And then there’s the time I asked a side dish to marry me

Dinner (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My sainted mother took me to dinner the other night.  I love when Mom comes to town–mostly because she’s awesome and I love her, but also because I get a free steak dinner.  In fact, if I order a steak big enough to provide leftovers, I get two free steak dinners.

This time around, we went to a really fancy steak house that I would never go to on my own unless I knew for a fact that the Mayans were right, the world was about to end, and I would never get the credit card bill.  It was fantastic.  Well, my meal was fantastic.  When my mom wasn’t looking, I proposed marriage to the risotto.  It turned me down, said it was holding out for the Mint Chocolate Napoleon.  I couldn’t blame it.

My sainted mother’s meal, on the other hand, was good right up until she cut into her steak.  Which was, you know, the point of the dinner.  Appetizers are nice, but all foreplay has to end sometime.  She had ordered her steak done medium, and even talked with the waiter about the amount of pink she wanted and would medium be right for that.  She cut into it:  no pink.  Not a wink of pink anywhere.

She very politely mentioned to the waiter that her steak was not, in fact, medium, and he looked at it and agreed.  He took it away and brought her another.  She cut into it to find–wait for it–that it was even drier than the last steak and was, in fact, a different cut than she had originally ordered.  At that point, I was almost done with my steak (rare, if you’re curious.  I like to hear it moo) and my sainted (and now very hungry) mother just gave up and patiently chipped away at the steak in front of her.  The waiter was very apologetic and she got a free dessert out of the deal (see above re:  Mint Napoleon), but still.

I got a peek at the bill and was horrified to see that it came to more than the price of a good hotel room for the night.  Things have changed since I went to prom!  Or maybe my date just took me to a bad restaurant and a nice hotel.  A good daughter would, at this point, be very grateful or perhaps even offer to chip in.

I am not that daughter.

English: This is an image from the classic 1918 edition of Gray’s Anatomy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I saw my sainted mother looking a little queasy, so I told her about how I’d heard a celebrity claim that red meat stays in your colon for years and just keeps decaying and breeding bacteria until it eventually causes whatever ends up killing you (quote from celebrity:  ”And that’s a fact!”), but that, despite all of that, I had enjoyed dinner very much and that I hoped she wouldn’t feel too bad when I was in the hospital.  Especially since she’d probably be in there with me.

She laughed and said “Only you would find a way to make me feel bad about taking you out for a steak dinner!”  True.  It takes the skills of a master to pull that off.  But I made her laugh!  I think that’s why she keeps me around.  That, and she follows the blog.  Hi, Mom!  Thanks for the dinner!  It was really good, and I’m 99% sure that celebrity was wrong, anyway.

My doctor wishes I wouldn’t post this

La Maldicion de la Bestia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

During movie night a while ago, a new friend was invited to join our sacred circle.  Movie night for us involves finding the most cliched, predictable movies available and watching them while yelling insults, throwing things at the screen, drinking boxed wine, and eating horrifically unhealthy snacks.  We don’t invite just anyone to join us while we do this.  We make sure they have really good aim first.  Then we make them buy the wine.

So we’re getting ready for movie night.  We picked a werewolf movie, one of those where the werewolf is the love interest and there’s some sort of vague but agonizing destiny the lovers must overcome.  We give bonus points to the movies if they contain gratuitous violence, so we had high hopes for this one.  We like to take bets on how the movie is going to end before it even starts; winner picks the next movie.  But the really important part about movie night is the snacks.

We’d been having movie night pretty regularly for a while, so we were operating at pro level.  New Girl sat on the couch while the rest of us got the snacks ready.  The key to enjoying movie night properly is to start out with decent wine.  Then, when the spices have deadened your taste buds and the alcohol starts making its way into your system, switch to boxed wine.  At that point, you won’t be able to tell the difference, and it’s much cheaper.  Obviously, though, you have to choose spicy snacks to make this work properly.  So my friends and I are taking out our supplies and putting together our snacks, all talking with each other and not really paying attention because we’ve done this so often.  It went a little something like this:

Little Blind Girl:  (Pulls out Nacho Cheesier Doritos bags) I predict that Werewolf Girl will have some sort of clan-approved Werewolf Mate that she’ll have to kill in order to be with Human Hottie.

Friend 1:  (Heats up Texas Chili, Extra Hot, adding picante sauce) No, Werewolf Girl will be trying to deny her nature to be with Sanctimonious Loverboy, then she’ll go all wolfy and embrace her true destiny and kill the love interest.

Friend 2:  (Adds Taco Seasoning to Texas Chili, Extra Hot; stirs) Yeah, and then she’ll be all consumed with remorse and fight her Wolf King brother, who’s been egging her on.  She kills him and lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 3:  (Heats up storebought Nacho Dip, stirs in chunks of cheddar) No, she’ll bite Human Hottie and turn him into a werewolf.  Then he goes all feral and kills her best friend, and then she has to kill him.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

LBG:  (adds chili-taco mix to Doritos bags, shakes enthusiastically, pours into large bowl) No, you’ve got to have the love triangle.  Werewolf Mate tries to kill Human Hottie to try to get with Wolf Girl, then she kills Werewolf Mate in front of Human Hottie, who gets all traumatized and can’t look at her.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 1:  (pours cheese mixture over Chili Taco Doritos mix in bowl) Then Human Hottie finds her and convinces her that she can overcome her wolfy instincts and they can be together, and then they have a really awkwardly posed kiss and live happily ever after.

Friend 2:  (dumps 2 tubs of sour cream over Cheese Chili Taco Dorito mix)  You’re such a hopeless romantic!  No.  They have a really awkwardly posed kiss and then, as the screen fades to black, you hear a bunch of wolves starting to howl all around them.

Friend 3: (empties enormous tub of extra-spicy salsa over hot mess in bowl) No, no, no!  After Wolf Girl lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart, Human Hottie tries to follow her, despite being grievously wounded from his fight with Werewolf Mate.  Just as he catches a glimpse of her and she looks at him, the moon comes out from behind the clouds and they realize they’re surrounded by the rest of the wolf clan.  Cut to credits.

Friend 4:  (scatters whole hot peppers throughout bowl, mixes up the hot mess, and reaches for the freaky hot green sauce)  You know, maybe we should ask New Girl if she wants freaky hot green sauce on her Chili Taco Dorito Nachos.  It might not be everyone’s cup of tea.

(We all look over at New Girl, who is staring in bewildered, uncomprehending horror at the Gigantic Bowl of Hot Mess on the kitchen table)

New Girl:  Um, no, that’s okay, I think I’m just going to eat some fruit.

(Bewildered, uncomprehending horror from group of friends, which we cleverly cover with a change of topic)

LBG:  So, New Girl, how do you think the movie will end?

New Girl:  I think Wolf Girl and Human Hottie will have a movie night, eat Chili Taco Dorito Nachos, and immediately have fatal heart attacks.

(Pause)

LBG:  I don’t remember seeing that in any of the promos.

Friend 1:  Isn’t there a story where the heroine chokes on an apple?

Friend 2:  That’s Snow White.  No werewolves.

Friend 1:  My point still stands.

Friend 3:  What point would that be?

Friend 1:  Never trust fruit.  That stuff will kill you.

Turns out, movie night isn’t for everyone.  But, you know, that just means more Chili Taco Dorito Nachos for the rest of us.  I don’t remember how the movie ended or who won that particular round, which is usually the sign of a successful movie night.  New Girl got over her horror and tried the nachos.  I think I even had a slice of apple.  But you don’t want to go overboard with that kind of thing.  Aren’t apples what got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden in the first place?

In defense of not waiting

Cliff jumping in Busan, South Korea circa 1993. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Warning:  inspirational thoughts ahead!

I got stuck in line in the store the other day, waiting to check out.  I always think it’s a little funny to look around at everyone’s purchases and wonder what’s going on in their lives that led them to select a baby bottle, a pair of spaghetti tongs, and a phillips-head screwdriver for their purchases that day.  Of course, I’m usually holding something like a coin-sorter, a pack of pens, and an extra-large energy drink, so who am I to talk?

Then I went home and cooked a meal on the stove.  This is rare for me.  I’m a microwave girl.  I can estimate microwave times like my mother’s mother could estimate how much sugar to include in a recipe; I just know, without really knowing how I know.  I don’t need the back of the box to tell me.  So the whole stove thing was taking way too long for my post-modern impatience.  ”Patience is a virtue,” I reminded myself, just like I did while I was waiting in that interminable line in the store.

But here’s the thing:  I don’t think patience is always as much a virtue as we seem to think.  I would like to stand up in defense of not waiting.  Most of the good things in my life I have because I grabbed for them before I let myself get scared of trying, or before someone else with more guts got to them first.  My most precious memories are of seizing the moment, even if I didn’t have any particular reason or need to, and getting as much out of life as I could right then, without waiting.  A lot of the time it wouldn’t have made much difference to wait a little longer, but when it does matter, it matters so much.

Because sometimes things happen, and people are taken from us, or opportunities are unexpectedly lost, and if we didn’t go for it before, we’ll never get another chance.  The future is so uncertain in this ever-changing world.  I’m not old, but I’m not young, and here’s what I’ve learned:  if you see something you want, go for it right then.  Don’t wait.  If you think to yourself, “My husband is completely fantastic.  I can’t believe I’m this lucky,” tell him right then.  If there’s a girl you like, or an activity you’ve wanted to try, or a project at work that’s got you scared but intrigued, go all out after it (or her) right then.  Don’t wait.

Something on my blind bucket list (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m going blind, very slowly.  I’ve got a whole list of things I want to do before I completely lose my vision.  I’m proud to say that my list isn’t as long as it might be if it weren’t already part of my nature not to wait.  There are things I was able to do years ago that I could never do now, that I’ll never be able to do again.  But I’ve done them.  I don’t have to put them on my list of regrets, because I didn’t wait–I just did them, because I could, because they were there.  It’s one of my rules:  if life leads you up to a great big cliff, don’t wait for a parachute:  just jump.  Right then.  Figure out the parachute on the way down.  Sometimes you’ll go splat, but sometimes you’ll learn to fly.

And if a second register opens up while you’re waiting in line, don’t wait for someone else to get there first.  Elbow that old lady out of the way if you have to!  But, from time to time, it can be worth waiting for a meal cooked in the stove rather than the microwave.  Sometimes, you can wait.

Grocery shopping, pirate-style

Image via Wikipedia

This is what it’s like in my head when I drink way too much Red Bull and then go grocery shopping while trying to come up with a topic for a blog post:

Avast, ye scurvy internet dogs!  This be the dread Captain LBG.  The ship be low on vittles, and our mission be to plunder yon grocery store to replace our dwindling supplies.  We’ll fall on the unsuspectin’ townsfolk and carry off their produce, their women, and their doubloons.  Be not faint of heart, ye scallywags, but follow me to glory, treasure, and victuals!

Where be the salted beef?  I have no learnin’ meself, but me first mate says this label reads “Organic, Free Range.”  What be the meanin’ o’ this nonsense?  Must I be killin’ the cow meself?  Ahoy, here be eggs!  Aye, “farm fresh” indeed.  In all my world-wanderings under the Jolly Roger, I’ve yet to see a farm with the looks of this store.  But they’ll fry well enough, or I’ll come back and make the store clerk walk the plank!

What lily-livered, black-hearted trick is this?  ”Cran-apple raspberry juice beverage”?  Shiver me timbers, this be only ten percent juice!  Even pirate scum such as meself would not be pulling something so mean as this.  Merciless attack on a naval vessel, naturally; ransoming a beautiful lass, of course; but even a pirate has his limits.  Down to the depths with the bottom-feeding landlubbers who make juice beverages!

Back to the ship, ye good-for-nothing sons of dogs!  It be serving us right for shopping at Davy Jones’ Groceries.  Just one more stop for a bottle of rum and we’re off.  Haul the anchor or I’ll keelhaul the lot of ye!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!