More stuff you shouldn't have to eat

Today we present another issue of MORE stuff you shouldn't have to eat. 

JELL-O'hell you don't.  But it's the soup, er, salad course.  Better thing are surly to follow, right?

And just what is that second layer.  Congealed tallow?   

This is so menage a tois.  First of all, the layout caused the descriptions to get all screwy, so the Moussaka is mated to the Corned Beef Loaf, etc. indicating that someone in layout had to be drinking at lunch.  And speaking of that Corned Beef Loaf, a spinal cord in your dinner is never a good idea. 

QUICK!  The Ham Mousse fortress, surrounded by the ham joints ("Dude."), is under attack by deviled eggs and ham.  Note that the hard boiled egg vessels are piped in TWO colors.  Not one.  Not three.  But two, for two is the magic number.  

And for dessert, this.  Whatever it is, it looks bad.  So whip it.  Whip it real good.

"Everything But the Cottage", but a buyer without manners

No, this would never be in Cookie's house.  It's too Shaker Rococo for my tastes.

So there is this web site, which I shall not name, but will call called "Everything But the Cottage".  Think of it as a online tag sale without the pleasure going through someone else's former home and gasping about how terrible the wallpaper is.

I don't buy from the site often, unless its something that 1) I like and 2) They misidentify, which happens more often than you think.

A couple years ago I scored some 1920's mantle lights, iron frames with the original mica shades, which were not perfect but one of their employees described as torn paper.  $15 dollars and I got lights that are beyond fabulous and would have been $300 in a shop.

So they had an auction, and I scored a 1980's style block print rug that will look fabu in our 1980s style guest room.  Trust me, by 2025, the 80's will be BIG again.

Part of the deal is that they will ship it to you, OR, you go pick it up.  Since the warehouse was close by, I schlepped to get it.

Well, the rug is a monster and they rolled it lengthwise instead of width wise.  So it really was difficult to wrangle.  It was so big, I had to throw it off the loading dock.  One person couldn't carry this thing down a flight stairs without either the jute backing or my neck breaking.

At the same time, an Eastern shore grit couple had backed their truck up to the dock and the husband was having one hell of a time picking up a lovely Mitchell Gold sofa by himself, while the wife gummily said "Don't be ripping that fabric or Trevor is (air quotes, here) *gonah* have a fit."

So Cookie, that is I, offered to help him load the sofa.  And I helped him load the two chairs.  He thanked me.

Then as he was tying all down, I was left to wrangle the rug into the Prius.  It not only wasn't easy, but it was a Sisyphean effort.  It would get in so far and then get stuck.  You could push, you could pull.

So there I am wrestling with the rug like he was wrestling with the sofa and do you know that kind man did?

He smiled, bellowed "Thanks again!" and then drove off.

Mother fucker.   Or is that Motherfucker?

Still, considering what I paid for the rug - which is going to look FABULOUS once its cleaned and installed, it was a small indignity to pay.

But still, this is what makes me nuts about this place.

Meanwhile, said site just sold a "Dress Up Baby Jesus Statue" on its site.  Sometimes you just wish you had symbols to clang on someone's head to get their attention and scream "IT'S THE GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKING INFANT OF PRAGUE you ASSHATS!"

Well, there now.  I feel better.  

Overheard at the grocery: From the mouths of *babes*

Overheard this at the grocery store, yesterday:

Young woman 1: "It cray-cray that I gotta take an English test to see how well I speak English. I mean, its England. Don't they speak the shit we do?"

Young woman 2: "Bitch, who you kidding. Nobody here in Bawlimore understands you either. And you wanna be nurse there? Bitch that mouth of yours, over there, gonna kill someone."

Today, I had the same cashier, Danielle, and I asked her if she remembered the conversation from yesterday. 

"Oh, yeah.  The one who was bitchin' about having to take a test on her verbal skills was applying for a nursing position in England."

OY!  Mates!  You've been warned. 

Oh Cannibal, My Cannibal

So you know with the advent of smart phones, everything has changed?

In the good old days if you were with someone who was a bit of a wolf, their eyes would drift and oogle a dame, or a broad?  And I don't mean someone with a peerage, or someone that is as wide as they are tall.

Even I, Cookie, appreciates a handsome guy and in my mind image him throwing himself at me, for a second, but that's the "Walter Mitty" in me.

Well, being a bit slow to notice, I have just witness the creepiest thing yet, more creepy than Donald Trump kissing a strangers baby.

People who use their phones to stalk other people and take candids of them to leer over.

I know, it's been going on for a while, but I probably turned a blind eye to people doing it until I had to have lunch with son of friend who did it in front of me.

Now said son is older than I am - his mother, my friend, is 95.  Sonny boy is 60+ going on 12.

We get seated, the server takes our drink order - water for me, scotch for him, and he spots a woman and young guy - under 20.  I figure its just mother and son out for lunch.

Sonny boy sees something different, a target for his "newest obsession" - he's filming the guy.  Now the target of Sonny boy's is well over 18.  But still, Sonny boy was really overt.

"Isn't he delicious," and smacks his lips.

"What are you doing," says I, shocked by what I think he's doing.

"Oh, just want to add him to my gallery of future husband's."  Then he shows me on the phone - he has galleries of these guys.

"That's kind of creepy, Sonny," I point out.

"Oh, it's not hurting anyone.  You need to loosen up.  Look at this hottie - yummeee!  Don't you think that other's do it to us?"

Now I am old enough to remember the women in the diet Coke commercial oogling a guy named Lucky for his yummy body.  And yes, that was objectification.

And no - no one is objectifying this 1962 model man.  And it makes me ill to think that anyone would be objectifying Sonny, unless it was a cannibal looking for his next meal.

But this was kind of sick.  His reasoning was kind of sick.

Turns out, this is now a sport for some people.

I ordered salad and having no way to get out of this lunch now that it had started, and ordered a salad and prayed that the prey and his mother would leave soon, which they did in 15 minutes, I was trapped.

After they left, Sonny boy returned to his same lurpy self.

"He's so alone," said said his mother Reva.  And he'll only be in town a day or two.  Can't you take him to lunch?"

Yeah - now I know why Sonny boy is alone:  Sonny is a pervert.  Sonny is the type of guy who sees nothing wrong in this creeping behavior.

The whole thing made me feel dirty.  Remember, I'm the guy who looked at Chatterbate and found it sad.  I wanted to help these people with their sets, lighting and production values.

"No, no, no RandyRandy123, you just can't sit there looking bored and expect people to start throwing tokens your way..."

"RandyRoughGuy, I love the leather, love the big fatty cigar, but it conflicts with the lacy curtains and the six cats parading through the room.  And can we either close the curtians or move your crystal animal collection to the other room?"

"Now, now, SitOnMyFace69.  We need for you the sun to be coming in the window to be behind the camera and move you over here so the sun is on you.   Now that I see you in the light, I think we need to go back to the old set up and make you mysterious..."

Sonny and I finished up lunch, he paid - put it on his expense account.  That made me feel even dirtier, then said "If you're even in DesMoines, let me know.  The men are all corn fed and delicious."

Oh cannibal, my cannibal, find Sonny and eat him.  Drive the devil from this earth.

Not that I am pure as the driven snow.

The slush, sure.

But the snow?  Nah.

Nextdoor: Something foul is afoot

What we have is a breakdown in society!

So, how many of you belong to Nextdoor©?   If you do, then you'll understand the following, with the names regrettably changed to protect the dimwits in the neighborhood to our north.

For those of you who do not know what Nextdoor© is, its site/app that acts as a listserv for one's neighborhood.  There are neighborhoods that you are referred to join, then you also get included on information and posts from other area and regional neighborhoods, but nothing too far from where you live.

People sell things on the site and buy things.  They look for contractors.  They share safety messages.  Its all like a listserv, but with a site/app and all the pretty pretties that modern design can do.

But people also make horses asses out of themselves on Nextdoor©, like the residents in one established neighborhood that declared war on their neighborhood association Board, then proceeded to air their opinions of the board in the group. Sort of like KFC people discussing the secret recipe in Board Room of Popeye's.  Savvy?

Yesterday, amongst the ISO's* and LTB** and the ALTGROAPBMS's*** there was this thread:

"Something Foul is Afoot"

Angie: "I don't know what this world is coming to but I hung a down comforter on the line behind my house to air it out, and someone snuck in and stole it. What is wrong with people?  

Well.  Society is defiantly breaking down according to this person.   But the responses also mimicked this sentiment.

Michael: "Who would do such a thing?"

Andrea: "This is why I don't let me children play outside unless I can supervise."

Tomiko: "Some people just need to be slapped upside the head."

Steven: "I think we need to start a neighborhood watch.  For what we pay in taxes, this has got to be stopped!"

Gwynn: "We need to take our neighborhood back!"

Todd: "I can arrange a meeting at St. Somethingorother's Community Room and demand that the County Chief of Police attend."

Cookie: "Sounds like a case for Miss Marple.  Oh, wait.  She only does murders.  Pity."

Marilyn: "Angie, I found your comforter, it was laying in a heap between our houses - it's a bit muddy. The wind might have picked it up and carried it if you didn't clip it to the line.  I put it on your back stoop."

Thom: "Last week someone stole two new planters from my friend's front door over in Edgewater."

Gerri: "My husband and I are installing deadbolts.  This world is cracking up. And just so everyone knows, we have a gun."

Angie: "Thanks Marilyn, I feel kind of foolish.  I never thought that the wind could pick it up, but that seems more rational than someone stealing it.  It's my daughter's so it has sentimental value.  And the dry cleaners have it."

Gwynn: "We need to take our neighborhood back!"

Michael: "Steven, I know the Rector at the church.  I can make arrangements for the meeting."

Estelle: "What kind of sicko would steal a child's blankie?"

Marilyn: "Estelle, we had gusty winds yesterday.  No one stole it.  It blew off the line.  Let it go."

Guy & Susan: "This is why we lock and arm the alarm on our house."

Tomiko: "Gwynn, just who do we need to take our neighborhood back from?"

Gwynn: "Evildoers - they are everywhere.  This is why President Trump is going make us all safe again when the budget comes out."

Cookie: "SQUIRREL!"

Gwynn: "I think someone needs to mind their own business."

Tomiko: "Gwynn someone needs to keep their politics off this board, and mind her own business before shooting off a back handed comment to someone else." 

Allen: "Can the moderator shut this thread down?"

Tomiko: "If Gwynn hosts any part of the progressive dinner, I am not going."

Moderator: THREAD CLOSED

Strangly, Tomiko doesn't even live in our neighborhood.

But know that I have seen her spunkiness, I think she'll be our guest at our neighborhood's progressive dinner in June.

Take that, Gwynn.

* ISO: In Search Of
** LTB: Looking to buy
*** ALTGROAPBMS: Anyone Looking to Get Rid of a Pottery Barn Microsuede Sofa - I KID YOU NOT.  This was a post from some twit in Roger's Forge, as in "Would anyone be looking to get rid of Pottery Barn sofa in good condition, no rips or tears, from a pet free house.  Looking to spend less than $200.  Thanks!" Bitch PLEASE! ~ Cookie.

Burnout and Reflection

Receptionist desk, GM Technical Center.  Designed by Eero Saarinen. 

You know, there are times that you get so buried in a project that you feel alone at your desk - quite alone.  And that is how Cookie has been feeling of late.

In January I took on a HUGE family scanning project for a cousin in Ohio who is dying.  I literally got in the old Prius and hauled ass on a whim, and came back with cartons of his mothers and grandmothers images.  Since January I have scanned thousands of pictures, back and front.

Not dozens.

Thousands.

I used to love scanning images, but my mind can only take so many at a time.  But with thousands of them my mind has grown numb.  I am unable to think things through.

I feel like this woman sitting at the reception desk.  Isolated.  Alone on an island.

The project is coming to an end.  Really, I have one album of cart d'viste pictures to do and then code in the meta data and Cookie is finished until September.

In September we have been invited to stay for a long weekend at the home of my third cousin and view her collection of family images.

That I find in joy in this is a blessing.

Though it has me a bit concerned.  In my mind are thousands of names, stories and facts.  And though I am fifty four, and not planning on going anywhere, anytime soon.  I am getting concerned about what will happen to what I know, what I don't know and what I long to pass on.

When you work on researching a family so thoroughly that you get to know the people you are researching, I feel as if I need to keep on doing this because I don't want to let them down.  They all have stories that need to be told.

"Well then," people will say, "write a book!"

As someone who has written books and seen them published by a real honest to gosh publisher, easy said than done.  I can write.  But I don't enjoy writing.

It leaves me feeling like this woman - alone and isolated.

And I am feeling that at fifty four, I need to look to other things so when my time does come at a ripe old age, the funeral home isn't empty because I spent so much time documenting and doing for dead people when maybe I should be doing more for the living.

Something to ponder.

Cars, an ugly fact of life

The Goddess of Canadian Mobility is lacking from our automobile. 

While I love automobiles, I hate cars.

Automobiles take you places, allow you mobility and let you see the world.

A car gets stuck in traffic, requires insurance, belches pollution, and have to be replaced.

When my mother died, I decided to simplify.  I sold my Maxima SE, sold the Highlander she left me, and I bought a used base Prius, because it made a lot of sense.  No car payments, great mileage, the feeling of superiority that you get with owning a Prius.  And it came with that lovely new sense of superiority over other drivers.

When you own and drive a Prius, you know you are better than everyone else, because you are better than everyone else.  And you are getting 50 mpg.

Well, nothing lasts forever, and come seven years of owning said Prius, the husband got the new car bug.  First, he wanted a new car.  His employer was offering a huge deal on loaded, 2017 Nissan Leaf's - an all electric car.  The numbers for the car came to half of its actual sticker price.  $17,000 out the door.

Then we started looking into it deeper. We'd have to put in a driveway.  That is $12,500.  Then we'd have to install a charging station, another $900.  We got free charging at the husband's place of employment, but he likes driving his SUV because driving in Baltimore is like driving in Baghdad, and you kind of like seeing what incoming.  That meant that I would be left with a car that has a one hundred mile range before recharge.   And since we hope to break ground on an addition in 2018 or 2019, that would mean repairing the driveway damaged in the remodeling.

All of sudden, the good idea looked a whole lot less.

Still, the husband was convinced that the Prius needed to be replaced.  "What about a new 2017 Prius?" asks he.

Well, to be honest, they are fugly.  They look angry.  Prii (that is the plural) have never been beautiful cars.  Their form follows function.  But this new batch is nasty ugly.   Now you may think they are lovely.  But you are wrong.  They are fugly.

So I promised to keep an open mind, and we looked.  But seriously, what they hey, Toyota. These cars are are fugly.

Instead, we looked across the lot and saw a 2017 Prius V trim level 4.  The V is the station wagon version of the Prius.  The level four is the bells and whistles level.  There are five levels.  Levels two and three are not as nice as the four.  The five, well, that would ostentatious.

The Japanese have never great about naming cars.  Nissan had the "Fair Lady".  Diahatsu had the Charade.  Isuzu has the Esteem.  And Suzuki, bitches, and I am not making this shit up, had the "Every Joypop Turbo".

But we bought a Toyota Prius V.  First of all, it's a Prius V, as in "VEE".  Not as in the Roman numeral V, for five.  Never mind that the the thing has five doors, no.

"Do you know what the "V" stands for, the dealer asked?

Vigilante? Vampire, Viper, and "Vavavavoom?"

"No, 'Versatile'"

"Like Gypsy Rose Lee?"  When I said that, he looked at me odd and you could hear crickets.

So we settled the price, and I said farewell to my old friend, who will become a taxi cab in Washington, DC.

I like the new car.  I am fortunate to have a new car. But somehow, getting 50mph no longer makes me feel as superior as it once did.

It's hard  get juiced over a car that is a "Prius V Level 4".  I could get juiced over a Every Joypop Turbo, though.

There is something to be said for the ability to push a button and have Miss Toyota ask, "How may I help you, Cookie?"  And I say "Find me the closest grocery store."  And Miss Toyota says, "there are three within two miles, Acme, Ajax or Dented Cans R Us.  Which would prefer?"  I answer Ajax, and Miss Toyota says "Good choice.  Let me set up the navigation."

And if I push another button, she answers me in English (United Kingdom), Japanese, Spanish and French.  I tried the French, but her voice lacked the disdain and ennui that I felt I deserved.

Still, when I slide behind the wheel, seated on the vegan pleather seats, let my hand glide over the application station and HVAC controls and push the START button, resulting in total silence, and pull away from the curb, I really better am better than the people next door.

Not because of the Automobile.

But because they are Republicans.  

Things you should never have to eat.

Wilson Franks suggests that a stewpendous suppers start with Wilson Franks and the Dippy-Do Dinner.  Not Dippity Do.  Dippy-Do.  A hot dog chowder, it claims.  Yurp.

CALLING ALL CATS!  A taste treat for everyone who loves a tuna smoothie mixed with animal gelatin and most French sounding of condiments: mayonnaise.  Add in some A1 for color and call it Salmon Aspic. 

Need something for the waist watcher's in your house?  How about baked beans supreme, made with rubbery canned mushrooms.  That an appetite killer in anyone's house.

Golden Meatloaf, anyone?  Anyone? Hello?

And what the fuck, really.  Has no one at Musselman's ever heard that presentation is everything?

Thankfully, this has never been an issue for me.

Really?  The baby pukes on a pancake and its haute cuisine?

Who is Star Kist fooling.  No child will eat this.  No adult would eat it.  Would you?  Didn't think so.

Ham and pineapple loaf?  It's actually really good.  Don't judge me.

TMI Time: A spoonful of sugar doesn't stop the backdoor trots

So you may have been asking, where has Cookie been and what has he been up to.

Well, my dears, no sooner than clean up from Winter Storm Stella began when I became horridly, horribly sick with a stomach thing.

And it's not for the squeamish.

If you will remember, the doctors removed two feet of colon from me in the fall of 2014 because of diverticular disease.  And when they perform that operation, they reconnect all that plumbing, but they also remove the ligament that the squatty potty is supposed to help you stretch so you can poop like a prince.

One of the side effects is that without that ligament, your need to go becomes, shall we say, urgent and wildly unpredictable until you learn to listen to the body and figure out the triggers.

All well and good when everything is rosey, but when something stops interferes - like a stomach flu or something you ate or continue to eat becomes an issue, well then, all bets are off.

About two weeks ago, I change something in my diet, and the culprit did a number on me.

 So I started an elimination diet, basackwards as usually.  In an elimination diet, you stop eating everything but a single, bland, low waste food, like baked chicken breast for a week, and then slowly add in one thing, then the next, each time looking for the foods that make you sick.

Well the way I do it, you continue eating everything, except one item, which goes away every couple days until you start to get better.

Well, three days ago, we hit paydirt, so to speak.

And you will never guess what it was.  Something good for you, and something I have used for over two years without a single problem: Mega Red Krill Oil supplements.  Within 24 hours the problem cleared up.

Still, it bothered me - why now, why after all these years - that's over 720 pills.  I mean I love the product.

The husband looked at the bottle, and it was in date.  "Didn't you start using this bottle about two weeks ago?"

Yup.

Then the husband opened up the bottle and a smell unlike any other came out from the opening.  It smelled of rotting fish.  But this bottle is rancid.  "Smells like Lake Erie, before the EPA."

You see I started on the Mega Red because it had no smell, no fishy burps.  But it has done wonders for my cholesterol numbers.  Jeez oh Pete!  Dropped me well below the unhealthly threshold.

So when we go to the store tomorrow, we're buying a different bottle, a different lot, and we're going to see if it goes down without a hitch.  If the other bottle is bad, then we'll call the maker on Monday.

As a public service, I should tell you that you should eat more fiber.  The fiber crisis in our diets has been a terrible thing - it is over 100 years old.  No shit.  So really, eat more fiber.  It really could save your life, and keep you from a semicolon life like I lead.

So remember what the doctor says "Fiber makes it Fluffy!"