Category Archives: Food

A Night at the Thea-tah

Harland Williams

Last Saturday night found the Hubman and me at the Improv Comedy Theater in Addison. If you go to the early seating and fork over for bar food you get seated right up front, Woo Hoo. I ate way too much fried stuff. Fried chicken strips, fried cheese, onion rings, egg rolls. Top all that off with a Chocolate Martini and I’m surprised my gallbladder didn’t explode out the front of my chest and bounce of the stage.

 

Harland Fred & MeThe comedian we went to see was Harland Williams. He’s been in a ton of hilarious movies; “Dumb and Dumber”, the lovable horse-killing stoner, Kenny in “Half Baked”, the hitchhiking serial killer in “There’s Something About Mary”, the silent motorcycle stud Slater, in “Superstar”, the goof-ball astronaut Fred Z. Randall in “Rocketman,” the whale-calling Sonar in “Down Periscope”, and Roberta, the ugliest red head in the world in “Sorority Boys.” (bio quote via IMDB.com)

I really enjoy the way he interacts with the audience. It’s one thing to perform rehearsed lines in a movie scene. It’s a whole ‘nother attitude to get out your whip and chair and face down a live audience of tipsy smart alecky Texans. He did a great job of it and we had a great time.

I’ve Always Been a Little Goofy

Silly Me

Silly Me

Yep, goofy should have been my middle name instead of what I ended up with. But, I’m not complaining. My mom had to name 6 kids. I was the first, so I figure she was just practicing names when I was born.

My son’s dad sent me a few photos recently. These were taken way back when we were in our late 20s traveling in japan together. We did end up breaking up in the end, but mostly I remember the good parts. And there were many of those. Love is still love, even when people go off the rails.

We zipped around Japan on the bullet train and ate all kinds of strange foods. We even took a trip through a Japanese emergency room when our little guy pitched a fit so hard over a diaper change that his eyes rolled up in his head and he went into convulsions. The first doctor that approached us knew very little English. The only thing he said was “epilepsy” and “grand mall seizure.” I wasn’t buying it.

My Baby Boy

My Baby Boy

Finally an English-speaking doctor was trotted out and he explained that it was nothing to worry about. Babies can have tantrums so intense that they actually knock themselves out and come to in a few minutes, none the worse for wear. This is much more common in boy infants than girl infants. Why am I not surprised?

My son was in interesting little critter when he was a baby. He’s the only baby I ever heard that didn’t cry when was he was born, instead he giggled. I remember thinking “now this is a kid after my own heart.” I taught him how to swim in a hot tub when he was 6 months old. He loved it and would slither around and play like a like a fur-less sea otter.

Japan was where I discovered, by a rather circuitous method, that I had no wisdom teeth. What I did have was a horrendous pain in my jaw and was convinced that it was my wisdom teeth trying to come in. After looking at an X-ray, the dentist told me that they were already removed. I insisted that they had not because I would the first to know if they had been removed.

Japan on a sunny day

Japan on a sunny day

With me being in incredible pain and the dentist being disgusted with an uncooperative patient, the encounter escalated into a shouting match. The nurse panicked and called the American Embassy in Tokyo to ask for help in translation. So with the assistance of an Embassy translator, we ascertained that I had a cavity in a molar that needed filling and the dentist pretended to believe that I never had wisdom teeth inthe first place.

I asked the translator to apologize to the dentist for my rude behavior. The translator said that the dentist wished to apologize as well. Nothing about the look on his face conveyed regret, but I let it slide because he was the one with the drills and the pain meds. Years later I found out that having no wisdom teeth is not all that uncommon. Maybe that explains a lot?

How to Declutter Your Relationships

flame throwerA good sign of when a relationship needs a good decluttering is when there is a huge communication breakdown. Are you reduced to sending an e-mail to someone who is physically sitting in the next room? If the answer is, yes, then there is definitely a problem. Yesterday while in the depths of anguish and “what the hell happened to us, and why are we fighting” I e-mailed Hubman an article called “Cold shoulder, silent treatment do more harm than good.” Bazzinga! Take that, I may suck at communication at times but I can search better than you can.

We tend to have these showdowns at the Not So OK corral when fighting. It ends up being a game of who can suffer through the isolation the longest. I always end up thinking things like ‘Bubba, I am the master of handling lots of pain for extended periods of time. Forget getting shot at, try giving birth, Rambo!’ But does not help either of us individually or our relationship.

I assume he read the e-mail because he appeared at my office door with a death grip on his coffee cup, eyes wide and asked “So do you wanna talk, or what?” Not exactly a graceful entrance, but I have to give him extra points for his excellent dismount from the high horse upon which I remained firmly seated. At least he took action. I was still pouting away in my office wondering if it was possible to drive to Mongolia and if so, how long it would take.

We started with the basics, “you interrupt me all the time!” He was mad at me for getting mad in public. (this blog) Actually I was flattered for a moment. You mean that my blog is important enough to be considered ‘in public.’ Cool! Er uh, I mean… I’m really sorry, my intention was not to paint you as the bad guy so much as I was trying to make a point about interrupting people sucks on multiple levels.” But  I could see and understand his point of view and knew that I hurt him.  I countered with “well my blog is mainly about marriage, if marriages were perfect, there would be nothing to write about.” Furthermore, I’m not good at suffering in silence. As a matter of fact I think I’m the noisiest sufferer I know. When I had my son I didn’t emit a few dignified groans while a nurse dabbed at my forehead with a cool cloth. Oh hell no, I screamed bloody murder.

So, just for the record I want everyone to know that I do love the Hubman with all my heart and soul. He is my best friend, companion, and cohort in mischief. When we are not getting, along it’s a horrible alone type of feeling that is difficult to describe. What do you do when you need to cry on your best friend’s shoulder, but your best friend is in the other room temporarily hating you?

Maybe I need a contingency plan. I need a bevy of best-ish friends. Best implies better than all other options. But I need someone to go to for help and tea and sympathy when my best friend option is not available.

Anyway, we talked a lot yesterday. I think my tongue has blisters on it.  Or that may just be that I drank my coffee too hot this morning. We talking about doing things together, traveling together, setting aside time each day to talk. I aired my grievance that so far, he has refused to go with me to a town near here and eat the world’s largest donut together.

We squabbled about the cat and then the cat litter box and took it all the way back to the beginning. Since I didn’t want a damned cat in the first place, why was it MY job to clean the litter box. That box is the very reason I didn’t want a cat in the first place. Been there, done that, scooped enough poop to last a life time.

Then we moved on to “chores,” I don’t do many. There really isn’t much to do in this department because we have a housekeeper, but there is still plenty to scuffle about. He asked why I never do the grocery shopping. My response was “there are many mornings I’ve woken early and decided to do the shopping but…I can’t …read…your writing.” It’s tiny and illegible. I even tried one time to decipher it with a lighted magnifying glass, but that didn’t work either.

Wandering around trying to match up missing items in our larder to this list doesn’t help. This whole list thing is hard for me to begin with because I never really used lists for the grocery store before taking up residence with Hubman. For me, “we need to go shopping!” = we’re out of food. For Hubman, “we need to go shopping!” = uh oh, we down to our last 50 gallons of milk. For the first 50 years of my life grocery, shopping was reserved for when there was something that I wanted to eat bad enough that it was worth going to the store for. Otherwise it could wait. I can subsist on cheese, crackers and the occasional apple for long periods of time. There are no growing children in this house to nourish so what’s with all this rush?

So we ended up airing quite a few grievances yesterday and made a decision to make more time for each other. I’m hoping we made some progress. Ain’t love grand?

Hubman’s 50th Birthday On the Road

Hubman's  7 Sin Birthday cake

Hubman’s 7 Sins Chocolate Birthday cake

Yesterday was Mr. Husband’s big 50th birthday. What did he do on his birthday? He drove his wife and mother 538 miles for Jackson, Mississippi to Clear lake, Florida on this second day of our road trip. What a great guy. I think we’ll keep him. And maybe he’ll keep us. We have got along OK  much better than I thought we would.

I managed to find a halfway decent restaurant using the Urban  Spoon app on my Iphone. It was Italian Greek place that turned out to be excellent. For his birthday cake Hubman chose a huge piece cake call “7 Layers of Chocolate Sin.” I tried a bite of it and it was indeed sinfully delicious.

It was a long haul and it rained all day, but it wasn’t that bad trip.We’re hope to get to Miami earlier in the after noon to tomorrow to get settled into a hotel and visit the prospective bride and groom on there last few days of single hood. Then we’ll all be heading to down to Key West for the Wedding Saturday.  I’m looking forward to some beach time and relaxation, and drink lots of with little umbrellas in there 🙂

So tomorrow we will be on the road early as possible and skeedadled Miami. The soon to be newly weds life in a swanky high-rise right in downtown Miami on Brickell Ave. That’s a pretty prestigious address from what I recall when I lived in Miami many years ago.

I’m hoping that we get a chance to drive by the house in Miami that I lived in until  I was 15 years old. I wonder if the old banyan tree that I played in as a kid is still standing. That would be hoot if it still looks the same.

Compromise is a 4 Letter Word

I hate compromise. It always seems that both parties leave the ring with a black eye and a half-baked version of what they wanted. Seeing as being married seems to take up a great deal of my time I read about it a lot. The Wise Ones say couples should compromise, talk things out, give and take, walk in the other partner’s shoes, let things slide, pick your battles and don’t sweat the small stuff. What I want to know is, in what universe do these marriage experts live in? Cuz it’s not mine!

Maybe the Hubman and I should try talking things out in a paint ball arena, or on a long survival training week-end with no holds barred. Or hey, maybe a Thunder Dome kind of thing…with an audience chanting,”2 men enter – 1 man leaves, 2 men enter – 1 man leaves.” Now we’re talking.

I couldn’t best Hubster in a physical contest. He’s got me beat by about 50 pounds and work outs at the gym. What I can do is confuse the hell out of him so bad his hair stands on end for a week! Ha! Take that, you mere mortal man! I am woman, try to figure me out! Go ahead I dare you! No one ever has. If I can’t figure out what’s going on in my head just how exactly do you think you’re going to do it? That, my friend, is your challenge for the rest of your natural life. And I’ll be right there with you trying to figure out what is going in your head. That is no easy task.

So how do we do it? Beats me. But seriously, how lovers manage to cohabitate for their entire lives is a mystery for the ages. People have written songs, poems, books, and plays about relationships; tragedies, comedies, psychotic sojourns through the depths of hades and everything in between. Who left the top of the tooth paste or their left underwear on the coffee maker type of melodrama is dust in the rearview mirror when it comes to living with another human being day in and day out.

Hubman and I have had a few go rounds in the last few weeks. He didn’t want to go to see the movie Twilight, and I wanted to cancel Thanksgiving or at least the hosting part of it. Turns out we both caved. He went to the movie with me and I am going to iron some &#%@$%* place mats for the table, fortified with beer and wearing oven mitts. This is a huge concession on my part, in my opinion anyway. I threw out the old iron about 8 years ago, so I had to go purchase a new iron and a bag of ice yesterday. Yeah, yeah, woe is me.

I wonder if there is such a thing as retroactive compromise. Things like, “sure I punched you in the nose because you groped my girlfriend in the broom closet, but you rolled your girlfriend around, the one who used to be my girlfriend, on the coffee table that my artwork was drying on and ruined it. So now we’re even!”

That was sort of a not made up scenario, by the way. I actually know 2 guys that used to do stuff like that to each other. The scene was modified to protect the guilty. The art work was mine. I was not involved with either guy, but I recognized the glitter and the paint colors on the body of the woman in question in the ladies room later that evening. I put it all together and informed all involved that I was not amused. Why I trusted them to leave the coffee table inviolate for one day is beyond me.

So compromise, how is it done? Arbitrators make big money with that secret. Supposed to be a win-win situation right? Well we didn’t win, we both lost. We fought and got all nasty with each other. I threw a tantrum so he went with me to a movie that made him want to gouge his eyes out. To get even with me he cooked a turkey with stuffing, twice baked potatoes and 2 chocolate cream pies…hmmm.

OK, now I just feel really silly. Maybe I’m not quite as grown up as I thought I was. I suppose owe him an apology, maybe even do something to make up for the outrageous behavior, but that’s just getting drastic.

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