have you frosted your toro today?

i am defrosting two and a half pounds of toro.

it is not lost on me that the word "defrosting" has no place in the same sentence as toro.
neither does "frosting" for that matter.  that would just be gross.  unless it was wasabi soy frosting.  and even then...  the thought is still sacrilegious.

blind melon pickles

i am not a sleep eater.  now don't get me wrong...  i partake in nighttime snacking.  particularly when little debbie lures me to the basement fridge with promises of chocolate and peanut butter goodness encased in a cellophane wrapper.  but i have a complete recollection of the venture down and back up the two flights of stairs to enjoy my delectable snack while curled up in my nest. 

i repeat, i am not a sleep eater.  nor are there any sleep eaters currently residing in my home. 

[though i have known several sleep eaters in my lifetime.  friends who wake up on the couch, when they clearly remember falling asleep in bed, flanked by an empty tub of cheese curls and laying amidst a pile of neon orange crumbs.]

so how is it that my daughter knows about the sleep eating habit?  she's always instructing me to "close eyes" while she serves me imaginary food.  today it was pickles.

this makes me wonder...  maybe she has witnessed something i don't know about.  maybe i am a sleep eater?  but i'm just REALLY good at hiding the evidence.

leaving room for the holy ghost

my squash plants are acting like awkward pubescent children at their first school dance.  boys on the right, girls on the left.  it's almost august and there is not one fruit forming.  i swear someone's been sneaking into my garden late at night and giving them a tutorial on the importance of abstinence.

!! NO COHABITATION !! 

surely there's got to be one slutty blossom among them. 
i may have to resort to immaculate conception.  

bring out yer dead turkey basters!

boomerang toomerang soomerang

my blog has become one long trip down memory lane lately.  i must be going through some kind of turn back time phase.  damn you, cher.  this morning, as i drank my coffee and attempted to recollect what i could have possibly done last night that would cause a bruise on my palm, my brain began musing over children's programming from my childhood:

"hello my name is simon"...  mr. do-bee... picture-picture... the yip-yips and the twiddlebugs.

i was not the sit on the couch and watch the tv type as a child.  i was in constant motion.  except when mr. rogers came on.  that show was like a visual tranquilizer.  i waited patiently while mr. rogers changed his sweater, tied his sneakers and fed his fish.  the whole time i was watching his hands, waiting for him to push the magic button that sent the trolley into the neighborhood of make-believe.  i had no use for the people portions.  i loved me some puppets.  now looking back i can't help but focus on lady elaine fairchilde...  what the hell was up with her?  i'd like to meet the puppet maker that designed her freaky-ass face.  bad case of roseacea?  or is there a permanent imprint on her smock from her hip flask? 

and yes, she is on facebook.


ps...  is it weird that the only thing i remember from attending years of "health class" in school is the video of the narcoleptic dog?

a girl and her bicycle(s)

in my past life i was a walking courier for charrette.  i carried enormous rolls of blueprints on my shoulder from one end of arlington street to the other end of mass ave.  one day while walking past the boston public library i fell in love.  chained to the fence was a gamboge sears tote cycle.  everyday i walked past... lightly running my fingers across its knobbly paint job... curious whether its owner was watching me covet their ride.  the bike never moved.  it was never chained five rungs forward or seven rungs back.  it was perpetually standing in the same location.

and then one day it wasn't.  the bike had moved to the right side of the sidewalk.  it was leaning against a sign post, cut from its chains.  as i walked past i nonchalantly placed my hands on the handlebars and kept on walking.  that bike became my first trusty steed.  i rode it from blackstone park to post office square.  the thing weighed about 65 pounds.  but it made this lovely rhythmic clicking sound as i pedaled. 

and then came robin.

purchased for me by a lovely soul [who was probably tired of waiting for me to catch up with him as i rode my cast iron frame on miniature wheels].  after robin swept me off of my feet, i rarely rode the gamboge anymore.  one day my friend rode it to the fenway and left it locked to a meter outside of el pelon.  it stayed there for a very long time.  then one day it was gone.  i like to imagine that another person fell in love... coveted my ride... then one day magically found the lock cut and gracefully walked away with her.

robin and i have had a long history together.  he faithfully carried me from one end of the bean to the other.  i rode him... rain & shine.  night & day.  sober & drunk.  and all without handbrakes.  or a helmet.

 

robin... i don't spend nearly as much time with you as i used to.  but you still make my heart race every time we fly down the road.   ♥

odoriferous

i have a super snout.  i also have super sonic hearing. [despite the years i have spent grooving in front of a wall of sound sans earplugs] one time i was sleeping at my boyfriend's place during the summer.  i was woken out of a dead sleep by a squeaking sound.  i sat in silence peering around his room for the cause.  i even roused him to get his feedback.  he didn't hear a thing.  after twenty minutes or so i established that the sound was not coming from his room but through the open window.  it was coming from a slowly turning metal exhaust fan on the roof of the building across the alley.  eat your heart out whisper 2000.

but it's my super snout i'd like to pay homage to.  this baby has the ability to transport me back to childhood.  last night as i stood on my front steps the intoxicating scent of the damp summer air held memories.  suddenly i was sitting atop a swingset in the sticks with my friend kim.  we were dangling our feet and laughing at nothing.  looking for shooting stars and lightening bugs while our parents did god knows what in the house.  [sigh]

unfortunately, the drawback to a super snout is my ability to acutely smell really gross things.  but be rest assured i will never smell something gross, say "ewww," and then suggest that you smell it. 

why do people do that?

total... ...randomness

anatis ocellata...
...we breed em big on the south shore.  seriously.  this ladybird is the size of a chickpea.  i happily placed this gargantuan beetle in the middle of my garden today.

 go on with your bad ass aphid eatin self! 

  
keeping in check with my running documentation of my child exhibiting dog-like behavior...
... we leave the vet the other day and hattie takes her habitual sharp left turn to relieve herself on the small patch of grass.  delilah takes one look at this, says "lilah, too." and darts over to the grass and squats down.  but not only does she squat she adds in an audible "pssssss" sound effect. 


fyi...
...if you decide to take up panhandling i have a tip for you.  apparently it pays to admit that you are unfortunate looking.  or at least it's working for the guy in brighton carrying a sign that states, "broke and ugly.  any change will do."  in the minute and a half i was stopped at the light this guy collected change from no less than seven vehicles.  they may have all been pennies.  but that crap adds up!

and finally
a night out on the town...
...would not be complete without my quintessential abrasion.  i am cursed with the inevitability of some form of road rash, bruise, or enormous scrape.  i'm blaming it on the whiskey.  and possibly instability.

excessive speeches... the new sleep drug.

holy crap.
there are only so many speeches about one man that you can hear before they blend and merge into a cocktail of hot air that shooshes you to sleep.