An Understanding Marriage.

(me and my sweetie)

My husband wants to buy sea water...and yet we have no fish....no pool...no hot tub...but apparently we are lacking in sea water.
And not just ANY sea water, of course not, that would be silly. God forbid we get regular old, shore water...bleck. No, what he is currently lusting after is DEEP sea water. Pumped up from the fathomless depths of the ocean and available for people to buy at 55 dollars a liter.
And this is why we work so well together.
Because I understand, because I sat here in the morning....well actually it was afternoon as we have flipped our schedules about again..(for the umpteenth millionth time because who can live by a clock?)
I sat there, blearily blinking sleep from my eyes as he excitedly explains WHY we might want to go ahead and get our selves some deep sea water.....and the way he explains it, makes perfect sense.
I understand.
In fact, the way he explains it I almost feel silly for not having thought to buy 55 dollar a liter sea water, pumped up from the fathomless depths of the ocean, myself...as it now seems so obvious. Even half asleep, dream images still crowding my brain...I understand. And I understand him.
Luckily he understands me as well.
He understands how Halloween is literally around the corner by my calculations. How it's actually less than 2 months away....when you think about it. Like I think about it. As I excitedly explain that June doesn't count because of course we're IN June, and Halloween is IN October, so those 2 months are pretty much shot, and since we're about to hit July, you might as well say it IS July which leaves us with only 2 months until Halloween.
And while he might listen attentively to my spiel with a smile on his face, that tugs up the corners of his lips in that, "about to chuckle all over the place, cause Halloween aint no sea water kind of look", he understands.
He likes to have crunchy things with his meal. The man would and does eat corn chips next to anything and everything. If he pops up from a meal of mashed potatoes and gravy to "get a little crunch" I understand. Just as he understands I don't want to lick the sour cream spoon.
I don't care that I just inhaled a giant dollop of sour cream with my beans because when it comes to the last scoop, I don't want to lick the spoon. When I have finished my beans, my sour cream to bean ratio would be completely ruined by licking the teensy weensy last speck of sour cream from the spoon, so he takes care of that for me. Saving me the untold agonies of wasting a teeny weeny itsy bitsy bit of sour cream that I'd be tortured to wash down the sink and would probably end up putting the spoon in the fridge with the 17 other sour cream spoons we would have if it were not for my hero, my sour cream spoon hero. Who, selflessly, and heroically steps up to the plate every time, totally obliterating his own sour cream to bean ratio by licking the last bit of sour cream from the spoon. *swoon* He understands.
Just like I understand that life would be better with a pulley. We don't need a pulley, but undoubtedly life would be fricking sweet if we only had a pulley system rigged up, some way....for something. Not a day goes by that my sweetie doesn't dream loudly about how some rope, a pulley and some imagined *system* could have us hauling what ever we wanted up over the patio railing rather than archaically walking it up the stairs. One short flight of stairs...not when a pulley would be so much more satisfying. And I understand, it's not the destination in life...it's the journey they say. And he gets that, his journey will be by way of a complex system of weights, counter weights and silky white rope from the hardware store, NOT just the mundane plodding of feet up the stairs.
And I understand.
Just like he understands my desire for triangle shaped food. Because nothing tastes quite as good in any other shape than triangle. Instead of one medium sized triangle of watermelon he will cut me 6 little triangles. So that I might experience full triangle glory, over and over again with each little piece. I don't even have to ask. He just does it, and seems to relish my enjoyment of snapping off each pink little triangle tip with my teeth almost as much as I enjoy doing it.
Because he understands just how dang good a triangle piece of watermelon tastes compared to those disgusting half moons people some times cut.
We understand each other so well there are days we complete each other's sentences.
Not always correctly, but it's the attempt that counts.
"Honey do you want-"
"A canoe? For what? No wait, do..I want...um..a raccoon? Wait, I know, a yard stick!!!"
"Umm.....no...a coffee? The raccoon sounds cool though."
Life's pretty dang good when you don't just have a marriage, but an understanding.

Dancing Around Reality....

(This is an amazing picture of me dancing, drawn by my husband, on a MagnaDoodle. Who can draw that dang well on a MagnaDoodle? I mean that's insane! A good kind of insane, some people's mediums are oils, acrylics or clay....my husband's is MagnaDoodle!)

I've got something to confess and I feel rather....guilty..no, not guilty. Ashamed maybe? Plain ol' embarrassed perhaps? It's just, what do you do when you find out a little, previously unknown, fact about yourself that you hadn't realized was there? Some tiny, dark corner of your brain that housed a secret desire that's been dormant until....now.
Sheesh, I've got rug burn on my derrière, the cats are hiding in fear and I'm running around the house like a mad woman with my husband in tow and all because of it.......
It just happened one too many times. One too many times and I became the victim of modern advertising. O.k. promo people, are you proud of yourselves? Do you go home all smug and happy at night because you did your jobs well and I've sold my dignity for a few minutes of......yet another reality tv show.
Holy Hannah, I'm such a sucker.
But I was bombarded by the same advertisements for the same show over, and over and OVER again. THEN to make matters worse, as if the television schedule and the BBC were conspiring against me I'd flip on the ol' telly and see...THAT show. At first I tried to deny my fascination.
Walking to the kitchen, rubber necking like mad so my eyes could stay glued to the screen. In the beginning I suffered a few bumps, bruises and odd looks from my husband who was wondering if I'd started secretly drinking during the day. (HA, I only secretly drink at night) Of course I had to lie and say I was hitting the sauce before supper just so I could have my pride and my secret romance with reality tv.
*hangs head in shame*
So many people thing reality tv is crap, and I think some of it is too....but not all of it. There I said it, I don't like the *crying and sobbing and my life sucks so have a super nanny, super cop, super fricking chef come in to my home and fix it up with corn bread and hand cuffs* type shows. But there are a few others that I do enjoy. You wanna make something of it?
Often I've found myself part of a conversation that winds itself around to subjects I have a hard time listening to. In the old days people had it easy, some one tells a prejudice joke, you just knock em up side of the head and be done with it. Some one says something about God you don't agree with you just slap your arse and holler "bite me"
Simple, easy solutions that were most effective in curtailing conversations that wandered into the gray zone. The murky area that lurks between two strongly differing opinions, love it or hate it. But what if you like some, love others and are mildly amused by a few more? Accckk!
So here I am, sucking it up, going to admit.....I watch.......
"Dancing With the Stars."
Damn Jerry Rice for hopping and bouncing all over my television screen, damn those professional ball room dancers for wiggling their asses so fast it's a wonder I didn't get an eye cramp trying to keep up.
At first I couldn't admit what I was doing, a day time drinking problem will only cover so much. Not to mention the fact the television is right behind where my husband works. Now I'll tell ya the man is a fricking genius at tuning out distractions like......oh I don't know...say some one is belting out show tunes, horribly off key, in the kitchen about 20 feet away. He barely bats an eye at screeching and hollering done by the same person as I...er...she makes yet another un-holy mess by spilling coffee grounds all over the counter, stove, floor and cat. He can even do his work while his wife watches yet another episode of the "Golden Girls" on Lifetime, even ignores the fact she's speaking in sync with all of the character's lines, cackling whilst simultaneously acting out Blanche Devereaux's part. (Yes, I love the Golden Girls, you're thinking "this she's not ashamed of but Dancing With The Stars she is???" Well it's easy, the Golden Girls is the MOST non-evil, amusing, and inspiring sitcom I have ever watched, then and now. So bite me. If you could put Blanche, Dorothy, Rose and Sophia in a blender and make a Golden Girls smoothie, that's who I want to be when I grow up...er....grow up more. A Golden Girl's smoothie. Sick...but tasty.)
Annnnnnnyyyy ways. The point is I can watch what I want and he doesn't really notice.....usually....until one day as I'm only about 12% committed to watching "Dancing With The Stars" season 2, which means I am at the couch but not on it. Rather I am standing behind it, draped casually over the back, eyes glued to some of the craziest dancing I have ever seen and I snort.
A small un-lady like snort as Jerry Rice stiffly hops about like a bunny rabbit. I hear an echoing snort.....I turn my head, slowly, my eyes meet my husband's. He's turned round backwards in his computer chair (which he stole from me but that's ok, I stole his) and he's watching the show as well. A HA!
We both straighten up, again slowly, as if moving through cold molasses and our eyes never leave each others. Neither of us cracks, neither of us admits what we're doing. And so we begin a dance of our own, a long slow dance to the tune of "you admit it first". We circle each other in ever tightening spirals, dizzy, the show forgotten momentarily, but it's ok it went to a commercial break anyways.
How long we would have circled I can't say, because the theme song for the program returns, and our feet start tapping a beat in unison, we stare, unblinking until...I can't take it any more. I crack like a bad paint job and run to the couch so as not to miss a moment more of my new best friend "Dancing With The Stars".
Alan settles beside me, I draw comfort from his warmth and we link hands, and everything is ok with the world because if I am one sick puppy for enjoying a reality tv show that has supposed stars bebopping all around a dance floor then I'm not alone. Alan likes it too.
Now about that rug burn. You can not watch a show that has cha cha's, rumbas and God knows what else with out leaping off the sofa during commercial breaks to whirl around the living room at break neck speeds trying them out.
Things we have learned, we can wiggle our butts pretty dang good and in sync too, we can't do the "one partner takes a flying leap into the air and the other catches them and spins them around their neck like a boa" Maybe I ought to have been the one playing the part of a boa....hmmm....anyways I highly recommend "Dancing With The Stars" or at least season 2 though I give you fair warning that parts of you are going to pop and crack like you aint ever heard before when you start trying to do what you just saw George Hamilton do on the tv screen.

• Definition of "Dancing With The Stars": the most fun you can have that doesn't involve coffee, a Nora Robert's book or a laser. Supposed *celebrities* team up with professional dancers and compete against each other, learning some freaky cool dances, sweating a lot and showing more of their navels than a California orange. I say supposed *celebrities* because...I'm sorry...Jerry Rice who? So yeah, it's that kind of show, you won't be finding the cast of StarGate on there or the latest block buster movie hero/heroine but dang....I'd pay at least 30 bucks to watch Samantha Carter, Jack O'Neil and Rodney McKay do the fancy dancing on that show....by the by if you don't know who those characters are then that means you must not watch StarGate and that must mean I hate you. Sorry, thems the breaks. O.k., I forgive you now. I'm fickle that way.

Why Some People Can't Have Nutella.....

Celebrate all that is Nutella on February 5th!

Once upon a time a young woman lost her Nutella innocence in the parking lot of a Trader Joe's.

Logically this woman knew what she was in for, logically.
That Nutella was a chocolate hazelnut type spread, it said so right on the jar did it not? Said young woman liked chocolate and coincidentally hazelnuts so she decided what the heck, I'll give this Nutella a whirl.
What was the harm? (insert ominous, foreboding music here)
She threw a jar of the Nutella into her basket this one fine shopping day and moved on towards the more mundane things on her list, candied ginger, coffee beans and tortilla chips.
Now it might come as surprise to some people exactly all the things this woman was known to get into whilst in a parked car. Whilst in a parked car in front of a Trader Joe's on a sunny day.
She'd sample cheddar cheese right off the block, who needs a knife just bite off a hunk and enjoy. She'd scoop into ice cream with her emergency ice cream spoons always kept in the glove compartment of the car. She'd nibble on bits of bread ripped from the loaf, on handfuls of nuts and occasionally a gourmet soda.
She was a car snacker.
But it's ok, so was her husband.
So they basked in sinful car snacking glory together. Sitting under the hot California sun, with the air conditioning running and harried shoppers giving them the evil eye as they'd yet to give up their parking spot.
So this one day, happily sampling the goodies they'd bought. Sitting in piles of crumbs and grinning toothily at each other over their respective snacks of choice. (He salty, she sweet) The woman glances coyly under her eyelashes at her husband, cranks the air conditioning up another notch and breathily asks her sweettie..."Care to try something........different?"
He pauses, handful of tortilla chips clutched in his hands and slides his wicked blue eyes towards her. "What did you have in mind?"
This was the moment.
The moment before everything changed.
The silence stretched out, thin and sweet in the summer heat as she drew the jar of Nutella from her bag. Triumphantly showed it to her husband, cooed over the colour, the shape of the jar and pointed out that since it was both nuts AND chocolate that it covered both of their craving preferences.
"Let's do it." her husband purred, grabbing the emergency ice cream spoons from the glove compartment, silver glinting in the bright sun, smiling contentedly they popped open the lid.
Can you see it?
The way time slowed to a crawl?
The way they dug their spoons into the Nutella, unknowing of what they were about to unleash?
The drifting laughter from a child passing by the car with their mother. The music on the cd player fades to the background of the moment. The way the light caught the dull glossy spoonful of chocolate nut spread just so, ahhhh just so, as it traveled, for what seemed like an eternity to their mouths?
Nostrils flaring as the rich scent leaps ahead of the spoon, eager to greet their noses. The fading smiles, the open mouths, eyes widening first in shock and pleasure, then narrowing. Darting towards the still open jar that one of them holds.
Which one?
Does it really matter?
There is a small moment of recollection in the woman's memories, of the intensity of flavor and lush silky texture that greeted her unsuspecting tongue. Of the unbridled lust for something she'd barely begun to taste. Of hearts beating faster, breaths quickening and suddenly the air conditioning can not keep the car cool enough.
There's an intense flash point of taste, lust and greed rolled together in one amazing Nutella sized ball.
Two spoons descend in perfect harmony towards the jar, they clash, metal rings brightly, impossibly the spoons tangle together like lovers, unable to part. Each vying for the open jar, each desperately trying to dive into the new heavenly delight that has been discovered, right here on earth.
Everything grows dark as greed takes over.
She doesn't know what happened. There are days of darkness that will never be regained, sweet chocolate scented memories that flit away into nothingness. Some how they got home.
It's as if it never happened, though the inside of the car is suspiciously clean, all but for an empty jar. It too oddly clean, as sparkly spit shined up like a new penny.
As she stands there, dizzy for a moment, memories burrowing deeper into her subconscious, as if hiding from the light, she recalls the moment of revelation.
The one conscious, full memory of glory that was Nutella on her tongue for the first time. Then nothing more till this moment.
She doesn't wonder what happened.
It's best to leave some things be.
She buries the jar in the recycling bin, and even with out memory she knows...some things are so powerful, some things are so intense that they are not for human minds, hands or tongues.
Life goes on for she and he.....
Though occasionally, when walking through Trader Joe's their footsteps falter as they pass the Nutella.
Hands unconsciously reach, in perfect synchronistic movements towards the jars at the same time, they hover, shaking over the closest one. Hers bumping his, his bumping hers. Fingers finally curling into fists, retracting....the moment passes and they get peanut butter instead. Faithful, trusty old peanutbutter.
They can be trusted with peanut butter.

(on a completely un-related to the dark, sinful Nutella ways, note.....if you think you can handle something so freaking good it will blow your mind then I invite you to partake of the rich decadent flavours of Nutella. If you're like me...er...um.....that is....I mean.....if you're like SOME people who choose to remain anonymous and can not be trusted around delicious goodies and have a will power that is so non-existent it actually registers as a negative number then...beware...beware.)

Memory # 7894...

Remember when I used to dress up as a 16th century prostitute and walk back and forth outside your kitchen window? Well walk no, strut yes. A prostitute, especially one from the 16th century, NEVER walks when they can strut.
It was cool how you'd sit there and paint, glasses pushed up on your nose, shooting me sidelong dirty glances out of the corner of your eye. Were you amused at my waddling around in thigh high pleather boots? Or was it the frilly white shirt with so many ruffles it HAD to be from the 16th century? Or maybe it wasn't even my get-up, as authentic as pleather thigh high boots are to the fine art of 6th century prostitution, perhaps it was because the only action I could score was from Big Louie. HA! What a quack.
Good Times Momma Bee, Good Times.

(Big Louie was a duck, may he rest in peace. The Don of the duck cartel that ran all the business in the yard)

A Recipe for Confessing....

Confession is good for the soul....
So they say, though I doubt it's as good for the soul as chocolate or coffee....or...(hang on to yer britches people) Coffee AND Chocolate...hummina hummina
So anyways believe it or not I wasn't a rebellious teenager. *gasp* are you shocked? Or perhaps not so much. The only two times I've been grounded in my life were for wearing mascara when I was 13 and for lighting a match in my bedroom. Ohhhhhhh what a rebel eh? Anyways my point being I didn't do any horrendous teenage acts of rebellion that had my parents chasing me round the country side, that involved authority figures (except for getting kicked out of school, one time for a fight I barely participated in) never went cow tipping, parking or soaped any windows. I never smoked, except when I was 4 and I took a drag off my father's girlfriend's cigarette and it was NASTY. I never stole (cookies, ice cream and chocolate and chocolate related paraphernalia do not count.) And the only deliberately malicious thing I ever did was start a rumor that 2 guys in my class who I detested in grade 9 were having a secret love affair with each other. That was pretty satisfying, though now I feel a little bad because what if they really were secretly gay and I destroyed them emotionally by starting the rumor, and also I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay so I've felt a little guilt over that one for a long time. Anyways the rumor didn't really take off but I felt satisfied that I'd done something to express in a creative way my dislike of these two, macho idiotic jerks. I can't remember why I thought they were jerks but I must have had a good reason. Like maybe they were breathing the same air as me, when you're a teenage girl in the 9th grade that's reason enough. Oh shoot, while I'm confessing I used to kick this one other guy in high school, I'm a tad passive aggressive I am now realizing. Him and his buddies all sat in a hall way and stuck their legs straight out as if they owned the place, as if they had the bloody right to be quietly rude to every one who walked by making them have to step over their legs. Funny thing is, I always *tripped* on his legs....*snicker* oh my how clumsy of me to always accidentally kick him. I quit doing that though when one day he *accidentally* raised his leg higher and *accidentally* tripped me as I was *accidentally* kicking him, wouldn't want an accident to happen would I? So I found a new hobby, er route through the school.
My point?
There is no point, I'm confessing, it's supposed to be good right?
I thought I'd start off with the heavy duty stuff like bruising some poor guy's legs every day at lunch time with my sneakered feet and end with stealing 97% of the delicious, mind blowing squares that were too damn good to share with people at the baby shower I brought them to.
It's my cousin's fault. (hee hee)
She lusted after those squares as much as I did, one little nudge in the direction of greed and gluttony was all it took. Actually I don't remember who suggested it. All I have is a faintly chocolate and coffee infused memory of arriving at a baby shower, hosted at my cousin's house.
People frown upon bringing tequila or twister to a baby shower where I come from so my Mom and I settled on a classic. Super, uber rich Arrowroot squares. (a family favorite recipe)
I had to hold that plate full of sinful goodness on my lap all the way to shower during the car ride...if I accidentally stuck my fingers under the plastic wrap and a bump in the road jostled my arm into hastily flinging a chunk of square into my greedy little mouth, can I be blamed? Hell no.
One taste was all it took to fill my dazzled mind with thoughts of sweet thick coffee frosting layered over chocolatey heaven. Do you really want to know how bad I had it? Do you reallllllllllly? I haven't a fricking clue who's baby shower it was I was going to, not a clue. I was all like "Baby? What Baby?"
I carried that plate of loveliness into my cousin's house with more care then I've ever held a kid, if some kindly relative smiled hello and asked "What ya got there dearie?" I growled, maybe drooled a little.
Thank goodness my cousin was there, she saved me from having to wrestle Auntie so-and-so or other cousin whats-her-face to the kitchen floor. My cousin in all her genius saw the potential of that plate of arrowroot squares to be OURS. And only ours, as arrowroot squares were so obviously meant to be.
With a little diversionary tactic that consisted of loudly saying "I'LL JUST PUT THIS PLATE OF SQUARES ON THE COUNTER OVER HERE!" Then we oh so cleverly slid off one or maybe two of the teensy tiniest squares from the whole batch onto another plate. See how clever that is????? All the relatives would each think the other relatives had gotten to the squares before them! Brilliant! While off we made with the loot, down to my cousin's bedroom, where we shut the door and proceeded to scarf down sickeningly vast amounts of Arrowroot squares. Hummina Hummmina Hummina. Oh man, if one of something is good then you KNOW a dozen of it is heaven.
The baby shower...it's a sugar induced high like blurry memory. I don't even remember going home, I remember when we shut the bedroom door and started in on that plate of stolen sweets and then....nothing.
Hmmm, I feel a sort of tickling sensation on my right foot....is that my soul? Feeling better after all this confessing?
It's not as satisfying a sensation as I expected...damn.
If you have the urge to make your own Arrowroot Squares let me tell you this.....if you can find a way to some how steal them from yourself or deprive others from enjoying them they'll taste ever the more sweeter. I'll have to ask my Mom where we even got the recipe. The original called for Arrowroot cookies to be crumbled up in the base but me dear Ma and I always used chocolate chip cookies. The name Arrowroot Squares has stuck for us though.

Arrowroot Squares


Lightly grease an 8"x8" pan and prepare your self mentally for a sweet mind altering experience.

In a bowl:
30 small crunchy chocolate chip cookies (or the cookie of your choice)
crumble these up leaving some dime size pieces and chunks. you don't want them too fine.

In a pot combine the following and cook on medium heat, constantly stirring for 8 minutes:
8 tbs. of white sugar
2 eggs well beaten
1 tsp of vanilla
4 tbs. of cocoa
1/3 cup of butter
1/2 tsp of salt

After 8 minutes dump the mixture over the broken cookies and stir up, then dump it in to the 8" pan and press down firmly.

Icing:
In a bowl combine:
1/3 cup of soft butter
1 1/2 cup of icing sugar
1 tsp of vanilla
1 tbs. of cocoa
Some super strong coffee


Mix this together and add the very strong coffee till you get the right frosting consistency. For the coffee I usually use a couple teaspoons of instant coffee in a bowl with a little bit of water, so its super dark strong. It doesn't take much of this strong coffee liquid to get the frosting smooth and creamy.
Then you frost the squares and enjoy. They get firmer when they cool, yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmers!

The only other thing I can add to this ramble down memory lane and recipe sharing is that it's seriously a damn yummy square and also I hate calories. (actually make that I F$#%ing hate calories)

A Threesome with Ben and Jerry

A quiet weekend threesome with me, Ben and Jerry turned into an orgy of cold creamy lovin....
I try to stay strong against those two and their sinfully delicious ways....but how am I supposed to resist temptation with flavors like....creme brule....Oh mercy me..........
I do my damnedest to ignore their enticing good looks but it always ends up the same.
MMmmmmmmmmmmmm....
Me, Ben and Jerry in an orgy of frozen goodness on the kitchen floor.
Slightly full, slightly abashed and slightly apologetic to my husband who doesn't understand why eating a pint of ice cream has to involve thrashing about like a fish outta water.
It was Creme fricking Brule flavored ice cream peoples......
Times like that I wish I smoked.