Corn

Tonight My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I grilled up some chicken with a side of corn.

As we chomped away I noticed that MSMF had a completely different way of eating his head of corn.  One half was stripped clean as he continued to work in a steady, consistent circle around the cob.

Me: "Funny. You're style of eating corn is completely different than mine. I have a typewriter style of left to right."

MSMF: *gnashing away*

Me: "What do you call your style?"

MSMF: "The carwash."

Me: "Like the big round washing contraption with the bristles at the carwash?

MSMF: *nods his head*

While we worked away on our corn, my fur baby Jaja jumped up on the couch to scream at us. She has gotten way too comfortable yelling at us every night while we eat dinner, hoping to grab a morsel from one of us suckers. So far this past week she's had crab, halibut, steak stirfry, chicken and even mint and chip ice cream.

Me: "Do you think Jaja would like some corn?"

MSMF: "Babe, no."

Me: *offering my corn up to Jaja* "Oh my God! Babe look! She's eating it!"

She couldn't get enough of it. It cracked me up seeing her little teeth as she bit at the corn, tearing off little pieces.

Weird Quirks

It's been hot as balls here.

Honestly it's been worse in LA. But with temps in the 80's and no air conditioner there's only so much a fan can do. Feels like it's just spitting regurgitated sweat air at you. I was hoping My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I could get out on bikes for a little exercise and cooler temps at the beach this weekend but my podiatrist put the "No" on that. Damn surgery.

Speaking of air conditioning, I have this weird thing about using the air conditioner in the car. In anyone else's car I don't give a shit. Crank that thing up. But in my own car, you better roll your window down. I don't really know where this quirk came from though I think it's somehow rooted in the fact that I've never, EVER owned a new car let alone one in the same decade. I suppose running the air conditioner felt like a luxury that every car just couldn't take, otherwise it would break down. Each time I attempted to flip the switch, the engine and car would shutter and run funny and you could visibly see the gas meter going down. A car's air conditioner may have nothing to do with gas consumption or the way the engine runs but in my mind those things are associated and cemented.

I said roll your window down earlier because that's exactly what anyone would have had to do in my first car, a 1972 Chevy Chevelle. I got "Beast" not long after I got my license at 16. Beast got the nickname Beast because that car was fast and volatile. 350 V8, 4 barrel carburetor with a high lifting cam. Caramel interior with a red exterior, just like a caramel apple. It even had the original air conditioner. Which of course didn't work. While Beast had an awesome engine and looked pretty that God damn car was a pain in the ass and unpredictable at best. Overheated constantly, broke down frequently. Even caught fire once! No joke. To try to keep Beast from overheating I would run the fan on high, which partially sucked the hot air off the engine and blew it into my face inside the car. I'm pretty sure the carbon monoxide from Beast has taken a few years off my life.

My next car was my Grandmother's gold hand me down 1985 Buick Somerset. Nothing screams eligible bachelorette like a ghetto paradise mid-80's Buick. She called it her "bread and butter". Not only did it look like a stick of pimped out butter but it's what she drove to work at McDonald Douglas everyday until she retired, earning her her daily bread and butter. By the time I got the car it had a million miles and the headliner was sagging due to years of my Grandmother smoking in the car. Not long after driving it the power window on the drivers side stopped working followed by the transmission losing fourth gear. And do you think once I lost the power window that I ran the air conditioner? You bet your ass I didn't. There was still the passenger's side window. It was sentimental loss more than anything the day a flatbed came to take Grandma's bread and butter away.

My next and current car is a tank. Not literally but figuratively. The most beat up but hard working and best running car I've ever had, a 1994 Toyota Corolla. Also a hand me down from my ex-fiance. He bought it as a commuter car while we were dating, as he was living in Los Angeles and I was in Costa Mesa. It wasn't long until I moved in with him in LA. After things fell apart and he moved to the East Coast for work, the tank became mine. Over the years people have hit it, scratched it...but I still love it. It's got a silver paint job with what I imagine used to be dark grey interior. Due to sun bleaching it's now an amazingly bad purple-brown color. Did I mention it has almost 300,000 miles? Yeah, it has almost 300,000 miles and I've barely put any money into it that wasn't standard maintenance. It just won't die (knock on wood). It's not sexy and sure at times, when I started dating someone new, I felt humbled and embarrassed about my classy as fuck ride. But that car is a work horse and actually fun to drive, so I stand by it. I don't want to make it harder on my little tank by throwing on the air conditioner. I can hear the engine work harder and shudder every time I turn it on because someone else is in the passenger seat complaining and sweating. Will my 4-banger give up the ghost with a perfectly good, fully charged air conditioner? Probably.

But I don't give a shit. I'm going to power my windows down, throw on my shades, and bask in my own discomfort and sweat. All because I'm weird and I've got quirks.

What's your weird quirk(s)?

Crispy Parmesan

"I wish you were a piece of crispy Parmesan."

Laughing, I roll over slightly in bed to face My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") who is still biting at my shoulder and neck meat waiting for a response.

Me: "Crispy Parmesan huh. Why?"

MSMF: "So that I could take tiny nibbles out of you each day."

Me: "Hmm. Parmesan though? Not Sharp Cheddar or Spicy Jack?"

MSMF: "No. Parmesan."

Me: "How many nibbles a day are we talking?"

MSMF: "Maybe three. Four nibbles."

Me: "But honey, if I were a Parmesan crisp, I would disappear in a matter of weeks."

MSMF: "Well I wouldn't want that."

Me: "Still wish I were a piece of crispy Parmesan?"

MSMF: *said in a disappointed tone* "No."

I get asked about being all kinds of things.  Yesterday morning MSMF asked if I would want to be a piece of french toast. While tasty, I would absolutely NOT want to be a piece of french toast. I can't stand having my fingers coated or sticky. Even after putting lotion on I immediately have to wash the front of my hands off.

But can you imagine being completely slathered in butter and thick, sticky syrup?

Fuck no.

I'll be crispy Parmesan over french toast any day.

Getting Old Is Awesome Part II

Nothing says getting old is awesome like crawling around your apartment on your hands and knees after surgery.

I have a walking boot from my recent ankle surgery but the God damn thing hurts so much I said fuck it and have been crawling around on the floor instead. Even did the stairs on all fours last night. The cat just looks at me, all wide-eyed, like what the fuck... My Special Man Friend ("MSMF"), like the cat, looks at me all wide-eyed as well. Except he's got his phone out and is recording me. I can't tell if it's sexy, since I'm doing all this crawling around in a loose shirt and underwear, or if it's blackmail material for a later date.

I reached the height of sexy blackmail fodder with today's big goal - a shower. I could have paid $20 for a fancy shower boot but fuck that. That's MY $20. Funny the things we'll spend money on and the things we won't. Instead, MSMF bagged and tapped up my foot so I could feebly sit half in the tub half out to quickly rinse my bits and wash my hair. It's amazing how good warm water feels on your skin after you've been sweating in your own post-surgery juices for two days. Usually seeing your partner glistening and clean from the shower would illicit flutters and tingles but I'm sure all MSMF saw was a pathetic Thanksgiving turkey missing one of it's turkey booties. I had him snap a picture for posterity sake.

I wish I could say that I've been spending my days laid up high on Oxycontin but sadly the stuff makes me pretty sick, anti-inflammatory meds like Advil I can't take and extra-strength Tylenol doesn't do shit. So I've been mostly moaning in bed and restlessly dragging myself from room to room. MSMF has been the best live in nurse sex and favors can buy. I can't express how grateful I am for the help and support he has provided. The biggest and most heartfelt surprise for me is his ability to comfort me. I'm not the easiest person to be close to at times but MSMF does it with such ease and grace. I want him to be near and he wants to be near. Knowing I'm hurting he doesn't just fall asleep or let me lay there and suffer alone, like my ex did. He tells me that I'm strong and reaches out to tenderly rub my leg.

One could argue that having that kind of love and companionship would make getting old awesome.

Gummi Bears? Gummy Bears?

Is it gummi bears? Or gummy bears? 

I LOVED gummi bears as a kid.

Definitely my go-to sweet treat. My favorite brand was Heide Gummi Bears, which has been around since 1869 though seemingly disappeared overnight. When I looked up Heide this morning I found a Facebook page dedicated to my favorite gummi as well as a Reddit page "Bring back the best Gummi Bears of all time!" So I'm assuming they're no longer on the shelves.

My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I share a mutual fondness for these chewy sweets. Over the weekend we rode our bikes to Peet's for a little lunch and coffee. The soft serve shop next door to where we were seated outside proved to be too much temptation for MSMF. When he sat back down next to me he had two different flavors covered in mini-gummi bears.

Me: "Gummi bears huh?"

MSMF: "Mmmhmm."

Me: "I loved gummi bears as a kid. Still do. And though it was tempting, I never liked them on soft serve or ice cream."

MSMF: "Why is that?"

Me: "They get cold and turn into tiny bricks."

MSMF: *poking at his gummi-bricks* "Hmm."

Me: "See what a mean!"

MSMF: "You ever get the Coca-Cola bottles?"

Me: "Oh my God I love gummi Coca-Cola bottles. And cherries. They are the only two things I would ever buy from those candy bin stores that cost $20/pound."

MSMF: *listening to me while he devours his frozen treat*

ME: "Actually my favorite version of the Coca-Cola gummi is the slightly sour and crunchy one, with the sprinkled sugar coating. That paired with the cherries is THE best."

MSMF: "Just got a hard one."

Me: "Told you. So what gummi's were your favorite?"

MSMF: "The Coca-Cola bottles. Bears. Worms. Anything gummi really."

While MSMF and I both agree that gummi bears should only come in the traditional 4 or 5 colors and in original flavors like orange or apple, I have a particular dislike for Heide's yellow gummi bear. Traditional color, yes. Original flavor, yes. Hated, yes. After having half a chewed up yellow one come out of my nose as a kid, which burned like hell, I just haven't gotten over it. And don't get me started about gummies all being the same. Haribo doesn't have shit on Heide. They're too greasy and don't adhere to the traditional colors/flavors, though they sadly seem to be the last bear standing in the candy isle.

Here's a fun little history about the chewy bear:

https://www.bonappetit.com/entertaining-style/pop-culture/article/history-gummy-bears

Random side note - When I first started this post I was calling gummi bears gummy bears. I didn't know that "gummi" bears are a sugary, gelatinous material used to make candies whereas "gummy" bears translates to 'showing the gums'. I almost wrote a whole post about loving to eat bears with a gummy grin. Am I the only one that thought gummi was gummy?

Happy 4th of July

Happy 4th of July ya'll!

It's definitely an odd time to celebrate or wish happiness on anyone, considering the state of the world right now. Even in the lowest, darkest of times, there is still usually something that we're grateful for or that can put a smile on your face.

The 4th has never really been a big holiday for me. I certainly loved it as a kid though! Fireworks were legal in the beach cities where I grew up well after they were deemed illegal in most CA counties. My favorite fireworks were snakes and Chinese flowers. Still are. I was able to get my hands on some snakes when I visited my Mom in Virginia last 4th of July which gave me a thrill. I don't know why I like them so much. All they are is a tiny box of round black tabs, kind of like what you put between your cabinet doors to keep them from slamming. Soon as you touch a flame or "punk" to one, they burst forth this stream of ashy black substance that curls and rolls around on the ground. They go out in seconds and then you're left with this nasty looking black snake skin that as soon as you touch or try to clean up immediately poofs into a damn mess that stains the concrete and never goes away.

My other favorite, Chinese flowers, you can't buy anymore. Frankly you shouldn't have been able to buy them in the fucking 80's or 90's either. They're awesome and dangerous as shit. They looked like mini M-80's with a small fuse. You're supposed to put them out in the street and light em. Once lit, the flower gives off a pretty hard kick causing it to spin and dance around the ground making a cool and colorful flower effect. While safe and pretty that process was boring as shit, so my family came up with a different method. We would light them with one hand while holding the flower in the other, allowing the fuse to burn for a few seconds, and then fling them into the air as hard as we could. As kids that wasn't very high, so these things would come launching back at us or spin up higher into the air and inevitably land onto one of the neighbor's roof. How we didn't burn the block down or blow a finger off each year was a 4th of July miracle.

And I'm not even detailing here all the illegal fireworks my uncles would pick up and bring back from Mexico on their trips across the border to surf and steal lobsters. Let's just say local firework displays held ZERO interest for my pyro-centric family. Aiming bottle rockets underneath people's chairs was common and safety was almost certainly third...or fifth. After having just typed that line, I can see why I like Burning Man so much. Saying "safety third" is fairly common, with fires and explosions a typical occurrence as the event culminates into the man burn - a massive firework display and ball of fire that can literally singe your eyebrow hairs off if you're sitting too close.

Fun fact - apparently Chinese flowers are now called "Ground Bloom Flowers." Awesome.