Trifecta Week 78, Arthurian Fashion: A Discussion (of Sorts)

                We are at our favorite restaurant.  The waitresses’ skirts are all at least two inches shorter than the aprons they wear, which is one reason Arthur loves it.  “I think I’m in love,” he says, leering.

                “Which one?  The one whose thighs meet at the knee?”

                “No, the one with the tube socks pulled up.”

                I look.  “She’s got a plastic flower in her hair.”

                Arthur shrugs.  “I’m a sucker for tube socks..  Oh yeah, and remember that girl in my class?  The one with the retainer?”

                I remember.  He had shown up at my house a week before, prancing.  It’s a revolting activity for anyone, but particularly nauseating when performed by a thirty year old single man.  “She has a retainer, that’s almost as cool as braces,” he had reported gleefully between prances.  “I’m so going to make her date me.”

                “How’s the romance of the Orthodontic World going?”  I say now, squeezing a lemon into my iced tea.

                “Well, I’m not asking her out after all because I found out she’s lactose intolerant.”  He picks up his menu and studies it.  “Do you think the steamed vegetables will have cauliflower?  I hate cauliflower.”

                “You’re seriously not asking her out because of that?”

                “Of course.”

                “And you accuse me of harboring phobias and quirks?”

                “You were the one who rejected a guy for leaving his participles dangling.  God, you're pedantic.”

                “”I’m not dating a dangling-participler.  And before you even bring him up, we will not address the man with split infinitives.”

                “I don’t care if a girl communicates in grunts and obscene gestures, as long as she can eat cheese with me.”

                “Ah, the romance of cheese.”

                “In fact I’d almost prefer that she exclusive uses obscene gestures, now that I think about it.”

                “I can’t believe you’re so prejudiced you won’t go out with someone because she can’t have dairy.”

                “It’s important.  Yes, even more than retainers.”

http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ 

Sorry, dude.

For this one?  Totally crossing the streams.  I am sorry if it doesn't meet up with expectations.

http://www.surlytemple.blogspot.com/

It's the Staff of Life, People.

The thing about our E-Z Bake Oven we have squatting in our luxurious studio flat is that:
1.  It has only three working burners, which are the burner size of...;
2.  Since Keebler Elves are clearly its target purchasing demographic, it fits a standard cookie sheet pan...if you don't go for highfalutin' extras like edges;
3.  If you have the oven on, do not expect the bottom right of the aforementioned 3 burners to work, because clearly you are expecting too much out of life;
4.  The vagaries of its oven temperature and my oven thermometer are constantly in the kind of d'accord usually found after treaties are signed and both sides figure out that the other one was compromising in a way they never intended to honor, but before each one has deteriorated to open "suck it, sideways" hostilities;* and,
5.  Its constantly-burning pilot light makes a ROCKING dough-proofer.

This doesn't mean I don't want to set it on fire, constantly.  Or suspect that it wants to do the same to me.  Believe me, the kitchen rant is coming.  And when that rant comes, I want none of the following to detract from its well-deserved kick in the metaphorical Y, wherever an oven's Y is found.

But...I can't afford a proofer.  Not monetarily, not counter-wise (I can't afford the room or the Union Dues for three tapdancing Smurfs, counter-space-wise, if we're being honest, here).  I want a proofer, just because I get into these bizarre obsessions and naturally assume that nobody, EVER, has gone through this same thing.  The people at The Fresh Loaf?  I love 'em; I stalk 'em; I am intimidated as HELL by them.  I am a novice and a dilettante once again on the home ground of people who have spent their whole lives learning to do what I want to do maybe one or two afternoons a week.

We also are looking to save money; newlywed under a year, I bake our bread.  ALL of our bread, barring the occasional Sunday-eating-what-we-want splurge or the JedI bringing home a treat from the restaurant.  I try all kinds of recipes, and am a huge, huge, HUGE fan of http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/.  Sweet crunchy cracker, is it gorgeous, and seriously?  No kneading?  WHY DID WE GET TO KNEADING AS A SPECIES, ANYWAY?!**

So tonight, as I made a bread that totally decided on its own to be a total ahole, the only thing that made me want to not slice open the dough and bewail its lack of entrails, was that my E-Z Bake Oven does appear to be every bit as forgiving and possibly a bit more maternal than the mini-cake packs, icing-pack debacles, and neighbors whose parents clearly make more than yours and give you really awesome shit like an E-Z Bake Oven.

I loathe my E-Z Bake Oven.  It is a total dick, and anybody who says differently heats up those Ramen packet noodles and doesn't even bother to put butter on them and sprinkle the seasoning packet over it.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate.

*A great deal more on this in an upcoming post.  The oven, not the treaties not honored.  I have no effect upon world politics, less so over my personal domain which includes the aforementioned rat bastard oven, as well as a cat that thinks, well, exactly like a cat.

**Is this simply people trying to make people who haven't the patience necessary to knead something making everybody else feel like an asshole, thereby assuring job security?

Four Calling Birds (Are Too Many) Trifecta Challenge Week #75

     "YOU WILL BE PLEASED TO KNOW," I informed my husband via text, "That I believe I have  identified That Bird."
     "I am so proud of you, honey," he said as he walked in the door that night.  "I can't believe it.  How many online birdsongs did you have to listen to?"
     "No clue."
     "Over twenty?"
     "Easily."
     "So now what?"
     "I've already scoped out my sniper's nest.  But first I need to make myself a gilly suit."
     "I know how to make a gilly suit," he volunteered, deliberately oblivious to the hilarity that should have ensued at the mental image of a woman in a gilly suit sitting in a bay window on the second floor of a converted whorehouse in California.
     That Bird first became known to me during a bout of insomnia.  As I lay there in the predawn light, listening to its monotonous ‘twoo-whoo’  that surely had to stop sometime soon, surely, it will stop, I had no idea at the time that this bird was to become a nemesis.  Later, I charitably thought it must have just been a transient bird, and that of course it would move on and we could also move on to other irritants, like the neighbor’s tetchy car alarm or the midnight crazies of our cat, Feral Fawcett. 
     One week later, I elbowed my husband in the ribs.  “That bird,” I announced, “is an asshole.” 
     “It’ll quiet down,” he said sleepily, no doubt mentally wishing his wife would do the same.
     Six weeks later that dream has also died, for both of us.  The offender has been (in theory) identified, the plans have been laid, the doors of retribution kicked wide as a practice maneuver for when I find the bird and kick it in the tailfeathers.
     I’m on to you, some-type-of-dove.  For now, I have your real name.  It’s Latin.  And it’s Assholus Maximus.  Until we meet on the playing field…oh, yes.  Until then.

http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

A Commercial Approach to Married Life

Last night JedI and I were watching the final episode of Face Off, because we love it and *NOT* because we have become a boring married couple who stays at home and watches "their shows."  A commercial came on for (I think) Ace
Hardware, with a man rushing in panicked about having lost his wedding ring down the sink drain.

"That would be me if I lost my wedding ring," JedI informed me.  "Actually, even his panic wouldn't compare to what I would be doing.  I would actually vomit with panic.  I would be sprinting into the hardware store with vomit dribbling down my chin.

"Also," he continued, really getting into it, "I would probably have shit myself, so there would be a brown stain down my backside.  Probably peed as well, so I would also have a big wet spot on my front.  And I probably would have started to lose my hair.  Actually, I would have developed a tonsure, with like three hairs growing out of it.  I'd look like Ziggy, minus the big man cover."

"Maybe you should just forego pants and wear the Ziggy man cover," I suggested.  "Your buns could hang out the back and be all cute."

"Good idea," he agreed.  "By not wearing pants at all it means I could just spend 25 cents at the car wash to hose myself off before going into the hardware store.  Except I'd be so panicked I'd probably inadvertently aim wrong and shoot my penis off with the spray hose."  He started mimicking himself at the car wash, flopping all over the bed and sobbing "Oh, God, no, no, no..."

 Anthony won Face Off.

I won a man who makes me laugh until I cry.

This message is not in any way sponsored by Ace Hardware.  (I am pretty sure they would disavow anything to do with us, and possibly refuse to ever sell us anything, ever, if they knew their commercial led to a conversation like that.)

Tutu Precious

Fun and falling at Red Butte Gardens

Last Month Delanie and I were in Salt Lake for my sister's wedding and Del learned that for all the years I lived in the city I never visited Red Butte Gardens. Last full day we were in town the weather was amazing so the two of us drove up there and mirth and pretty stuff ensued.

First part of the garden we visited was the herb garden. It was stunning and much to someone's joy all the flowers seemed to be in purple hues:

 

 

It's so PURPLE!

Though Delanie was not the only thing there excited about the purple flowers.

I was more excited about the red flowers:

It's almost a Venetian Red

It was such a special experience to share an amazingly beautiful setting with the woman I love. It really made for a perfect evening.

Though the moose made it even more perfect

We went though so many gardens. Hummingbirds were buzzing in and out in many of them and the rose garden was especially beautiful. It was capped off with the children's garden which is really just a fantastic little wonderland.

Scary Snakes

 

 

Birthday Cakes

(in the interests of full disclosure I lost my balance about 3 seconds after the picture was taken and slid off the statue and tumbled down the hill.....I think Delanie is still laughing. I feel in time, I will laugh as well)

A great time was had by both of us and we can't wait to go back be it with nieces and nephews or for a concert. I'm so thankful that Delanie insisted we go, she does know me pretty well!

Best....Girl...EVER!