Observations

How's this for a random assemblage of weekend thoughts and observations?

• Apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed Christina Aguilerra's bizarre rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl. (Granted, that's the only thing about the Super Bowl I'll notice. Who's playing again?)  I can't drum up support for the argument that it is really necessary for today's singers to see how long, weird and screwy they can make various staples of American heritage.

• Where the hell did this weekend go?
• Today I thoroughly enjoyed a Dali Diva Sunday. We took a short drive up to St. Pete to enjoy the newly opened Dali Museum and a bite to eat at the Red Mesa Cantina, one of my favorite places to have a tofu, jalapeno and pineapple taco. Okay, it's the only place I can have that. Doesn't it sound repulsive? It's so good you wouldn't believe it. (Really, you wouldn't believe it.)
• I know it's silly--I'm not a spring chicken anymore--but I still find it unsettling to see photos of long lost acquaintances with kids and husbands. Are they really parents? Wives?  Last night I found out something really, really weird about a man I dated in college. I was sad to hear what's happened to him in the 13 years since I've seen him--rather, so sad to hear of the life he's created for himself. As Gandhi said, "It's never too late to be what you might have been." I hope that's true for him.
• I fell off the exercise bandwagon for like 2 days and now I can't drag myself out to do it. How weak is that?
• Back to Dali--yes, I'm bouncing around--what a strange but fascinating cookie. I tried to read his autobiography years ago but got a little nauseated at the arrogance. Let's just say he was a tiny bit self-absorbed. I guess the magnitude of his work in terms of both artistic and psychological brilliance can help me overlook that. Check out Pines Lake Redhead blog for a nice account of our trip. The new museum was so well thought out in its design.  And check out this photo of a museum docent who was modeling her handmade shoe hat, one of four in her collection:

I'm a little concerned about the feng shui of that particular arrangement--an upside down shoe on your head. What kind of energy is that attracting her way?

I'll leave you with that deep thought and wish you a week of good things.

The Story of Anus Christmas Cookies

Husband has quite the little bond going with Neighbor across the street. I'll admit, they are very good neighbors. It's a sweet family: mother, father, little girl, older boy. The father is Husband's bud. They have a beer together after work, spend countless hours doing God only knows what in the "man cave," and do great home improvements together to help one another out. I call him Larry's Biotch.

So Husband has been on a real cookie kick this year, making batches and batches of his mother's Christmas cookie recipe. He delivered them to Neighbor and family a few days ago. And then, after work, it all came out.

Biotch:  "My wife prepared a tray of cookies for me to take to work. They included the cookies you brought us, man."

Husband: "What? You gave my Christmas cookies away? You didn't eat them?"

Biotch: "Well we ate the peanut butter and chocolate chip ones. The other ones weren't...us."

Husband: "So wait, you don't eat Christmas cookies? You don't like them?"

Biotch: "Yeah, I liked the ones my mom made--especially the anus cookies."

Husband: "Wait...Did you just say you like anus cookies?'  [And again... ] You eat anus cookies?!"

Biotch: "Yeah. You know that stuff that tastes like licorice? What's so funny about that?"

Husband: "Oooohhhhh, you're talking about ANISE, not anus. Hmm Hmmm...You like Anus Cookies! You like Anus Cookies!"


Obviously, Husband's Biotch will never live this down. It's all over neighborhood. And all over my office. And all over everywhere. It's too good not to share. The Biotch's mom would probably be beside herself if she knew how her baking is being portrayed.

I Do Eat Eggs

I've been a vegetarian for 17 years, but I do eat eggs, organic and free range. Those chickens were treated well, and the eggs themselves are unfertilized non-beings that will never be on the way to freedom from the shell. At least I thought so.

Sucking Your Fingers? Really?

This morning I took my car in for the dreaded oil change. Something irks me about the fact that you have to do anything but put gas in a car after you've spent all that money. ...Yeah, I know, typical girl.

Anyway, the staff of Honda Cars of Bradenton stocked the waiting room with coffee and doughnuts that actually looked fresh and delish. I didn't dare touch them of course, but noticed that the other three in the room enjoyed them.

How do I know this? Was it because I noticed them standing before the doughnuts, selecting their picks? No. Was it because I could smell the pastries wafting past as they were carried to the chairs behind me? No.

It was because I could hear each person loudly licking and sucking on his fingers as he ate. WTF? Does anyone have manners anymore?  That noise disgusts me. I'm a Southern girl, and I did learn my Southern manners. Sucking on your fingers--especially in public--is pretty gross. True, we weren't at the Ritz, but still... spare me the sound effects.

I know there are much worse things going on in the world. Tell me about it.

Once in a Lifetime

Ah, the first birthday of the most gorgeous little girl in the world.

How fitting--a dainty pink cake.

"Um...I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with this.
It's...staring at me."

"Oh. Oh I see. This tastes kind of...mmmmm....So THIS is Publix buttercreme.
Seems like I just grasp it with my hands and..."

"...smear it all over. And then sit back in a sugar coma."

"So what happens now?"

Here's the final damage. She did a good job, eh?

I love my little niece. Birthday cake: she totally gets it now.

Pad Thai Karaoke

We finally found a good Thai restaurant near our house. It’s a small family-owned business with authentic and reliably good food. The service and atmosphere are friendly...and let’s just say "slightly unusual."


The waitress we inevitably secure during each visit is a young woman who is probably in her mid-twenties but who looks much younger. For whatever reason, she is insulting and daring with Husband in a playful way that could get her in to big trouble if the wrong person walked in who didn’t find it so funny.

She’s pleasant and accommodating but never cracks a smile. She teases him relentlessly about his baldness and his inability to handle “Thai hot,” asserting that trying to eat spicey foods is how Husband lost his hair. She enjoys bantering him by repeatedly egging him on with “you’re such a baby,” etc. Husband is a great sport about it and the whole thing has been entertaining.

Has been are the key words here. Last night we decided that it’s getting sort of old, and though we appreciate her “different” style, we both commented that we weren’t really in the mood for it.

On Saturday night, “entertainment” is provided. This usually consists of a member of the family in full dress dancing around, or in last night’s case, singing on a tiny stage using a karaoke machine.

Hmmm.

Upon walking in the door, we were immediately greeted by the singing woman, who was draped in a tight fitting, black two-piece ensemble with sequined fringes dangling about her. She stopped singing while still clutching the microphone and escorted us to the table, directly in front of the stage.

At this point, it felt a little awkward. We were the only two people sitting in that section and had a direct view of her performance. True, she had a lovely voice and the Thai songs were a nice touch. Her movements were a little tight and sort of Elaine Benes-like (Seinfeld). Between songs you could hear her platform shoes clunking across the wooden mini-stage as she selected a new ditty, and you could see the blue screen scrolling words. Do we clap? Do we stare at her to provide an audience? Do we look up approvingly every now and then?

Meanwhile, our waitress approached and immediately lit into Husband. She remembered our most recent visit, a mid-July birthday dinner for Husband with the larger family. (Husband is still a few years shy of 40 and looks his age.)

“So how does it feel to be 50?” she said.

Husband was ready. “I don’t know. How does it feel to be 12?” he retorted.

I think she got it. She made haste in taking our order.



Then things got weirder. The lovely entertainer singing traditional Thai songs started selecting tunes by artists one would never expect to hear in such an environment, like old school Carpenters and John Denver.

The apex of our experience occurred when we listened to the Pad Thai Karaoke rendition of “Take Me Home, Country Road.” I’ll leave it to your imagination. You can probably enjoy the “mounteeeen mama” and “West Virgineeeeee” aspects in your mind. (Please anonymous, jump in with your spelling corrections.)

We were relieved when the stage was left vacant. It’s not that we didn’t appreciate her. Again, her voice was lovely. The whole thing was just weird. And sometimes, you just want to eat.

Still, we would recommend the place any day. Love the food, love it when you can enjoy a family-owned and operated establishment, and love it that the unexpected awaits us.

Hangin' On By a Thread

The final days before a vacation can be...torturous. I love my job, I'm pretty happy with things in general, but I'm just dying to get unplugged from responsibility as I know it for a little over a week. I need it and have been needing it.

For as many lovely weekend trips I plan and take, nothing does it like a stretch of time to actually completely remove oneself from the standard routine.  ...And to be in a faraway place.

It's been nearly impossible to get everything done at work. The constant interruptions of meetings and details are hairy and time consuming. Every time I tick something off the to-do list, something appears as an addition on the bottom, thus the line items are not diminishing. Eeek.

Tonight after 11 hours of working I went to Crispers with the fam. We are hesitant to do grocery shopping since we hate rotting fridge food.  A salad with a twist would be good for us, we thought.  There was a new girl working the register, and though she was super nice and apologetic, it took some time to get the order put in.

After waiting for a looooong time, we wondered what exactly was going on. Hardly anyone was in the establishment, and there were 4 people visibly "working" in the back. Hmmmm.... So to make a long story short, after what seemed like a millenium we received our food. It took forever, you see, because they didn't know it was a to-go order. (And that would add on 20 minutes how?)

We stopped on the way home for me to jog into the grocery store for a few essentials. It was now past nine and we were all exhausted.

The perfect day ended when I dumped most of my long awaited salad on the living room carpet. 

Vacation: it's what's for dinner...soon.  We're glad to have super vigilant neighbors, a large dog who doesn't appreciate intruders and folks to randomly stop in the house. Let's hope that thread holds strong for a few more days.

The Cupcake Fight

I recently discovered a little cake shop near my office called Cakes by Ron. Holy cow. They are to die for. But I was good. I brought back a chocolate chip cookie sandwich one for my co-worker and a variety for the fam. Husband loved the peanut butter cupcake and part of the triple chocolate cupcake which was mine, but I must point out, I was generous enough to share.

 

I would love to pop up a photo of that beauty, but we ate it before I thought to take a picture.

 

Husband recently celebrated his birthday, and since he hates cake (yes, but does like cupcakes, which he insists taste different), I got him this lovely creation from Pastry Art:

 

 

 

So back to the point of this post, a few nights ago a Cupcake Fight ensued in our home. There was part of the giant tart from Pastry Art left and one strawberry cupcake from Cakes by Ron. After a healthy dinner (I swear) D-Man asked if we could cut him a piece of the tart. He then said, "Actually no, I'd like that strawberry cupcake."

• Husband: "No. That cupcake is mine."
• D-Man: "But you offered it to me yesterday, and you ate the other cupcake."
• Husband: "That was yesterday. You said you didn't want it. And I want it today."
• D-Man: "But that's not fair."
• Husband: "I'm a pretty generous person. I give things up when I can make someone else happy, but I'm not going to give this one thing up. Is this really worth getting all upset over?"
• D-man: "Yes, it is. That cupcake should be mine."

And so it went. It was hilarious. In the end, Husband had the cupcake and Dakota ate the tart.

Big and Corny vs. Big and Boring

Even in a down economy, our favorite brands are spending big money on promotion. It's a fact of life--they have to do it. Still, many of them rely on big budgets for boring, just to keep things "safe."

I'll give a gold star to the company that came up with this catchy dance number for "Turn the Tub Around," a new ad campaign for I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. It's so corny, but the guy dancers are hilarious. The effort and the humor is enough to make me want to reach for it on the shelf instead of my typical choice.  And it sticks.

It's not the most genius thing I've ever seen, but I'll give 'em an "A" for effort in the corny category--certainly better than boring. What do you think?

Peep Eaters & Special K Lovers Beware

Today I saw a commercial suggesting that a bowl of Special K "Chocolatey Delight" cereal is a profoundly satisfying substitute for chocolate ice cream. First the television actress stared at the scrumptious carton in the freezer long enough to burn the image and the idea of ice cream in my mind for the next few hours. Then she turned, smiling, to a bowl of flakes with what looked like rabbit turds in it. Not very effective, Special K marketing execs.


It really gets me thinking about nasty looking foods and how they’re marketed, especially around Easter. So here’s a good SAT question for you:

"Special K Chocolatey Delight" is to "appealing" as "Easter peeps" are to _______.

Edible. The answer is edible.

Frankly, I cannot think of anything more repulsive than a peep.

I hope you still love me after this. Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. The National Geographic Peeps Contest (yes, it's for real--check it out) has inspired me to list the Easter confectionaries that make me want to blow chunks. Among them I cite:

1. Peeps (I'll put them at #1.)

2. Cadbury eggs (What the hell IS that crap in the middle?)

3. Jelly beans (I know, this could classify me as un-American.)

4. Gummy anything (Yes, you are actually consuming fishing lures.)

Maybe it makes me boring, but honestly, I’m just a chocolate girl when it comes to candy. And I just don’t think the damn Special K cereal can substitute.

Unfortunately, another calorie-induced holiday is upon us. I’ll be hanging out on the other side of Florida at my parents' house and hoping this away-from-home Easter (combined with the fact that D-Man is now 13) will diminish my obligatory $30 pocket emptying exercise on the candy aisle. Don’t take it personally, Easter Bunny.

By the way, if you dare to go to the Peeps website, make sure the volume is turned to a moderate level. Flanders is looking at me like “Damn you! It’s loud. It’s annoying. And I’ll never get this out of my head!”

If you make it out of there alive, you will find Peep Fun Facts, Peep Recipes and Crafts, even a Peep Fan Club. Who knew? The one thing you won’t find is a list of ingredients. And how long the human body is naturally preserved after death if you’ve eaten more than 10 Peeps in your life. Mmmmm. Mighty fine thought.

Are you a Peep eater? I want to know.

I Knew It. The Mexican Food Would Get Me.

For the month of February, I set out to get straightened out with eating out. Yes, the dangerous trio of "outs." You see, me and the fam have gotten entirely too dependent on ordering our dinner. And I never seem to remember to bring my lunch to work with me, so I go pick something up. On weekends, there's nothing better than eating a leisurely breakfast at The Village. It's just gotten out of control.

Granted, I have a few excuses up my sleeve:  I hate to cook, I suck at cooking, I am exhausted when I get home, I love to eat out, blah blah. They're all lame.

On the last day of January, I declared that I would not eat out a single time in the month of February--for breakfast, lunch or dinner. No coffees in the Starbuck's drive-thru, no sporadic "let's go get ice cream!" after dinner runs, no ordering or eating out of any kind. You get it. The reasons?

Other than the fact that my reliance on restaurant food is a nauseating habit--wasteful and far too indulgent--it causes other gross things to happen, like:

1. I eat meals that are far too large, with far too many calories.
2. I spend way too much money on food laden with who knows what as the main and secondary ingredients--money that could be used for charitable purposes. Or clothes. Or saving. Or clothes. I'm going back to that.
3. I feel guilty hearing stepson say "What are we ordering for dinner?" instead of "What's for dinner?"

I know, it's bad.

So I've done pretty damn good...until now. Husband was the first to break. He bought a slice of pizza one day. I've eaten out during a couple of days at a conference (give me a break on that one, I really couldn't help but do it), a lunch date with a friend when I seriously forgot to bring the picnic food from home, a professional development luncheon, and that's about it.

Last weekend the craving for Mexican food crept over me like a gorgeous stranger singing Peter Gabriel. I had to do it. I didn't have to do much convincing to get the boys over to Pablano's for a linner (lunch + dinner), and that seemed to herald the end of the restaurant strike. Yesterday I picked up dinner for my friend who needed a little cheering up, and of course, I brought some home for the fam.

Five minutes ago, I got this call from Husband:

"Okay, I'm finally on the way home. Since we ah, um broke the, you know...Want me to pick up Chinese?"

I'm still blaming it all on the Mexican food.

The Urge to Purge

I’ve tried to make a deal with myself this year: whenever I get something new, I have to part with something else, casting it out into the universe of new ownership a la Goodwill or a friend’s open closet.
I’ve done pretty good with this so far. The year hasn’t started on a conservative note in terms of clothes shopping (I say with a grin of enjoyment and triumph). But I’ve managed to clean some stuff out of drawers and closets that I’m obviously holding onto for no good reason. Off you go, polka dotted blouse I could fit into 10 years ago! Good riddance, nearly new dress that now looks like a teen age prom dress to me! Farewell, skirts that now constrict the waste line!

Om…there’s just one problemo. Most of the articles I am purging are being expunged from the wardrobe because I can no longer fit my size 6 largess into the size 4’s. I’m even purging old photos, and in doing so, recently discovered how much I have allowed myself to gain over the last 6 or 7 years. It’s ridiculous.

No doubt the body has changed--okay my body has changed. I used to be able to eat freaking anything and wouldn’t know the difference on a scale. I never owned a scale. Never never.

I wonder if marriage is part of the culprit too. In a way, it’s nice to know that your mate loves you and approves of you no matter what. (I’m not complaining about that…Husband is truly a kind, complimentary and appreciative partner.) In another, I realize all of the energy I once expended on remaining sharp looking for the potential Prince Charming is now used for something else. Like laundry. I simply don’t have to worry about having such a tight behind. But I really do. ...For my own sense of not feeling so “ten days older than water”-like.

So in exchange for my “new” awareness, I’m going to try and dump some bad habits and get at least somewhat closer to my original size. Purging is not and never will be a smart, healthy or self-caring way to lose excess poundage, so I’ll stick to exercising more and not eating so much shite’. Yes, even a vegetarian can have too much junk food.

I did take one step by vowing not to eat out in the month of February. I’ll let you know how I’m doing on that one soon. It’s been a truly enlightening experience.

What are you gaining & dropping this year?

Why I Married A Meat Eater

Very clever, Pines Lake Redhead. Not only did you name all 4 movies with a little help of your commenting predecessors, but you came up with a challenging title for this post. And I have two answers, a serious one and a not so serious one, both of which are true.

Before I continue, the movies were:

1. The Princess Bride. Of course my fave of all time.
2. The Goonies. A classic--love it that D-Man enjoys it just as much as I did.
3. Stand by Me. This story is at once funny, sad, thoughtful...haven't seen it in years. Must rent.
4. Say Anything.  Maybe not a classic for everyone, but who could resist Lloyd Dobbler?

So here we go: Why I Married A Meat Eater.

Serious:

As a vegetarian of 17 years, I’ve heard it all. Two of the most frequent lines are:

• “Why do you eat plants, they’re alive too?” (That is HILARIOUS! If I only had a freaking dime for every time I hear that.)
• “Hmmmm. Do you wear leather?” (Nope. Sorry you didn’t “get” me on that one.)

Contrary to the conclusion that many people seem to draw on their own from the moment they hear “vegetarian,” I don’t make any judgments on people for choosing to eat meat. I don’t lecture people about why it’s a choice for me. And I don’t even discuss it unless someone asks me “why.” Then I have a quick and simple answer to share, knowing if people want more, they’ll ask.

In short, I’ve learned that much more explanation—especially unsolicited—yields the unintended result of making people believe that vegetarians are “moral high horse” elitists.

Now of course I didn’t set out purposely to marry a meat eater; you can’t help you love. And for a world riddled with craziness, I could do a lot worse with character traits.

When I met Husb over 10 years ago, he was working as a chef and prided himself on the art of preparing a beautiful meal. He went to all lengths possible to break the barriers of edible cuisine without delving into what’s most comfortable: those carvings of beef, chicken, sausage, and whatever other muscles and intestines most of the populace eats.

It was pretty impressive. In truth, our marriage had little to do with food of course, but our relationship was comfortable from the very beginning because he honored this facet of me from the very start, while never making unintended promises to one day stop eating meat himself.  To this day, we either eat a meatless dinner, or have two similar dinners—one with meat and one without.

It works out pretty nicely because he knew from the beginning vegetarianism was a strong conviction and he hasn’t tried to slip in the chicken broth on even one occasion.

Not so serious:

Husb and I share the knowledge that a seventh food group exists: the Cheeto Group. This was a commonality we found right from the beginning. No one can pound a daily bag of Cheetos like the two of us, and for this, I can forgive even the meatiest atrocity. Did you know that in 2008, a Jesus-like Cheeto was discovered, since dubbed Cheesus?  Cheesus, if this common ground doesn't bind two people together, what does?

Do I have to come back?

Cedar Key was maaarvelous. If you're not from these typically tropical parts of the US, you can ID its location by picturing it hanging out in the Gulf of Mexico just south of the western bend in Florida. ...Just far enough to make you feel like you're nowhere close to the reality of life.

Yes, it was colder than a well digger's ass, but the rain shuffled off after 10 am and yielded a blue sky we welcomed like the last piece of Elvis Bites on earth. 

New paintings, pottery and potbellies from margaritas were the take home prizes. Throughout the weekend of eating (and eating and eating), we also chewed on well-endowed discussions and scenic stories, driving around with six of us happily packed in one vehicle. It was fun to be crammed in the back. With good company, anything is fun.

At the top of the edible highlights list were Elvis Bites (fried bananas with peanut butter ice cream) and fried green beans at Tony's.  For all of you strange vehicular obsessives, here's a good find, all decked out for Christmas. Bonus: it's for sale.

I bought a killer painting of thunderclouds that Husband hates (Gropius predicted!!), but we both agree that this special find takes the cake. It's a mosaic shelf for the...ah, not sure which room...but now that it's securely home, I can figure that out later, right?

Check out my Flickr feed on the right for the full scoop of nature photos, group shots and other fun stuff.  The real darling of the weekend was discovering the ladies I thought were talented, kind and funny are actually talented, kind and funny, even when spending every waking moment of 2 days together.  It was a trip. And there were plenty of wedgies for everyone.

Sadly, it's always true--just when you get in the ultimate relaxation mode, there's a day called Monday that threatens to bring you back to life-as-you-know-it.

Is there a reason we continue to buy bananas every week?

The Bradentucky Christening

If you guessed this is a partially eaten chocolate creation, you would be right. If you also guessed that Husband was the one who left the teeth marks in place of her left breast, you would also be right. And finally, if you guessed that this little abomination was made by our neighbor's mother for her granddaughter's Christening, you would get a perfect score of 3/3.

Insults to your intelligence aside, my guess is that you probably earned a 2/3 score on this odd quiz. It's been my limited experience that the usual party favors for infants on auspicious occasions are a little more...traditional. You do know that we live in Bradentucky, Florida, right?

P.S. This writing took approximately 5 minutes. The "sort of" chocolate goddess has now vanished and is being digested. Not sure what it tasted like.

The Best of Healthy Intentions

Husband just admitted he was glad when the blueberries fell out of the fridge and scattered all over the floor. It sucks when you spend hard earned money on a good healthy intention--beautiful, anti-oxidant bearing fruits--and they turn out to be bitter. But so good when the lame refrigerator takes care of things before your consciousness cries waste.

Very interesting now that I think about it. My Annie's Goddess dressing always seems to take a spill too. And Husband calls it the "Stinking Egg Dressing." Wonder if that might not be an accident...

So here's the problem: every time we go to the store, we pull one of these lines: "We need to eat healthier. We're going to buy 10, 018 pounds of romaine lettuce, plenty of dressing to jazz up that roughage and enough fresh vegetables to feed Toronto (as long as they're eaten in the next 3 days before they rot)." Then we come home and order a pizza for dinner. And a week later we're cleaning out the "remains of the day."

I feel like an absolute loser for admitting this. Being extra conscious about not wasting and being a good, healthy vegetarian are forefront in my mind. It's seriously bad that we allow this to repeat itself so often. And it's not an excuse, but we're just so beat at the end of the day. Who feels like cooking? Especially when you're a complete kitchen spazz like me and you don't have the slightest interest in cooking or learning to cook.

Lettuce, you say? Oh yeah, all you have to do is wash it. I know, that makes this situation ultra lame.

Oh Julia...

I did pretty good in Julie & Julia last night. Knowing all of the carcasses I would view, I still managed to really enjoy the flick. Meryl Streep, who always personifies characters like no one else's business, was as brilliant as ever. And the affection she and her husband had for one another was sweetly and delicately portrayed, with no unnecessary flashiness. Good taste, good taste. In the end, I slightly questioned the health of Julie's obsession with Julia, but felt that knowing Mrs. Child would have been a riot.

So, here's to you Julia. You were really something...and I never knew about your scientific inclinations. This "primordial soup" edition of your show is so much beyond the mere label of entertaining. It's a bit like The Twilight Zone mixed with 4th grade science class. (Watch out for her banging the knife for emphasis...and then pressing the blade in her hand...) Bon appetite!

The Wienie that Never Was

When I hastily opened the Morningstar Farms package of "Fake" Italian Sausages, I thought I read that 4 minutes in the microwave was required.

Three minutes and 50 seconds into the microwaving process, the indescribable odor and smoke--along with 4 alarmed co-workers--all led to one conclusion: I had cooked the living hell out of a piece of textured vegetable protein shaped like a wiener.

One end of "the wienie that never was" had turned to a soupy black explosion, sort of like the campfire marsh mellow that ignites on the end of your stick when you aren't paying attention. After the cooling period, the wienie grew hard enough to break a window. It was a damn shame I didn't have my camera to capture this moment in time...

One by one, employees from all corners of the building streamed into the break room to inquire about the source of the free-floating smell--a combination resembling burnt liquorish, a natural gas leak, and steamed brussel sprouts. Not only did it engulf the break room and far reaches of the second floor, but it infiltrated the clothing of anyone present and wandered down the stairway.

Alone and sorry about all the commotion, yet finding a strange sort of poetic justice in my downstairs office, I thought, "Yep. Karma's getting back everyone who has made fun of my fake meat lunches all these years."

When 1 minute is the microwave limit, 3 minutes 50 seconds is one hell of a trip. And so was the rest of the stinking afternoon.

Random recycled food worry

Tonight after our Thai dinner, the waitress brought us a pair of almond cookies. Isn't that weird?

We didn't order them and didn't especially want them, but in one quick and thoughtless motion, husband swiped one of them up and licked it. "That's so they won't recycle them and put them on someone else's table," he said.

Naturally, as soon as the words came out, the obvious thoughts came to both of us:

A. How would anyone know they were licked?
B. What if someone already had this same exact dessert in front of them?
C. And what if they, too, licked the cookies?

We finally decided to break the cookies in half.

I know, it's weird. This entire commentary, the dessert choice and our thought process is ridiculous. Why do you think I'm sharing it?

But think about it. In this economy, can we count on all restaurants to refrain from the urge to recycle "untouched" bread, remains of big salads that arrive for the whole table, etc.? I hope to hell we can, but it's a distinct possibility they recycle food. Yes, green can go too far.