Ramblings of a Riddler...Tough Guy, Fights and an Exotic New Vegetable

I saw a guy walking two dogs and holding their leashes out in a way that suggests he was walking two huge and powerful dogs. The way you see tough guys walk pitbulls. He was walking two golden retrievers. Two fat ones. In fact, they weren't really even walking, but strolling.  Represent dude.

***

Overheard my elderly neighbor asking his wife "is lunchtime critical?" because he still had yard work to do. Meanwhile, I have no idea when B eats lunch, what he eats or if he even eats.

***

I got into a fight with a pop can today. Guess who won?  Maybe B was on to something when he tied the bag containing the pop cans closed. Unfortunately, I don't think even he could have predicted that I would untie the bag, decide to carry it on my shoulder, and then throw it over my shoulder only to land on the ground. Nor could I have predicted that just as I thought "why aren't these cans exploding" and reached down to corral them, one would explode and spray all over me. Luckily I was just back from court and not going to court.

***

Today was car accident day. I saw two. The first one I was actually a responder to and let the guy sit in my car until EMS arrived. Everyone else just drove around him. The second involved a motorcyclist that I am eternally grateful I was not the first responder to, although it looked like he was alive when I passed. Similarly, my brother stumbled on to an accident and stopped to help and then passed two more.  Heat melts driver's brains. That's a fact.

***

I decided that they came out with a new vegetable when I wasn't looking. Broccoli. You are probably thinking that already exists. It does. However I pronounced in a way that sounded like Brach olie.  As if it were ravioli or something. Everyone laughed at me all day. I now realize it was spelled wrong - Brocolli.  Joke's on them. Yep, it is still broccoli.  Weird thing is, we were talking about peppers. Go figure.

***

And Then My Entire Family Was Nearly Killed By a Possessed Chicken Bone

I let my family cook for me. I am very generous that way. Also, we all know how often I cook. Have you seen my cooking blog?

So I come home from my parents' house every week with various freezer containers full of the usuals - Mom's chicken noodle soup, Mom's potato soup, Mom's spaghetti. Occasionally I will get things from other family members too such as Dad's pea soup, Dad's chili, Dad's stew that I thought was spaghetti sauce because it wasn't labeled that turned out to be a wonderful surprise.  Then I also get my brother's take on things that typically includes chicken soup with too much dill. Although the last one he sent had a note taped to it that said "Less dill. More love." Awww. He's single, ladies.

The other day I went searching for something to eat when B disappointingly ignored my SOS text about dinner and ATE WITHOUT ME.  I grabbed a contained marked "Soup for Lonnie" and remembered my Mom sent me chicken soup she had made up for someone else that never got to pick it up. Then I defrosted it, warmed it and ate it.

Then I almost died.

Contained in the soup was a chicken bone. A large one actually, which is how I found it in my mouth.*  I removed it, threw it in the trash, and sent my Mom an email entitled "Were you trying to kill Lonnie?"  She responded by asking me if I was okay, going on to ask if the bone gave it extra flavor, and then blaming my brother. He's still single, ladies.

Fast forward two days later and as I am walking through the kitchen I notice something in Jersey's mouth, I make her give it to me and it is THAT DAMN CHICKEN BONE! What the heck? I KNOW I threw that thing out.  Another email to my mother insisting she was trying to kill my entire family resulted in this response:

Good grief! Is that chicken bone possessed? Put it in a plastic bag and bring it to my house so I can get rid of that devil!

I am not sure what good putting it in a plastic bag would have done. It just gives me visions of Jersey with a plastic bag with a chicken bone in it hanging out of her mouth. I am also not sure what a proper disposal is.  Kind of scared to ask, actually.

I decided not to pass on the possessed chicken bone to another house for the fear that everyone would soon find it in their mouths, or their dog's mouth, or their fish's mouth. Definitely not their chicken's mouths though, people. They are not cannibals!

Only one possession per family, please.

On a side note, after I sent my Mom this blog post about a staple in Jorge's dog's stomach, my Mom sent the me the following email:

See, you could have blogged and showed the chicken bone in Jersey's tummy and made her a star. But, no....you take it away from her and call ME an attempted murderess.

My family has its priorities you know.

*My Mom is a good cook and she never ever has bones in her soup. This was a freak accident.**

**Ditto my brother. Feel free to snap him up, ladies.

When It Rains, It Pours Yogurt a/k/a If Life Gives You Yogurt, It is Probably Because You Dropped It

Things have been quite busy here in the Riddler household.  Life at the office is scary busy.  The trial did not help in the bit, especially when it took 7 days when it should have taken 2.  And I didn't win, so there is that.*  Grrr.

Also, I have been writing more reviews for Daemon's now that fall TV is picking up. They are also letting me review DVDs.  That makes for fun, but busy times.

So it really was no surprise to me that eventually I would be moving too fast to not pay attention to what was going on around me.  That was the other day.  I like to call it Raining Yogurt Day.  I was in a hurry, of course. Did you not read everything I wrote above?  So I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge before sending Jersey to her resting place. No I didn't kill her! Her crate. HER CRATE! Geez, people.  Well, I missed with the whole grabbing-the-yogurt thing and it fell to the floor. I picked it up surprised that it hadn't broke and threw it in my bag.  Then I noticed it was leaking. So much for the no breaking thing. I grabbed another one and took Jersey out for a final pee. No, I didn't kill her! Final pee until we returned home.  You people are very suspicious.

I thought it was strange that she was running around and licking my pants until I realized they had yogurt on them. Nice.  So I spotted them with a lot of water and was off to work.  Yes, I probably should have changed pants, but I am BUSY.  Of course that resulted in my turning on the heater in the car to get the pants dried, but I was awfully proud of myself because you could not tell what happened.

Yeah, right.

After running into the ladies room before hitting the office, I happen to catch a glimpse of something pink in the mirror.  YOGURT. ON MY SLEEVE. And when I mean on my sleeve, I mean covering it. Covering the jacket. Inside on the tshirt. How could I have missed this? And so I scrub and wet and all is right.

Until right before I get home and see more yogurt on my pants.  Seriously, I don't even think that all of the yogurt I found could even fit into the container that I dropped.  How do I consistently have these problems with food? 

I blame YOU mother. Maybe you should have spent more time teaching me how to eat instead of teaching me to read at 3. Priorities!

Speaking of priorities, Jersey sure has hers:

Yes, that was a rather lame segway to show you a picture of my dog. Were you expecting something more?  Look how comfortable she looks jammed up against that bookcase. I would break my neck. Of course, that is mostly because she had just gotten down from laying completely across me with her head backwards and in the crook of my neck forcing me into some weird C maneuver with my head in order to still watch TV. Yet, I didn't move.  Who owns whom again?

In other news, her legs still seem awfully long and I fear she is not done growing. 

I guess we will keep her anyway.

Today is our big block party in our hood. Stay tuned for an update. Actually, I don't think I told you about last year's party, so stay tuned for a double update. And when I say "stay tuned" I do not mean tonight.  Two blog posts in one day is a bit overreaching for this blog, peeps.

Happy Block Party Day, bitches!

*Well the Plaintiff only got half of what she was asking for, so that is kind of a win. It is not a victory.

Cheese Should Not Pretend to Be a Bug and a Bug Should Not Pretend to Be a Wet Noodle

You know I have issues with bugs, right? At least you know I have issues with centipedes. Although, really, who doesn't? Are there any big centipede lovers out there? I didn't think so. I am pretty sure no one cried foul when the game Centipede came out. In fact, it was probably a smashing hit because everyone wants to blow those little buggers to bits.  But, I digress.

I lived on my own quite some time before I met B so I was forced to be the big bug killer, or ignorer, as the case may be. I thought I was tough.  Never did kill spiders though because I figured they would do their job and kill the rest of the bugs.  Hopefully I didn't swallow any of them in the process.

In any event, a while ago I think I slept with a centipede.  The thought of it makes my skin crawl this many months later.  I was all set for bed, glasses off, bed ready to jump in when I see a dark spot on the ceiling.  Mistake #1 - I go to check it out. Mistake #2 - I get REALLY close because I cannot see well without the glasses. It was a frickin' centipede. I ran out of our bedroom screaming like a girl imitating a girl screaming.  B was convinced that he needed to kill it, but it couldn't be found. I had no choice but to go to bed with pillows covering my ears, my mouth sealed shut and praying that it didn't like nostrils.

Shudder.

So now that I am spoiled with a boy, a dog and three killer cats, bugs freak me the hell out.  I don't want to kill them. I want to run screaming and have someone else step in. This doesn't always work out for me, but a lot of times it does.  And, sometimes, like yesterday, there is not even a bug involved.  I was going downstairs with a mostly empty bowl of pasta and went to turn off the light when I felt something graze my skin:

Me: AHHHHHHHHHH

B: WHAT?

Me: Never mind. It was a piece of cheese.

Me; I thought it was a bug.

B: OH. MY. GOD.  You are insane.

B: Did you think the cats were going to run up here and save you?

With no cats in sight, apparently not.

Fast forward to this morning. Jersey and I came in from outside and I saw Brad eating something in the dining room. I picked it up, looking like a small wet macaroni noodle and was carrying it to the kitchen garbage, saying along the way:

Me: You eat the strangest things Brad.

Me: Where do you find noodles?

And then I poked it. And then it turned over. And then it was a very wet, but very alive BUG IN MY HAND THAT LOOKED LIKE A CENTIPEDE BUT WASN'T.

The only appropriate response was:

Me: AHHHHHHHHHH

And I screamed. And I jumped. And Jersey came over to help me but she didn't know what the problem was. Then she thought it was playtime. Then I couldn't find the bug. Brad was still in the dining room staring intently at the floor where the bug used to be hoping it would materialize.  And I kept shaking my hand while looking for the bug because I COULD STILL FEEL IT.  Finally, I found it and threw it in the trash still alive.

I hope it isn't creating an army in there.

I Cannot Operate This Phone. It Is Too Modern.

The other day, B wanted to go to a certain Mexican restaurant which is our favorite nearby. I thought I had a coupon for it which is an even bigger score! And I did.  The only problem was the "other day" was actually the fourth of July. We are so anti-American.  So B put me in charge of calling the place to see if they were open.  I soon found, however, that the last four digits of their number was TACO. Brilliant.  Not so brilliant was the fact that they did not give the number/letter translation in their ad like most places do.

After studying my Blackberry for WAY too long, I realized I could never figure out how to call this place. When B got out of the shower, I discussed this with him:

Me: I found a coupon for the Mexican place.

B: Good. Are they open?

Me: I don't know. I cannot call. My phone is too modern.

B: What are you talking about?

Me: My numbers don't have letters and their letters don't have numbers!

B: Um. WHAT?

Me: I don't know what TACO is in numbers.

B: I don't know what the hell you are talking about. Are we eating or what?

Turns out, peeps, you can Google ANYTHING. And thanks to Wikipedia, I was able to translate TACO into numbers to call the restaurant. Don't ask me what the translation was as I have already forgotten. I have more important things on my mind like singing "Double rainbow, double rainbow, What does it MEAN?"  Have you seen that video yet? If not, watch below:

That guy is WAY too excited about that rainbow.  Of course he isn't on drugs, just very emotional and in tune with the earth.  Now check out this auto tune song:

I dare you not to sing that all day.

Suckas!

Also, it is Not a Birthday Celebration Until Your Husband Threatens Someone with Bodily Harm a/k/a Romance at its Finest

B would like me to point out that my entire birthday was not full of gas problems and starvation. He is right. He took me out to a nice dinner that night. He also decided we should stop at our local big box store to pick up some Coke Zero. I have a drinking problem. He was excited because the cases were on sale for $5.00.

They didn't have any.

The rest of the story is best told through a conversation with my Mom:

Mom: Hi! Done with dinner already?

Me: Yes, we are at the store. B wants to buy some Coke Zero because it is on sale. They do not have any. He just got into a huge argument with a random worker he dragged down the aisle.

Mom: Uh oh.

Me: Yep. He told the guy he just didn't believe there weren't more in the back. This was [insert big named store here]. They had to have more than 5 cases. Then he pointed to the area and made the guy count with him as to how many cases could fit in the empty spot.

Mom: Oh boy.

Me: Yep. Then he told the guy to "grab your two way. We're going in the back." B took the guy in the back to convince him that there are no more cases.

Me: I haven't seen him since.

My Mom and I discuss B's penchant for trouble making for a good 10 minutes.

Me: This is boring.

Mom: I bet.

Me: Oh no!

Mom: What?

Me: The guy is back! Gerry is back but B is nowhere to be found?

Mom: What?

Me: Where is B? WHAT DID HE DO TO B?

Mom: I don't know! Where could he be?

Me: Do you think Gerry killed B? I SAW YOU GO IN THE BACK WITH HIM - THERE IS A WITNESS!

Mom: Are you yelling at the worker? Really?

Me: YES! How else will he know that I can turn him in if B shows up dead somewhere?

Me: How am I even supposed to find B, dead or alive?

Mom: I wonder where he is...

B was safe. The store employees, however, were not. He made his way up to the Assistant Manager who still could not produce any cases of Coke. There was some lame explanation as to how the Coke guy makes deliveries every day. My Mom pointedly stated that delivery five cases of pop a day would seem like a waste of gas. So true. That is why we are not heads of corporations I guess.

The assistant manager did let B get two 12 packs of Coke for $5.00 much to the confusion and bewilderment of the cashier who said "But they are $3.98 each!"

That B. He is getting things done.

Best birthday gift ever.*

*Well, actually, an iPhone would be the best birthday gift ever. Stupid Apple & AT&T - OPEN UP THE IPHONE TO ALL CELLPHONE PROVIDERS.**

**This has been a public service announcement from an avid Apple fan and lifelong Verizon lover.

***You are welcome.

How Was I Supposed to Know French Toast was Bread Especially When it Tastes Like Dog?

Remember how I gave up bread for Lent and no one knew what that meant? Well, it didn't get any easier in those 40 days. FYI - Lent is 40 days long. That is hella long when you cannot eat bread or sweets.

Anyhow, I was constantly having to answer questions about whether a particular item was considered bread. Wasn't bread a starch? Isn't pasta a starch? How can you eat pasta? Or - rice is a grain, bread is made with grains - YOU ARE CHEATING! It was like taking the LSAT all over again. Sometimes I just gave up and agreed with people.

It was a tough 40 days.

However, I was doing good. No bread. No toast. No bagels. It was a sad existence but I was prevailing. I was a winner. That is, until shortly before my trial. B wanted to go out to breakfast which is unusual for him. In fact, I think he ordered lunch. Actually, I think it was almost lunch time, I just hadn't eaten breakfast. Anyhow, none of that is the point.

This is the point.

We ordered our food (whether breakfast or lunch) and eagerly awaited for it to come. Once the plates were delivered, however, I suddenly gasped - LOUDLY:

B: What is it?

Me: This is TOAST.

Me: I have a giant plate of TOAST.

B: What did you order?

Me: Um, french toast...

Me: That's BREAD.

B: No shit.

Me: I hope God forgives me.

So, yes, I messed up by eating something with the very name of the thing I gave up. Seriously. It couldn't have been any worse unless I ate, I don't know, BREAD.

Also, disturbing? The French Toast tasted like Jersey. I know what you are thinking - "are you insane in the membrane?" Perhaps. But when I was eating the french toast I thought it tasted like Jersey, or had the same consistency? No, I have never eaten dog and I certainly haven't eaten Jersey. I imagine, however, that is what it would have tasted like. I even shared this with B. He must be used to my insane commentary because he didn't even blink. Later, however, he grabbed a piece, shoved it in his mouth and in between chewing said:

"This doesn't taste like Jersey at all."

As if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to think, but I was just wrong.

God, I love that man.

Also, God, I am sorry that I ate toast that I should have known was bread because the recipe is basically "dip BREAD in egg and grill it."

39 out of 40 ain't so bad is it?

It's Fat Tuesday Which Means Time for Sacrifice and Defining the Word "Bread"

Today is Fat Tuesday a/k/a Paczki Day a/k/a PARTY. Do you know what a paczki is? It is a big donut made of lard, sugar and yummy goodness. It is well worth the 4,000 calories. If you are lucky to get one. Me? I had the grocery store kind which means I probably only had 2,000 calories.

Meanwhile, I was discussing with people in the office what I was giving up for Lent. Every year I pretty much give up the same thing, sweets (candy, cookies, desert, etc). It has become second nature for me and even though I LOVE those things, I no longer have difficulty not eating them during Lent. Not really much of a sacrifice now is it?

So this year I decided to up the ante. I am giving up TWO things - sweets* and bread. Random I know, but I love bread. The inspiration behind this sacrifice came to me when I was pondering one day people that don't eat bread. What the heck is wrong with them, I thought. And a sacrifice was born.

And so I told people at the office. Little did I know that I was then going to have to define "bread." Isn't it self explanatory?

Me: I am giving up bread.

Person: What do you mean, bread?

Me: You know, BREAD.

Person: Describe it for me.

Me: Rolls, sandwich bread, hamburger buns...

Person: {gasp} But how will you eat a HAMBURGER?

Me: Without a bun?

Person: What about a pita?

Me: Yup, bread.

Person: What about pasta?

Me: WHAT?

Me: Pasta is not bread! BLASPHEMY!

Person: Well, it is in the same triangle on the food chart.

Me: Wait. What? Huh?

Also poorly timed, the four boxes of Girl Scout Cookies that were delivered to my house tonight. Luckily B has almost polished one of them off.** I am going to have to save the other two. I also believe I ordered four more from someone else. Such a mystery.

That reminds me of the one time my Mom ordered a bunch of Girl Scout Cookies and gave them to me for safekeeping. I stored them throughout Lent in my fridge. Then on Easter I tore into my own Girl Scout Cookies with a little help from B. Soon I was out but my craving was not. Come August when my Mom asked for her cookies I just gave her a blank look followed by a "Crap..."

She never let me hold her cookies again.

*I carved out an exception for pumpkin pie from our fish and chips place because I always get screwed out of eating it since we go there mostly during Lent.

**I may have had one or two and they are small boxes. Damn Girl Scouts with their addictive cookies that they charge an arm and leg for and then shrink the box every year. I NOTICED GIRL SCOUTS! You cannot pull one over on me.

***Yeah, I still ordered 8 boxes. I am a sucker.

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same While Changing

Remember when I said I was thinking up new and exciting things for the blog? Well, I really wasn't referencing this blog. I decided to start a second blog. You know, because I have so much free time on my hands and all. The focus of my other blog is cooking. Or lack thereof. Long time readers know that I have had a few adventures in cooking, one that ended up with an ER trip. Hopefully that won't be repeated on the new blog. I am excited to start a cooking journey. So, please, check out the new pad. The link is on the top left under the aptly named "My Other Blog" section. And if you have tips, recipes, thoughts, ideas, please share.

As for here? Well I decided to change the layout and even made my own header. And by making my own header, I mean I found a header and added those words. Of course that only took me about 3 hours since I had to find a free paint program for Mac, then learn said program, and then finish it. Yes, all you website designers can rest easy. Your jobs are safe. Same for HTML people. Wait. Isn't that the same thing? What do I know? I am no doctor.

I am also going to try to post more often on this blog. I had grand plans to get some posts done in advance. Then I got sick. You know what sucks? Getting sick. You know what is worse? Getting sick while out of the office for the holidays. There should be a law against that. But the ultimate in worseness? STILL being sick when you have to go back to work on Monday. Damn you little germs and viruses.

That's it for now. Stay tuned tomorrow to meet Vicky.

And here's pictures of a really awesome sunset we had recently. Well, in November, but whatever. The pictures don't do it justice.

My Nose Works Just Fine, Thank You Very Much!

The other day at the office a woman and I got on to the elevator at the same time. I noticed that she was carrying a take out box from the deli on the first floor. I knew that it was Mexican day at the deli and her food smelled good, so inquired as to what she had in her box stating "What do you have there? It smells so good!" Her reply?

"You can't smell my food."

Um, wait. What? Yes, I CAN smell your food. I DID smell your food. Now I am asking you about your food. So I reply:

"So, what do you have THERE?"

She says "Taco salad."

"Yeah, I CAN SMELL IT."

She says "Really?"

Um, what? Why is she finding it so hard to believe I can smell her food? Does taco meat not smell? Does she not want to tell me what she has? Is it a secret? Is she scared I am going to copy her and go get the same thing like I do to B so now he makes me order first? Did she think I was trying to pick her up with my sexy what-kind-of-food-you-got-there pick up line?

I was so perturbed I decided not to tell her that her food probably isn't going to smell so good coming out.*

*Damn greasy deli food that tastes good but isn't good and my stomach wishes for once my tastebuds would listen to it.

How to Rock the Family Reunion

Before the reunion, learn your Dad plans on bringing ice cream. To a picnic. In a cooler. Declare that to be overboard and very involved in planning (dry ice, wet ice, ice ice - too much to think about).

1:35: Arrive late. Pretend that you are not late. Shout out "we've arrived" so that people think that you think that you are not late.

1:36: Wonder where the heck all of the people are? Pretend you don't notice half the family is missing.

1:38: Tell them you brought ice cream. Find out that everyone thinks that is a brilliant idea.

1:40: Accept many accolades. Thank them graciously.

1:45: Finally admit it was your Dad's idea. To your Mom who already knew.

1:46: Remember there is no ice cream scoop.

1:47: Tell everyone that the ice cream was your Dad's idea and they will have to eat it with their fingers.

1:48: Text husband. Ask him to bring ice cream scoop.

1:49: Wonder where husband is.

1:50: Wonder where the #@#^@&^ the family is.

1:51: Get distracted by a brownie.

1:52: Assure Mom she is not a jinx since half the family didn't come the one time she decided to make an appearance. Totally coincidental. Totally.

1:54: Hug, kiss, catch up.

3:00: Time to eat.

3:01: Wonder where husband is.

3:02: Declare hubby cannot eat when he shows up since he is nowhere to be found.

3:10: See husband pull in. Glare in his direction.

3:12: See him come in waving an ice cream scoop.

3:13: Whoop loudly and declare him a hero while clapping.

3:14: Family joins in clapping. They don't know why. Hell, they may not even know who husband is or why he is there.

3:15: Eat. And have a brownie.

3:30: Hug, kiss, catch up.

4:00: Watch husband get his ass handed to him by a 4 year old in cow's balls.*

4:10: Listen to the 4 year old brag about it.

4:12: Listen to husband declare they weren't keeping score.

4:30: Watch your father and other adults beat up kids during volleyball.

Well okay, there it looked like my brother was getting beat up.

Nice action shot there. Great poise for a serve A.

My brother sure doesn't look like he is doing much, does he?

Again, with the waiting around. As you can see, that was action packed.

4:31: Take pictures to be used as evidence later. (See above).

4:33: Video it with your camera. (Do not look for a video on this post. See below).

4:43: Remember you don't know how to transfer video to your computer.

4:44: Say that and other things while videotaping.

4:45: Realize husband is oddly silent. Realize he doesn't want to be heard on the video.

4:46: Get distracted by a brownie.

4:50: Watch ice cream become a hit! Note to self: Buy huge boxes of Dove ice cream bars next time, you will be a hero.

5:00: Watch husband decide to juggle bocci balls.

5:01: Caution him about breaking his finger.

5:10: Almost get brained by your husband with a bocci ball.

5:11: Watch it instead hit the metal pole making a bell like sound.

5:12: Watch everyone look at you for a speech.

5:13: Announce "thank you all for coming..."

5:15: Watch everyone realize husband is trying to juggle.

5:16: Watch husband choose smaller balls.

5:21: Listen to them ask why he has his back to them the entire time.

5:22: Assure them it is because you are taking pictures and husband is camera shy.

5:23: Start singing circus music.

5:25: Clap with the family as husband juggles.

5:20: Listen to the family clap to encourage him.

5:30: Watch people leave.

5:35: Play with a volleyball with husband which is more like playing dodge ball, soccer, and football all in one.

5:36: Wonder how many bruises you will wake up to in the morning.

5:40: Watch husband leave.

5:45: Catch up with the remaining family and plan next year's event. Discuss how to coerce, threaten and bribe the rest of the family to attend.

6:45: Arrive home exhausted from too much fresh air and brownies.

Same time next year?**

*I guess it is really called Ladder Golf, but we were playing with children so Cow's Balls sounded so much more appropriate.

**I am talking to YOU family. Yes, you the ones that did not show up. A 4 year old had to play with a...well...not quite 4 year old. How wrong is that? Well, he did win. I guess he's okay with that.

It's a Snack War! Or is it a Snack Store??

You all know that my office* loves its snacks, right? They always have an abundance of cheezits cheeseballs, goldfish, and two kinds of pretzels. Even the clients love the snacks. Well some may say the love for snacks went a bit too far.

First, someone decided we needed healthy snacks. Although, generally a good idea, that meant one of the above snacks had to go because there wasn't enough room. Sadly it was the nugget pretzels and the goldfish. People cried. People wailed. I just thanked God the cheeseballs stayed.** In their place we got a wide variety of snacks that would make their debut every Monday. Yes, only one snack at a time and only on Monday. They would just appear in a basket. If they were good snacks and disappeared quickly, we still had to wait until the following Monday for more snacks. The anticipation and tortuer and wondering was just too much for me to handle. Until the raisins debuted. Then I just laughed dismissively and made myself a big ol' bowl of cheeseballs.

Next came the fresh fruit. That was brilliant. Except it was pay for your own on the honor system and some of the fruit was very expensive. I stuck with bananas as they were only a quarter. Helluva deal folks. Of course, I didnt eat them in the office. I took them home to put them in my cereal. Who wants to buy a bunch of bananas that go bad when you can just get one in your office? My logic astounds me.

Finally one day I happened to look at our vending machine. Yes, throughout this all we still had a vending machine with your usual array of items - candy bars, chips, donuts, etc. Well I noticed it was looking quite sparse:

A closer look revealed that it was almost empty:

When I inquired as to what was going on, I was told that a new company bought the old company but they were in a fight over who gets what profits or something so the old company stopped stocking and locked the machines so the new one could not get in. It was a snack war! I pondered whether there was a snack mafia and whether a shoot out would occur in our kitchen. Luckily, our receptionist packs some heat.*** So there we were with limited snacks and stale chips. This did not deter some people in the office who continued to purchase snacks WAY beyond their expiration date. I then pondered if we would need to call an ambulance. Apparently, though, chocolate never really expires. Think about THAT.

In order to pacify the peeps who were upset about stale chips and nonexistent junk food, the office decided to bring in its own snacks to sell. It started out small:

And then grew to epic proportions:

A partner was overheard remarking "Are we going to install a uscan in here."

It does look a bit like a grocery store, no?

*My former office, but that's for another post.

**The big man is looking out for me!

***The receptionist got a CCW license and started carrying a gun. Try swiping your cards through our secured doors again client man!

A PB and What?

Anyone that follows me on Twitter knows that I love me some Potbelly's. And for those that do not follow me, what are you waiting for?

Anyway, I haven't been to Potbelly's much since the gallbladder removal and since I moved to a new office, but when I was going there I found a new/old sandwich to fall in love with - the PB&J. Yummy goodness. Yes it is merely peanut butter and grape jelly on a big sandwich roll, but it is toasted and oozes goodness. Makes me feel like a kid again.

So, one day, while I was sitting there eating my extremely awesome but utterly messy sandwich I find this guy staring at me. He was one half of a couple sitting nearby. After looking right at me and right at my sandwich, he turns to his other half and says:

"What is a PB&J? Is that just peanut butter and jelly? I wanted to try that but I chickened out."

First, what else would a PB&J be? Second, he was LOOKING RIGHT AT ONE so he knows damn well it is just peanut butter and jelly.

He's right though. It must be really scary to try a sandwich that shares the same name as a sandwich you grew up with and should be familiar to you as opposed to, I don't know, something called a "Wreck" full of any number of processed meats and cheeses.

Baby steps, dude. Baby steps.

Get Lost Crazy Purple Pants!!

Before I had my gallbladder surgery, B and I decided to head over to our new restaurant find, this small Mexican dive a couple blocks away. Like most of my friends, we love to find some good authentic yummy Mexican food. Before this find, we would have had to travel miles downtown or miles uptown to get something great. No more. The Mexican place, combined with the Thai place we found, is quickly making this neighborhood the BEST PLACE TO LIVE EVER. Now if we could only find a quality Chinese place...

I digress.

So we headed to the restaurant about an hour before they were going to close and much to my delight, the place was deserted. So I dreamt of chips and salsa and peace and quiet. The waitress, the same waitress as always, brought us HOT chips and noted to the bus boy that she was going to break down in tears any minute while watching the latest Extreme Makeover. All was good.

And in came purple pants.

Purple pants thought he was something else. Obviously from the snootier* side of town, I imagine he considered his travels into this place "slumming." The waitress told him and his wife/girlfriend to sit anywhere they wanted. So they sat in the booth immediately behind us.

Of course they did.

And then the crazy ensued:

CPP to lady friend: Do you think they have a liquor license?

CPP to bus boy: Do you have a liquor license?

Bus boy: No.

CPP: OHHHH NOOOO....we just came here for margaritas and chips.

Bus boy: Well, I can get you the chips.

CPP: No. I really want a margarita.

CPP: We already ate. I just want a margarita.

[pause]

CPP: Do you have a take out menu?

Waitress: It is the same as the real menu

CPP: I cannot believe you don't have margaritas. We were driving by and saw the sign and thought "let's get a margarita."

(Note: Saying it/requesting it/demanding it will not make the liquor license they do NOT have suddenly go into effect)

CPP: Okay, well I guess we will come back when we are less....thirsty.

Exit crazy purple pants and his girl stage center.

I have never been so happy that a place could not sell liquor in my life because if I had to listen to that man drone/bray in my ear for five minutes longer, I was going to need a margarita.

Oh, and B says he was wearing a denim jacket too.

Perfect.

*Is snootier a word? If not, it should be.

Piss and Pine? Sounds Like a Candy...

After having just eaten at our new favorite Thai place in the 'hood, which is almost identical to the old Thai place in the last 'hood (what luck!), B and I walked to the car. B remarked at how incredibly yummy his candy was from the restaurant. I asked what it was and he said "something with Asian writing on the wrapper." Sounds logical.

As we got in the car, I noted that something smelled, well, WRONG.

Me: It smells weird in here.

B: What do you mean?

Me: It smells strange. Like someone pissed in here. Or like a tree or something.

B: Like a tree?

Me: Yes, a sappy tree. Tree sap.

B: You mean a pine?

Me: I don't know what kind of tree saps.

B: Pine trees have sap.

Me: Now that you mention it, it smells like pine in here. Pine and piss.

B: Do you think it is my candy?

It was his candy. How he ever thought something that SMELLED like pine and piss tasted great is beyond me.

Passing the No Gall Bladder Test, One Food at a Time

So far, these are the foods my body has found acceptable to process post gall bladder removal:

Honey Nut Cheerios

Saltines

Healthy Choice meal

Tapioca pudding

Mom's potato soup

Taste testing done. My diet is complete.

Birthday Wishes, Dishes and Crashes

As you might have guessed, the other day was my birthday. Monday to be exact. The day did not really start off that great as I woke up feeling horrible due to an undisclosed* condition and ended up leaving work just a couple hours in to come home and sleep.

And B crashed his car and totaled it.

Sounds horrible, right? Yet it was a terrific birthday. Here are some of the better moments:

• After my nap/sleep, I felt well enough to go for birthday dinner. Mongolian BBQ makes everything okay including insane stomach aches
• B bought me the scanner I coveted so that I can scan old pictures and stuff and maybe even put them on the blog. He unceremoniously, but excitedly, handed me the unwrapped scanner after attempting to give it to me weeks earlier. His words "did you ever think you would get a gift like this?" Yes, as it is exactly what I asked for and you ordered it directly from the link I sent you, I kinda thought I would. And I love it and cannot wait to start scanning! Sounds like a weekend project...
• B also gave me a card from him and the cats which was perfect as it talked about how the cats just wanted me to feed them. You have no idea what I have been putting up with lately with those cats. That's for another post entirely.
• B managed to sell his totaled car and get his insurance refunded, all during the time I napped/slept. Talk about being proactive.
• My secretary got me some amazing cucumber melon hand soap from Bath and Body Works. She has now been elevated to my MOST FAVORITE SECRETARY EVER. Yes, I am easily bought.

And finally, two stories that amuse me.

First, B has tried to blame everyone but himself for his accident:

1. When first informing me of his accident he told me he was on his way home from the gym. However, when he handed me my birthday card, he stated "I got into the accident because I had to get you THIS." Huh. Waiting until the last minute didn't quite work out did it?
2. B then announced that the card was "really from the cats." Apparently, those cats cannot be bothered to buy things in advance either and are also responsible for the accident.
3. Later, when we were discussing the accumulation of empty cans that are taking over our kitchen, B indicated he needed to find a place to return them as our local grocery store does not have an automated bin, announcing "That's what I was doing...I was on my way to return cans when the accident happened."

That was one busy boy. No wonder he crashed. Yes, it does seem like he crashes often. Somehow he says this is my fault. Note: I am never there.

Now, as I was leaving work early due to my overwhelming need to lie in bed and pretend I did not have a stomach, I told B I would come pick him up as he was not sure if his car was drivable. As I had almost reached my destination, B called to say never mind he was going to drive the car home. Apparently the tire place said it would cost $1,000 to fix the tire. Yep...time to pack it up. I asked B if he was sure he did not want me to follow him home and he said he was sure.

Just then I passed B's car. Yeah, the tire was sticking outward. He would be driving on the outer edge of the SPARE tire. You know? One of those minis? All I could imagine is my crawling in bed just to get a phone call that the tire did not make it. So I followed him home. Much to my amazement and somewhat disappointment, the tire made it all the way home. Not that I wanted anything bad to happen, I just expected it to happen.

I mean, look at it! Wouldn't you expect something bad to happen?

Well, maybe it doesn't look THAT bad. How about a close up?

Yep, doesn't look straight at all does it? Poor little car.

So, in spite of the insanity of the day and the poor start, I had a terrific birthday full of hugs, laughter, love and presents.

Sadly, B's car cannot say the same.

*To be disclosed in a future post.

**No one was hurt in B's accident which is the most important thing of all.

***Thank you for a great birthday B!! Sorry about your car.

Happy Easter from the Cookie Monster

The Easter Bunny did not stop at the new house, sadly. However, I am sure that is because she was tired from the birthday scavenger hunt and anniversary celebrations to even begin to think about being creative. There is only so much creativity one bunny can handle.

But, if it Easter you want, it is Easter you will get as I will gladly refer you over to my sister-in-law's blog to get your Easter fill:

Do you want to see a baby tortured by a scary Easter bunny? Go here.

Do you want to see the same baby have no qualms about posing with a real bunny? Go here.

Do you want to see pictures from an Easter egg hunt we had last week? Go here.

Do you want to see a grown man imitating the Easter bunny? Go here.

And if you want to know what I am doing - just take a look at what I plan on ingesting today:

YUM to the Robin Eggs!!

And of course these delightful Girl Scout Cookies that I have been saving for the long 40 days of Lent.

Lent is over bitches...err...bunnies... and I have score to settle with all candy and cookies. Me and my stomach ache will see you tomorrow!

Happy Easter!

Who's A Hoarding?

B accuses me of hoarding all of the time, but this is where it comes in handy. See that picture? It has 10 boxes of cereal, and three boxes of oatmeal in it. I went a little wild during a cereal sale and brought all of that home. Lucky for us, we have these shelves in the basement since the tiny pantry in the kitchen will only hold about two boxes.

B laughed at all of my cereal and scoffed when I said we eat a lot.

That picture was taken on March 22nd. It is April 2nd.

We only have four boxes of cereal and one box of oatmeal left. That does not count the three boxes of cereal and two boxes of oatmeal we ate from the pantry.

Who's laughing now? Heck, in another week I will need to buy more cereal.

Maybe someone around here *ahem* needs to start cooking more meals.

B?

Ah! Finally...Corn

You know what is much easier than slicing open your finger while opening a can of corn? Buying frozen corn and nuking it for 4 minutes. Yummy, quick and bloodless. Frozen vegetables shall always be my friend.

I *am* a chef in the making.

Special thanks to all of you that suggested that last year after reading about my mishap. It took a while, but I listened. Meanwhile, I have only opened one can of corn since then. Blood free, but nerve wracking.