September 2008

My mom has a chicken, we’re southern if it makes more sense. Other mothers have hobbies, boyfriends or Cadillacs. But we always have to be different. Her name is Hazel, the chicken not my mom. And she sounds pretty sassy, for poultry. When I asked for her photo I get “Hazel doesn’t like to stand still” my mom says it won’t be easy, this chicken is camera-shy. “Hazel this” and “Hazel that”, my sister and I have been replaced.

I want some details about where she came from and who she belongs to. My mom is more than happy to believe Hazel was destined to be hers. Along with the crazy old run-down family farmhouse she and my cousin Jane just inherited. It’s in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma. In a town so tiny, there is only one restaurant. Pie is .75 a slice. In a place where pie is cheap, chickens are too apparently. The previous owners won’t be putting up “Lost Dinner” fliers so Hazel is safe. May I suggest a collar with her name and address just in case she gets restless again.

Thank you Christina!

Life is Short. Have an affair. What a hideous tagline. And I wish it was just a joke. But it’s the site for people looking to meet and cheat. It’s called Ashley Madison, sweet name huh. Laura Ashley dresses meet Dolly Madison baked treats? WTF. They had an ad on the radio that was just too ridiculous to believe. I’ve heard the guy that started the company interviewed, he says he doesn’t encourage cheating. He just makes a shitload of cash from the losers that do indulge.

Am I the only one that feels nauseous about the whole thing? I’m sick the site exists, and that there’s a market for it. Who knew trampy tramps were so organized. Last I heard, life is too short to be in a lousy relationship. But these days what? Life is so short, save time by fucking around.

I checked the site out for myself. The tacky promo shot below is one of several just like it, you know the type. So maybe I’m naive, but I was surprised real people show their faces. Seems they don’t even worry about getting caught. This cats outta the bag. And into the bed. I’m going to go throw up now.

Recently I had big plans for a friday night after work and I was dressed up. I felt powerful all day. So when the plans fell through, I was determined to go out anyway. No sense wasting good dry cleaning. A new wine shop I’d been wanting to try had a tasting so I got brave and drove the hour away.

Wine tastings are typically casual things with friendly loners and people open to chit chat. It was a cool place, crowded and laid out more like a bar with a few shelves of wine. Oh great, I was almost going to a bar alone on a friday night. But I’ve gone to plenty of things by myself, I’m not scared. The woman who started the place with her husband, was friendly as she checked me in. I told her I had read about them and what a great place I’d heard it was. She would be the last person to speak to me all night.

There were small groups of friends and a few couples. I casually wandered around in that Hey I’m fine, I hardly notice that I’m alone way. Intently reading the labels and staring at the art. Wondering if hiding out in the ladies room would be too obvious in such a small place. The actress posing as bartender must have been auditioning for the role of BITCH. Somber and snarly, stringy hair in face, she actually seemed mad at me. Deep breath….This will be funny someday. It would be funny that day, if only there was a camera hidden somewhere.

I rushed through the generous servings of 6 wines. Usually it’s great when the pours are more than a splash. But I had an hours drive home and I wanted this to be over. I was getting kinda desperate, at the cheese table I tried to strike up a conversation with a woman. I’m outgoing and I can usually talk to anyone. Shit, I’ve even been called charming and engaging. But nobody would make eye contact. Let’s talk about wine, cheese, anything. I hope this isn’t how I am when I’m out and a friendly but uncomfortable girl wants to talk about cheese.

My big outing was a downer. I blame the bitchy city of Eagle Rock and all the snobs at Colorado Wine Company.

I bake for friends. And anyone posing as my friend. Some people are surprised when you show up with homemade goodies in hand. Oh sure, it’s way cooler to say the treats are from a trendy bakery. But I enjoy making things the old fashioned way. I knit and I own a sewing machine. So maybe I’m Amish. Or just a dork. I’ve made this yummy Flourless Chocolate Cake a few times and it’s always a big hit. Plus it’s super easy and nice and light.

You’ll need:
8 ounces of bittersweet chocolate cut up
4 ounces of butter
5 large eggs, separated
pinch of salt
2/3 cup sugar

1) Butter and flour, then line with parchment paper, the bottom of a round 10-inch cake pan.
2) Melt the butter and chocolate on very low in the microwave.
3) Whisk together the egg yolks and all but 3 tablespoons of the sugar. Add the melted ingredients to this and combine well.
4) In a large bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric mixer on medium until soft peaks form, slowly add in your remaining sugar and whip until stiff but not dry.
5) Now slowly fold the chocolate mixture into the egg whites, fluffy huh, and pour into the pan.
6) Bake in a preheated oven at 325 degrees for 45 minutes. Immediately turn out onto your serving plate. As it cools the center will sink and crack like in the photo.
Dust with powdered sugar or splurge and serve with whipped cream.

I work in advertising and it is a little different. I’ve gotten used to sometimes being one of the guys, or at least talking like one. Anything goes and it makes the day a lot more interesting. So it’s five of them and me for lunch one day. It only takes a minute for the conversation to take a turn, down a back alley of filth and tacky innuendo. YAY. Let’s talk about shit other people won’t. It’s all about the shock value now.

These guys like to talk about balls. Not their own, that’s just creepy, but balls in general. And since I like to push the envelope and ask ridiculous questions it’s a nice match. Someone they know is 1-ball shy and that’s enough to get it going, how important are balls, really?

Would you rather lose a ball or your hair?

If you only had 1 ball when do you tell the new girl you’re dating?

How long could you keep it a secret?

If you had more than 2 would you brag?

Their ball-talk must be like our bikini wax chat, there are lots of notes to compare. And I didn’t have brothers so hey, I appreciate the information. When one of them tries to steer the conversation in another direction, bringing up the topic I really never need to talk about-poop-I’m disgusted. Ugh. I’m a lady. Come on, balls are fun.

You know, the one person you’re allowed to cheat with if ever given the chance. All pre-arranged and approved up front, with your partner. Anything goes for a full 24 hours. Who do you wanna do? Then after, no punishment or pouting. Please don’t judge, but I have this major thing for Jerry Seinfeld. Funny is sexy. And he has all those cool cars.

Who’s yours? If you don’t have one already, now’s your chance.

I _____(your name here)____ am completely allowed to get it on with ____(insert flings name here)___.

Sign and date here _______________________________

(notarize if you must and hope for the best)

Once upon a time I had a date with the guy that created Thirtysomething. The genius behind some of my all time favorite shows – I cried when that went off the air – thinks I’m funny. He was almost 20 years older than me, I was too flattered to notice.

Forget love, I wanted to talk about his work.

He was polite, but surely disappointed. I was silly and talkative. I was wearing jeans from the Gap, hoping my cute hair might do the rest. There were lots of good stories from him and yes yes yes, I let him know how much his shows meant to me. I even (insert gasp of shame here) mentioned a specific episode of My So Called Life that I practically knew by heart. He gave lots of credit to his great writer Winnie, who he said had a vivid imagination and a way with details. HELLO Mister TV Man. That’s me.

The audition wasn’t going well. In the back of my mind I hoped he would want me, for a job. But no, he didn’t even want me for a second drink.

I dry my tears and drive over. Terry seems strong and funny but she’s good at pretending. There is no sadness, only the back and forth war stories of friends who know each other too well in some ways. We used to share an office, there weren’t many secrets. But there was tons of gossip, her divorce, a serious fight with my mom, 2 nutty boyfriends, lots of dieting and donuts, and plenty of compassion. I kept us up on pop culture, she knew everything else. I think my work was better when she sat next to me.

We go to a bar, where else.
We talk about it.
We don’t.
We talk about everything else.

We exhaust all our usual topics plus the scary ones. We laugh at the fact that a year ago I did the Avon 39-mile walk for breast cancer, just for the fun of it. Maybe next year we’ll do it together. Then she hops out of my car, telling me she doesn’t want to start crying. And she says what I can’t “I love you” and she’s gone. Now I can cry.

Just heard a very sad story about a divorcing couple with 2 young kids. The Mom is overwhelmed with financial burdens. And worrying about the heartbroken kids now that Dad is busy with his new “friend.” Both sad and pouty, she decides to get them a new kitten. Seems the sweet little fur ball was exactly what they needed. They couldn’t be happier. Kittens sure are cuddly. Daddy, not so much.

Goodbye Daddy. Hello Kitty.