The Father taught me to gut and clean a salmon way back in the days when I was listening to the Bay City Rollers on my 45 record player.

I remember The Mother being less than thrilled, worried I would cut myself. Or even worse - track fish guts in the house.

And the thing is, I've never once found it to be a disgusting job. The blood, the guts - all no big deal.

So why, then, when I have to cut up or debone a chicken do I gag until I make my throat raw?

I know my grammar is on par with the average 7 year old. And I know I misspell more words than Pamela Anderson at a MENSA conference.

But am I totally speaking a different language?

Am I completely unable to convey the message? Do I come across as the type of person who speaks in code like The Bush People Of Gourds on Their Penis??

DO I?

Did my opposible thumbs not write clear enough to make you read the very thing I spoke to you in person?

DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?

When we sat down with Daffy Delores I was very clear. "We need a final count seven days - 7 days!! - prior to the event.

You DO NOT call me two days - 2 days!! - before the event to inform me that your numbers have increased by 120 people. And you don't say, "I am sure it will be no trouble. It's not that many people, right?" And when I gasp slightly you don't ask, "Are you put out with me?"

Hell yes I am put out with you. I have to call my supplier for a late shipment. I have to rearrange my oven schedule. I have to figure out a way to keep 10 more pans hot to the table when I am serving you and your 120 extra guests in a "really quaint and historic place full of charm" Full of charm my ass - there is no kitchen!

I mean, sure, with your charming personality I am sure if you invited me over for dinner and I decided to pick up every Tom, Dick, Harry and 117 of their closest friends, it would be no big deal, right? And, I am sure if I told you that the price just went up $40 a person, it would be no big deal, right?

Ten people is no big deal. 20 people can even be dealt with. But 120 people is an entire small down in Kansas.

IT'S A BIG DAMN DEAL.

BAUGH!

I have a secret stash of chicken flavored Top Ramen in the back of my pantry. Top Ramen is cheap, it's totally crammed with sodium and fake chicken flavor, and it's the perfect nightcap. But don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to protect.

I break it out for special occasions, only. Like yesterday's Trick when my day started at 6:00 a.m., and I finally drug my sorry as home at midnight.

I don't eat when I trick, so by the time I get home from a long day - I am craving something hot, something quick, something cheap and something slurpy - and I totally mean food. (Insert coy wink here)

So last night while slurping oodles of noodles, I took mental notes of the entire day. I ran a list in my mind of how things went, what could have been improved upon, what didn't work, and what I loved the most about the night.

And it's really hard to say what I loved the most about the night.

I loved how the food service went. People ate like pigs, but in a good way. They loved the food, asked for more, and had plenty of raves to go around.

That was nice.

My staff outdid themselves. They didn't miss a beat.

They will all get an extra bonus in their checks.

My sweet and spicy glazed shrimp were good, but not as good as I wanted them to be. I needed more seasoning. But it was a personal failure, because people didn't complain. They ate them like candy.

I will work on that.

The Master of Ceremonies was hilarious. He did an excellent job and got everyone involved. People had a blast.

I got his business card.

The weather could not have been more beautiful. People were able to sit outside and blankets were provided for those who were a little on the chili side.

That was a nice touch.

The Mother of The Groom decided to surprise the bride with a chocolate fountain. *sigh* And she failed to inform The Caterers. So when The Fountain People showed up, it caught us off guard and we had to create a place for them so set up. Which would have been fine had it not been 15 minutes before the guests arrived. Fortunately The Chocolate Fountain People had everything they needed and we didn't have to do any work. People were thrilled. And that's what matters.

But I hope this fountain thing is a fad that passes soon.

The Mother of The Bride got so drunk she failed to notice the broken strap on her dress, and there was a serious probability of having a Janet Jackson Wardrobe Malfunction. She also had the hic-ups. She came in the kitchen at one point, put her arm around me and in her overly-wined breath said, "I just love you. Have I told you how much I love you? *hic*"

Now that's one classy broad.

The Maid of honor - a bitch who ordered my staff around all night - got so drunk that she puked down the front of her dress. Had she been a nice person we all would have felt sorry for her. But she wasn't. So we all laughed until we cried.

Good Times.

The Groomsman, who was such a self-proclaimed Lothario that I am pretty sure would have put the moves on a chicken had it held still long enough, got so drunk that he ended up lying outside to 'regain his bearings'. And the reason I knew that was because when we were loaded and ready to go, I was driving the van down the access alley and nearly ran him over. All of a sudden there he was like a deer in the headlights. It's a good thing we found him, or he likely would have mated with the garbage can.

What a stud.

Money, as is proved over and over again, can't buy you class.

But it can buy me lots and lots of Top Ramen.

Today is the first official day of Autumn.

Next to the first official day of Summer, this is a very exciting day for me.

It's the day that rings in a season of only slightly warm days, and cool nights. The season in which leaves fall about my feet in a blanket of vibrant colors, and the smell of pumpkin waifs through the air.

It's the season that The Husband starts complaining that I insist on leaving the bedroom window open, and it's the season I start rationailizing buying yet another pair of boots.

And in my world, it's Open Season on The Crazies.

I am 3 for 3 in the last few weddings I have tricked.

I've had one drugged MOB, one hysterical Bride, and now I am experiencing the Nosy Guests.

I was in The Grocery Store last night, and I purposefully went late as to avoid long lines, scerfuffles at the meat counter, and seeing anyone I knew. And it worked pretty good. That is, until I was looking over the baked goods.

"Excuse me... Excuse me?"

"Well, when I work for someone, the things that I do for them never get discussed outside my office. (Well, except for on my blog) If the Client wants to share that information, that is their prerogative."

"Oh, come on. What's the big deal?"

"Why do you want to know? Do you have special dietary needs?"

"Well because we went to a dinner last week and we had chicken and beef."

"Was it a dinner I catered?"

"No. It was out of town."

"Was something wrong with the food?"

"No. The food was fine. But my husband and I were hoping that Melissa was going to have salmon. We're both craving salmon. We won't be able to make the wedding, because we will be coming home from out of town that day. So we were going to just go straight to the reception. And if she doesn't have salmon then we are going to eat dinner on our way, and then not eat when we get there."

It was when she said those words that I recognized her. She's done this to me before. About a year ago, I think. I remember thinking she was one of the rudest people I had met. And if I wasn't agitated before, I was, now.

I looked both ways and kind of motioned for her to come closer. "Ok", I said. "But you can't tell anyone I told you this." She leaned in excitedly and I said, "I can't give specifics, but I can tell you that you should eat a big dinner before the wedding. And I mean big. From what I understand the reception is going to be very lengthy, and I would hate for you to get hungry and not have anything there you want to eat." And then I winked and gave her a little head nod.

She patted my arm and said thank you. And then brought her finger to her lips in a quiet "shhshing" motion and walked away.

There's totally going to be salmon at that reception.

Lots and lots of salmon.

You pretty much know how the night is going to go when you arrive at the venue in the morning to drop off the linens and the Mother of the Bride is wandering aimlessly.

And when said Mother of the Bride looks you dead in the eye, half smiles, and then gives you a look of confusion, it's a bad sign.

Apparently somewhere in the planning and having to decide when the champagne toast was going to take place, the Mother of the Bride became so stressed and unruly that her family took her to the doctor.

For Valium.

Lots and lots of Valium.

*sigh*

Help Wanted for Position of Kitchen Door Guards.

Physical Requirements
Must be over 6'3".
Must weigh over 235 lbs.
Must be able to bench press up to 350 lbs.

Job Requirements
Must be able to physically prevent kitchen entry to the following:

1. Snotty Scotty and his cousin Farting Freddi who insist upon slamming through the swinging doors and racing around the kitchen island. Not only must you be able to stop these kids, you also need to locate their parents and hang them on the coat rack in the entry way.

2. Bitchy Betty Bridesmaid who's angry that she's a size 18 and who insisted she could wear the size 12 dress, which ripped when she sat down in her chair. No matter how much she pisses and moans, we don't want her in the kitchen pissing and moaning. Slap some duct tape on the tear and twirl her sorry ass right back out on the floor.

3. Drunk Uncle Eddie. He keeps eyeing one of our servers, and he's put his sloppy ass arm around her twice. If you don't get him, we will. And we don't want to go to jail.

4. That bitch sitting at table 10. She will fake dehydration and plead for water, but all she wants to know is what we are going to do with the leftovers and if she can "Take a doggy bag home for her family". She will try to tell you she's "very best friends" with the mother of the bride. Don't buy it. She's actually the Mother of The Bride's cousin and she's hated by pretty much everyone in the family. If she uses the words, "Doggy Bag" more than once in your presence - give her a Milk Bone, slap her on the ass and send her packing.

5. Crazy Aunt Betty. Now, this ones crafty, so you really have to be on your toes. She will swear she's coming in for her purse that she tucked away in the kitchen cupboard for safety reasons. Don't be fooled by her rosy cheeks and soft skin. Her purse is really under her table, what she really wants to do is grab a handful of shrimp behind our backs.

We pay a base salary, and commission based on how many successful deflections you have during the night. Plus all the food you can eat.

Performance bonuses are given based on the number of potential offenders we see flying through the air. We like that. It makes us laugh.

For more information call 1-800-food-whore

Behold the Chocolate Fountain.

It's hard to resist the lucious, velvety chocolate cascading down in a stream of utter blissful heaven. Just the idea of a soft pillowy marshmallow or a sweet and succulent strawberry rolling in all of this fabulousness is nearly too much to bear...

JUST KEEP YOUR DAMN FINGERS OUT OF THE THING. THIS ISN'T WILLY WONKA'S HOUSE, DAMNMIT.

I don't really think I have taken a nap since back in the days of Kindergarten.

Unlike today's scholastic standards where kids in Kindergarten are learning the works of Einstein, in my day it was all about finger painting, story time, knowing how to write your name, and making sure little Bobby Singer didn't wipe his boogers on your new dress.

Our schedules were pretty consistent, too. Every day at 1:30 we took 1/2 hour naps. Well, we were supposed to, anyway. Teacher Shelly would play a little tune on her xylophone and we would all head to our cubicles to get our floor blankets. Only I didn't have a floor blanket. Little Becky Whitman had the softest pink blanket, and Sandy Tinker had a beach towel with stripes. But not me. No, I had to pick the multi-colored braided rug that I fell to the floor in agony over when The Mother informed me it wasn't fit for lying on. The hardware store dramatics, however, won her over and I proudly brought my rolled up rug to school.

She was right, though. That thing was bumpy as Hell and I could never find a comfortable position to lie on.

Anyway, it didn't matter.

Teacher Shelly would pull the shades and turn down the lights and play soft music while we all lied there staring at the ceiling. Little Joey Smith used to be the first one out. He would breathe through his mouth and always had a puddle of drool on his blanket when the lights came back on. For the most part, the room was silent except for the soft music - and me.

I couldn't sleep to save my life. Even then I was high strung, and I would strike up conversations about life with whomever was stupid enough to lie next to me. I would always get a little tap, "Close your eyes, now, it's time for you to be quiet." I would close my eyes tight and wait until she walked away when I would peak one eye open and go back to discussing what Becky Hester had in her lunch sack. Only I learned enough to keep the whispers on the down-low. That is, until the day I squealed when Charlie Engel told me his mom sent him to school with two Ding Dongs, and one was for me.

I got moved to the open space beside Teacher's desk where I spent the better part of my spring staring at the ceiling talking to myself.

So, yeah. I don't nap so much.

So yesterday afternoon I was returning some voice mails when I called Client Trixie. She answered the phone with this, "Hi. Before you say anything let me just tell you that this is my nap time. I always nap between 4:00 and 5:00. I've got 15 more minutes so can you call me back?"

I was a little stunned but stuttered out an, "Uh... sure" before I hung up the phone.

I was pretty tempted to call her back and asked what her mom packed her for lunch. But I would have been the only one laughing.

But then, I am usually the only one laughing.

The Husband was brave (read: bored) enough to come to The Grocery Store with me. This only happens if A) He's suffering from the aforementioned boredom. B) He wants bad cereal like Cookie Crisp. Or C) He likes to know what kind of load he's going to have to cart up the stairs. Normally I come home and yell, "Stellla.... Stelllllaaaaaa", which is his signal to come down and yard bulging bags of food up the stairs so I don't have to. So these little trips are what he calls Food ReCon.

The thing about going to The Grocery Store with me, or any place in public, really, is that he runs the risk that my behavior may - at any point - become slighty erratic and embarassing for him. He's a trooper, really. A kind man who's become adept at saying, "Geeze, I feel bad for the poor bastard married to that crazy lady..."

So it was pretty late, and the music on the intercom reflected the casual vibe of The Grocery Store at that time of the night. Ike and Tina Turner's Proud Mary was playing and you could see people all over the store tapping their feet and humming along. I, of course, became determined to master my skills at being Miss Tina's back up dancer, much to The Husband's chagrin.

It's no secret to anyone I know that dancing isn't really my thing. A cocktail or two definitely helps the groove. But even then it's best that those around me have 3 or 4 cocktails as to be too inebriated to notice just how bad my moves are. So stone cold sober in The Grocery Store really doesn't have any potential. But I, in my eternal optimism, am always determined to get it right. (No wisecracks about the eternal optimism, damnit)

Anyway, so...

It started innocently enough in the chip and cracker aisle with a few arm rolls and hip shakes. I thought I had a pretty good groove going as I was reaching for the Rye Krisp. The Husband sighed and said, "I'm going to the fish counter."

I continuted to boogy-woo my way through Canned Goods and Snacks when I found myself in Dried Foods. And it so happens that Dried Foods leads directly to the fish counter. So I'm rollin' on the river when a little footwork trickery sent my sandal sailing from my foot and down the aisle. The sandals I had on have a really slick sole so it flailed down the aisle like that big puck thingy in a Curling game.

It came to rest right behind The Husband and The Man tanding next to him. The Husband picked up the shoe and shook his head at me. And after a little chat, the man next to him patted him on the shoulder and was on his way.

"What was that chat about?", I asked, while I grabbed the sandal.

"He asked me if I knew you."

"I did. And if you don't straighten up, I am taking you back there before curfew."

Hmpfh.

What is it with people and their ham? This is the second client I've battled with over ham.

See, I just got out of a Trick meeting and in attendance was The Bride (TB), The Bride's Sister (BS), the Bride's Mother (BM) and myself (FW).

And this is how it all went down.

TB: "The day before the wedding I am hosting a tea for all the ladies involved in my wedding, including out of town guests and relatives. I would like you to cater that, as well. Is that possible?"

FW: "Of course, we..."

BS: Looks to her sister The Bride, "Are you sure you want them to do both? That seems like a lot of work. Shouldn't they be focusing on the reception? Wouldn't that be stretching them too thin?"

TB: Looking to me, "Am I asking too much?"

BS: "Well you don't ask her that. I mean. Use your head."

FW: "If I may interrupt and perhaps even speak for myself...we can do The Tea and we would be more than happy to."

TB: "I thought so, thank you."

BS: Dramatic eye roll.

TB: "My grandmother used to make these open faced sandwiches on crust-less white bread topped with cream cheese, ham, and asparagus. Would you be OK with making those?"

BS: "Oh God. I hate those. Can't you do something else?"

FW: "We would be happy to make those." While lifting eyebrow at BS.

TB: "Thank you so much. I would also like rolled sandwiches, do you make those? You know, the kind on Pullman bread? I know they are old fashioned. But that's kind of what I am going for."

FW: "We do, yes. In fact I just made some for a luncheon last month."

TB: "Fabulous! OK. I want chicken salad and ham salad."

BS: "More ham? So what - you want everyone to bloat like a balloon? Good grief, use your head."

BM: Looks at me and rolls her eyes. And yet remains silent.

TB: "If you don't shut your mouth I am going to add quiche Lorraine to the menu, too."

FW: Smirking. "Ham salad and chicken salad are fine."

TB: "Fantastic. And I would like..."

BS: "You're seriously going to have all that ham?"

TB: *Sigh* Yes I am going to have all that ham."

FW: "What else would you like?"

TB: "I would like a couple of vegetarian options, maybe a cucumber and dill and..."

BS: "You know what I would love to see you have? That Italian meat stuff wrapped around melon. Remember? We had that at Tracy's party?"

BM: "You mean prosciutto?"

BS: "Is that what it's called? Yeah. That was really good."

FW: Looking at TB and BM, "Do you want to tell her or do I get to tell her?"

TB: "Oh, please. You deserve it."

BS: "Tell me what? What's the big deal?"

FW: "This prosciutto you're thinking of?"

BS: "Yeah?"

FW: "It's ham."

Stupid Cow.

Each day I wake up with a renewed spirit of hope in man kind.

And then I answer the phone.

On this, the last official weekend of summer, The Husband and I have been taking advantage of some rare down time together. There are no Tricks, no business meetings, no deadlines to meet - not an obligation in site.

A weekend off.

We made a "To Do" list of things we needed to get done around the house and we got up yesterday morning with renewed vigor to get them all done.

As of right now, however, the list has a big hole burned through from The Husbands weekly cigar.

We opted, instead, to take a morning stroll. So while The Husband was out getting the paper I made up a couple of breakfast wraps, and we made our way to our destination making a detour through Starbucks along the way.

We found a perfect bench along the waterfront where we could sit and take in the sights of the bay. We watched cargo ships go by and we played a little game of "What's Inside?". The Husband dreaming of an entire ship of plasma screens, and I dreaming of an entire ship full of shoes. And maybe one container full of Greek olives.

It was all very romantic, almost Hallmark-esque, holding hands and watching the waves roll in and...

...and then some dipshit in a blue jogging suit stopped about 10 feet from us and did that thing where some men blow their nose into thin air. You know, they lean over and press one side of their nostril and blow and then repeat on the other side?

Well, Mr. Dipshit apparently had a sinus cavity full and decided our little bench of perfectness was the best place to let it all fly.

Totally.

Disgusting.

I was mid coffee sip, and I sputtered and gagged. "Oh come on", I moaned. The Husband grabbed my hand and muttered, "Oh, God." And then Mr. Dipshit's wife came jogging up and shouted, "JEFF!" and she smacked him on the back of the head. "There are people sitting right behind you and you just grossed them out. And you KNOW I hate it when you do that. Knock it off!".

Mr. Dipshit Jeff turned to us and shrugged. "Sorry." His wife came over and apologized to me. "I am so sorry. SO sorry. This is completely embarassing for me."

"Oh, please don't worry. I will get over it once the gagging stops."

"Can you believe men sometimes?, She asked. And then she looked over at The Husband and said, "I hope to God you don't do such disgusting things."

"Oh no. No.", he replied. "I learned pretty early on that gross man habbits have no place in our home. It's just better for our home - the world, really - if I try and keep that stuff on the down low."

She laughed and looked to me, "Again. I am sorry."

"Oh, please don't worry. I am just glad you caught me on a good day. Any other day and I may have lunged and been forced to lodge my shoe in his man parts."

"Yeah, well. Jeff might wish that would have happened because that would have been the last piece of action those Man Parts will see for a very, very long time. Idiot."

Mr. Dipshit Jeff and The Husband looked at one another and laughed. "Women", they said in unison.

Bastards.

Jillian over at Cookies In Heaven has issued a challenge to all food bloggers.

Go check it out.

Thank-you, Jillian.

I'm just going to say this

One.

More.

Time.

If you have a group of 6 more more and expected to be seated when you arrive...

MAKE DAMN RESERVATIONS.

I think it's pretty much a given I have had my fair of struggles with eggs, so when The Aunt called the other night to dicuss my eggs, it seemed like a perfectly legitimate conversation.

To give a little background, the Aunt - while a wonderful woman - is as nosy and as pushy as they come. No subject is off limits to her. I've heard her discuss The Uncle's Man Parts in public, to the dismay of all around her. She means well, we all think, but spending time with her is taxing on the soul.

So she called me the other night and the first words out of her mouth were...

"You need to start using your eggs."

"Never mind."