There is nothing like having pizza for dinner and then remembering just as you crawl off to bed that you did not take your evening pills. Skipping them means you'll be out of breathe halfway through brushing your teeth and then you'll curse having such a high bed. Taking them means you'll be up every 2 hours of the night. Outside I can hear the storm moving in, the cold wind is blowing. I think I have to vote for skip the pills. Not interesting in checking on just how cold the toilet seat can get tonight.
The Superbowl starts this weekend, so you know what that means. Tons of commercials for Velveeta and pizza, both of which I now have wicked daily cravings for. In an effort to keep from having to buy new pants, I've gone for a cross between abstinence and adjustment.
The Velveeta that I bought is in the smallest package available and is made from 2% milk. Never mind that I am about to finish the last of my second package in a month. I have been trying to stick to vegetarian pizza, performing a kind of surgery on the slices to remove as much extraneous bread as possible and also only eating the pizza that I really really want. My favorite pizza is a solid half hour out of my way to anywhere, so that helps.
Tonight we tried a local place that I have read some really good reviews for. One person from Chicago gave the deep dish 4 stars. The pizza we got was awful. The only thing I can figure is that the reviewer ate only at Domino's and Cici's. I take that back, Cici's is better than what we had tonight. I think tonight's pizza has saved me from any cheese addiction that winter and the Superbowl have brought on.
I may be skipping the evening pills, but I am most definitely taking a tummy pill. I really hope that my diet tomorrow puts rabbits to shame. I also really hope I don't have that dream about a giant deep dish pizza and his mushroom sidekick are trying to eat me. Not that I have had that dream, I'm just saying if it's going to happen, then I think tonight is the night.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Don't Wanna, Can't Make Me
Karl and I recently took off to Galveston for 24 hours. The day before his 2 days off, I realized that we could either blow town or take care of a greatly mounting list of to-do's. I had Karl's consent and a hotel booked within a half hour.
We left early enough the next day to have a late lunch close to the seawall. We topped our po' boys off with an afternoon nap that lasted until dinner time. Ah, the life of the lazy. Personally, I kind of hate naps, so mine was a bit shorter than his. I knew I had to resist the temptation of jumping on the bed, so I decided to be just a bit responsible and actually write out my Don't Wanna Do and Want To Do lists. Sadly, the former was much longer. To be fair, the Want To Do list would have been longer, but the "bad" list was so long that it made me a bit blue and good times got harder to think of. We enjoyed the rest of our time in Galveston and the list was not spoken of once. We were so good at ignoring the list that we continued our silence on the topic even after we got home. And for the next couple of days.
My dreams were just about the only thing that kept the list from being totally discarded. Lots of stressful action sequences. I have played characters in Crouching Tiger, Lord of the Rings and some version of King Arthur crossed with the Matrix.
Actually, I think the Lord of the Rings was a shout out for my medicine. I was Frodo and another random hobbit was telling me how the ring was so awful and how they would never be able to bear that burden. I was thinking, yeah, but if you knew how bad it really was, you would carry it, too. Thankfully, flolan themes rarely invade my sleeping hours. Flolan is invasive, but the PH is debilitating. It's worth it to carry the medicine.
3 days have gone by since the list's conception, and it has only grown. Tasks include paying the house taxes before the end of the month, calling a friend that I haven't talked to in such a long time, not for the purpose of chatting, but because I have something that only they can repair, calling various repairmen for non-vital but comfort improving repairs, and I truly cannot remember anything else right now without getting out the list which I have hidden somewhere. Okay, I know where, but you'll never get it out of me.
I have so much time to take care of these things, you would think I would just get them done instead of prolonging the avoidance. Anyways, I have stalled too long today to get anything done, and I'm fighting off a cold and the hot toddy I have been sipping on is insisting on me getting some sleep now. I hope I get to have a Narnia dream tonight.
We left early enough the next day to have a late lunch close to the seawall. We topped our po' boys off with an afternoon nap that lasted until dinner time. Ah, the life of the lazy. Personally, I kind of hate naps, so mine was a bit shorter than his. I knew I had to resist the temptation of jumping on the bed, so I decided to be just a bit responsible and actually write out my Don't Wanna Do and Want To Do lists. Sadly, the former was much longer. To be fair, the Want To Do list would have been longer, but the "bad" list was so long that it made me a bit blue and good times got harder to think of. We enjoyed the rest of our time in Galveston and the list was not spoken of once. We were so good at ignoring the list that we continued our silence on the topic even after we got home. And for the next couple of days.
My dreams were just about the only thing that kept the list from being totally discarded. Lots of stressful action sequences. I have played characters in Crouching Tiger, Lord of the Rings and some version of King Arthur crossed with the Matrix.
Actually, I think the Lord of the Rings was a shout out for my medicine. I was Frodo and another random hobbit was telling me how the ring was so awful and how they would never be able to bear that burden. I was thinking, yeah, but if you knew how bad it really was, you would carry it, too. Thankfully, flolan themes rarely invade my sleeping hours. Flolan is invasive, but the PH is debilitating. It's worth it to carry the medicine.
3 days have gone by since the list's conception, and it has only grown. Tasks include paying the house taxes before the end of the month, calling a friend that I haven't talked to in such a long time, not for the purpose of chatting, but because I have something that only they can repair, calling various repairmen for non-vital but comfort improving repairs, and I truly cannot remember anything else right now without getting out the list which I have hidden somewhere. Okay, I know where, but you'll never get it out of me.
I have so much time to take care of these things, you would think I would just get them done instead of prolonging the avoidance. Anyways, I have stalled too long today to get anything done, and I'm fighting off a cold and the hot toddy I have been sipping on is insisting on me getting some sleep now. I hope I get to have a Narnia dream tonight.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
When The Moon Hits Your Thighs
Winter is upon us and so are the pizza cravings. I would say that I am just trying to put on a little winter weight, but squirrels have taught me that I was supposed to have done this during the fall and I should be fasting right now. Instead, all I can think of is pizza.
I used to be satisfied with any ol' pizza. This was back in my elementary school days. I didn't care what kind of pizza it was, I just wanted the pizza. Probably more than french fries, probably less than a lollipop jewel ring. It wasn't until I heard my dad saying that Chuck E Cheese's pizza tasted like cardboard that I started to think about what the pizza really tasted like. I still ate whatever was put in front of me, but those slanderous words would haunt me the rest of my life.
Oh so slowly I began to turn against fast food pizza. The crust was too thick, or the sauce too sweet or our house was the last on the delivery route and the cheese had already begun to revert back to plastic. Still, the cravings persisted, although with less frequency.
Pizza restaurants have renewed my cheesy interests. Thin crust pizza truly made when you order it. Hawaiian pizza is awesome, but lately I have had a love for a tomato sauce pizza with cheese, mushrooms, basil and thin tomato slices. Big fat basil leaves would vastly improve the fast food world.
Then, last Christmas I went to a cheap pizza buffet with family. Perfect way to fill up kids high off of present opening. I turned my nose up to most of the pies and had decided to stick with water when a hot fresh pepperoni jalapeno pizza was laid out in front of me. One slice and I was hooked. Half a pizza later and I was ready for a nap. And a gallon of water.
It took a couple of more visits and a friend getting a bladder infection from overdosing on bread to realize the pizza really did taste a bit like pepperoni jalapeno cardboard. Finding my perfect pizza restaurant sealed the deal. Unfortunately, the golden pie is 30 minutes away, which is close enough for an indulgence every month or two but far away enough to give me time to decide that I do want to cook dinner.
Wow, I have to stop writing this now or I am going to have to make a pizza out of... celery. I have got to learn how to make my own pizza and then keep those ingredients onhand. Maybe Karl wouldn't mind driving a half hour out of his way when he comes home tonight. Maybe I should make a vegetable stew - I've put on 3 pounds of weight this winter, most of which I suspect is my Italian addiction. Enough! Vegetable stew it is! Or maybe barbeque.
I used to be satisfied with any ol' pizza. This was back in my elementary school days. I didn't care what kind of pizza it was, I just wanted the pizza. Probably more than french fries, probably less than a lollipop jewel ring. It wasn't until I heard my dad saying that Chuck E Cheese's pizza tasted like cardboard that I started to think about what the pizza really tasted like. I still ate whatever was put in front of me, but those slanderous words would haunt me the rest of my life.
Oh so slowly I began to turn against fast food pizza. The crust was too thick, or the sauce too sweet or our house was the last on the delivery route and the cheese had already begun to revert back to plastic. Still, the cravings persisted, although with less frequency.
Pizza restaurants have renewed my cheesy interests. Thin crust pizza truly made when you order it. Hawaiian pizza is awesome, but lately I have had a love for a tomato sauce pizza with cheese, mushrooms, basil and thin tomato slices. Big fat basil leaves would vastly improve the fast food world.
Then, last Christmas I went to a cheap pizza buffet with family. Perfect way to fill up kids high off of present opening. I turned my nose up to most of the pies and had decided to stick with water when a hot fresh pepperoni jalapeno pizza was laid out in front of me. One slice and I was hooked. Half a pizza later and I was ready for a nap. And a gallon of water.
It took a couple of more visits and a friend getting a bladder infection from overdosing on bread to realize the pizza really did taste a bit like pepperoni jalapeno cardboard. Finding my perfect pizza restaurant sealed the deal. Unfortunately, the golden pie is 30 minutes away, which is close enough for an indulgence every month or two but far away enough to give me time to decide that I do want to cook dinner.
Wow, I have to stop writing this now or I am going to have to make a pizza out of... celery. I have got to learn how to make my own pizza and then keep those ingredients onhand. Maybe Karl wouldn't mind driving a half hour out of his way when he comes home tonight. Maybe I should make a vegetable stew - I've put on 3 pounds of weight this winter, most of which I suspect is my Italian addiction. Enough! Vegetable stew it is! Or maybe barbeque.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The Squeaky Wheel Lives Forever!
When we moved into our first house in Fort Worth, I said that the first thing I was going to do was to rip out that awful 100 year old green carpeting on the 3 steps leading to our bedroom. Someone had a some point glued on a strip of really thin grey carpeting down the middle of the steps. I don't know why you would want to spend an extra cent to keep that stuff looking new. I am quite sure that particular carpet came off the line looking old. The carpet staid until the dog couldn't stand it anymore and ripped it out herself. Pretty much all in one go. 4 years had gone by and this was the project I vowed to take care of first.
We are in a new house now, and again, the first thing I was going to do was to fix the Banshee Door. Actually, first was going to be to install gas logs in the fireplace. This Christmas we gave our house the gift of gas logs. Now I just need to make the call to have them properly installed. To bad that phone isn't just a couple of inches closer.
Back to the Banshee Door. It leads to the master bathroom which at 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. is my water closet of choice. I could use the one off of the living room, but this increases my chances of stumbling over a furry animal or shoes that have (yet again!) been left in my pathway. Okay, usually the shoes are mine. Anyways.
If the door was just squeaky that would be one thing, but ours contains a family of at least 3 banshees. It happens the same every night, twice a night. I carefully pull the door open, but the first and youngest banshee has been waiting for me and starts the alarm. 3 inches is not wide enough for me to squeeze through, and so I open the door wider hoping the sound does not get worse. But no, the second banshee has awoken, adds her voice to the first and then wakes up the third sister. Shrieks are coming from the hinges so loudly and shrilly that the dog who sleeps outside 2 houses down starts barking. Karl is always awake when I crawl back into bed. All who hear the banshee cry are cursed.
Somehow, the only time I can remember to buy WD-40 is when I have just opened that awful door. Sleep erases all memory of their hauntings. Today is pretty much the first day that I have been able to retain what occurred during the night and I know what must be done. My only chore for the day is to go to the hardware store, buy the WD-40, possibly get it blessed, and then apply it to the door. Please, please, let me remember to do all of this one thing today.
Update: January 31, 2011
WD-40 has still not been bought. It is now time to go to bed. The Banshee Door Survives another night.
We are in a new house now, and again, the first thing I was going to do was to fix the Banshee Door. Actually, first was going to be to install gas logs in the fireplace. This Christmas we gave our house the gift of gas logs. Now I just need to make the call to have them properly installed. To bad that phone isn't just a couple of inches closer.
Back to the Banshee Door. It leads to the master bathroom which at 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. is my water closet of choice. I could use the one off of the living room, but this increases my chances of stumbling over a furry animal or shoes that have (yet again!) been left in my pathway. Okay, usually the shoes are mine. Anyways.
If the door was just squeaky that would be one thing, but ours contains a family of at least 3 banshees. It happens the same every night, twice a night. I carefully pull the door open, but the first and youngest banshee has been waiting for me and starts the alarm. 3 inches is not wide enough for me to squeeze through, and so I open the door wider hoping the sound does not get worse. But no, the second banshee has awoken, adds her voice to the first and then wakes up the third sister. Shrieks are coming from the hinges so loudly and shrilly that the dog who sleeps outside 2 houses down starts barking. Karl is always awake when I crawl back into bed. All who hear the banshee cry are cursed.
Somehow, the only time I can remember to buy WD-40 is when I have just opened that awful door. Sleep erases all memory of their hauntings. Today is pretty much the first day that I have been able to retain what occurred during the night and I know what must be done. My only chore for the day is to go to the hardware store, buy the WD-40, possibly get it blessed, and then apply it to the door. Please, please, let me remember to do all of this one thing today.
Update: January 31, 2011
WD-40 has still not been bought. It is now time to go to bed. The Banshee Door Survives another night.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Bubbly And Bobby
The women of my family are notorious lightweights. 2 glasses of champagne and we're completely silly. My aunt, my mother and I all spent this New Years trying to finish off two bottles of bubbly. The bubbly won, but really only because we accidentally froze the last part of the last bottle. We tried warming it up next to the fire, but once we finally noticed that it was ready to drink, the bottle was too hot to pass around. There was dancing, laughing, Mom kept running into me saying that it was a legal hockey move. We watched Ladyhawke and then wobbled off to bed.
No one drank to the point of crying, although there was reason enough to do so. All three of us were apart from our men, all for different reasons.
New Years has never been one of the important nights for Karl and I because retail has beat it out of us. Stores still close early enough to be able to enjoy the celebrations, but champagne guzzling does not mix well with early rising. Karl's team is all younger than him and so we both prefer to try and give them the morning off. My sadness came from being away from home. He had come to see me just a few days earlier, but still, I was missing our quiet days together rocking on the porch with Coco and Jane close by. There is no place like home.
Mom had not seen her husband since before Christmas and New Year's is a very big deal for them. His family is in Canada, hers are in Texas. Spending New Year's together has been a wonderful compromise to avoid travel on Christmas day. Besides, starting the year together is kind of an ultimate date night.
And then my aunt, Ruth Ann. Her fiance had died suddenly just four days earlier. She had last seen him Monday morning, but had been unable to be close to him when he died. And so from that night till a week later, we staid close to her.
It's surprising how events around a death speed up, as if the world is trying to fill a vacuum that the person left. The phone rang constantly, arrangements were being made, dismissed and then remade. Unwanted drama upon unwanted drama. The brother that no one wanted to talk to, the windshield that got bashed in during the night, the unexpected house guests. All 7 cats went into high gear naughtiness mode. So many flower vases to knock over onto original copies of documents, so little time.
I have been home 5 days now, and time has been so slow here that months must have past by at my aunt's house. Today is Bobby's memorial, and it's a beautiful blue skied day.
Just a bit ago I was sending a message to someone that had the word "prayers" in it. Sometimes my forgetfulness affects my spelling, so I starting typing "prayers" in the searchbox on my computer, hoping that the word did not have 2 a's in it. I barely had the word spelt when the dropdown box gave me my suggested spelling along with another word. It read "Prayers for Bobby".
Turns out there is a movie with this title, but still what are the chances that on a yahoo searchbox the first spelling suggestion for my word is a full phrase with the name of the man who we just lost?
Coco and Jane are napping in the sun, the sky is blue, I have a warm blanket wrapped around me and I am sending my best wishes of peace and happiness to Ruth Ann.
No one drank to the point of crying, although there was reason enough to do so. All three of us were apart from our men, all for different reasons.
New Years has never been one of the important nights for Karl and I because retail has beat it out of us. Stores still close early enough to be able to enjoy the celebrations, but champagne guzzling does not mix well with early rising. Karl's team is all younger than him and so we both prefer to try and give them the morning off. My sadness came from being away from home. He had come to see me just a few days earlier, but still, I was missing our quiet days together rocking on the porch with Coco and Jane close by. There is no place like home.
Mom had not seen her husband since before Christmas and New Year's is a very big deal for them. His family is in Canada, hers are in Texas. Spending New Year's together has been a wonderful compromise to avoid travel on Christmas day. Besides, starting the year together is kind of an ultimate date night.
And then my aunt, Ruth Ann. Her fiance had died suddenly just four days earlier. She had last seen him Monday morning, but had been unable to be close to him when he died. And so from that night till a week later, we staid close to her.
It's surprising how events around a death speed up, as if the world is trying to fill a vacuum that the person left. The phone rang constantly, arrangements were being made, dismissed and then remade. Unwanted drama upon unwanted drama. The brother that no one wanted to talk to, the windshield that got bashed in during the night, the unexpected house guests. All 7 cats went into high gear naughtiness mode. So many flower vases to knock over onto original copies of documents, so little time.
I have been home 5 days now, and time has been so slow here that months must have past by at my aunt's house. Today is Bobby's memorial, and it's a beautiful blue skied day.
Just a bit ago I was sending a message to someone that had the word "prayers" in it. Sometimes my forgetfulness affects my spelling, so I starting typing "prayers" in the searchbox on my computer, hoping that the word did not have 2 a's in it. I barely had the word spelt when the dropdown box gave me my suggested spelling along with another word. It read "Prayers for Bobby".
Turns out there is a movie with this title, but still what are the chances that on a yahoo searchbox the first spelling suggestion for my word is a full phrase with the name of the man who we just lost?
Coco and Jane are napping in the sun, the sky is blue, I have a warm blanket wrapped around me and I am sending my best wishes of peace and happiness to Ruth Ann.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
A Woman's Il-logic
I rarely start a fight when I think I might possibly be in the wrong, but it does happen. I am usually right. On occasion, it is necessary to apologize to my husband even though he was most definitely in the wrong. I am grateful during these times that he has been satisfied by my "sorrys" through clenched teeth with a look of death in my eyes.
Logically, I cannot always be right (grrr). I am pretty sure that it is not actually acceptable to start a fight because my husband is not able to locate the butter in the refrigerator, even though it is kept behind the little clear door in the fridge marked "butter" causing me to get up from a very cozy position on the couch. For the hundredth time.
Slight matters of il-logic also play a part in packing, which brings me to today. I am throwing a handicap placard burning party today. When I got the placard 4 years ago, my husband had worried that I would not be around to renew it. My blue pass expires this month, so my genius husband (I know, I know - now I call him a genius) said we should throw a party. Mom and Dirk's house is twice the size of mine and has a lake in back, so they graciously offered their place for us to use. One of my guests is my aunt who stayed with us last night.
This morning she came into the living room complaining about her lack of under packing. It seems as though there are only two ways to pack 1) as if you will never see home again and you will only ever have what you bring with you 2) as if you were backpacking in Europe where no one you know will ever have knowledge that you did not use eyeliner for a month.
(blog abruptly ended because of excitement over potential shopping and lunch with aunt)
Logically, I cannot always be right (grrr). I am pretty sure that it is not actually acceptable to start a fight because my husband is not able to locate the butter in the refrigerator, even though it is kept behind the little clear door in the fridge marked "butter" causing me to get up from a very cozy position on the couch. For the hundredth time.
Slight matters of il-logic also play a part in packing, which brings me to today. I am throwing a handicap placard burning party today. When I got the placard 4 years ago, my husband had worried that I would not be around to renew it. My blue pass expires this month, so my genius husband (I know, I know - now I call him a genius) said we should throw a party. Mom and Dirk's house is twice the size of mine and has a lake in back, so they graciously offered their place for us to use. One of my guests is my aunt who stayed with us last night.
This morning she came into the living room complaining about her lack of under packing. It seems as though there are only two ways to pack 1) as if you will never see home again and you will only ever have what you bring with you 2) as if you were backpacking in Europe where no one you know will ever have knowledge that you did not use eyeliner for a month.
(blog abruptly ended because of excitement over potential shopping and lunch with aunt)
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Fried Bacon, Frutti Di Mare & Food Poisoning
Today Karl and I went to the Texas State Fair. This is the second year we have braved the Dallas traffic to pay heartily for the privilege to pet a calf, sample hot sauce and avoid the paths of aimlessly spinning unattended children covered in red slushy and powdered sugar.
Karl's days off have felt so random lately. Meetings get scheduled at the last second, another store needs help, or he very understandably gets his days off mixed up. This is how later on this week he will be going with me to get my hair cut instead of visiting the heart doctor. I thought that surely since he had a free day that the world would intervene. Apparently even the world likes a Fair Day.
We started our adventure by going to the bank. Last year's visit taught us that things generally cost money. I guess I was all geared up for a Fletcher's corny dog, because my stomach was going crazy. I thought Karl's idea to stop for fast food close to the bank was pure genius. Thank goodness for jr. cheeseburgers. And husbands who order double cheeseburgers with jalapenos that fall out the bottom of the sandwich after the first bite. It was my Texas duty to save them.
The weather was just about perfect for walking around. Nice and cool with blue skies. A couple of hours later and the Texas Glare was in full force. I had on sunglasses and a baseball cap, but somehow the brightness of everything was still overwhelming. I'm sure the temperature had crept up a little bit, but it was still... oh right, I had forgotten. The later part of summer has been hard on me, and I've spent so much down time that my endurance is a bit low. Disappointing for the girl who just a month ago had her best 6 minute walk test time ever.
The heat makes everything hard. Even when I spend the day inside with the air on. It gets hard to remember anything. Weeks after it has cooled down and I'm running around everywhere, I'll look back on summer and wonder what happened. So here's your reminder, Honey. You were prostrate with heat at the fair. At least it afforded the opportunity to watch spontaneous line-dancing. Got to love Texas!
The Texas State Fair has become famous for frying up things that had previously only been accidentally fried. Fried butter, fried cola, fried beer. For the past few years official judgement has been past on these culinary stomach aches. 2 will win, one for creativity, one for taste. The butter, cola and beer all won for creativity, none for taste. The fried bacon, however, was a 2008 taste winner. Talking Karl into spitting some with me was a non issue. That poor bacon. It was just awful. Even with barbecue sauce. So sad that someone took a perfectly good animal and turned it into that. The queasiness of that bacon stayed with us both for the rest of the day.
We sampled wine, pet a calf and toured the Made in Texas barn. I think that is my favorite barn. I know, the others have livestock and cute fuzzy bunnies, but the Made in Texas barn has free samples of food that are made in Texas. And I like the ecological displays. Last year I did the fair in a wheelchair, and we saw every last corner of the place. This year I walked it, and decided that staring from the path was well enough.
Finally, it was time for the corny dog. This year they offered one stuffed with cheese and jalapenos, both of which were near invisible. Last year was the first time that I had ever had a Fletcher's. I think this year will be the last.
We greatly considered walking to the Butterfly Museum, but it was a little too far from where we were at and I wasn't sure that once I got there I would be up for spending time in such a humid place. You can pretty much see the air in there. In previous years I had stayed away from butterfly museums because I thought it was going to be rooms of butterflys pinned to paper. I had no idea that they would be alive and well flying around in basically an oversized greenhouse.
Thankfully, Dallas was happy today and let us return home quickly. The couch was a gracious and welcoming hostess, but it seemed to me too soon when we got hungry again. Apparently, even if it's greasy, a jr. cheeseburger, a piece of bacon and half a corny dog will not fill me up for the day. This was actually pretty much okay with me. I had plans. Big plans.
A couple of days ago I was at the good grocery store and bought a combination of seafood that I had not purchased before. I have made sea scallops and shrimp, but I have never used calamari. What I am most proud of is that I cooked the seafood perfectly. I have a tendency to overcook proteins, so any step forward is cause for a celebration. I can understand wanting to impart safe cooking methods, but telling a child with a vivid imagination that something needs to be cooked until it's dead means that you risk creating an adult who loves a medium-rare steak, but can only make it well-well-done. Too bad the statement didn't inspire vegetarism.
My next hurtle for this dish will be to use mussels in it and to not overcook the pasta. I used one made with rice flour and had forgotten to remove it from the heat when the timer went off. Next time I think I might make it with just chunks of toasted bread.
I think it's time to take a shortcut and right down the recipe, because I am pretty sure that the next time I read this I will have no idea what I put together. I sauteed scallops, shrimp and calamari with olive oil and a bit of spicy seasoning, diced tomatoes and served it with pasta. I also made a side of artichoke hearts, baby tomatoes (all colors, very pretty), basil with small toasted bread from the bakery. Simple, but yummy.
I was so happy with my dinner that I decided to treat myself to a dessert drink. I remembered that I had bought small packages of chocolate soy milk, so I mixed that with a bit of vanilla vodka. Very tasty. Until the stomach cramps came. I can't believe I had forgotten that my stomach really hates chocolate soy milk. Hopefully, I will never make that mistake again. I suspected the seafood at first, but Karl was fine and he had eaten more of it than I had.
I spent the rest of the night moaning. In the bad way, ugh! I was rewarded for my illness with a couple of blessed hours of sleep until I woke up ravenous hungry. So unfair. I know it must be strange, but I get really frustrated with growling stomachs. I don't mind eating, I obviously really enjoy it, but I want it to be on my schedule. I love the planning and the making of something that I have never made, or something that I know I make well, and I'll enjoy it to it's fullest. To have my stomach say "Now" seems rude to me.
Oh well. I think the computer has made my eyes sleepy enough and this blog has gotten a bit of the day's excitement out of me, so hopefully I can fall back to sleep before the sun comes up. I hope I have time for an apple.
Karl's days off have felt so random lately. Meetings get scheduled at the last second, another store needs help, or he very understandably gets his days off mixed up. This is how later on this week he will be going with me to get my hair cut instead of visiting the heart doctor. I thought that surely since he had a free day that the world would intervene. Apparently even the world likes a Fair Day.
We started our adventure by going to the bank. Last year's visit taught us that things generally cost money. I guess I was all geared up for a Fletcher's corny dog, because my stomach was going crazy. I thought Karl's idea to stop for fast food close to the bank was pure genius. Thank goodness for jr. cheeseburgers. And husbands who order double cheeseburgers with jalapenos that fall out the bottom of the sandwich after the first bite. It was my Texas duty to save them.
The weather was just about perfect for walking around. Nice and cool with blue skies. A couple of hours later and the Texas Glare was in full force. I had on sunglasses and a baseball cap, but somehow the brightness of everything was still overwhelming. I'm sure the temperature had crept up a little bit, but it was still... oh right, I had forgotten. The later part of summer has been hard on me, and I've spent so much down time that my endurance is a bit low. Disappointing for the girl who just a month ago had her best 6 minute walk test time ever.
The heat makes everything hard. Even when I spend the day inside with the air on. It gets hard to remember anything. Weeks after it has cooled down and I'm running around everywhere, I'll look back on summer and wonder what happened. So here's your reminder, Honey. You were prostrate with heat at the fair. At least it afforded the opportunity to watch spontaneous line-dancing. Got to love Texas!
The Texas State Fair has become famous for frying up things that had previously only been accidentally fried. Fried butter, fried cola, fried beer. For the past few years official judgement has been past on these culinary stomach aches. 2 will win, one for creativity, one for taste. The butter, cola and beer all won for creativity, none for taste. The fried bacon, however, was a 2008 taste winner. Talking Karl into spitting some with me was a non issue. That poor bacon. It was just awful. Even with barbecue sauce. So sad that someone took a perfectly good animal and turned it into that. The queasiness of that bacon stayed with us both for the rest of the day.
We sampled wine, pet a calf and toured the Made in Texas barn. I think that is my favorite barn. I know, the others have livestock and cute fuzzy bunnies, but the Made in Texas barn has free samples of food that are made in Texas. And I like the ecological displays. Last year I did the fair in a wheelchair, and we saw every last corner of the place. This year I walked it, and decided that staring from the path was well enough.
Finally, it was time for the corny dog. This year they offered one stuffed with cheese and jalapenos, both of which were near invisible. Last year was the first time that I had ever had a Fletcher's. I think this year will be the last.
We greatly considered walking to the Butterfly Museum, but it was a little too far from where we were at and I wasn't sure that once I got there I would be up for spending time in such a humid place. You can pretty much see the air in there. In previous years I had stayed away from butterfly museums because I thought it was going to be rooms of butterflys pinned to paper. I had no idea that they would be alive and well flying around in basically an oversized greenhouse.
Thankfully, Dallas was happy today and let us return home quickly. The couch was a gracious and welcoming hostess, but it seemed to me too soon when we got hungry again. Apparently, even if it's greasy, a jr. cheeseburger, a piece of bacon and half a corny dog will not fill me up for the day. This was actually pretty much okay with me. I had plans. Big plans.
A couple of days ago I was at the good grocery store and bought a combination of seafood that I had not purchased before. I have made sea scallops and shrimp, but I have never used calamari. What I am most proud of is that I cooked the seafood perfectly. I have a tendency to overcook proteins, so any step forward is cause for a celebration. I can understand wanting to impart safe cooking methods, but telling a child with a vivid imagination that something needs to be cooked until it's dead means that you risk creating an adult who loves a medium-rare steak, but can only make it well-well-done. Too bad the statement didn't inspire vegetarism.
My next hurtle for this dish will be to use mussels in it and to not overcook the pasta. I used one made with rice flour and had forgotten to remove it from the heat when the timer went off. Next time I think I might make it with just chunks of toasted bread.
I think it's time to take a shortcut and right down the recipe, because I am pretty sure that the next time I read this I will have no idea what I put together. I sauteed scallops, shrimp and calamari with olive oil and a bit of spicy seasoning, diced tomatoes and served it with pasta. I also made a side of artichoke hearts, baby tomatoes (all colors, very pretty), basil with small toasted bread from the bakery. Simple, but yummy.
I was so happy with my dinner that I decided to treat myself to a dessert drink. I remembered that I had bought small packages of chocolate soy milk, so I mixed that with a bit of vanilla vodka. Very tasty. Until the stomach cramps came. I can't believe I had forgotten that my stomach really hates chocolate soy milk. Hopefully, I will never make that mistake again. I suspected the seafood at first, but Karl was fine and he had eaten more of it than I had.
I spent the rest of the night moaning. In the bad way, ugh! I was rewarded for my illness with a couple of blessed hours of sleep until I woke up ravenous hungry. So unfair. I know it must be strange, but I get really frustrated with growling stomachs. I don't mind eating, I obviously really enjoy it, but I want it to be on my schedule. I love the planning and the making of something that I have never made, or something that I know I make well, and I'll enjoy it to it's fullest. To have my stomach say "Now" seems rude to me.
Oh well. I think the computer has made my eyes sleepy enough and this blog has gotten a bit of the day's excitement out of me, so hopefully I can fall back to sleep before the sun comes up. I hope I have time for an apple.
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