In a Pickle

A hefty grouping of cucumbers (and pickles) has mysteriously appeared in my refrigerator...interestingly enough, it's rumored that it was delivered by a jolly old man with a white beard. Anyway...

I make a mean cucumber, sprout (I prefer radish) and mushroom sandwich [a little sour cream and szechuan sauce spread on lightly toasted Tuscan or Peasant bread *insert sounds of lips smacking*] and my friend in CT served a fabulous cucumber salad the other night (cucumber, tomato, fresh mozarella, onion, olive...not sure what he dressed it with but it was YUM-O!) [Editor's Note: In fact, this friend in CT served an entire kick ass meal that would have stood up to any bbq in Kansas City, and I ain't just talkin' trash here. I haven't had ribs like that in...well, 13 years to be exact. And then, I think this Connecticut boy's ribs might have actually been just a tad bit better. This guy grew up on BI, for goodness' sake! How the heck did he learn to q like that?].

However...those are really the only two things I know to do with cucumbers (if any of you say one disgusting thing, I'm booting you off - be warned!) - so if y'all know of any good things to make with cucumbers, lemme know! Preferrably this week.

God, I love food. I can't help it. As my friend, D, knows and completely understands, food is as much fun (sometimes more) to talk about as it is to eat. I love to anticipate. I love to cook - as long as it's not the same ol', same ol', day after day after day. Okay, I love to cook occasionally. But I especially love to talk food. I want to be able to cook anything and everything. I'd settle for learning to cook fish well. We all need a goal. I'm like D; don't tell me you had a nice pasta for dinner at Sharky's last night. Tell me that you had a pasta dish with broiled scallops and shrimp, served with black olives, capers, onions, tomatoes and parmesan tossed with spaghetti and served in what seemed to be a light broth with a garnish of parsley. That's what I want to hear. And I don't care that you should have had a pinot grigio with the seafood, just tell me that the merlot still complimented the taste. And how was the Key Lime pie? How did it look? How was the presentation? How did it taste? Was it as good as the one at Harbor Grill?

I think I'm going to go make a cucumber, sprout and mushroom sandwich now...*drool*

P.S. Any word from sam yet? I watched all the people from So. Padre on the news last night, looking for anyone who might be our dear blogging friend.

Happy Birthday to Me

So...

It's my birthday.

Woo. Hoo.

Here's my Birthday Wish List.

For my Birthday, I would like:

World Peace.
Britney Spears to give up recording. Please.
World Peace.
A stereo.
A living room.
A margarita. (although I did have a very lovely glass of merlot at Sharky's this evening.)
A big honkin' chocolate everything cake.
World Peace.
To be ordained at some point in my lifetime.
To star in The King and I.
World Peace.
To see my family.
To star in Gypsy.
World Peace.
The complete and utter anihilation of any person who ever harms a child in any way.
To play Aldonza before I'm too old (don't you dare ask!)
To lose 20 pounds (btw, I haven't had a soda in 4 days and 5 pounds just disappeared)
To see both my kids graduate with PhDs (but hopefully they will have scholarships)
World Peace.
To star in Hello Dolly (although I'm actually a little young for that, thank God)
To star in The Lion in Winter - in 15 more years.
Have I mentioned World Peace?

For my birthday, I would like the families of American Soldiers to be made whole again. I wish the families in Iraq and Afghanistan an end to their pain and anguish. I wish the brave to be rewarded and the wicked to be punished. I wish that drug addicts and alcoholics know God (or any other Higher Power that floats their boat, I'm not picky) and get right with the world so that they, too, can know the real happiness that comes with a hefty dose of sweat and reality and is far more rewarding. For my birthday, I would like the separation of Church and State to stay that way. I would also like moral people to make moral decisions based on everyone's equal rights, not everyone's right to live according to one person's vision, no matter how moral. I would like to see the complete evaporation of all hate-mongers, name-callers, bigots, racists, chauvanists (male and female), neo-nazis, skinheads, and any other person who finds acceptance and justification for hate.

For my birthday I would like to see the Block Island school make the music program a priority. A real one. Not just lip service. I would like to see the respect of everyone's civil rights even if it means they get to choose to be complete idiots and put themselves and their families at risk. I would like to embrace my Aunt and Uncle and Cousins and eat and drink and play Monopoly (although I always lose, so let's play Trivial Pursuit instead). For my birthday, I would like to take out old photos and happily reminisce about other times (the good, the bad and the 80's ugly) - unfortunately my old photos and kick ass custom framed art collection all ended up with my estranged and now deceased father so I don't have any old pictures - which will probably end up another misty night blog. So, for my birthday, I wish anybody with any old pictures of me at any time in my life (unless I'm naked with a lampshade on my head...unless my butt looks good in the pic) be forwarded to me. For my birthday, I would like Marc to say hi, Cyndi to get a recording contract in Nashville, Mel to loosen her stitches, Irish any job he so desires, my daughter to have the best camp experience ever, my son to sleep through the frickin' night and me to do the same.

God Bless You All...every one. No exceptions. (Except...)

Pretty and the Beastie

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Pretty who longed to see the world. And she did. She travelled to foreign lands and explored exotic territories. She even visited high priced tourist spots in her own country and felt all the better for it. But Pretty was troubled. She felt it was time to settle down and raise a family.

One day, when Pretty was living in a far away but homey principality run by several feudal warlords and extremist villager factions, she came across the Beastie. Now, the Beastie wasn't terribly beastly at the time, and even quite good looking in a beastie, werewolfish sort of way. And as time passed, Pretty fell in love with the misunderstood yet loveable Beastie. And they married. And they had babies that, thankfully, looked more like Pretty and less like Beastie.

One day, when Pretty was rocking the Wee Beastie to sleep in their once grand but now dilapidated country manor that still technically belonged to some long lost half uncle on the Beastie's second cousin's aunt's side, Beastie came home and announced that the villagers were scheduling a mass protest against carniverous neighbors and it was time for them to move on. He had chosen a remote fiefdom far, far away for their next home.

"But where will we live," Pretty asked.

"In a cave I have found with a stream nearby so there's running water," the Beastie replied.

"Um, Beastie," Pretty hesitated to broach the subject. "I'm not exactly a cave and stream kinda gal."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie responded, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

"True," Pretty thought. For very nearly all her life, Pretty had assumed everybody knew better about everything than her. That, of course, would explain some of the more severe fashion disasters like leg warmers and puffed red leather jackets.

"What will we do for a living," Pretty asked.

"Eventually I'm sure I'll find something - probably in the security field...overwatching flocks, that sort of thing," the Beastie told her. "Until then, we'll just have to rough it for a while and I'll steal a chicken or two. You can stretch two chickens for six weeks you're so talented."

"Um...Beastie," Pretty hesitated again, but felt it really should be raised. "The Wee Beastie and the Beastette need clothes and food and annoying toys with batteries."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie rumbled a little louder this time, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

Pretty chewed her lip and tried to think of the many ways she could stretch the meat of two chickens. And perhaps wring a neck or two.

That night, Pretty asked, "But Beastie, how will we get to town or run errands or entertain? I won't be able to paint cave walls or have a garden."

"Well, Pretty," the Beastie replied, obviously frustrated with her questions, "we're not going to be able to do those things. But we're stuck with it now and we're just going to have to do the best we can."

"Um...Beastie," Pretty spoke up, quite boldly now. "I'm not really a just do the best we can kinda gal. I need security and...well...security. I really am a financial, emotional and spiritual security kinda gal. And you are a Beastie, after all."

"Now, Pretty," the Beastie nearly roared, "you knew what I was like when you married me."

"Well," said Pretty, "that's not quite true. My cousin Beauty married a Beastie and he turned out to be a charming prince who had learned his lesson about humanity. He has 200k a year PLUS enchanted furniture. I have a deficit from what I started with."

"Oh, please," the Beastie snarled, "those aren't real Beasties. Momma's boys living off their dead parent's money...they don't do anything for themselves - that's what the enchanted furniture's for. Only about 3% of the Beasties are enchanted. The rest of us were born Beasties, stay Beasties and will die horrible, ugly, smelly, tangly, snarly Beasties."

At this point, Pretty realized with a certain amount of dread that she would have to move to a far, far away fiefdom with a completely unenchanting Beastie and there would be no forthcoming castle, no large family inheritance, no bewitched servants to help her with her household chores. Where else could she go, what else would she do? So Pretty began to learn the art of cave drawings with bits of burnt wood, and how to tell a Moose from an Elk and all sorts of really useful things.

The moral of the story? Umm...I'm not really a moral to the story kinda gal.