Like rain through a looking glass

KS would like to thank Eric Hiasen, Christopher Buckley, Terry Pratchett and, most importantly, Tim Dorsey for keeping me in stitches all summer. I began the vacation with some well-written yet maudlin short stories about young immigrants from Russia- not what I was looking for in light summer fare, and I definitely wanted a break from the chick lit my girls recommend. So, Men, Cheers!

Drum roll please!

We're having a boy! Yahoo! A girl would have been fine, of course, but he has three, and so I was hoping for a boy for him-not that he would ever indicate a preference.. Also, I enjoyed raising a son. Wow, making a birth plan while checking my son's college essays...

Overheard in NorthHampton

"...and so the judge said she was too fat and..."

Summer Reading

I'm reading How to Win Friends and Influence People NOT to gain more friends, but rather to get the dirty masses to do my bidding.

And for my next trick

Since my description for making a carrot cake was a resounding success and eventually replaced the original recipe in The Silver Palate, I thought I'd pass along my directions for making a tuna sandwich.

This type of sandwich is really for The Expectant Mom, and I don't mean the mom who is expecting a perfect report card or the newest edition of Martha Stewart: How To Train The Perfect Blond Child That You Can Also Use As a Serving Platter, but rather the bloated, beach ball type mom who is baking yet another human. Tuna becomes special to that type of mom, for, you see, she is limited to only 3 six ounce servings per month due to high mercury levels. Those of you who have not borne children yet may be thinking, "Gee, I'm not that crazy about tuna" or, "I'm a vegetarian who doesn't eat fish, I'll have nothing to worry about." The rest of us smugly laugh at you because one always craves what one can't have. Hairy arm pitted women will crave Captain Crunch with diet Coke, Kiwis will crave braised Polar Bear, Teetotalin Born Again Christians will crave malt liquor, and this carnivore craves fish.

And so, this recipe (told in anecdotal form) begins last Thursday, when I was craving a tuna sandwich something fierce. Actually, the craving had been brewing for a few days, but I had consumed some seafood the week prior, so I had to wait the requisite number of days before mashing fish flesh in a bowl. Red x's decorate my calendar-marking the weeks left in my pregnancy? No! The days between tuna fish sandwiches.

I love tuna salad the way my mom makes it. White albacore, a little mayo, celery, onion, and, most importantly, dill. You have to get the right kind of chips, too, and, preferably, diet cola (pretty much forbidden, as well. You should have seen me in the store in front of the small fridges they have that contain only soda. Took one out...mmm...NO, could hurt the baby, put it back, took another one out, no, don't give into temptation-you get the idea. I never thought I'd be reciting lines from the Lord's Prayer in front of rows of Diet Coke.) I got out a bowl, cutting board, onion, and celery, chopped up the veggies and threw them in with jubilant anticipation. Here comes protein! Here comes omega-3 somethings! Here comes...

absolutely freaking nothing, because my poor cupboards were bereft of tuna. Oatmeal from 1996? Check. Cans and cans of chunk pineapple that I bought in anticipation of Y2K? Check. Anything resembling fish? Nope.

I dejectedly covered the chopped compote while sniffing. While I was dipping granola bars into peanut butter as a poor substitute, I vowed to buy tuna the next day...which I did on Saturday. Instead of buying the white albacore, I bought chunk light, because I had read that it contains less mercury.

Saturday, finally home after standing in line behind ONE couple for twenty minutes while they argued over the swipe machine, I thought I'd be smart and assemble all my ingredients first. Onion/celery? HA! Already chopped. Tuna? BINGO! Dill, right here. Bread? Alri-wait, where the heck is the bread? I left it ON TOP of the fridge? Did I buy rosemary...no, don't tell me, mold. Tearing up, I replaced the ingredients, grabbed a spoon, and just ate the peanut butter right from the jar, weeping, as only a pregnant lady can, with a tablespoon full of smashed nuts.

The recipe ends on a Tuesday, today. First, I grabbed the fresh, wheat, organic no-grains-were-hurt-in-the-making-of-this bread. Got the tuna. Got out the onion and celery (already chopped! blech, old, need to redo it). Looked for the dill. Looked for the dill again. Took all the spices out, put them all back., no dill. Closed the cupboard, closed eyes, opened cupboard- there was dill. Whew.

I was dancing, dancing the victory dance, the butt shaking, I'magonnagetmytunasandwich now dance, when I reached for the UNOPENED jar of may-o-naise...

that expired in December, 2007.

I didn't cry, yell, or slump to the floor in defeat. I grabbed my purse and bought the hell out of some mayo, and I assembled that brownish chunk light tuna, with the fresh mayo, and strong onion, and green celery, and pungent dill and I slapped it on that organic wheat one million grain bread, and as I brought it to my lips, I realized, nothing-not pain of death, bribery or being threatened with a photo of a naked Dick Cheney, nothing could make me take a bite of that absolutely foul smelling monstrosity that I had created.

Just call me Heather and buy me day-glo plastic bracelets

Yeah, so admittedly, with this summer off and the son away at college camp, I've wasted a LOT of time on line, mostly viewing porn and, more recently, on Facebook. I just friended one of my "cousins" (offspring of a close, close friend of my mom's-friend, aunt, step-mother, whatever) who works for ***. I know that he's in regular contact with celebrities (as a matter of fact, his name gets into print or is flashed in the credits for some TV shows), but I'm not easily starstruck, and, though I have fond memories of him and he's a cool guy, we certainly don't hang out or correspond more than a couple of times a year.

Still, when I checked out his friends and comments, I was all (YEAH, I wrote "I was all") Holy Shite! S**** M***** posted on his wall? He knows L*** L**** ? He's having lunch with M**** S******??? Sure, they sniff the milk like everyone else before pouring it on their Captain Crunch, but still, S**** M*****? I LOVE that guy. I'd sniff his milk for him

Oh, and...

Backyard, KS, BF, clippers, shavers and poodle.

KS..."We should shave a squirrel."
BF "What is it with you and squirrels? They're cute, and you're sick."

Two hours and a shaved dog later, driving down the street...

KS "Look! There it is!"
BF "Huh? Crap, what the ...?" Tires squeal.
BF, pointing to black rodent with a bushy golden tail. "Is that a SQUIRREL?"
KS, smugly, "Yep, I told you."
BF, shaking head, "Someone should capture that thing and study it."
KS weshouldgrabthedamnthingandhanditofftoKS13andmanny...
BF "What?"
KS "Oh, nothing..."

It's hot

And now...I'm on Facebook.

Great.

La dee da

Someone from Washington state ran a search for "squirrel pregnancy hormones" and got my blog. Hee hee. Dammit! I'm supposed to be looking up a museum. Can't keep a thought in my head to save my life.

Libertarians of the world...

At one point during the "in-law" picnic, I thought I was going to go absolutely insane as two chemical engineer/patent lawyers and a lawyer/chemical engineer in training were talking shop, but the conversation turned to politics. I had assumed the the father/son team were right wing Republicans and braced myself for the party line. After a few minutes of give and take between those two, the BF and the other (less conservative) lawyer, I asked the son, "Are you a Libertarian?" He responded in the affirmative, as did the dad, and so I had a ton of questions, having only a rudimentary knowledge of the tenets of the philosophy. Drug laws, public education, gun laws, seat belts, the war in Iraq, personal responsibility, honor and valor, voting/drinking/driving ages, Child and Family protective services, welfare-all were discussed, and I was absolutely fascinated by the responses.

What a couple of foocking fascists, but boy, the chocolate cake couldn't be beat.

It even made the popcorn taste bad

Crap, Life, or two movie studios, owe me a reimbursement of at least three hours. Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason? Why, oh why? At first, I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to see the movie through to the end because I had somewhere to go. That was LONG before the movie started. (It still annoys me that I haven't been able to see the ending to Stephen Chow's soccer movie because it became pixelated near the end and kept cutting to the credits.) After the first five minutes, I comforted myself that I had rented it from the library and it hadn't cost a dime. Then, I kept thinking, well, SOMETHING good has to happen soon.

Nope.

Although I never make fun of people who are overweight (having been heavy myself for a few years, and boy did it suck), all I could think was, Boy, Renee looks terrible. I don't even like really skinny women (Calista Flockhart makes me throw up in my mouth a little whenever I see her. One of the biggest TV disappointments for me was that the kiss on Ally McBeal was between her and Lucy Lui, not Luci and ah, that other blonde who is famous but I don't feel like googling to find her name.)

How Stella Got Her Groove Back wasn't much better, but at least it had Taye (?) Diggs and Angela Bassett. Now SHE is hot, in both the God, I wish I looked like her and Yeah, I'd buy her tequila until she kissed me way.

Off to try to squeeze two humans into one bathing suit.

Sigh

Being pregnant and while not married was not even a blip on my radar screen...until I attended a huge Italian funeral with the BF. I do have to say everyone was very nice (and this Irish gal has never been kissed and hugged so much in one day ever), but there's nothing like a huge event with serious religious overtones to make one feel a bit self conscious about one's...transgressions.

Also, I never thought I'd be in the position of planning a boyfriend's 50th birthday party while decorating a nursery for our baby. I'm happy about it...but it does have a certain "Holy shit" feel to it.

Ah, hello?

Should I tell the two teenaged hoochie mamas preening on the corner that my son is away at a local university earning college credit, or I should I continue to snort at their antics? At first, I wasn't a hundred percent sure it was for his benefit, but the basketball courts are clear, and the only teenagers in a five house radius on every side (including the cross street) are girls. I love the outfits-tight ankle length jeans (it's 92 and humid), black tube top and an orange spandex halter-with a three quarter length sleeve army green jean jacket. What's even funnier is that were he home, and were they able to garner his attention, he would inquire about their course schedule and political party affiliation before giving them the time of day. Oh shit, unless this has something to do with all the "walks" he's been taking since the spring...and I thought he was just increasing endurance...

DON'T GO THERE.

Jigga wha'?

You mean in order to turn on my 13 inch TV 7 or 8 times a year to see if there is a snow day, I'm going to have to PAY? Fascists!!!

Just here to help

I've noticed through all my phone calls to T-Mobile that repeating "Fuck you" over and over again to the automated line actually gets you to a human being much more quickly than going through all of the choices.

You're welcome.