Sunday, February 21, 2010

I'm so mad at my mother...(courtesy of Steve Martin)

Moms. It can be a love/hate relationship. Especially between a mother and daughter. Since I still live with my mom (like a rock star) there are inevitable fights. Or just those situations where she can make me feel so small and useless. Here's one of my favorites.

For her birthday I had a big plan to make her a surprise meal. The tricky part was timing, to run to the store and make the meal the day of while she was at work. Being the summer I wanted to keep it somewhat light, so I made a classic ceviche and a 9" lemon tart from scratch, crust and all! I was so excited to do something like this for her. Real life being what it is, plans changed and she was able to come home early that day. I thought, "Oh well, it'll still be quite a surprise, I'll just be finishing some things when she gets home."

So I'm in the kitchen, the tart is cooling on the stove, and I'm still cutting up some of the white fish for the ceviche. She comes home and walks into the kitchen. I smile and say, "Happy Birthday! I'm making you dinner, I'm just finishing up." She looks at the ceviche, a disgusted look comes across her face and she says, "That's the dinner?" in the most disappointed voice possible.

My heart breaks.

Suddenly I'm trying to defend the nice thing I was trying to do for her. Then she goes into how I shouldn't make her feel bad on her birthday and how reasonable she's being. I could go on and on, but even now typing this out, it still hurts.

Then just this past weekend she and I went to a party that was celebrating several of my friends' birthdays, including my own! I made a ton of yummy cupcakes of course. And one of my friends is expecting a baby, so for her gift I knitted a baby blanket, fluffy and soft. My mom reminded me how to knit and do the edging, but I bought the yarn and spent almost a month getting it done. The party was fun and lovely, even my mom seemed to be having a good time.

Flash forward to the next day. I come downstairs, before I or she even says, "Good morning" she starts, "I was just thinking how much of the ingredients you must have gone through to make those cupcakes. And you could have at least said I did the edging on the blanket."

Confused? So was I.

I contribute to groceries every month and I fully planned to restock the sugar, flour and such. And excuse me about the blanket? Thank you for reminding me how to knit but dammit I did the work. I couldn't talk to her for the rest of the day I was so furious. I should have simply said, "Fuck you". But I still have to somehow live with this woman. I seriously need a reasonably priced apartment. Maybe I'll get that for my birthday.

Watch she makes me dinner...then its my turn >:oD

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Debbie Does it on My Sheets

So I like to watch porn. I'm human. Yes, a woman who watches porn, men pick your jaws up off the floor now thank you. And before I get into my real story, guys with girlfriends and wives who make you feel like guilty perverts for watching porn, they secretly like it too. It's just that girls have been raised to abhor such things and feel guilty for liking it. So they would rather not be put in that position and avoid it all together. Okay, maybe not all girls like porn, but dammit they are curious.

I don't really have to explain why I like porn, main reason is pretty obvious. Although one part why I do like it is that it is very educational. New positions and such, and why you always need a cucumber handy.

But my real tale that I wish to share is how I feel a special connection to the porn community. One night a few years ago, watching porn (duh), it happened. While the man and the woman slinked into the bedroom getting all sexy I noticed something very distinct. The sheets they were about to get freaky on as it were. They were my sheets. My bedding. Their set designer (they use those right?) picked my bed sheets for the sexy scene! Now I know what you're thinking, I must sleep on silk and lace sheets in black and red colors.


My bedding, which I picked out in high school mind you, are pale blue and yellow with patterns of pale pink roses all over. The cover is reversible too! (So was the woman in the porn, maybe that's why they picked them) And my innocent sheets in no way fit in with the rest of the decor, or the story line (innocent school girl getting freaky? nay nay...) I think they were in a mansion too, making my sheets stand out more!!! My bedding is not grand or elegant enough to be in a mansion. I could not believe it. What's more unbelievable is that I wasn't smart enough at the time to write down the name of the film. No proof. I feel like it had to be Skintimax or Friday After Dark, or something on HBO. I know it wasn't "Oops I Swallowed", too recent. I may have to start a contest to see who can find the film. Until then, the mystery remains...

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


There are those situations where you find yourself accidentally eavesdropping. Not because you're nosy, but clearly the people talking want to be heard, no matter how embarrassing their topic of conversation. For me the best (or maybe it should be called the worst) happened a few years ago in a Starbucks...yes I do enjoy soft jazz and pretentious drinks, get a job you hippie. I'm just kidding, no one will hire you until you shower.

So, while adding sugar and taste-testing my coffee, this is what I overheard:

Woman, "How long was your grandmother missing?"
Man, "Oh, 3 to 4 days, then they found the body. She wasn't dead, but they asked me, 'Does your grandmother usually swim naked in the Housatonic River?' I said no..."

I shit you not.

How do I remember this? Well, in high school I started a quote diary. Just those everyday moments, those one-liners my friends would say and I just had to write down. Sadly most of them will only be funny to me. But in this particular situation, where I had to bolt out of the Starbucks before laughing in a strangers face, I wrote it on a piece of paper I found in my car and kept it in the diary.

What I still can't believe, and still remember to this day, is how casual the conversation was. It was as if they were discussing their day at work, not a missing, streaking relative! (okay I'm just going to put it out there...Grannies Gone Wild: Dentures know there's a niche market for that)

Speaking of the elderly, there is another fond, and awkward moment that just came to mind. It occurred years ago on a cruise trip with my family. While waiting for the elevator with my sister, two elderly women were coming down the hall towards us. One of the women I believe had a lunch that must have upset her tummy because she started to toot with every step. Her timing was impeccable, like walking on whoopy cushions, it was always on the beat. Her hearing appeared to be fine because with every blow she said, "Oh dear" or "Oh my". So knowing her hearing was intact my sister and I tried out hardest to stifle our laughter, also known as the church giggles. Those moments where you know you shouldn't laugh, but can't fucking help it! Finally the elevator came, we run in and make the doors shut before rootin' tootin' granny can join us (yes I know I'm going to Hell) and then we crumple to the floor laughing.

They say with old age comes wisdom. And from these two situations I can also look forward to forgetting who I am, why I'm required to wear clothes, and farting down the river...awesome.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

My Kind of Man

When it comes to men, I suppose I am a bit picky. There is one kind however, when I see him walking down the street or shopping in a grocery store, he just warms my heart and I want to take him home with me. Let me see how well I can paint the picture.

He's in his 70's to 90's. If it's warm out he tends to wear bermuda shorts, sandals with black socks that rise up to mid-calf. When it's chilly he'll cover his head with a newspaper boy hat and a scarf that no doubt represents his alma-mater. He may be slightly hunched over with age, but he doesn't let it slow him down as he shuffles down the sidewalk or the aisle. Oh the cute shuffle he does. You know he was a dancer in his younger days. I see him and I just want to adopt him.

You know he likes to play cards, perhaps Gin or Solitare. And he could talk for hours about the good old days, like the war, the first or the second, doesn't matter.

So call me picky, or color this blog really short, but that is my kind of man.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Some Pet Peeves

When I made the decision to go to Culinary School I couldn't wait to tell people. I quickly realized what a mistake this was. Here is what would happen 99% of the time:

1) Their eyes would grow wide and immediately "ooo" and "ahhh"

2) They would say, "I would be happy to be your taste tester anytime." Every time someone would say this they would smile coyly and wink thinking they are oh so clever and the first person to say this to me. Little did they know they were the 100th and sure wouldn't be the last.

3) If I was meeting a friend of a relative, the relative in question couldn't wait to share what I do for a living. Their friend quickly does either 1 or 2, or more often they say, "How nice it must be to have a chef in the family. You must do all the cooking at the holidays." Again winking and again making me cringe.

4) They ask me if I would do all their cooking for the holidays.

The thing that's tough to make people understand is how unglamorous it really is to be a chef. Those who aren't in the business automatically think of the Food Network and think that we all get to work in bright, shiny kitchens with flattering lighting. That we love every moment laboring over a recipe and have all the time in the world to get it done right. Now, I hate to use this as a reference, but Hell's Kitchen is a bit more accurate to the daily life of a chef. God knows it is overdone and made much more dramatic, but that and Top Chef really shows the pressure we're under. We all have been yelled at by the Executive Chef at one time or another. There is a major time crunch in the kitchen but no matter what the food must be perfect when it leaves the kitchen. We're on our feet for at least 10 hours a day and we're lucky to get a half-hour break for a meal, even luckier if we get to sit down while we eat it. You're really lucky if your kitchen has a window to the outside world. In some cases you're lucky to have a window. Not to mention dealing with picky customers. The meal or dessert is made perfectly, they eat 90% of it, then suddenly feel it is not up to par and demand it replaced without being charged for either one. Is the customer always right?

So why be a chef?

For one, it sure as hell beats being stuck in a cubicle all day long. At times it's an adrenaline rush, pushing yourself to get the job done faster. And when you can stand behind your work and see people genuinely appreciating and admiring what you've created, you can't help but smile and feel proud.