)," I said, "but I don't think these are going to fit me."

She puckered up like she was going to bawl. I was totally raining on her underpants parade. Oh lord, I couldn't have that. "Buuuuut they might fit on my head!" I said excitedly, and snapped a pair of Disney princess underpants on my head, which she found HILARIOUS. Then she popped a pair on her head, too. We sat in the living room floor, ponytails poking out the leg holes, laughing hysterically.

"Oh, man," my sister said as she walked in from the kitchen to see what we were doing. "You have no idea what you've started."

And the legend continues...

Random Drive-By Tarot Reading

Several weeks ago, I was in the consider the name of this government agency redacted, CIA-style, getting my type of government document. Of course, where the U.S. government is concerned, you get nothing for free. Unfortunately charging citizens for drawing breath does not appear to create enough cash flow to keep our overpaid, underworked, soulless politicians from threatening a potential governmental shutdown because they are unable to agree on a budget.

Democracy is NOT synonymous with capitalism, and vice versa.

But I digress.

Beaten down by the system into a quivering jelly, I quickly whip out my card holder on command to pay my fee. The lady behind the desk, who up until this time has been a world class beeatch specializing in waging a subversive form of psychological warfare against all comers, makes a comment about the artwork on the cover of my card holder.

"Is that a..." she says, fumbling for the word.

"Tarot card," I say. "The Magician."

"Cool!" she says, her eyes lighting up. "My mom used to have a deck." I see an opening to perhaps enhance my experience, which up until this point has been like a barefoot stroll through the Nine Levels of Hell.

"I read them. Not much lately, but I used to read for people all the time. I have a deck with me most of the time." I take the cards out of my commodious handbag to show her.

She glances around, then leans across her large desk and asks in a whisper, "Can you give me a quick reading?"

I glance over my shoulder. There is a room packed with people all anticipating their turn at the desk. They sit in the hard plastic chairs facing away from us, their eyes focused hopelessly on an electronic board mounted to the wall displaying three red numbers that rarely change. Each desperately clutches a paper slip, waiting for their magic number to appear, a magic number that will mean an end to their personal hell.

I feel pity for these lost souls, but I see my chance and I take it. It's every woman for herself on this sinking ship and the lady behind the desk is dangling my lifevest in her hand.

"Sure," I say, vowing silently to the crowd of lost souls that I will be quick.

I shuffle the cards quietly, a couple of swift bridges with the worn cards that barely creates a whisper of sound. None of the people in the waiting room stir, or look toward us. Her co-workers are nowhere to be seen either, but that's standard in any government establishment; a waiting room full of people and four or five employee desks, only one of which is occupied by anyone doing any work.

Quickly, I lay out the top three cards: The Page of Cups, the Page of Swords, and the Six of Coins.

"A message," I tell her. "The Pages are often messengers. There's money involved. Are you expecting any money? Inheritance? Tax refund maybe? Pending lawsuit?"

She gives me an odd look, like she's having second thoughts about asking for a reading. Like I'm running a scam. Like she wasn't the one who asked for a reading in the first place. "No. Not expecting any. Why?"

I shrug and grin. Not a good idea to have this lady thinking I'm some sort of two-bit shyster. "Well, there's an unexpected windfall coming your way. If you don't get the actual money soon, you'll get a message about the money. Maybe a couple of messages, since there are two Pages represented. There's an emotional connection, the Cups, and a connection to the law, the Swords."

"How soon?" she asks.

"The next four to six weeks, by my reckoning." She's staring at the cards intently. I quickly scoop them up and stick them back in my bag. "Good news then."

She blinks a few times and then smiles. "Do you do parties? This would be so fun to do with my friends "

I give her my number and finish my business, never expecting to hear from her again.

On Tuesday, she called and asked about how much I would charge for a reading, or reading at a party for her and a few of her friends. We chatted a bit and just before we hung up she said, "You remember that reading that you gave me? Well, guess what?"

I could hear the suppressed excitement in her voice. She was dying to tell me and had intentionally saved the best for last. "It seems that my husband's ex-wife recently got a job. She called a couple of days ago to tell us she's going to start paying us all the back child support she owes. The first check for $XXXX will be arriving next week."

Didn't surprise me. Though it did seem to surprise her some.