I want to say a proper "Thank You" for the Fabulousness that is winning two categories over at Well Fed and The Accidental Hedonist

It's very, very cool.

A big thank you to Kate of the above mentioned websites for hosting such a cool contest, and a big thank you to the sponsors (and prize givers) at Calorie Lab, Adagio Teas and Hotsauce Blog.

And the biggest thank you of all goes to everyone who nominated and voted for me. I am very honored.

And I promise not to let it all go to my head, which should not be difficult considering I spilled raspberry juice all down the front of my shirt just before I saw down to type this.

So, thank you.

Very much.

So for Christmas this year I gave a couple of family members the iPod Nano. What a fabulous feat of electronics those little gizmos are.

I can remember my first portable music player - a Sony Walkman. It was an AM/FM tuner that was roughly the size of a small briefcase, with headphones matching that of an F-16 pilot.

But oh my God did I love that thing. I was the envy of all my friends that Christmas because my parents were forward-thinking enough to get me such an electronic Godsend. Strutting down the hallways at school jamming out to music, complete with my leg warmers and ripped sweatshirt, made me feel like Miss Flashdance Jennifer Beals herself.

(Yes, I wore leg warmers)

I was very suprised to find my own Nano under the tree this year. It was a gift from The Husband, and he took great pains to load it with a wide array of my music favorites from classical, to pop, to easy listening, to Rock and on to the old school.

I'm not much of a music buyer these days, having given my checkbook over the purchase of ridiculously expensive condiments - and shoes,
but I do love a wide array of music. And I have found that a good rocking beat is the only way to get through the drudgery of time on my treadmill.

The Husband did a fabulous job of picking songs I love, including an entire set of 80's classics I've been playing repeatedly over the past week. It's amazing how a little Depeche Mode can make the pain of lunges much more tolerable.

Not pretty, mind you.

But tolerable.

So anyway, the other night I was all alone in our prep kitchen going over inventory lists and worksheets when Billy Idol's 'Dancing With Myself' came on the Nano. So I cranked up the volume and started singing along, and doing a dance move not really known to anyone but a small tribe deep in the jungles of the Amazon.

My head bobbed and weaved over prep lists of salads and braised meets, complete with a little jump over linen counts.

What I didn't know was that The Partner had entered the room and apparently tried to get my attention, but between the volume and my concentration on some pretty powerful dance moves, I didn't notice.

Which is unfortunate given my attempt to actualy get the Billy Idol snarl going on my face.

She finally flashed the lights to get my attention, and when I turned to see who was in the room with me, she was double over in fits of laughter.

I turned Billy off and tried to think of 1000 different explanations for my behavior. But I was busted, and I knew it.

So I simply took a bow.

So I had a meeting with a Client, and we had arranged to meet at a restaurant close to her office.

When she arrived I was looking over the menu and placed one before her. "Lunch is on me, help yourself."

"Oh, actually. Gosh. I am sorry. I already had lunch at Costco."

"Oh that's no problem."

"So you're a fan of the Costco Dog, huh?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. I pretend to shopping and I make my way around the sample stations. It's amazing how you can fill up on those things. And it's free! I save a lot of money on lunches that way. And I am all about the bargains! I don't do it more than twice a week, though. My friend Kathy and her husband used to do it almost every day and they became so aggressive about it that they were asked to leave the store."

I tried to hide the look of horror that I could feel crawling toward my face.

The best I could come up with was a raised eyebrow smile.

"So, anyway. I am so excited you agreed to meet with me. I hear fabulous things about your work. I can't wait to have a taste testing!"

'I am sure not', I thought. She will probably bring all of her friends and family, and call it the rehearsal dinner.

How do these people find me?

Even though I had the basic skills to survive, my parents proudly put me in swimming lessons at the age of 5.

There were about twelve kids in my class, all were different levels of swimming expertise.

I could dog paddle, a skill I learned when I fell out of the boat just off the shore on San Juan Island, but real swimming skills were not in my repertoire.

I did, however, have the best bathing suit in the class. It was a pink number with white daisies all down the front to match the plastic daisies on my sandals. Jimmy C., a little troll of a bully, tried to play "Keep-A-Way" with one of my sandals one day after class. But when The Father arrived to pick me up Jimmy ran screaming down the sidewalk when The Father hollered, "HEY!".

The Father was a big strapping fellow who was partial to rolling cigarettes in his shirt sleeve and bench-pressing small livestock. His appearance - while very handsome - could be frightening to small children, and that guy who tried to steal our buoys.

Anyway - the swimming.

I wasn't a swimming cap kind of girl - too much hair to fit - but I was a nose plug kind of girl. Mine was the typical pencil eraser pink that slid down over the top of my nose, and was help in place by the rubber strap around the head. I had not yet mastered the art of breathing out my nose, so the nose plug - with the help of my thumb and forefinger - was my only means of survival.

At least that's what I thought.

The lessons were fabulous. I loved the back stroke and swimming under water. And I was really good at retrieving stuff off the bottom of the pool.

But all of these things were done in the shallow end of the pool. The Safe Spot. The place where you could touch bottom and stand on your tip-toes like a ballerina. The place where toes became blistered from the plaster at the bottom of the pool, and the place I am pretty sure Susie S. used to pee for the sheer fun of it.

Week two, however, brought on the dreaded, "Jump off the Diving Board" class. Something I was completely not prepared for.

The Instructor had a long metal pole she would hold while standing on the side of the pool. The deal was the grab hold of one end just before leaping off the board. She would help pull you back up to the surface, where you would let go and swim to the side. It all seemed very reasonable and very safe.

Until it was my turn.

I would make it all the way to the end of the diving board, grab the pole, and then the fear of never making it out of that pool alive overcame me. I did not trust my instructor enough to pull me up. Even though she did it for everyone else, I was afraid she would get distracted and forget I was on the other end of the pole and I would sink to the bottom of the pool without one person taking notice.

So I would let go of the pole, and walk my way back to the ladder. I would do this five or six times until the exasperated instructor would tell me to go back to the end of the line.

This little dance would go on for two or three turns until such time the director would blow his whistle signalling the end of class, which just happened to coincide with a surge of trust and confidence on my part, and I would go flailing into the pool.

Without the pole.

This is how I approached water skiing (Causing a large gash in my instructor's leg), swimming off the boat(Causing The Mother to have severe panic attacks) and roller skating (Causing my friend Kelly to have to sit on a hot water bottle for 4 hours).

It's also a little bit how I approach my adventures in eating. Only instead of a metal pole I have a fork.

I love to try new and exciting things, but I have trust issues. Especially when it comes to foods I define as very frightening. Foods that I find provoke my gag reflex.

Foods like sea urchin.

It's been offered to me, and I keep approaching only to have bad visions, and I retreat. There's just something about it I can't seem to get passed. Perhaps I've been tainted by too many bad episodes of Iron Chef, or if I am truly standing by the desire that not all things are meant to be eaten. Whatever it is, I have trust issues.

And I am just not sure I've got the will to jump. Even when no one is looking.

Just a little FYI for those of you in the greater Seattle area.

We met a few friends at McCormick and Schmick's in Bellevue, and while the food was only average, the lemon drop was by far the best I've tasted in a public setting.

OK, ok.... lemon dropS. Plural.

There was more than one lemon drop.

They were delicious little numbers with the right amount of fresh lemon juice to vodka ratio. I've tried plenty, so take my word on this.

I got a frantic voice mail this morning.

I thought, perhaps, it was pertaining to tonight's trick.

But I was wrong.

It was a client desperate to get on the schedule for - are you ready?

May 13th.

Of 2007.

So I got a massage yesterday.

Because I am just that indulgent.

And because I arrived to my appointment a bit early, they gave me the option of lying on the aqua massage table to jump start the relaxation process.

Sounded cool to me.

So they brought me back to a candle-lit room that had soft ocean sounds playing in the background. The aqua massage table looked like a mini water bed without the satin sheets and bad 70's music playing in the background. "Now you need to lie back and let your mind take you to a relaxing place. The entire purpose of this visit is to help you relax and recharge", were my instructions from the attendant.

Sadly, the entire time she was speaking I was fighting the urge in my head to jump on that water table and make all the splashy waves like I did on my Aunt Lola's bed when I was a little girl.

But I refrained.

So I got myself situated on the bed and started up the jets. And as I lay there trying to get my mind into relaxation mode, this was the actual thought process taking place...

"OK. I can do this. I can let my mind go to that relaxing place. I will not think about the Trick I have tomorrow night. I will not think about the Tricks of the past few weeks. I will not - at all - think about Bridezilla and her trail of mayhem.

Stupid Bridezilla. I wonder if Groomzilla survived the honeymoon.

Deep Breath... relax....

I don't like those ocean sounds coming from the speaker. It's kind of creepy in this dark room.

I sort of feel like I am on an air mattress and Jaws is circling below me.

(At this point I actually lifted my head and peaked around the floor)

Stop thinking about sharks. That's not at all relaxing.

Let's see... relaxing thoughts... relaxing thoughts...

The Husband is quiet excited about the Seahawks game this Saturday. I think they can beat the Redskins. I mean, they better. This is a long time coming.

Mmm... skins. I haven't had potato skins in a really long time. I should make those with bacon and blue cheese. The Husband would love that.

I hope they can play in the rain. God, this rain. Will it ever end? Yes it rains in Seattle. But really - this is too much even for us.

So much water...

Water... I am thirsty.

Great. Now I have to pee.

*Sigh* this really is the life.

I hope I don't fall asleep on this thing. How embarrassing would that be?

Must stay awake... think awake thoughts...

OK the sound of the Orca Whale coming from those speakers is just freaky. It's like being stranded on a raft in the dark.

Imagine getting lost at sea? Like Tom Hanks.

Wow. Tom Hanks. Great actor. I wonder what ever happened to that guy he was on Bosom Buddies with. That's gotta suck. I mean. You're on the same show and one of you ends up serving coffee from a Starbuck's while the other becomes a mega movie star.

But seriously - this lost at sea thing. What would you do? How would you survive? I suppose you could eat fish. Raw fish. Like sushi without the Sake.

Hmmm... fish.

Oh, man. Halibut sounds so good.

Halibut fish and chips, to be exact. With homemade french fries and crunchy slaw.

And a beer. Yes. A good dark ale with a nice platter of fish and chips.

That's exactly what I will make for dinner.

I need to stop by the grocery store for a few things, then. I need the makings for slaw. But that's it. Just items for slaw. Concentrate, don't get distracted.

But then if I am going there I should also get items for the salsa I have to make for Thursday's trick. Ok that's easy. It's all in the produce section. I can just get it and get out.

I should be writing this all down. I need a pen."

*Knock Knock* The door opens and the attendant says, "We're ready for you. I hope you rested and had nice relaxing thoughts."

I smiled and nodded my head.

It's just easier to say nothing and pretend, than to be honest and have proof you're a nut job.

The fish and chips, by the way, were excellent.

And I spent $64 dollars at the store.

I've been trying to figure out how to post this without coming across as a completely arrgant pain in the ass.

So I decided to go the Humble and Grateful route. Which I am both - humble and grateful.

Last week I got an e-mail informing me that I have been nominated in a couple of categories in the 2005 Blog Awards over at The Accidental Hedonist.

This is a fabulous honor and I am very, very grateful for being nominated. So thank you.

And, you know. You can go vote if you like. But you don't have to. Because asking you to vote would seem like I am saying, "Go vote for me!", which I am totally not. It's not about winning. It's just really cool to be nominated with the other fabulous blogs out there.

Though if I did win that would not be the worst thing, right? But I am not saying that if I don't win I would be bummed out. Because I wouldn't.

Though winning would be fabulous.

I am totally ok with winning.

Or not.

I got an e-mail the other day from a very kind woman asking for advice on saving money at The Grocery Store. She assumed that because I do so much buying, I must know a thing or two about saving a few bucks.

Bless her heart.

The thing is, I do know my prices. And I know how to work my food salesman for good deals on things like 50 lbs of prime rib.

But for myself? Left to my own devices?

Groceries, as I have come to admit, are My Crack. They call to me, entice me with their pretty packages and limitless possibilities. The greatest treat for me at The Grocery Store (Beyond all that fabulous food) is being able to buy things just for me. Not for Bridezilla and 450 of her closest friends, or all the other freaks I've seemed to come up against over the years - just me.

Well, and The Husband. He gets his Honey Nut Cheerios and Funions. My God I hate those things. They give him dragon breath like no other. Not as bad as a Cool Ranch Doritos - but. Oh, I can't even get into the ranch conversation. So help me God if they had ranch flavoring to one more item, I am going to stage and Anti-Ranch protest right in the middle of that damn Hidden Valley.

So, anyway. The grocery store. Lovely place.

But, I've got a bit of a control issue. And I am OK admitting that.

The other night I ran to get fresh corn tortillas. That's it. Just the tortillas. And any sane person would have walked right by all the carts and little baskets and gone straight to the tortillas. But a sane person I am not.

So I got a cart. And I think it's just natural habit, and also a bit of self protection. That cart is a handy barrier from someone getting all up in my space. It's also a way to keep long-conversations at bay. If I look like I have a big job of grocery getting ahead of me, people tend to say hello and keep walking. But if I only have one item in my hand people see it as an excuse to discuss things like politics and the state of the world - 2 subjects I refuse to discuss in a place like the grocery store.

So I got the cart, and I headed straight for the tortillas.

But I got distracted.

So may pretty things. So much cheese. So many olives. "My refrigerator is clean", I reasoned. "I've got the room. Just a little bit. It will be OK."

I am a sick, sick person.

So anyway, $92.00 later, I was out the door.

So to Nancy - my tips for saving money at the grocery store are simple:

Don't shop with me.

Because I will drag you down the slippery slope of an addiction so deep and so serious you will start seeing cheeses of the world in your sleep.

I actually added a recipe.

I know, I know.

Pace myself. One recipe every 7 or 8 months is really a lot.

Anyway. It's for guacamole. The real stuff - well, how I make it, anyway - not hummus gone bad.

So it's over - finally.

The Marathon Trick that was December is finally over. For real, this time.

Somewhere around the 21st I lost count of all the people we fed, and all the dishes we washed. But I am pretty safe to say it was in the gazillions.

Or at least it felt that way.

Part of getting back into the kind of routine that has me home for more than 45 minute breaks to change clothes and say hello to The Husband is cleaning house. The Husband does a fine job of keeping things clean to the naked eye. But I knew I had my work cut out for me when he came to me with a dish from the back of the refrigerator. "How old is this quacamole?" He asked.

"Guacamole?"

"Oh my God that's hummus."

I've got my work cut out for me.