Shameless Self-Promotional Whore
 

There will be no complaining today, no whining about Irrational Brides or Sweaty Hairy Armpits.

 
No - today is a day of celebratory feasting and joy.

 
Today is my birthday.

So in honor of my birthday I ask that you all have a fabulous meal with a fabulous drink and celebrate life.  Raise a glass to your loved ones and forget about your troubles and the craziness of the world.

 
My evening will be spent with The Husband eating fresh seafood on a deck overlooking the harbor.  There will be salty breezes, lucious lemon drops and sinful desserts to follow. 

 
Later, there will be presents. 

 
I am totally not above admitting that I really like the presents part.

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No Shoes, No Shirt, No... No Sweaty Hairy Armpits! 
  
 
Ok so I had to make a quick dash to the grocery store to pick up some flank steak for a little trick I was prepping for.

Now, I think I have made it very clear that it's hot here.  So you see people all over in all different stages of undress.  And by that I mean you see a lot of men sans shirts.

And, I think I should tell you that one of my many (many) pet peeves is a sweaty hairy armpit that is out in the open.     I made this fact very clear to the husband early on in our relationship.  I mean, I am human.  A muscular bare chest is very appealing to the eye.   But the bare chest belongs at home, in a gym, at the beach, at the pool ... you get the idea. 

 
It's the arm pit I don't want to see - or have in my face.

 
So I am at the grocery store  ( a store with signs very clearly visible stating that you have to be dressed properly to be inside) with flank steak in hand and I ran over to the paper products aisle to pick up some toilet tissue (The Husband called alerting me of the "no toilet tissue" crisis at home) and a gentleman behind me said, "Excuse my reach" and I turned to get out of his way and was face to face with his sweaty hairy armpit.  He was sans shirt and there was the armpit just staring at me - all the sweat beads gathered on the ends of the hair.

Imagine my joy.

 
"Oh Sweet Mother of God..."
 
"What?"
 
"It's just - Sorry - I have armpit issues"
 
"Oh - yeah- well, it's hot"

Sometimes I think I just need to move to a place with no grocery stores.

 
Or people.

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The Irrational Bride

A couple of weeks ago I told you about The Irrational Bride who cried over everything from the invitations to the seating charts.

Well, when we met with her those two weeks ago, we gave her 3 menu options and went over every detail and answered every question on the table.

One of her main concerns was flatware.  They would be providing their own china and would not need to use ours.  But - they were unable to obtain flatware so in between sobs The Irrational Bride asked us if we had flatware to use and how much it would cost.    We told her they could use our flatware for free and that we would have it delivered the day before the wedding so she could set her tables, etc.

Also at that meeting I gave her 3 menu options to pick from and told her to talk it over with her fiance' and call us when she had made her decision.

So, cut to Saturday night when The Husband and I get home from being gone all day and I have 2 phone messages.  The first being from The Sane Mother of the Bride and the second being from The Irrational Bride, herself.

I decided to call the Sane Mother back first.  She asked me if we had any access to flatware as they were unable to find any available for that day. 

"Well, yes we do.  And I told your daughter that you could use ours and we would deliver it the day before the event so you could set up your tables, etc."
 
"What?  When did you tell her this?"
 
"When we met with her 2 weeks ago.  It's even written on the sheet of paper I gave her"
 
"This is so embarrassing.  I am so sorry to bother you with this.  But I am going to kill my daughter before it's all over."
 
"Well, lol, good luck with that."

 
So then I decide to call The Irrational Bride back and she's hyperventillating because she can't pick a menu because, "It's just so hard.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"So you want us to pick your menu?"
 
"Yes.  I just can't do it.  It's all so much... so many..."
 
"Well what does your fiance think?  Does he have a preference?"
 
"Well, *sniff*, no.  He can't decide, either."
 
 
Oh for the love of God.
 
 
So what we're looking at here is a mother of the bride who's homicidal.  

We have a bride who cries over, well, everything.   And apparently we now have a groom who can't think his way out of a paper bag.   And the scary part?  These two are bound to pro-create at some point.  

 
Can't wait until Saturday.
 

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Hot
 
 
It was hot today.

 
Damn hot.

 
100 degrees hot.

 
It's now about 11:15 in the p.m. and the temperature outside has graciously lowered itself to a almost shivering 87 degrees.  *Insert sarcastic eye roll here*

 
The loft doesn't have A/C so we spend our time worshiping the Gods we know as oscillating fans to avoid sitting in our own puddles of sweat.

I love the heat and all that comes with it.  But I prefer my heat to be served up in a nice poolside chair in some tropical locale.  Not my living space.

So tonight we decided to head out to the resort for dinner on the pool deck and a nice swim.

I packed a light dinner of caprese salad, crusty breads, fresh fruit, and cold roasted chicken.  And by cold roasted chicken I mean a roasted chicken that was now cold, because you can't roast a chicken in the cold.   (I felt the need to clarify that since my grammatical skills stink)

 
Anyway.

 
We went with friends and I am happy to report that said friends took my example and now can properly pack a picnic basket, complete with wet towel in a zip-loc.  I would like to think my example had rubbed off on them but the reality is I am sure they didn't want to put up with my condescending attitude and raised eyebrow. 

 
I can be a real pain in the ass to be with.

 
When we got there, we all debated whether to swim first or eat first.   The idea of wasting another moment outside of the refreshing water of that pool was daunting, but I was a hungry Whore.

So The Husband and I ate while The Friends went straight for the water, opting to eat after the swim. 

The pool was packed - as we expected.  But no one cared - everyone was gracious and just so damn glad to luxuriate in the refreshing cool water.  

By the time The Husband and I got in, the crowd had thinned a bit, which left plenty of room for my display of fine water ballet.  I twirl and I spin and I stick one leg out of the water and pretend I am really graceful.  When the reality is I just look like a crazy spastic woman.  The Husband usually keeps his distance from me when I do this.  He says it's cute when I am silly but I am pretty sure I saw him speaking to the couple at the deep end of the pool and doing that "she's nutso" thing by twirling his finger by his head.

So we're all luxuriating in the water when the group of 3 men, who had been sitting on the steps in the corner talking, decided it was time to get out.  (I am sure it was the water ballet that prompted that)  They were older gentlemen and for some reason they were all wearing white swim trunks.

Unfortunately none of them knew about purchasing swim trunks with those little sewn in underwear or perhaps the art of wearing jock straps because upon exiting the pool, every fiber of their manhood was on full display for all the world to see.

Now- I happen to think the human body is a beautiful, sexy, and amazing thing.    But I have no desire to see a stranger's "man parts" peeking through wet white fabric.  

I am so glad I ate first. 

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Baked Brie
 
 
Since Denise has been so kind to leave nice comments and asked for the baked brie recipe, I decided I would post it here.

It really couldn't be more simple and the options are limited only to your imagination.

You can do both savory and sweet baked brie and I often do both when making them for a party or just on days when I am feeling particularly cheesey.

 
The basic idea is you take an entire wheel of brie and skim the skin off the top.  Don't take any off the sides - just the top - the sides keep it all together and prevent a total meltdown.  Now, some people leave this skin on (it's totally edible) but I like to skim the majority of it off so the flavors can meld into the cheese and you get a better "gooey" factor.    

 
All cheese must have a good "gooey" factor.

 
So you remove the skin from the top of the brie and then you add your toppings directly on to that.   The pesto brie I just made was simple -  prepared pesto spread on top of the brie, with the addition of more chopped garlic, a little shaved parmesean (I know - but cheese upon cheese - how can that be bad??)  and a good drizzle of olive oil.  The amounts are up to your taste and preference (Read:  I don't measure when I cook and have no idea how much I used) Then you  bake that in a 350 oven until the cheese is good and gooey.  When I bake mine I place it in something like a pie plate - you need something with sides.   (By the way, that 350 looks funky with this font - it looks a bit like 35 degrees instead of 350 degrees - three hundred fifty degrees - that it should be,  just to clarify.)

Oddly enough, the microwave works fabulous for this as well.   You prepare it the same and cook it at 1-minute intervals until the gooey factor sets in.

Time this takes depends entirely on the size of the brie.  Just keep checking it by pushing on it and when it's gooey - it's done.

Then you simply serve it with chunks of bread like ciabatta or any kind of bread.  It's also very good with a good cracker.

Some other ideas for toppings include;

honey and almonds with a hint of orange zest

Pecans, brown sugar and butter.

 
Chopped garlic, butter (yes, butter on cheese is to die for),  herbs like basil and oregano - either fresh or dried.

Chopped sundried tomatoes with chopped olives, a little oregano and a splash of olive oil.

 
Honestly, I could go on.  But like I said, the options are only limited by your imagination.  The basic idea is the same, skim the skin off the top, put your toppings on, and cook until gooey.

Also, if you don't eat it all - which, seriously, that's never happened to me - but if you don't eat it all, simply cover what is left and refrigerate.   Then you can put it in the microwave to re-melt when you're ready to finish it off.

Simple - easy - gooey. 

3 words I love.

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Vindication
 
 

 
So I have this cousin (he's a cousin by marriage) who drives the entire family crazy.  We all call him The Annoying Fitness Cousin.

He reminds me of that Tony Little guy - you know, the guy who does those infomercial - his latest product is "The Gazelle".    He's that guy who I am sure wears an adult diaper under his  spandex shorts because all that excitement is bound to make a person tinkle.

 
Anyway.

 
So, The Annoying Fitness Cousin is just that - annoying about fitness.   I love and respect that he has a passion and treats his body like a temple.  But what I don't love is his incessant need to lecture everyone about it.

Every time we gather, he goes from person to person asking them how their training is going and if they are paying attention to their diet and well-being.    And he constantly lectures people on what kinds of foods to eat.     Every time it's, "Be sure to eat lean proteins and complex carbohydrates.  Don't eat processed foods - stay away from convenience foods - pack carrot sticks in your purse or brief case..."   Blah blah blah blah...

Last time we were all together I served up a nice baked Brie with chunks of soft baguette and he nearly stroked out.  "All that cheese!  And white bread!  You need to pay attention to your diet and well being...!"    

My response to him was simple.   "Want some?"  As I wiped cheese off my chin and took a nice big drink of wine.

That particular day was all about grilled tenderloin steaks - medium rare - with a lovely topping of bleu cheese and sauteed mushrooms.   He nearly stroked out watching us eat as he sipped on his protein shake and had green salad.
 
We love him, but everyone dreads his presence.   He is determined to save us all from ourselves, one baked Brie at a time.

So cut to today around noon.

 
I am sitting at the stop light and looked over to the car at my right.   And who do I see but The Annoying Fitness Cousin digging into a McDonald's bag and shoving an entire fist full of French fries in his mouth and then wiping his hand on his shirt.
  
I sat there with mouth open until he turned and noticed me, which then prompted me to smile and wave.

 
Oh man do I love my life.

--------

Samples
 
 
I went to the grocery store last night.  
 
 
I figured I was safe from Rude & Pushy Granny since The Feisty Friend in Kentucky and The Conservative Catholic Friend in Virginia have both had run-ins with her.  Apparently Granny has a Winnebago and she's spending her summer wreaking havoc at grocery stores all over the nation.

 
Watch for her.  She's ruthless.
 
 
Anyway.
 
 
So I am at the grocery store last night and made my way over to the deli for some Genoa Salami and fresh mozzarella balls.    (Heh heh heh... sorry... sometimes the word balls makes me giggle...)
 
I was by the counter but I had not completely decided on what I wanted.   A man approached the counter and I told The Counter Attendant to go ahead and help him because I wasn't quite ready and I didn't want to hold up the line.
 
 
Again my politeness was wasted on the rude.
 
 
He was wearing a gorgeous business suit and toting a brief case.  And he didn't take off his sunglasses in the store.   I find nothing more rude or arrogant than when a person doesn't take their sunglasses off inside a store and can't make eye contact with people. 
 
It's one of my peeves.   And as you know I have many.

 
 
So, the first thing he did was ask for a sample of the artichoke salad. 
 
And then the salami. 
 
And then the pastrami. 
 
And then the Tuscan bread salad.
 
And then the peppered turkey breast.
 
And then the black forrest ham.
 
Each time he tried something he said, "Hm.  Ok.  Now how about that over there..."  He never said if something was good or bad, he just kept going from item to item to item.
 
 
 
By this point, I am completely on to his scam.  Normally when you ask for a sample, it's so you can decide if you want to buy an item or not.    But this guy was having dinner.
 
I kept eyeing The Counter Attendant and she caught on to him, too.  But because she is trained to please the customer, there was really nothing she could do about it.  
 
 
 
Finally she said to him, "Sir, would you like me to package up something you tried?" 
 
"No."
 
"Was there something in particular you were looking for?"
 
"Uh, no.   That's it for me."
 
"Were you not happy with the items you tried?"
 
"Look - I said no, ok??"
 
 
Not only was he a cheap bastard - he was a rude one, too.
 
 
So I am standing there, waiting as patiently as I can, and when he turned to look at me  I raised my eyebrow and said, "What, no dessert?" 
  
  

 
 
Ever the charmer, I am.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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Priorities
 
 
 
 
A few months ago we took a call for a Trick.  The Bride's Mother did not want an extravagant meal as they were trying to keep their budget in check.  No problem.  We can work with that. 
 
We set a menu, staying within the budgetary guidelines, and due to budgetary constraints, the Trick would be a drop-off, only.   The Bride's aunts would be overseeing the reception. 
 
During the meeting we must have heard the words, "tight budget" 50 times if we heard it once.  Which is no problem, not everyone has $35,000 to spend on a wedding and we are very sensitive to people who come to us, and who want us, but who are very up front about what they can or can't do.   The key to being a good Whore is to work together with your client to create the most beautiful night within the range that they are comfortable.
 
 But The Bride's Mother was very, very incessant with her desire to keep the costs down.  Again - we can work with that - but it became somewhat of an annoyance after a while because the words, "tight budget" were used more than anything else.
 
 
 
Cut to yesterday and we arrive at the venue to unload and set up the tables and give instructions to the people in charge.   It was an afternoon wedding so the menu was light and simple and there were only going to be 150 people so the task was not at all difficult.  
 
So we're setting up our displays when I walked over to the bar to set up an area for some items and when I got behind the bar, there was a supply of hard liquor enough to satisfy 500 people.  I stood there for a minute, not quite believing what I was seeing when one of the people overseeing the night walked over to see if I needed help.  When I asked of all that liquor was for the Trick, and she confirmed that it was.
 
Now - people are free to do whatever they please.    But when you come into my office and stress the fact that the budget is tight and you don't want to feed people a full meal yet you seem to want them drunk enough to fall face down on the dance floor, I find that odd.  And I find it dangerous.
 
Everyone has different priorities, for sure.
 
 

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Klutzy Whore
 
 
Some people are born geniuses, others are born with a natural talent to sing.  Me?  I was born with the natural talent of being a klutz.
 
It's my middle name, actually.  (Or at least it should be)
 
 
 
I love pretty shoes with slim heels - but dear God I am not good in them.  I tried on a pair of strappy numbers in Nordstrom recently and couldn't even walk to the 3-way mirror without nearly taking out a display of Via Spiga boots.  The salesman, in all of his kindness and compassion, suggested I go for a lower heel. 
 
And by lower I think he meant a flat.
 
 
Anyway.  
 
I also have that rare ability to knock over items without even touching them.  It's like this energy field I carry around with me - like I have 17-ft. long arms, 8 of them, that go around swinging and knocking things off shelves as I walk through a room.
 
I really think it's God's way of keeping me humble - sort of like a reality check or payback for all the mean things I say about people.  (Like the person I spoke of below, though my assessment of her is not unfounded, nor unshared) Even though I know God doesn't work in paybacks - I do think I supply Him with a neverending vaudeville show of sorts.    "Hey, St. Peter- check out what she does with that glass of wine!"
 
When I enter a room, things just start tipping over out of fear.  Dishes fall out of cupboards in an attempt to lessen the anticipation that they may be the next victim.  "Guys, I am just going to jump.  I can't stand this stress.  You know I am next - I am on the top of the pile!" 
  
  

Amazingly enough, I have never (knock on wood) had a klutz issue when Tricking.  I am so hyper-focused that I think I actually will things to stay in my hand. 
 
Well, ok. 
 
No.  I take that back.  
 
Last week I had a nasty accident with a bottle of Caesar dressing that splurted when it hit the floor and showered The Partner with Parmesan-y goodness.  But it was during prep time so that technically does not count.  And, well, there was that mayo incident at the Restaurant Supply Store.   But again, that was pre-Trick. 
  
  
 
So tonight we're in Costco picking up a few items for tomorrow night's drive-by Trick.   (Which means I have no idea if the aforementioned "friend" actually showed up at my place or not) 
 
So, we're loading the van and thing are going relatively well, except for ramming my shin into the corner of the door, which is even more evidence of klutziness...  
 
 
...As I was saying... we were loading the van and the last thing to go in was the watermelon.  The Partner said, "Be sure that's stable, I don't want it rolling out when we open the doors."
 
"Yeah, yeah.  I know the drill."
 
"I know you know, but that box is not very strong and...."
 
 
Splat.
 
 
*sigh*
 
 
When I went to adjust the box of beautiful champagne grapes we picked up for sugaring, my elbow nudged the watermelon and out it rolled - and sadly it did not survive the fall.
 

Poor bastard never had a chance.
 
 
 
 

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Oh Hell No    
 
First the back story:   About a year ago we went to dinner with a couple The Husband knew through work channels.  The Men put their heads together thinking that The Wives (yours truly, included) would be fast friends and set up a dinner date.   So we meet for dinner.  I could tell in the first 5 seconds it was going to be a bust.  Her Husband was charming, a very nice man.  The Bitch, on the other hand.   Well.   First words out of her mouth were:  

"Oh, wow.  You have a lot of hair.  And it's so curly.  Do you really like all that curl?"  
 
 "Yes I do, actually.  It's God-Given and I appreciate it."
 
"Hm, Yeah.  I guess it's good curly hair is back in."
 
"Yes, I wish I could say the same for good manners."

 
She totally missed that reference but Her Husband and The Husband caught it.  Of course, The Husband was also experiencing the excruciating pain of my heel digging into his foot under the table.   The entire night was filled with comments like; "

"Well those earrings are interesting - the seem a bit on the bulky side." "The color of your shirt - they consider that orange, right?" " Well that color is so bad on people.  But you seem to pull it of...ok."  "Oh, yeah.  I tried catering but it was so boring.  So I decided to take up home  interior, instead.  It's a fabulous thing.  I also do wedding planning and dabble in candle-making."
 
 
I spent the entire meal smiling, digging my shoe in The Husband's foot and drinking enough red wine to make the median income of the entire Napa Valley raise 3 points.   When the check came, The Husband and Her Husband were quick to grab - but Her Husband won.  Damn him.  I know he was paying to make up for his pond bottom-sucking wife.   But, having Her Husband pick up the check meant that at some point down the road we had to reciprocate. 
 
 
And I hate that.    
 
But I did it.  
 
About 6 months later.      
 
I decided to call them on a Thursday to see if they could come for dinner on a Saturday, thinking that was in no way enough time and they would already have plans.  And why I thought that, I have no idea.  The Husband is darling but The Bitch, I am certain, is the reason they did not have plans - because they have no friends.  
 
 
So over they came.  
 
 
I baked a wheel of Brie that I had smothered in pesto and extra garlic and a splash of olive oil and served it with fresh ciabatta bread.   Dinner was mixed green salad, prime rib (medium rare), garlic mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus and sauteed mushrooms.  Dessert was creme puffs.   
 
All favorites of Her Husband.  
 
He raved.   
 
The Bitch sulked.   
 
The Husband wiped the beads of sweat that kept appearing on his forehead.      
 
The night was cut short when she suddenly got a headache and informed Her Husband she would be waiting for him in the car.  The poor man didn't even have time to finish his creme puff.  He did, however, apologize for her behavior.  I assured him it was all ok.  And I resisted the temptation to give him the number of My Friend The Divorce Attorney.  
 
I made it pretty clear to The Husband that if I ever saw The Bitch again in my lifetime, it would be too soon.  He agreed - not because I made him.  (Really, he can think for himself) but because The Bitch drove him crazy.   Thankfully we have not seen them on the better side of 8 months.  
 
So cut to about an hour ago when I get a panicked phone call from The Husband. 
"Uh, Baby.  I just walked in the door and we had a message on the machine.  Um, The Bitch said she and Her Husband are coming in to town tonight and they are going to stop by to say hello.  She says it's been forever since they saw us and she is dying to catch up."
 
Oh, Hell no.

--------

A Pig From Jail

When The Niece was quite little, The Sister and I were watching the movie Steel Magnolias on TV. The Niece came in the room at a point in the movie where one of the ladies said, "She is a bitch from Hell!"

The Sister and I froze, hoping The Niece didn't pick it up but she did - only her version was much better. "Mommy, why is that lady a pig from jail?"

That statement became the mantra of our entire family.

So I am in the grocery store early this morning getting some items for a small trick tonight. I also needed some things at home so my cart was extra full - like hard to turn the corner full.

So I get in line and this woman comes up behind me with the look of dread on her face. All she had was a pack of gum and I am sure she thought, "Great - it's big cart lady."

Because that's how I am known at the store.

But I guess that's better than being known as Big Zit Lady or Big Bitch Lady or...

Anyway.

So I say, "Oh honey, cut in front of me, please!" and she excitedly did.

And shortly after she did, a mother and daughter came up behind me with a dozen doughnuts and that same look of dread, and again I said, "Oh please, go ahead of me!

(See, I am not a total wretch.)

So I start unloading the contents of my cart onto that little conveyer belt thing when this older - and by older I mean old - lady started shoving her cart next to me, trying to get in front of the line.

"Um, excuse me?"

"So you mean to tell me that I can't go in front of you? I am a senior citizen and you are going to make me wait behind you??"

It was one of those rare moments where I was speechless.

The cashier stood there with her mouth open.

"So are you going to let me in front of you or are you going to make me wait?"

"Um, well, I..."

She totally cut in front of me. And she was rude. She barked at the cashier and barked at the bagger and barked the whole way out of the store.

The cashier just kept shaking her head and said, "I cannot believe she just did that. What a cranky old woman."

"Cranky? She's a Pig from Jail."

--------

I Got Duped

So I've been pretty clear about my rule of not tricking for family and friends - too personal.

Well, The Annoying Cousin is getting married at the end of August. Initially she was going to get married in a church with all the trimmings, complete with rented venue and caterer, whom I got to pick since I refused to turn the Trick.

She had asked me to be her matron of honor and I have to be honest to say her choice confuses me. We are not close, we have nothing in common, and quite frankly, she annoys the Hell out of me. Which, I realize that most living breathing creatures annoy me, but trust me when I say that after 5 minutes with her, you would all be ready to shove sharp objects in your ears.

Her initial plan was big wedding, lots of flowers and lace. Which, the lace part scared the Hell out of me. I might wear lace underneath it all (which is where lace belongs, by the way) but when gazing upon my wardrobe the words; "Lacy", "Flouncy, "Chiffony" and "sparkly" never come into your mind. I like classic lines paired with funky jewelry and amazing shoes. So when she first described to me the dress I would be wearing and said, "Oh it's so perfect, something you can totally wear again (Riiiight). It has a handkerchief hemline, is very flouncy...!" I lost consciousness shortly after the word "flouncy" was used.

This has totally gotten off track as this has nothing to do with fashion...

Ok so the food.

Yeah.

Well, plans for the big wedding were scrapped and in the interest of time and money, they have decided to marry outdoors in The Aunt's garden, cutting the guest list from 300 to just family at 50 people.

So we're talking about the details and I get to pick my own dress (Thank you, Jesus) and I was informed that the food would be, "Simple and casual. We're going to do a potluck."

"I guess I see your point. Let me think about it and call you back."

Now, as much as it seems different, I really don't like to rain on people's parades. But seriously - this isn't a church social. It's a wedding!

So the phone rings about 20 minutes later:

"Ok we took your advice. The Groom says you're right (I like him) so we have decided just to get a few pans of lasagne from Costco that we will just put out with some sliced garlic bread and call it good."

The Cousin knows my anal food tendencies - I really think she put me through his on purpose, knowing I would not be able to stand it.

And I am pretty sure I got duped.

The menu is now spinach salad followed by pork loin with sweet glaze; rice pilaf; grilled asparagus with herbed butter; assorted Artisan breads. Dessert is fresh fruit, pound cake with lemon curd and cream, and assorted sweet bars.

And guess who's making it.

--------

Prozac In Bulk

So a couple of months ago I took a call for a Trick on the 31st of July. The Irrational Bride (I will explain later) called and asked if we had the date open, and we did. She wanted us to put her down - in ink - and to plan on Whoring her function. She found us through a current client of ours, apparently the families are great friends and we fully trust the client so we had no problem booking the Trick without actually meeting her.

We made an appointment for 2 weeks after that phone call to sit down and get things started. The day of the meeting she cancelled and set the meeting for two weeks later. The day of that meeting, she cancelled again. But she wanted us to be certain that she would be using us and not to schedule something else for that night - and we assured her we would not.

So, she calls two weeks ago wanting a meeting the very next day and I had to turn her down - we had a Trick on that night. And then she wanted to schedule for the next day - again it did not work for us. I told her I would not be available for a meeting until after the 10th, that we would be very busy and unavailable but we would touch base after that.

So yesterday morning I have this message on my machine and all I hear are sobs and what appears to be someone in a severe state of hysteria. I checked the caller ID and it was her. I thought something horrible had happened, though why she would call me I had no clue. I called her back and as soon as she heard my voice, she went into hysterics again. I am sitting there trying to get a word in so I can get her to calm down but she was out of control - like gasping sobs out of control. Had in been in the same room with her I would have nailed her with one of those soap-opera slaps and told her to get a grip.

Ohhhhhh Gooooooodddddd... it's youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu" Gasp, Sob, Gasp.

"You weren't there, *sniff* and I called and... *gasp* we want food... *sniff, gasp* but I caallllleeeddd...." Total wailing at this point.

And do you want to know what had her in hysterics?? Apparently she called me 3 times on Saturday and I did not call her back. She had not been diagnosed with a terminal illness. She had not been dumped for the cute waitress at Starbuck's. No family member had disappeared. I had simply not called her back.

At this point I was wondering if Costco sold Prozac in bulk.

"Sally, I told you that I would not be available until after the 10th. I was very clear about that. Also - if you will remember - we tried on 2 different occasions to get together with you and both times you bailed. So why you are acting like your neighbor killed the family dog is baffling to me."

"No, *sniff*, I am not joking. Figuring out what I want to feed these people has kept me up every night for the last week."

So we rearranged our schedules to meet with her last night and she actually brought a box of Kleenex. We found out she cries when you mention the words, "Bridal Bouquet", "Groom's Cake", "Invitations", and things like "Crudite'. I spent a lot of time with one hand rubbing my forehead while The Partner patted Sally's hand.

Normally I unwind after a Trick with a nice lemon drop.

This time I may have to drink before.

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Fire

Finally a moment to sit down and reflect on my weekend.

Well, I did have a moment yesterday but I wasn't so much reflecting on my weekend as I was admiring my reflection in my luscious lemon drop(s), while I was lying in the warm sun.

From the time I finished Thursday's trick until the aforementioned lemon drop(s), I don't think I sat still for longer than 20 consecutive minutes. I suppose I did sleep at some point on Friday night, though it was sitting upright on the couch, and Sunday morning sometime around 3:00 a.m. I think I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation I was having with The Husband. Poor guy. The most he has seen of me in the last 10 or so days is a blur of my image running past him to iron my uniform and of me leaving money on the table so he can go out and get something to eat. He mentioned on Saturday afternoon that he sort of feels like a Man Whore because all he knows of me lately is money on the table.

Welcome to my world, buddy.

So Saturdays Mega Trick went off without a hitch.

Well, sort of.

The Mother of The Bride is a very sweet woman. She's very blonde (nothing wrong with blondes, don't send me hate mail) and very much resembles Pamela Anderson, sans the Barbed Wire tattoo on her bicep. She tends to dress a bit like Ms. Anderson, too, and that fashion sense rolls over into her decorating sense. So she supervised the making of all the centerpieces - all 100 of them - and insisted on products like cellophane and glitter-sprayed candles. So the place had that feel of a lovely 80's prom. The only thing missing was canned Air Supply music.

So, The Host and Hostess had arrived at the venue and we were touching base on guest arrival, etc. when all of a sudden we noticed flames at one of the guest tables. I made a mad dash over to try and put the fire out but when flame meets glitter spray and cellophane - the game's over. So I grabbed the centerpiece and made a mad dash for the kitchen and no sooner had I grabbed it when the one next to me went off...and then another... and then another... So I am running around with flaming centerpieces in my hand and had I had the skill of juggling, I could take myself on the road for a nice circus act.

It was mayhem.

Every one of those centerpieces either went up in flames or nearly went up in flames. It was like playing Wack-A-Mole trying to get all the candles out in time to stop the inferno. Some of the early arrivers were gasping as we were making mad dashes to each candle to blow them out and every few minutes I was running to the kitchen with flaming plants in my hand. Lady Liberty would be proud.

When the Mother of The Bride got there she asked what happened, when we told her she said, "Oh, well, the spray can said flammable so that's why I didn't spray the wicks."

Bless her heart.
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Freaky Friday

So last night's trick went fabulous. Everything about it was fabulous. The food (Chicken Cordon-Bleu, rice pilaf, steamed asparagus, Caesar Salad, breads - Fresh strawberries on poundcake with whipping cream for dessert) was fabulous. All 150 people raved.

And the people were fabulous. We were in the kitchen and a woman came to the door and said, I am sorry, I know this is not right, but would you mind if I could get some hot water? I really hate to bother you in this way. We just sort of stared at her - not for the request itself - but because she was so...polite. I think you all know my history (and disdain) for kitchen intruders but she was so nice and we were so taken aback that we must have looked like fools standing there with mouths open and eyes like a deer caught in headlights. We were more than happy to help her out and she was so gracious. And then, shortly after she left, a gentleman came to the door and said, "I know this is such an intrusion but my video camera is over there on the shelf and if it is ok, I would like to get it. I was chopping romaine and just sort of stopped chopping and stared at the mass of green. After he left, our head waitstaff said, "Ok, this officially marks the beginning of the end of the world.

How sad that politeness is an oddity.

Today, after receiving our main product delivery, I had to run to The Restaurant Supply Depot and - the cashier was actually nice. NICE. He made small talk. Friendly small talk. Chit chat, if you will. As I was writing my check I just kept looking out the corner of my eye to see if a winged beast was hovering over me, this being the beginning of the end of the world and all.

After that it was off to Costco and not one comment. Nothing. I almost felt compelled to shout, Hey! Look at me... I have a case of broccoli in my cart and I am going to wipe out all the vine tomatoes, tooooooo!! It was even sample day and there were no lines, no one was pushing or shoving - nothing.

It was almost - creepy.

Then it was off to the bakery and as I was leaving the guy in line behind me made some comment about the 4 huge boxes of breads I had on the cart and I said, "I am having an anti-Atkins rally in the parking lot - free bread for everyone." and he laughed hysterically and we had the nicest conversation and he helped me load the boxes in the van.

The only bad thing to happen today was that my shrimp didn't come in as planned (Apparently I was not up to par with that Captain) but it will be in at 7:30 tomorrow morning, which is no problem. It's totally doable.

But everyone is being so nice.

It's freaking me out.
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Strip Clubs, Flying Fish, and Baklava

What a weekend!

So, Big & Burly Not So Great With Women Guy kind of invited himself along for our Market excursion. Which was fine, but he really doesn't do well in big crowds. He swears he's not agorophobic but I think he may need just a hint of therapy. (Honestly, I just wish he would admit he is gay so he could live his life free and happy.) And I know it's not nice but I find myself constantly sighing and rolling my eyes when we're out -mostly just because he's really a big Mr. Sissy Pants and even more mostly because I am an impatient bitch. (Much like The Conservative Catholic Friend in Virginia - but she's so tiny and cute that people think her lack of patience is charming. On me - not so much.)

So we got there early enough to find a fabulous parking space by the adult video store and strip club (One of many on First Avenue), which made Mr. Sissy Pants nervous. I don't know if it was just normal nerves or if he was afraid a stripper would chase him down the sidewalk and give him a lap dance right then and there. Regardless, I told him to buck up - we were only a block from The Market entrance and I wasn't moving. (I told you I am an impatient bitch) I do have to ask though - what does prompt a person to need porn at 9:00 in the morning?? (Or even 9:00 at night, for that matter...)

Mr. Sissy Pants went to the electronic cashier to pay for our parking while The Husband and I waited in front of the building. It was taking him forever so The Husband went to see what the problem was. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. However long it was it was enough time to receive and decline an offer from a small foreign man. "Heyyyyyyyyyy pretty laaaaaaaaaaady, why don't you join me for a drink inside?" Sorry, buddy. I am not that kind of Whore.

Finally my patience gave out (imagine that) and I went back to find The Husband and Mr. Sissy Pants desperately trying to get the machine to eat their $10 bill. They must have tried every bill in their wallets and folded and refolded and smoothed - nothing. Apparently neither of them noticed the big sign that said, "This machine now accepting debit or credit cards, only". So I crammed my AMEX in the machine and we were on our merry way.

Idiots.

Anyway.

The Market is fabulous when it first opens - just gorgeous. It's pretty quiet and peaceful as the throngs of people haven't arrived yet. I love to watch the vendors get ready for the day. The fruits and vegetables are always bright and gorgeous but they are especially beautiful at the start of the day. It's also fun to watch people gather around in anticipation for the famous flying fish guys.

I spent most of my morning meandering the stands, planning what I would buy. The morel mushrooms are in season and the cherries are just fabulous right now. Let's be honest, though, everything is fabulous in that environment. An old shoe lying on the pavement becomes a work of art when surrounded by sugar snap peas as green as green can be.

I bought a box of the most ridiculously large and succulent blackberries ever and snacked on them while I looked at leather goods, paintings, sculptures, beaded items and the most fabulous sterling silver jewelry - which I never got to buy because 4 of the MOST rude women on the planet were crowding the stand and whenever I tried to get close they would turn and scoff. Fortunately for them I was on a fresh blackberry high and avoided any unpleasantries. Though I did give the girl with the big butt in way too short of shorts a raised-eyebrow once over when she turned to look at me. It was that way of being critical without saying anything - that catty trait women have - so she definitely understood that I thought her butt was waaaaay too big for those shorts. And being a big-butted Whore myself, I am totally qualified to make that call.

(That will teach her to come between me and my fabulous earrings.)

From there we went across the street to my personal Mecca - Sur La Table - where I purchased some much needed essentials for my utensil crock, an apron, a new tart pan and some hand soap. After that it was off to La Panier for artisan breads and to the Italian deli for some salami and provolone.

Then it was time for lunch.

It's so hard to pick what to eat when you're down there. Every time you turn around there is a fabulous smell. Fresh fish and chips, clam chowder, oysters, pasta, gyros, sausages, panini, - it's a culinary overdose.

We ended up at an outdoor table on Post Alley where The Husband and Mr. Sissy Pants got meatball sandwiches and I had a dish of fresh pasta with bread (That ridiculous Atkins diet be damned) and we soaked up the sun and listened to the street musicians. And I made it through an entire lunch - while wearing a white shirt - and never spilled even an ounce of sauce. Huge accomplishment for the girl who talks with her hands.

After that it was over to my beloved Greek bakery for baklava and ouzo candy...and a spanikopita...and another baklava for the road. And just in case there was an accident - more baklava.

After getting the last bit of honey syrup and nuts out of my hair - there was a hand-talking baklava accident afterall - I waddled back across the street to the main market to purchase gorgeous flower bouquets (Only $9 each!), some dates, halibut cheeks (they don't throw those, thank God), more breads and a few more berries for the road.

We left just as the crowds started to get unbearable and as Mr. Sissy Pants got nervous because our parking time was running out. Apparently The Husband told him that if we went over the time and got a fine, it had to be paid in the strip club.

I think The Husband has been married to me too long, he's picked up my cruel sense of humor. Now if I could just get him to pick up his dirty socks...

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