Blog Gras

Baby C Dubs

2011-03-19T19:23:00.002-06:00

So, my status as Luckiest Lady Alive has been set in stone. The recent past has contained both the most frightening and uplifting moments of my life thus far. Not a funny post, i don't think, so if you like funny, read the one about dildos and old people. Actually, read that one anyway. It's a winner.

In retrospect, Dave and i both somehow felt intuitively that something would be difficult or "wrong" about Cassius' birth, but neither of us voiced our premonitions because...well, you don't want to give any credence to your fears. And the birth itself was a complete cakewalk. I (finally) had an epidural, and my husband was like, "Why the hell didn't you do this before??? It's so QUIET in here! " Beau was there, and when i said i could feel that the baby was ready to be born, Beau chose to stay, holding a washcloth on my forehead as i pushed. "Don't look down Beau", i advised. "If you do, you'll never want to see another vagina as long as you live." He listened, but after what happened next, he didn't talk much for the next few days, and I wish he hadn't had to cope with such a weighty situation.

My mother in law on one side, and my love and sweet oldest son on the other, Cassius came into the world. He was beautiful: curly haired, blond, and a total synthesis of his three predecessors. "Oh God, look at him. I swear, this never gets old," Dave said, smiling. I held Cassius for a moment, and fell in love, as only a mother does. But he didn't cry. Instead, a gurgling sound came out, and the midwife handed him quickly to the nurses, who looked at each other ominously and shook their heads. And then they took him from me.

Evidently he had "fluid in his lungs." I didn't see him for hours, and when i did, he was unswaddled, in only a diaper under heat lamps, with oxygen tubes in his nose and a mask near his mouth. According to the monitors, air levels were still low and his breathing was haggard and erratic. He looked helpless and awful. I wasn't allowed to hold him, and barely allowed to even touch him. But he seemed to be holding on.

After a few hours of sleep, the nurse woke me and said that he was stable, and that he had relaxed a bit, but when i went to see him, it was obvious he was still fighting hard. They had started antibiotics, presuming an infection and probable pneumonia, and the oxygen mask was kept on more consistently.

And then, the following day, he dropped like a rock. A nurse came running for me and asked me to speak to the doctor over the phone. Dave was out getting us some food and my mom was at the airport still, so i was alone.

--"Mrs. Chamberlain, we are going to go ahead and get him to the university hospital. He's... well, he's going downhill a li-i-i-i-tle faster than I'd like to see, and just as a precautionary measure, we're going to get him up there where they're a little better equipped to help him out."
--"He's going to be ok then???"i asked.
--(Pause)"We're just going to take him up there now. You know, we could wait and see, but it's probably best we just have him over there before we're in a panic. They should be there in the next couple of hours."

Just as he said that, a Life Flight team burst through the doors and came to my baby son's bedside. At the same time, Dave came running through the doors as well and held my shaking shoulders as i sobbed uncontrollably. We watched for a minute as our baby's chest completely collapsed, the top of his chest sinking all the way into his tiny spine. He looked exactly like a caught fish out of water, desperate for breath. I knew then that there wasn't much time, and he could only fight a little longer. He was dying in front of us, and thought i would die too. The head nurse, Beverly (who had helped me deliver Georgia two years earlier) escorted me back to my room as i was backing away, unable to watch helplessly.

Beverly then left to see what was happening with Gus. She returned after a bit and reported he had been stabilized and put on a life support--an oscillating breathing machine inserted into his windpipe--and given morphine in order to rest. Apparently he had been working so hard to breathe in the 20 hours since he'd been born that he hadn't slept or rested at all, which is normally all babies do. He was being transported to the University of Utah Primary Children's hospital, and we were to follow.

We arrived, and after waiting for an hour or so, we were told he was stable, and went to see him. All the nurses were so confident, level headed and sharp, and it boosted our confidence that he was in the best possible hands. However, although positive, they told us we were not out of the woods yet. He was still on the breathing machine, and would remain on it for a day or so longer. He had tubes in his nose, one in his mouth that went down into his stomach, and several going in through his new belly button. It was hard to see, but at least he was resting and at peace.

Then we had to leave him and go home without a baby in our arms. For me that was super difficult. The first night, i slept with the assistance of the painkillers they give postpartum, but i awoke sobbing after a few hours. It felt like my heart was literally breaking, the emotional pain becoming physical. But thankfully my husband and my sweet mom were there, and she rushed into our bedroom and rocked me, her baby, in her arms until i was able to calm down, then stayed up talking to me until i fell asleep again. And my in-laws let us stay at their house, which is adjacent to the hospital, for the subsequent nights when i had to pump breast milk and Dave had to drive it to the NICU every three hours. We were well supported and very loved throughout the ordeal.

So the short version from here is that he went off the breathing machine after a day or so and was put on a high-flow oxygen cannula , then a low flow, then eventually down to breathing regular room air. After several days, the antibiotics that were fighting his pneumonia took effect, and a week later i was able to nurse him for the first time. (Normally i hate nursing's guts, but this was a brilliant moment for sure.) He stayed in the NICU for a total of eleven days, but since he was only a little early, he made a full and fabulous recovery without any residual problems or expected long term effects. We couldn't believe our luck, especially after seeing what the majority of the NICU looked like. Cassius's roommate, for example, weighed 1 1/2 pounds when she was born, and was at 2 1/2 when we were introduced to her. But she was still here, and still fighting. There were babies with obvious, heart-wrenching deformities, those that would suffer long-term complications, and those that would not simply make it, despite the heroic efforts of the nurses. My heart goes out all these children and their parents--or any parent who has to watch their child suffer.

The nurses were the most special breed of person i have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and are all walking angels, i swear. One of Cassius's nurses worked the night shift, ran a tax service with her husband during the day, had six sons (five surviving sons, she said), and a three-year-old grandson in her custody. She was incredibly on top of her game, completely pleasant, and joked and laughed with us as she shared her stories. It really blew my mind. All of them cooed and loved these babies as if every one was the most important thing in their world. It was beautiful.

All and all, this was life altering. This was the accidental child whose presence in our life seemed too daunting to cope with when i got pregnant. And then i thought i lost him at 4 months, and then i thought i was going to lose him again after he was born, and the mere threat of that was unbearable. All this has not made life any less hectic or stressful, and bringing him home has been quite a circus (although thankfully our burden was much eased by my mom's six week stay). But it has changed the way i look at my kids. They are the most beautiful, miraculous little beings, and i am so incredibly lucky to have their healthy little bodies in my arms every day. I am so thankful for my husband and how much i love him, and for the incredible, unwavering support of our amazing parents and family. We are truly blessed. Baby Cassius is aptly named, growing like a weed, and totally awesome.

starry-eyed miraculousness

Baby Jesus. And Vaginas.

2010-12-23T15:44:00.006-07:00

Christmas with my husband's family is never normal. His mom is an atheist whose "number one reason to celebrate Christmas this year is the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (because you are both gay and in the military? OK....). His oldest sister Claudine and her family are vegan, in stark contrast to his uber-carnivorous dad, and his other sister Annie is a Mexican-By-Marriage whose spouse and son have only recently stopped littering indoors. His brother Paul and i are just plain adopted, and claim no blood ties to any of them. And my husband is a big fat fucking Grinch of a middle child.

Last year, as i was in the pantry searching for vegan ingredients, i stumbled upon Dave's mom's stash of chocolate vagina pops. I can only speculate, but i imagine Ponce De Leon felt this way when he found Florida. "Holy shit, Claudine!" i yelled. "LOOOOOOOK!" There were several of them, and i imagine they were left over from her acting stint in The Vagina Monologues starring opposite Babs DeLay, our town's most famous lesbian (who once told Dave his wife was one 'seriously sexy woman'. Thanks, Babs!). Whatever their origin, it was a spectacular holiday find.

Christmas Miracle

I miss my family terribly this time of year, but this year it was simply too much to haul the kids home 8 months pregnant. Don't get me wrong, i love Dave's family, all of them, but they are insane. Luckily, my mom was able to come out last week and we got most everything done for Christmas early. So i thought i was done and ready to chill a bit until yesterday when my father-in-law let me know that he had bought nothing for his wife and would like me to take care of this. I was thinking along the lines of a sweater from Coldwater Creek or some other old people store, or perhaps some nice jewelry. But since her two daughters who know her best are both in town, i decided to turn to them for a better idea. I was in no way prepared for their answer.

"We were thinking a Camelbak water backpack and a 'special treat' from the back room of Cahoots," replied Annie. Cahoots is a novelty store with a back room filed with giant dildos, penis vases, and 'anal training kits'.
-"I just threw up in my mouth," i responded.
-"I know, it's gross, but she would really love it," she said.
-"Holy Christ. I'm so glad my parents have never had sex. Um, ok, i'll come pick you up around three?"

In the car, Annie explained that since her dad's prostate surgery last year, there have been 'issues' in the bedroom. I had already become privy to this unsettling visual, thanks to Dave's mom's giant yap. According to Annie, she's telling everyone who will listen about the impotence issues, and how much it sucks for her. "Jesus Christ," said my husband. "Fucking eww. Like what are they, a hundred? Why do they need to hump anyway? My poor dad..."

But in Annie and Claudine's opinion, a dildo for mom was just the ticket. Maybe this would shut her up, they suggested. "If someone gets you a dildo for Christmas, it's time to shut up about it," Annie said. Agreed. On to Cahoots.

The only thing more ridiculous than two pregnant ladies in the dildo store is two pregnant ladies in the dildo store shopping for their mother/mother-in-law. The first thing to catch my eye was the pregnant blow-up fuck doll. "She's Got A Bun In The Oven And She's Ready For Another!" declared the box excitedly. Oh my gross. There was also a midget doll and a "Fatty Patty" doll, whose package touts "NOW THAT'S A BIG BITCH!" Another doll was simply called "John" and had "no holes or openings". He is, as one website claims, 'Suitable for propping up in the cubicle of a co-worker you suspect is homosexual.' Good to know. And there was a dirty old man inflatable doll, which we bought, because "Isn't he the cutest?" asked the clerk. Yes. So cute. Not fucking disgusting at all.

On to the actual dildos. What gets me about sex shops and dildos is the juvenile nature of so many of them. They're like My Little Ponies or something. Clit stimulators posing as little pink and purple plastic butterflies, vibrators that look like rainbow unicorns. Is this Toys R' Us? Just because you're female, you're supposed to want to fuck dolphins and rabbits? Weird. And if you're a man, you are supposed to be a rapist, pretty goth, and definitely Krazy 'Bout Anus. And don't forget to know your cock ring size. Because with a strict no-return policy, i'm pretty sure you can't try them on.

Now, buying a dildo for someone else's genitals, particularly senior citizen genitals, is a conundrum on top of a conundrum. Bigger? Smaller? Less scary? Batteries or not? Are you puking yet? The one thing that was for sure was that the El Baron Latino and the Latin King were out. Since taking in Annie's Mexican stepson this winter, hispanics of any kind (even barons and kings) are not high on the list for the mother-in-law, and i suspected this would cause more anger than arousal. Plus you just can't go too lifelike when selecting a sex toy for your mother. Wrinkled balls are just out of the question.

After a phone consultation with Claudine, we decided on the Rabbit. We'd heard good things about it, and at $120, it couldn't be bad, right? I still couldn't believe this was happening in the first place, and the expense was pretty mind-blowing. Plus, we hadn't run this by Dave's dad yet, the benefactor for this entire ridiculous spree. I mean, this is supposed to be a gift from him. This was my main concern about the whole endeavor: how would he feel about this? My guess was 'pretty goddamned bummed out'. Like, what better Christmas news than this: "Hey!! Your wife won't stop bitching about your temporary, post-surgical sexual ineptitude, so your daughters got her this big fat crazy vibrator from you! Ho ho fucking ho!!!"

And my guess was right. When we returned to their house with said Rabbit and showed Dave's dad, i told Annie that she was on her own with this part, but i was so curious to see his face that i followed into the bedroom where she revealed the Rabbit. His face went from confused to disappointed to a mix of shock/sorrow/amusement. Then, to my utter horror, he said, shaking the Rabbit at me like a finger scolding a child,
-"Now whose idea was this? Rachel, was this your idea?"
-"Are you KIDDING me, Will? No WAY."

Annie was laughing and told him it was his daughters who had come up with the plan, and then spent a long time trying to convince him and explain that this giant vibrating monstrosity would be best for mom, and really for everyone. I left the room at that point and went to recover and rub my forehead in the family room. When Annie finally emerged, she said that "He wasn't into it, but it may just take some time." Christmas is the day after tomorrow. I'll keep you posted as to how this whole debacle turns out. If it's a disaster, i guess one of us could try it out. Or we could Ebay it. Or how about both? "Up for auction: One gently used mom dildo, $50."

********************************************************************************

So it turned out as well as could be expected, i think. Christmas was lovely. Claudine made a killer vegan coffee cake, the kids all had a twinkle in their eye, some very thoughtful gifts were exchanged, everyone got Shakira perfume from K-Mart for some reason....and my mother-in-law was THRILLED about her dildo. Christmas truly had arrived.

We agreed the gift would best be given by the girls, and not Will. So after the initial bout of gift exchange was over, the sisters and i took Linda into her home office/self-glorification room to reveal the Rabbit, and she squealed with delight like a kid with a new Lego set, or someone who is age-appropriate for receiving a vibrator, perhaps. She told us she'd been meaning to get one for herself, as per the advice of all her girlfriends, but hadn't gotten around to it. She cooed about "how hard it was", and said "Yesssssss!" when we told her it did indeed vibrate--and then some.

-"I'll let you know how it goes!" she told us excitedly.
-"Um, or don't," said Claudine.
-"Yeah", said Annie, "that was kinda the point. Like, maybe you can stop talking about it now."

Evidently oblivious to our request for reticence, she continued on, telling us that her husband actually had a sex toy of his own already, but "wasn't using it much". At this point, Beau walked in, and we all screamed maniacally at him to leave the room.

-"What?" he asked. "What are you guys doing?"
-"NOTHING!! OUT OUT OUT!" we shrieked in unison.
-"Okay! God..." said Beau, backing away slowly in fear and confusion.

According to my husband, back in the living room, Claudine's daughter Katie was busy interrogating her dad, Pete, about the whole situation. She is 12 and very smart--hopefully not smart enough to figure this one out. Pete has an awesomely deadpan demeanor that must have made this hilarious to watch.

-"What is it? TELL ME."
-"NO, Katie. Do not go in there."
-"Whyyyyy?"
-"Because i said so."
-"What is it ? Just tell me."
-"No. I'll tell you when you're 21."

And so forth. If you ask me, 16 is too young to drive, and 21 is too young to find out about your grandma's dildo. But at least by then she can numb the pain and stop the shaking with a few shots of whiskey, an army blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Shortly later, Linda emerged from her office to embrace her husband in the kitchen, effusive about her gift. "Now we can use our sex toys together!" she gushed, hugging him. He looked reserved and slightly embarrassed, but smiled nonetheless.

"Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse," said Annie. "There it is."

Thai Chicken Soup

2010-10-31T12:34:00.004-06:00

Here it is...long awaited by some of you WHO HAD BETTER BE READING THIS, *ahem*: my Thai Chicken soup. I adapted this recipe many years ago from one of those crapbag cookbooks you get in the entryway of Borders or Barnes and Noble for like $5.99. But it evolved into one of the best soups ever, according to quite a few friends. One time my friend P.J. (now the proprietor of Pure Wine Cafe in Ellicott City, MD) ate some soup at my house, left, and then promptly called from his cell phone to say he was on his way back because he needed more soup. Another friend once proposed bathing in it. And even my daughter Georgia likes it, and i'm pretty sure she's fully anorexic at age two--she eats NOTHING, ever. (She's anticipating her illustrious and successful modeling career with Victoria's Secret.) It's way good--most likely totally inauthentic, but completely delicious. Here are the ingredients:

*Split chicken breasts, skin-on, bone-in--about three big ones should come in a package...for those of you who are Thomas Keller and are using smaller, just-killed-in-your-restaurant-garden, organic chickens, maybe use four breasts. And if you are some sort of fitness-y guy, you can use skinless boneless breasts, which are easier to handle and have less fat, but you'll lose the flavor from the bones and skin. Mmmmm, bone flavor.
*1 large or 2 small onions, diced finely
*1 small Jalepeno, diced finely--optional
*Chicken stock, enough to almost cover the meat (maybe 5 cups-ish?)
*a stalk of lemongrass, if you have it--optional
* 2 cans coconut milk
*1 can diced tomatoes, or crushed tomatoes
*Curry paste--i use about 5 Tablespoons of Madras paste and 3 of Tikki Masala paste. You can get these at Whole Paycheck, or, to my surprise, Target!
*1-2 Tablespoons of fish sauce, if you have it. Optional
*2/3 to 3/4 cup peanut butter
*1-2 Tablespoons honey
*vermicelli rice noodles, prepared separately according to package directions
* cilantro and limes, for garnish

Method:

As with any soup, begin by sauteing the diced onions until they're translucent. Then add the chicken breasts, skin side down, and sear them till golden brown. Flip them over and do it again. Then add the stock and tomatoes to cover, and the lemongrass stalk (whole)and simmer until the chicken is almost cooked through. Remove the chicken from the pot and let it rest until it's cool enough to handle, and skin and shred it. Discard the skin and bones (duh). Add the curries, coconut milk, peanut butter, fish sauce, honey, and some of the cilantro if you like, and stir and simmer for a few minutes to meld the flavors. Add the shredded chicken back in, and you're done! If you are serving the entire pot of soup at once, go ahead and add the cooked rice noodles in with the soup. Other wise, spoon the soup over the noodles in individual portions to save the noodles from absorbing too much liquid and becoming a soggy mess. Garnish and enjoy!

*Note for veggies/vegans: I haven't tried this, but you could probably alter this with delicious success using vegetable stock and summer squash in lieu of meat. Try it and let me know...

In the Kitchen with Fidel

2010-10-11T10:37:00.001-06:00

Last weekend, my husband, our youngest son Kingston and i had the pleasure of spending a little slice of time in Philly with some of our besties, Kelly and Marcos, and their daughter Camila. Some of you may be more familiar with Marcos's alter ego, Fidel Gastro. The man has an enviably amazing blog and the kitchen skillz to match, as were showcased in the form of pork and cheese last Sunday.

The evening began with our arrival and some Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPAs we brought along. These amazing beers really got things going for my husband and Fidel, both of whom donned full Eagles regalia for the ensuing game against the Redskins (who might, i suppose, be "my" team, if i gave even half a shit about football. All i know is that the Eagles now have that sicko dog-eater on their team, which is hardly forgivable...but i digress...). Thus began a showcasing of a little something new for Fidel, dare i say for all of us: sporting equipment in the form of webbed shoes. These new-fangled Vibram Five Fingers (Um, toes? Thanks.) are evidently all the rage--and they are pretty cool, but i did notice some dipshit in a coffee shop the other day (not running) wearing them, and i really wanted to punch him in the nuts, if in fact he even had nuts. But Fidel runs the way any self-respecting foodie runs, and the way i would if i ever ran, EVER: with a beer in hand.

After filming this clip, i tried on the Vibrams, and although they were comfortable for the most part, the fabric and rubber between my toes gave me a sensation i can only describe as "violating". Like a greasy Chinaman to the foot prostitute, mayhaps...(too much?)

On to the food. I observed Fidel as he stirred, nay, caressed his bechamel to a creamy perfection before adding four kinds of cheese and some Barilla Plus elbows to the mix. He then topped it with Panko (Japanese breadcrumbs) and pats of Rich Creamery Butter:

Chef Gastro

It was then baked to a golden perfection:

Meanwhile, in the CrockPot was more delicious alchemy, this one involving pork [insert cheering noises]. I am sorry to say that i have no idea what he did to those sweet pig cheeks, but the sandwich that they became was one of the best i have ever had, f'real! The slaw was something super special, evidently obtained at some magical Philadelphia farmer's market run by Slaw Gods, and the buns (the bread ones, not the pig ones) came from the bakery up the street from their house. They live in an awesome niche of Philly where everything quaint a whitey could want is in cobblestoney walking distance--enviable for sure, especially to we Salt Lakers--Salt Lake is somewhere between 99% and 100% void of quaintness. Here is the end result (note the side of pork with the pork):


NOM NOM NOM Oh God, need more...

It was an absolute delight--party in our mouths, errybody invited, etc. Kingston and Camila were pretty stoked on it as well. Perhaps they will serve this meal at their arranged marriage. (Kelly has done Marcos the kindness of birthing one of the most exquisite baby girls on Earth, and i don't just throw that kind of compliment around lightly--i do, after all, have some of the cutest fucking kids on the planet myself...)


Dave with the betrothed

Later, the night got a bit nuttier for the guys, and involved the questionable synthesis of "Amp" energy drinks with vodka, and several Newport cigarettes (both men are what i would define as "negrophiles", having spent at least their entire high school careers in a desperate attempt to be black via graffiti art and hip-hop music in the middle of Utah...i assume the Newports are just a lingering flicker of hope in this department...as is, perhaps, Dave's marriage to me--a thinly veiled attempt at producing offspring that are quasi-negro that has thus far been thwarted by his blindingly white gene pool...). Dave ended up passed out using a baby chair for a pillow despite the Amp usage, but this is generally as wild as it gets for us parents. A lovely night, spent with lovely and extremely hospitable friends whom we love dearly. Thanks, you guys! Buen provecho.

Magic Beans

2010-10-08T22:38:00.010-06:00

'Aneurysm' is a fitting alternate title to this one. Those of you out there with pre-adolescent boys may be the only folks to truly understand the chaos involved here, but i will attempt an outline of the three hour panic attack that is the 10-year-old birthday party.

But first let me say that i cannot even believe that my son is ten whole years old. It truly brings tears to my eyes when i recall a time that he couldn't even talk or walk, or holding him in my arms when his whole body would fit and not just his head and shoulders. He is such a darling, sweet, compassionate young man, despite some upheaval in his young life due to his father's and my tumultuous relationship and subsequent separation. He is loved dearly by his siblings and his friends, and I am truly lucky to have him as my son. It is both joyful and heart-wrenching to see him growing up so fast. I can't believe this was the same Beau:

2000

2010

(*Sniff*) Anyhow... It began with a puker and ended 24 hours later with a straggler:

The night before the party, a mother of a new student in Beau's class first requested that i bring her son home with me from school for the party, but not without meeting me first. Um, ok. Although i do have that pesky penchant for raping little boys whose mothers ask for a ride for them, i am usually able to refrain if i have a Meet N' Chat with the fam beforehand. "Can i meet you before school tomorrow?" she asked via email. No. "Can i meet you after school tomorrow?" Um, no, that also sounds like a complete fucking pain in my ass, but thanks anyhow. "Ok, how about i stop by at 7 o'clock, which is right around bedtime, and is sure to annoy the shit out of you and interrupt the schedule of your exhausted toddlers?" Yyyeah, ok. Fine.

She came by, and was perfectly nice, albeit "worried about spelling" with the new 4th grade teacher. I only wish i had time to worry about, and subsequently discuss, my spelling worries with other parents. We chatted for a bit, and her son and Beau played, and everything seemed just fine. I walked her out to the driveway to her car, and as we were finishing up our chat and her boy was by her car, he began interrupting with "MOM! LET'S GO! I WANNA GO-O-O-O!" Now, although this is of course rather obnoxious, i think it's fairly normal for a boy of nine at 8:30PM on a school night who is listening to a couple of ladies talk....but then....he just started PUKING. And not like finger-down-the-throat spitting up--violently vomiting, like, QUARTS of nasty-ass nasties into the gutter of our street. "It's OK," said mom nonchalantly, "he does this all the time. He's doing it on purpose." I could only stare at her, then at him, and then the mass amounts of bile spewing from his little red head. "He and his brother both vomit on command--SO annoying, right?" Ummmm...RIGHT. Wow. I could only stand there and stare, dumbfounded, as she hurried to the car and left with him.

Forward to the party the next afternoon...afterward i felt like i'd been hit by a truck. For rizzle. Within less than TEN MINUTES of the beginning of the party, the boys had broken a door in our house. And our house was built in the 1890s, so it wasn't some particleboard shit. Evidently something like 9 of them had pushed their collective, hyperactive weight against it till it collapsed off the hinges and fell into the hallway. Unreal. And this was before a possibly radioactive cake, M&M's, and root beer floats.

Not found in nature...

Thankfully, exactly on time, Magical Mormon Timothy showed up. Beau (or Beans, as we call him), is way into magic this year, so i had the idea to hire a magician as a birthday surprise. Charlie, his biological father, was in town for the birthday, and did the leg work of hiring Timothy (NOT Tim, make no mistake), who was just about as Mormon as they come. In fact, i'm fairly certain this man was the direct reincarnation of Joseph Smith, even though he didn't use a magic hat except maybe once.

Almost every kid from Beau's class showed up, including all the girls and Deng Deng, the super cute, super African kid who never comes to events outside of school. That is his actual name, by the way. I didn't believe Beau when he first told me this, but it's true. Deng has three siblings who share his last name, but evidently with Deng they just said, "Fuck it. Deng Deng."

--"That's a lot of Deng kids", said my husband when we found out about the multitudinous Dengs.

--"That's a lot of Deng money", i replied, referencing the cost of the Catholic school they attend.

Deng Deng was evidently part of MMT's act, because i swear to God his little purple body totally vanished mid-show. Like, i was sitting there the entire time watching, and the show was within eyeshot of the front door, and i swear his African ass just disappeared into thin air. My natural assumption was that MMT is in cahoots with Brangelina, and he just evaporates attractive little Africans as part of his show and then has them delivered to them for large sums of money.

Then, halfway through the Magical Mystery Tour, Magical Mormon Timothy suddenly turned that shit into a gay rave when he shed his oversize red button-down, stripped right down to his Underarmour and levitated my firstborn. It was fetching RADICAL. This was one magical Mormon motherfucker. This guy even had frosted hair, ok? It was amazingness, and worth every penny (an asston of pennies, to be more accurate). Here's a clip:

Then the straggler. Poor Jason. He was dropped off by what may have been his teenage sister at 3:30, two hours after the party had begun. She kindly asked what time the party ended, and i told her that there was only a half hour left--it ended at 4PM. She spoke perfect English, unlike the rest of his family who are (shocker!) Mexican, so i am certain she understood what i said. We called his parents twice during the two and a half hours he was forced to overstay, and when his dad showed up, he peeked his little swarthy head out the window and said, "Ees Jason here?"
--"Yeah, he's been here since the party ended. At four," i tersely responded.
--"Jason? He my son, he ees here now?"
--"FOUR," i said again, and held up 'that many' fingers as Charlie sharply nudged me in the ribs in a desperate attempt to thwart a melee between my feisty Halfrican (possibly Quarter Rican?) ass and some Mexithug parent.

To top it off beautifully, this was the straggler's gift. Although i can feel the flames of hell licking at my feet, i just cannot stop laughing at this. It seems fairly obvious that they simply took a picture of their negligent family out of the frame and gave it to Beau in what was pretty much identical to the brown bags that Spicy Chicken Crunchwraps come in at Taco Bell:


"A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone..."

I am also fairly certain, and hopeful, that they were unable to read this frame, and therefore are unable to read my blog. (God knows i'm thankful my Mexican jumping bean of a brother-in-law can't read, not even in Spanish.) All that said, Beau loved that gift in particular--calling it "poetic", and Jason is a doll--very polite and easy to be around...i just felt so sorry for him. Plus, we were crunched for time, as we had to get to Dave's parents' house to celebrate with the negligent Mexican members of our own family, and it was getting late...

Harvest

2010-09-29T08:23:00.002-06:00

It's harvest time 'round here. Thought i'd post some pics of the bounty of our small but vigorous yard:

Beau with chard

Some tomatoes being overtaken by the amazing 55 ft pumpkin vine--this is just a portion of it

the pumpkins (Lumina)

some lemon cucumbers, very prolific


today's Sunsugar tomato harvest--every day we get about this many from just one plant!

roasted all these guys up--just garlic w/ the Sunsugars, and onion and mystery pepper with the mystery heirlooms @ right. then i just store them in olive oil and toss them with pasta or on pizza whenever--delightful.

Last but not least, i had to add this pic of the gender-specific purple carrots my friend Simriti grew! Girl on the left, boy on the right...

Billi

2010-09-19T12:17:00.001-06:00

Time for the second recipe in this so-called foodie blog. This one comes from my dad, Bill, is much requested, and quite delicious despite it's simplicity, ease, and humble ingredients. Additionally, having been adopted into a family that does not cook, it is also the sole family recipe i have inherited. My love for cooking is apparently partly in my blood, and partly a survival tactic. There are only so many burnt eggs a kid can eat without vomiting.

Anyhoo, while we were at the beach last month, we celebrated both my sister Annliese's birthday and my husband Dave's birthday, on the 24th and 25th of August, respectively. Annliese, like a normal person, chose to go out for sushi to celebrate her special day. My husband, the humble, oft-forgotten, textbook middle child, asked that we simply make my dad's chili and stay in. It's not exactly chili, as it has rice and is not too tomatoey or soupy at all. But it is fantastic comfort food, and Dave can't get enough of it. So here it is!

Like any recipe worth a damn, this one begins with bacon. Start by cooking some bacon in the oven, like so :

While the bacon cooks in the oven, cook 1 cup of rice according to the package instructions in a medium pot. Then, dice an onion and a green pepper and saute them in a separate, big soup pot until the onion is translucent. Add a pound of ground beef (not the extra lean kind, you want the fat, you know you do. Fat tastes really good.) and brown it. Next, add a can of tomato sauce and a can of kidney beans. When the rice and bacon are done, add them to the pot, crumbling the bacon as you do (i add the bacon grease as well, because i am disgusting).

Season to taste with chili powder (i use a few big spoonfuls), and salt and pepper. Serve with sour cream and shredded cheese, and enjoy, as you can see my father doing here. He enjoys life immensely, as is evidenced below:

Here are some more enthusiastic eaters in the family enjoying the delicious "Billi":

baby Kingston, i.e. "Tank" with Aunt LiLi, turrin' it up

Dave on round two...or maybe four

Delaware Signage

2010-09-12T10:46:00.001-06:00

A beautiful week spent at my Aunt Betsy's beach house in Lewes, Delaware. It was really so lovely. But Lewes, and the neighboring beach town of Rehoboth, although also quite nice, contain some interesting signage. (Or, perhaps--and more likely--my sister and i are twelve years old...) Here are some prime examples:

coventiently located adjacent to the:

not to mention

and

and last, but certainly not least, the signature of Lewes, The Sea MILF:

"Now there's an ocean-going vessel I'd like to fuck", said my sister's boyfriend Mark. Well put.

"BOY OH BOY!", or Some Such Ridiculous Cliche...

2010-09-12T09:23:00.001-06:00

Sooo...been awhile. Been on vacation. But here are updates! The great news is, EVERYTHING IS FINE!! After my last ultrasound about a month ago, i was officially released from bed rest, or restrictions of any kind!! Super wonderful. However, they told me there was "no way" to tell the gender conclusively at that point. Which was fine with me, as Dave and i were thinking maybe a surprise was in order....

But wait! "What the hell is THAT, then?" i asked, as my little happy fetus spread his legs wide apart in perfect (genetically predisposed) exhibitionist form (more on that later).

--"Oh..well....that loooks like," the sonographer ventured.
--"-a penis. That's a penis, " i interjected. "And testicles."
--"Mmmm, welllll...yes. That is a penis."
--"Ohhh. SHIT. (snrrrrf stifle sob SOB)"
--"Ummm, was this baby planned?"
--"OF COURSE NOT. Do you not see??? (pointing to spastic baby Kingston screaming and being held against his will by a nurse...i was alone here...) WHO WOULD PLAN THIS??"
--"Welll. you know...you DO have options. Have you considered adoption??
--"Beg pardon?"
--"Have you considered adoption?"
--"(snif snif snarf snot) Ya. OK. i'm actually adopted, mkay? (cringe from sonographer who has realized she really botched this one) and i think its the most beautiful thing ever. But are you KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?? I do NOT have "options". This is baby number FOUR. Like, you don't just opt out because of of gender, dude. I'm just...completely shocked. I was SURE this was a girl."
--"OK....are you alright?"
--"i just (snerrrrrf ) wanted a girrrrllllll..."

And so on. I was a hot mess, to put it lightly. Plus, the evil Mormon nurse holding Kingston (b/c i had NO available babysitters at 9AM, and Dave was doing an installation in Park City) told me she "felt sorry for him, because there was no one to hold him." i was thinking, "I feel sorry for him too, because you are obviously a witch stirring a cauldron full of wishes for Joseph, you freak." I fucking love Salt Lake.

But then. Of course. It took me only 2, maaaaybeee 7 hours to count my blessings. And even in the throes of self pity ("...but boys all become MEN!") i was well aware that the baby that is supposed to come is the one that's coming. Plus, no one wants to compete w/ Georgia at such a close age range. That's just a recipe for disaster/eating disorders.

So, i guess we'll just have to have five....?

The Mangina Monologues

2010-08-11T11:58:00.003-06:00

Upon receiving the latest issue of my husband's subscription to Woman's Day in the mail recently, i was inspired to ask my friends if, indeed, that is the gayest shit ever, or whether their partners/boyfriends were equally womanish. I mean, Woman's Day?? He might as well have pulled his lace negligee aside to reveal his freshly waxed bikini line, right there by the mailbox.

Thankfully, the responses i received assured me that i am not alone. I enjoyed reading about the feminine sides of the husbands and partners and dads i know and love, and imagining the raised eyebrows and stares of disbelief of the women married to them.

Let me preface this list of juicy tidbits with the disclaimer that my husband and all the partners included in this post have been inspected and found to be entirely vagina-free, are strong and sexy and even quite manly at times. This is in no way meant to insult any of you: if anything, we wish you were even more girly than you already are. And could bear children, while you're at it.

I must also say that Woman's Day is one of the suckiest pieces of dung in print. It's worse than Redbook and Family Circle when it comes to cheap, depressing, boring housewife magazines, and the recipe section made me literally gag. It's really just a fucking shame is what it is. Why my husband subscribed to this, of all the lady mags out there, is beyond me. Here's a sample:

Picadillo on Buns (or: "A Bunch Of Sick Ass Crap! And Buns!")
Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add 1 lb lean ground beef. Stir, breaking up clumps with a spoon, until browned. Stir in a 14 1/2-oz can diced tomatoes with onion and garlic, 1/3 cup sliced pimiento-stuffed olives, 3 Tbsp raisins, 2 Tbsp each cider vinegar and tomato paste, 1 tsp each cinnamon, oregano and cumin, and 1/2 tsp kosher salt. Bring mixture to a simmer; cook 5 to 10 minutes for flavors to blend. Divide among 4 hamburger buns.

Also included in the magazine are astoundingly useless instructionals such as 'Make Your Own Bookmarks', and '5 Ways With A Shower Curtain Liner'. The latter includes such helpful hints for alternative use of your shower curtain liner as "Stay dry at a picnic!" and "Make a waterslide!" The fun and practical, penny-saving reasons for having spare shower curtain liners on hand are endless.

...Moving on, i think i will just do this list style, and continue to add what y'all send me to the list. So send me examples of your partner's feminine wiles, and they too can be included. Here is what we have collected thus far:

*"My husband irons his clothes every morning. Even plain white t-shirts. And he reads House Beautiful on the shitter." --Ashley, Salt Lake City

*"Alex is a girl about how much underwear he has. He owns A LOT, all from American Apparel--its like his version of Victoria's Secret. Also, he cares way too much about his hair, more than i do and hair is my profession, so that's saying a lot. Also, he has pushed me into gross objects, cockroaches, dog poo, etc...to protect himself. --Kathleen, Baltimore

*"Actually I think, by definition, my husband IS a girl. Can't work with
his hands, no skills at building ANYTHING, even things with
detailed instructions, including, like, legos. ( I built that little
house in our backyard last summer by myself while 6-9 months pregnant
and ANYTIME I asked for help he would fuck it up. Every time. and then
would get super bummed when I would point out that mashing things into
place doesn't look good. So I stopped asking and he stopped helping
because we were going to get a divorce.) Very picky about everything that

comes into the house and is very fashion-focused. Will tell me the new boots I
bought are shitty and I know he's right. He is literally my favorite
person to go shopping with. He is pretty much always right on, it's
crazy. Loves treats. Loves pink. One time at the Target in Sandy a man stopped

him in the aisle all worried and asked if he was color blind because he was
wearing a pink and purple track jacket. The man was sincerely trying
to help him out, probably afraid for his life. He assured him that his
sight was just fine and the man stumbled away, so confused. He is also
very emotional, cries at the airport every time he leaves town, calls
everyday about how much he misses me and the kids. Has told me on
multiple occasions that he wishes he could breastfeed. He loves fruity cocktails and
good chocolate, worries about being fat, hates assholes who hate kids
on the plane, loves talking, talking on the phone and texting, ummmm.
I could go on and on.
He looks like young Fidel Castro and cannot pick up on, at times, even
the most obvious things without having it S P E L L E D O U T, represents

the third x chromosome in our two daughters together and can play basketball

on a regulation hoop, or else he would surely be mistaken for a girl." --Nahanni, Portland

*"Can you include my boyfriend's love for Real Simple Magazine? And how his female roommate subscribes, but he gets the mail most days, and rushes to the kitchen, bright-eyed, to see what treasures the new issue may hold...then compares the ingredient list to things he already has in the kitchen???"

*"Also, every "girls' weekend" photo album, email chain, and storytelling session from our group of friends includes my boyfriend. I constantly find myself asking -- when stories are told about some 2003 trip to Myrtle Beach or whatnot -- "I thought you said it was a girls' weekend??" And the response is always... "yeah, but that means him, too." I'm waiting for him to start planning a bachelorette party 'just for fun.'" --Annliese, Baltimore

* "My boyfriend reads my gossip magazines in the bathroom and stays in there for well over the designated shitting time. He then returns with his opinions on issues ranging from the attractiveness of Alexa Ray Joel and how sad it was that she tried to kill herself, as well as how cruel people are to Jessica Simpson. He also finds strip clubs offensive and embarrassing. LOVE HIM!" --Stephanie, Baltimore

* my husband... a girl... i don't know - i think he is just a fag. he spends his morning pottering around the garden and this morning he left for work then came rushing back into the house because he forgot to "do something to his tomahhhhtoes" (his gay accent isn't his fault, i realise he is english, but still). he didn't say what but i bet if i creeped around the shed i would have found him kissing each one and telling them that daddy will be home soon and that he loves them...--Elizabeth, UK

* "So...at first I had to force Peyton into watching Project Runway, then after awhile he stopped complaining out loud, and now not only does he participate with gusto in the critiques but also exclaims things like "well, my dress would be something like this..". To be fair he is a graphic designer in real life but still...I can't tell you how many times I've had to shush him so I can hear Michael Kors." --Katie, Washington D.C.

* "My husband is a fucking slob. Total dude-bachelor. I am surprised he can even live with a woman. But then when he is cooking or something (girly).......he busts out (in a high pitched singing voice) with songs like, "Party in the USA" by, Miley and/or "California Girls" by, Katy Perry and knows EVERY SINGLE WORD. It skeeves me out to hear an Army officer singing about stilettos and bikini tops. I would personally kill for a man who is a bit cleaner, is more metro and reads girly mags. " --Rebecca, Japan

Last but by no means least, comes directly from my ex, a self-proclaimed "Gay-Not-Gay". (He even lives in Miami and wears linen like a uniform, for crying out loud.) I completely forgot about this one, and he was stupid/awesome enough to remind me of this fucking GEM. I mean, this really takes the cake:

*"I used to wear your long white skirt/slip thing in the mornings to get Beau breakfast when I was too tired to search for pants….. It became a habit due to it being so damn comfortable… I had to answer the door one time in it when a delivery arrived… The guy was like, "Umm…. Here’s your package, 'SIR'..." --Charlie, Miami

WOW. Good thing the Boy was too young to ever question Tranny Mornings With Dad. So, ladies (and gents too!), get on this boat! I can't wait to hear more Manginalogues! Send me a message! xox

West Africa

2010-08-10T11:03:00.000-06:00

On a fun night back in April, our friend Evan decided to respond to a rental scammer's email while he was at our house. It was truly inspired and much hilarity ensued. I sent this email out the following morning:

"Ok--so my friend Evan was looking to rent a house and emailed for info about it. He got the most insane response and when he was over last night we decided he should write back. And he is my hero for writing some of the funniest shit i have ever read. I literally fell off my chair. Everything in bold writing is Evan and the rest is "Ben". It will take a few minutes to read all this but it is worth it, i assure you. Enjoy! "

On 4/7/10, Evan wrote:
Ben,
Saw your ad on craigslist and would very much like to have a look at the
place and get some info on it! Email me back or reach me on my cell at 801-___-____.
Thank you!
Evan Tendick
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

-----Original Message-----
From: Ben C Rush

Date: Wed, 7 Apr 2010 15:13:54
To: Evan
Subject: Re: Grand St rental

Greetings to you in the name of the Lord, I am here to tell you that
if you are willing to rent the house, then it will be the best house
you have ever lived in, because i am no more living in the house
anymore. Due to my Work as a Evangelist, I traveled on a mission to
West Africa for a programmed called the Go West Africa Programmed,
which you can visit on
www.gowestafrica.org. ..... And i have decided to relocate to Arizona
as soon as i am back to state.

Here is the address of the house:

Address: --- Grand st, Salt Lake City, UT
Monthly rent: $700
Security Deposit :600
Application fee:$0.00

So i need someone very honest and kind to rent my home. I am really
willing to rent this home out because i wont be staying there
anymore,so you can have the house as long as you want. I will love you
to go and view the home asap. I am sorry i am not there and i have the
keys with me here in West Africa.... So i would want you to really
bear with me.I am willing to rent out the house for the price of $700
plus utilities like water, heat, washer and dryer hookup,air
condition, Refrigerator, internet cable, Pets are considered and
available for move in Immediately...Don't be surprised when you get to
the home and see a for sale sign in the home, i had the intention of
selling the home but i thought about it again and decided to rent out
the home to any one that can really take good care of the
house.....Because it is a very beautiful home and i will always love
to call it my home....So i will want you not to bother yourself about
any sign you see in the home saying it is for sale and also i have
inform the realtor that incharge it before to remove it but am not
sure if he do that,because am no more working with him any more due to
his attitued and also is not trustfull.....and i don't want you to
contact them because i am now renting out my house and don't have
anything with them anymore. If you are willing to see the inside, then
you can peek through the windows, because i have the keys here and i
hope you understand.......By peeking

through the windows, you will be able to see a lot of the interior.
The house will be rented out to you as long as you want because i am
no longer staying there any more.
If you are really interested i will advice you to fill out the
application form below,fill it out and sent back to me,so that i can
attached it to my file and start the arrangement forther.

RENTAL APPLICATION FORM.
Full Name__________________________________________________
Home Phone ( )________________________
Date of Birth_________________________

________
Other Phone ( )___________________
Current Address_______________________________Apt#________
City__________________ State______ Zip________
Reasons for Leaving____________________________Rent $__________Phone
( )____________________________
Are you married____________________________
How many people will be living in the house____________________________
Do you have a pet____________________________
Do you have a car____________________________
Do You Drink___________________________
DO YOU Work Late Night____________________________
Occupation____________________________
When do you intende to view the surounding___________________________
Move In Date____________________________
When do you intended sending me the deposit___________________________
When do you intended receiving the keys and document of the
house___________________________

Call me

God Bless You.

Ben!

So $uch thanks to you prompt and legitimate response to my inquire about your house in Salt Lake city!

What a incredible miracle brought on by the miracle working power of the Great Lord Our Savior. You may find yourself to be amazed by this unbelievable situation but my brother Steven is in West Africa currently too and assisting with the circumcision of his beloved and sacred betrothed and wondrous girlfriend Jamiroquai! May you be available to assist in the apprehension of her in the event she attempts to flee this amazing and God Blessed Ritual Of Purification?

If may you find yourself to be of assistance to my dear brother Steven in his holy efforts, I will be so mightily glad to join forces with you and maybe to even rent your God blessed home on Grand street in Salt Lake city.

Please respond for me in God's name to make our union so therefore made. You are truly here to bless me with the gift of your incredibly beautiful and sacred former residential and what is been to be a perfect union. If maybe after you can successful assist my brother Steven in his efforts, you might find him worthy to be in receiving the keys to your house in Salt Lake City of which I would feel the amazing honor to be renting. If a for sale sign may be to happen upon the premises of house on ___ Grand Street with additional utilities being paid on rental, I will encourage my slaves to remove the sign and burn or destroy it at the soon they can find.

Please send to me any contact informations you have for my Brother Steven to meet you in West Africa!

God bless.

PS. I have peeked on the windows and have seen the nice that is your former house. . . It is truly God blessed and wondrous!!!
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

The Lucky One

2010-08-02T14:13:00.002-06:00

Back from a heavy night in the ER. Woke up in a huge pool of blood at 3AM, and then something the size of a lemon came out of me. Too much information? I thought so.

Thankfully, when i screamed "MO-O-O-O-O-M!!!" at the top of my lungs, she ran downstairs, threw the babies in the car, and drove my hysterical ass to the emergency room. It is a rare thing that, as a 31-year-old married woman, you can scream for your mommy in a dark hour and have her be close enough to come running, particularly when she lives over 2000 miles away most of the time. Dave and Beau were at home at our house, but the babies and i had fallen asleep at my in-laws house (where my mom is staying for the month--in-laws are in Oregon), so she was right upstairs.

Arrived in a hemorrhaging stupor at the ER, where Dave met us and was able to comfort me and allow my distraught but always heroic mom to take the babies home. The doctors, upon seeing the amount of blood, declared that if i had not already miscarried, i was probably in the process, and that it would not be painless, considering the gestational age/size of the babe. They hooked me up to an IV with some Fentanyl (marketed as "Sublimaze" in the 60s--friggin' sublimazing!), which calmed me down, to say the very least.

Enter sonographer. "How are you today?" he asked. I told him i'd "been better", but i was "pretty high." He applied the ultrasound gel to my belly and i closed my eyes, not wanting to see my empty womb. It's funny, as upset i was at the news of this pregnancy only a couple months ago, i realized how incredibly sad i was to lose it. I had just felt the first kicks the day before, and as anyone who has been pregnant knows, you can really start to fall in love early on. Turns out i really wanted this child, and i was truly devastated. I'm crying just writing this.

"Welllll....still there," I heard him say after a pause. I opened my eyes and looked at the screen. And there was a baby. Not just a sedentary little tiny fetus either, a vigorous, kicking, dancing fetus with a strong heartbeat, and a face, and everything! "WHAT!???" Dave and i asked in unison. We were utterly shocked. "How?? I can't even..." "Oh. My. God,"said Dave with an incredulous smile. I just kept blabbering in disbelief, because not only was the baby happily swimming around, my placenta appears to be COMPLETELY ATTACHED and dandy!! WOW.

--"Sooo..." i stammered, "Wait, wait, then maybe it was just a subchorionic hemorrhage and it grew and grew and then i just passed a giant clot and not the fetus? and my placenta looks ok after all????"
--"That's certainly what it looks like," he replied, looking slightly dubious that i just said "subchorionic hemorrhage" when i was crying, mostly naked, bleeding on a sheet, and wasted on what is essentially heroin at 4:30AM.

He continued to look around ultrasonically and inspect the situation. I noted and mentioned out loud that it appeared that the big blood clot that we saw in last ultrasound 10 days ago was all but gone, and he agreed. He said the baby appeared completely healthy and so did everything around it. He couldn't tell the gender yet, but i surmised that it must certainly be female, because boys simply do not pull dramatic bullshit like this.

Very relieved, Dave and i waited for the doctor to return. When she did, she was aghast. "I cannot believe this," she said, sitting next to the bed. "Wow. I was sure...SURE that this baby was gone. I was preparing the nurses, making sure they knew to tell you this wasn't your fault, and to be comforting during something as difficult as this. I have never had someone bleed like this and then have a strong healthy fetus, and i've worked here for 12 years! It's wonderful!"

Sadly, she told us that the very opposite had happened to a woman only two hours beforehand. She was 4 months along and just had a bit of light spotting. The doctor did an ultrasound "just to give her peace of mind", as she was sure it would be nothing, and they saw no heartbeat. The poor woman had a miscarriage right then and there. SO heartbreaking! We always think our lives are such chaos, but someone always has it harder, sometimes right next door. (This observation brought Dave and me to ponder about the Dooce next door neighbors. In her blog, she claims that "the chaos in her house is unreal." She has only two children with a very acceptable age distance between them, a nanny, an assistant, and a wildly successful blog. It was quiet as a tomb the day i was over there, and i was acutely jealous of their peaceful silence. Thus, this morning, in my still very drugged state said, "I'll show you chaos, bitches. Ima throw that blood clot at your fucking window." Now, this is an extremely crass and highly inappropriate thing to say, and these seem like very lovely, funny people with whom i wish to burn no bridges. I would love for our children and dogs to be able to play, and to have gin and tonics together on occasion. But YOU try Fentanyl after a harrowing debacle, and see what flies out of YOUR mouth. Apologies in advance, Heather and Jon.)

"However," the doc continued, "We are not out of the woods yet. That was a LOT of bleeding, and we always have to be very cautious. Although, against all reason, your blood counts are actually HIGHER than they were before, and your hormone counts are fantastic, as is the fetal heart rate. It's really something." But she said i can't mess around--strict bed rest until further notice from my midwife.

So i am feeling, once again, like a very, very lucky, lady. My friend Mary said, "You are the luckiest person ever. That baby has some serious guardian angels. It's uncanny." And my sister (after recovering from her minor heart attack) put it succinctly and perfectly, as she always does: "RACHEL!! WHO is living inside of you????" I'm not sure, but they seem quite insistent upon getting here, and likely rocking pretty seriously hard. I can't wait to be introduced.

Fashion Hat Shading Pretty

2010-07-27T14:28:00.000-06:00

Ok, i cannot get enough of this Ebay seller's descriptions. Not to mention the insanely erratic variety of items for sale. Bed rest has perks! Let's start with the hat:

"You would try to choose an unusual fashion hat shading pretty? Occasionally refreshing the image will allow you to try something different! Here we are all confident that this summer will become more beautiful! With the lots of cute fashion hats you will be appreciated as one of the the splendid view adding to the city. Of course the nice hat obviously not only used for sun shading hat but also considered as a nice personal decoration. Come on to enjoy the hot summer!"

"Favorite with the tattoo design but for many reasons-can't take the pain your mother wouldn't like it your boss wouldn't like it you're not ready for the commitment... you can’t have. Thanks to these realistic looking tattoo sleeves you can wow your friends shock your colleagues - and more importantly remove them anytime without having suffered the pain or the cost!

This tattoo sleeves made from a stretchy nylon/spandex mix the sleeves come in a pack of 4 and look so realistic you'll have complete strangers offering to buy you a drink as they marvel at your bravery"

"Featuring a nicely crafted empaistic eagle design this tattoo machine will give you a good talking point to help take nervous customer's minds off their inking!
There are also neat little deaths heads on the contact screw and front binding post and 2 classic black 10 wrap coils.
Well balanced this machine is ideal for both lining and shading and is an essential addition to any self-respecting studio."

"Whether you was ever embarrassed for had wrong taking someone else's luggage away or unfortunately your luggage was wrong recognized by strangers? In the final analysis all happens to your luggage was not clear marked with something attachment that easy to recognize. Don't be discouraged here we have kinds of cute luggage tags coming for your solution and you can find a favorite one which featuring with certain warning slogan. Very practical and also a pretty decoration."

...and so much more where that came from. a real ray of sunshine in my day.

My daughter is awesome

2010-07-26T18:09:00.000-06:00

i mean really...

Shitstorm Part Deux

2010-07-24T20:17:00.007-06:00

[Pathetic, melodramatic sigh.] After a trip to the hospital yesterday, i have been put on quasi-bed rest for at least a month. I am a mere three months pregnant, but it appears that my placenta has become slightly detached from the uterus. Abruptio Placentae is it's technical/Latin name, which makes it sound like a lightning-shaped scar seared into my placenta by Voldemort. This condition has varied outcomes, depending on the severity of the situation. It can either A) be ok, causing no harm to me or baby, or B) worsen, and potentially become life-threatening to both of us. Fabulous! This is not funny, which i hate, and i hesitate to even blog about it except that i am supposed to be pretty candid here. Plus it will explain my probable lack of bloggy material for the next month. ("Today i watched Braveheart on TNT and neglected to brush my teeth again...")

The hardest part of all this is the fact that the doctors have recommended i do not pick up my children if at all possible. Evidently carrying around a 26lb toddler and a behemoth 25lb baby is causing me and my womb stress--these are trained professionals, people: years and years of costly education to state the completely fucking obvious. Thankfully, my mother, AKA Gandhi, got a plane ticket out here the moment i told her the news, and will be here in a few days. She is nothing short of a living saint, as anyone who knows her can attest. She has just barely regained her strength in an arduous battle with advanced ovarian cancer, involving a brutal surgery and six months of chemo--and she's so worried about me that she is coming to chase my crazy offspring around using any and all her remaining energy. God bless her.

Also, thankfully i have enough help from good friends to get through the few days before she gets here. Last night our dear friends Wendee and her husband Matt had Georgia over for a coed sleepover with their son Oskar, who is five days her junior. Georgia loved it so much that she refused to come to either Dave or me this morning when they dropped her off--she clung to Matt, arms around his neck, screaming and crying. She LOVES that man. (Can't really blame her, he's a doll for sure, and wears amazing glasses, but dang! I did give birth to her...) Evidently the feeling is mutual: according to Wendee, her husband was having some serious separation anxiety on the ride back home. I think they're going in our will as legal guardians.

I was hoping that perhaps my mother-in-law would offer to fly back from her blueberry farm in Oregon for the week to help out, but seeing as i am not a circumcised African woman, an organic blueberry, an illiterate Mexican, or a cat, i think i am pretty low on her priority totem. I mean, shit, these are just her grandkids i'm being forced to neglect, right? (An actual quote from a friend: "Oh, come ON! If you were an African clitoris, she'd be there in seconds to save you!") But, to her credit, she's already been home once this week, having taken an emergency $1200 flight home to retrieve her emaciated cat from the neighbors' attic, where it had been trapped for the past month. It is a sweet cat, an awful incident, and i feel terrible for the cat, BUT...priorities. But i suppose since she is strongly against our having a fourth child (though she has five herself), her empathy level when it comes to me and this pregnancy is quite low. She even told Dave that she was convinced that i was "trying to get pregnant, so that i wouldn't have to work". Yeah, wow. HA! Talk to your son the sleep-rapist, lady.

Aaaanyhoo. Time to go lie down again. Some of this isn't half bad, so far. Arms-length child care, lots of being horizontal, but with no sex (which would normally be a bummer, but seeing as right now i have the libido of a centenarian, it's really working out well...), no housework, and "have a glass of wine and relax!!"--all doctor's orders. Done and done. Still praying for another healthy, happy Chamberlain babe...due on Valentine's day.

My Delicious Balls

2010-07-18T10:26:00.007-06:00

Ok, finally time for a recipe. I am still totally grossed out by many many things--oh, the joys of gestation--but one thing that always remains safe is good old spaghetti. Or in this case, spaghetti and these here almost-famous meatballs. Peeps have been asking for this recipe for years--from complete strangers to family members. My ex, a former chef, asked for these meatballs for Christmas last year (and got them, because i am awesome). Even my vegan (gay, polygamous--now there's a story...) neighbor seemed intrigued watching me make them, despite himself. These are some good balls--quite simple really, but people say they are the best, and who am i to argue?

I am, however, TERRIBLE at measuring stuff. Which makes me a pretty shitty baker. But thankfully, my darling, anal friend Mary was there saving the day as court stenographer the last time i made them, so we now have an actual recipe! Here ya go:

BALLS:

*1 large or 2 small onions, grated (not diced or minced unless you are a crazy good mincer--onion chunks in a ball gross me out)
*1 lb ground turkey
*1 lb turkey sausage
(**note: you can also be more traditionally Italian and use ground beef, lamb, and pork sausage--this makes your ball a bit richer, but something about the multiple animals is just kinda sick. Delicious, but sick. This is a good choice if you are not the cook and are not privy to this information.)
*4 eggs
*4 cloves garlic, crushed--or granulated garlic
*2 1/2 cup Italian style bread crumbs, or make your own with toast put in a food processor

Mash wet ingredients together with hands or potato masher. Add bread crumbs and roll into 2" balls. Fry in a shallow (about 1/4 or 1/3 inch) bath of olive oil, turning after a couple minutes so that all (or at least most) sides have a good sear on them so they retain their shape in the sauce.

Add sauce when balls are 1/2 cooked, simmer over low heat, covered, for about 20 minutes or so. You can also crock pot those babies and stew 'em for the day.

SAUCE:

*1 large jar of spaghetti sauce, whatever your favorite is, or your own--occasionally i'll make my own, but usually i just doctor up a store-bought sauce
*5-6 marinated Peppadew peppers, minced or pureed (get these at the olive bar at the grocery store. and if you are me, try not to barf on the olives), optional
*Some peeled tomatoes--whatever ya got--i usually just use a can of diced tomatoes or stewed tomatoes, but in season i'll blanch, peel, and chop the homegrown ones
*Beef or chicken stock--i use the concentrated 'Better Than Bullion' paste kind, and brew it strong--enough to thin the sauce a bit
*Sugar, to taste--unless you have all f*%#ing day to stew, and then you can use a carrot to sweeten the sauce/cut the acid in the tomatoes. And if you have that kind of time, maybe you should get a job or have some kids, ya lazy turd.
*Fresh, chopped oregano, basil and parsley

And you're done!! Serve over spaghetti or capellini or linguine or whatever pasta you like. Top with Parmesan and another little splash of olive oil if you have the good stuff on hand. Even better the next day on a toasted sub with provolone and mayo--the mayo really takes it over the top. To paraphrase Mary, "Gentlemen, if your balls were this delicious, you'd get laid a helluva lot more often." Well put.

As if i needed another reason to become a lesbian...

2010-07-12T14:00:00.002-06:00

So, here's the post that no one will read because it's long as fuck. But:

That. Was. AMAZING. Brandi Carlile, you rocked my very soul. You even rocked Red Butte Garden, which is so full of middle aged yuppie sponsors in logo-bearing, tiny folding lawn chairs that there is hardly even room to rock. But you commanded that shit, and i love you for it.

And the cherry on top? A babysitter! Actually, we were sort of doing a nanny litmus test with this lovely girl, and not to completely jinx it, but i really liked her! She's mellow and sweet and seems quite natural with babies. However, Georgia, who is usually comparatively easygoing, has been acting exactly like the girl in The Exorcist the past couple of days, so we decided to bring her along--we didn't want to frighten the nanny away on her first try.

So, Kingston and Beau happily settled in with the nanny (wow, i really like the sound of that), D and i headed to Whole Paycheck to fetch ourselves a little yuppie picnic to bring along to the outdoor concert venue. Their little deli is a pregnant woman's wet dream, with the motley assortment of weird ass, mismatched items to satisfy all your freaky whims. For example, i chose broccoli salad with bacon and red onions, quinoa--which as anyone who knows me even on a casual basis can attest, i normally HATE: The Bastard Grain, i call it--with black beans or something, pasta with smoked mozzarella, a salad with cottage cheese and tofu and like lentils or something (what? eww.), and a raspberry oat bar that cost like $4.25. Oh, and some Organic Round Thingers with her beloved Elmo's face on them for Georgia.

We arrived during the opening act, and the place was packed, so we found ourselves a little spot at the far end near the waterfall garden (aww) and settled in for our dinner. Georgia had made a complete behavioral turnaround, and was charming the ear gauges off even the burliest of dykes. I was actually feeling good for a change, and Dave and i enjoyed our champagne (settle down, narcs, i only had one glass --filled to the tippy fucking top, but just one) and the food was delightful, even if i enjoyed my salad bar creation alone:
"Salad?" i offered. Dave shook his head and gave me a look that suggested i had just offered him a mirror with a small pile of larvae on it and a clipped straw with which to snort them. Ah, well. More nebulous, beige tofu globs for me then, sucker!

And then came the Brandi. Her voice moved me to tears not once, but twice during the set. And Georgia, my little star baby who literally came out singing when she was born--i am not making that up--was RIVETED. I mean i have never even seen her this glued to anything or anyone, including Elmo (who, by the way, makes a damn good Organic Round Thinger...). I took her down to the front, and it took her several songs to even be able to tear her eyes away and dance, but when she did, she totally stole the show. Random people all around started whipping out cameras and shooting pics and even full-on videos of my toddler shakin' that thing. And horrible, negligent mother that i am, i forgot my camera!!! Arrgh! Dave and i were laughing so hard we cried. It was literally among the cutest things i have ever seen, EVER, and i'll never forget it, no matter what kind of meds they put me on after this fourth kid. One woman approached us with a business card wanting to take Georgia's photos. And even the cellist in the band was watching her and smiling.

Other highlights for me included 1) Brandi's pants. They were awesome and way sexy, and although i have wished that i hated penises for some time now, she and her fucking pants made me want to really make a more diligent, concerted effort at lesbianism. I mean, there are so many practical reasons (men are a sub-species, men completely lack the mandatory ability to multi-task, men--well, mostly just the one-- get me pregnant all the goddamn time, men are emotionally retarded, ETC...), but by and large i just can't help myself. I like men (ok, man) a LOT. But these pants made me think that maayyybe i could get over it. It could be like those retarded clinics where all the Christian super-fags go and try to become Un-Gay and end up marrying lesbians and having three kids. I love this concept, and think that perhaps, theoretically, it could work the other way around, using these hottt lesbo pants as a subliminal night meditation.

2) She whipped out a rousing rendition of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" that had me in irrepressible tears without any warning. As a kid only a couple years older than Georgia, i used to spend HOURS on end in my room alone in a yellow tutu (yes) listening to the original Judy Garland version and singing along. Over and over and over and over. My mom tells me it was pretty much constant. Evidently i would have made an amazing tranny drag queen. Therapy (or, hey, how bout some friends, mom?) might have been in order, but i guess it was pretty cute at the time. At any rate, the song was so so beautiful, and it reminded me of my childhood and my mom--and watching my daughter sway along had me crying like a little bitch instantaneously. You are urged to do the same:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76bQr8hQOls

3) As part of her encore, she and her band ROCKED Johnny Cash's Folsum Prison Blues. It was smokin', truly. Her whole performance, her voice--just so explosive and awesome. I realized how terribly i miss seeing great live music. It is probably one of my favorite things to do on Earth, and i have been so busy procreating that i have hardly seen a single show the past few years. And taking a kid along proved to be not only doable, but a lovely time as well.

The only thing that would have made it better, perhaps, would have been larger amounts of champagne and my old buddy Raybyrne--my favorite person to go to a concert with. He's not unlike an adult male version of Georgia at a show. He becomes the show, and people are entranced, myself included. But having GA there was just as wonderful. In fact, the second round of tears spouted when Ms. Carlile finished the show with Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'. Jeff Buckley's cover of that song is one of my favorites of all time, and Brandi's was just about as lovely. It reminds me of my crazy, tumultuous, beautiful twenties, and my crazy, beautiful, charmed life... and the wild chain of events that led me to that spot, with my darling girl now peacefully listening with her beautiful little head on my husband's shoulder. I am one lucky mama.

Total Eclipse of My Anus

2010-07-08T02:38:00.006-06:00

Oh man. Where do i begin? How can i even wrap words around this one? I suppose i must begin by unveiling the raging adolescent homosexual within me with the admission of Twilight Guilt. I read them, i read them all, and even possibly neglected one or more of my children during the more "angsty" chapters. I read the second book immediately after putting down the first one in disgust and continued through all of them in the space of a week. I came out with the sinking, confused feeling of wanting to fuck a non-existant, barely-legal vampire man (a non-existant man, for that matter: "Oh, Bella, you're my world, ohhh it's so hard doing the right thing ohhh i am richer than Oprah ohhh let me protect your virtue blehhhhh"--undead or not, this man has never walked the earth...) and knowing that shit ain't happenin', ever. This is much akin to the pouty frowns brought upon after the Harry Potter books when i realized that the acceptance letter brought by my owl was never coming, and i would never attend Hogwarts (or ANY school for witchcraft and wizardry, for that matter!!!). Such a buzzkill.

Next, i should point out that the country/worldwide phenomenon of Twilight is enhanced significantly here in Salt Lake City, the Capri Pant Capital of the Universe. For the zero of you who do not know, the series was penned by a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Premarital-Angst. And boy, do they have this shit nailed (pun). The Mormons will evidently do EVERYTHING but have premarital sex, which makes terrific fodder for angst-laden vampire novels. I learned this 'the hard way'. Or at least 'the weird way'. One time, whilst in the midst of a bikini wax, my waxer suggested i might wince less if i put some Anal-Ease on my ladyparts prior to the waxing:
-"I beg your pardon?" i tilted my head slightly upward.
-"That's what all my LDS clients do, " she calmly replied.
-"Did you just say Anal-Ease?" Perhaps i misheard her.
-"Ya, you know, like for anal sex?"
-"Mormons? Anal sex???"
-"Well ya, cause, you know, it's not actual sex."
-"I beg to differ."
-"Well you know, they can remain chaste in the church and still...you know. They do that 'soaking' thing too."
-"WHAT???" (Do not forget i am having hair ripped from what feels like my soul at this point.)
-"Soaking. It's when they don't move. They just...stay there. Still."
-"Sweet Jesus."
-"Ya. Put your leg on my shoulder."

And Stephenie Meyer has all these Mormon bitches creaming their capris, let me tell you. For the New Moon premiere awhile back, my 30-something-mom buddies and i decided to get our gay on and join every single tween and morbidly obese person in the entire valley at the Megaplex. "We're gay too!" we might as well have screamed. It was bedlam. So packed with losers of varying degrees you wouldn't believe it. At one point right before the show, one of the obese audience members (whose largesse prevented her/it from actually occupying a movie seat and was forced to sit on the outside of the aisle in the handicapped zone) actually started howling. Oh my God. And then she/it yelled, "Free popcorn for everybody!!!" Fortunately i had had enough wine at that point in the night to yell back, "Chill it, Howlin' Wolf, you don't need any more goddamn popcorn!"

Anyhoo, i love love love going to the movies no matter what, and i most love going with my 9-year-old, Beau. It gives us some rare time alone together, and his company is especially appreciated when he acts as the artifice behind which i hide my utter nerdiness. Like when i'm seeing any of the Harry Potter movies for the third time in the theater, for example. The time i went alone, i fended off some "nerd alert!" looks by casually tossing my head and mentioning to the family in line behind me, "Yeah, my kids LOVE these movies." They smiled and nodded, utterly but politely aware of the fact that i was there completely solo.

Tonight was similar, although it is perhaps slightly less convincing to strangers that a 9-year-old boy wants to check out Taylor Lautner's ripped abs and piggy face. (Team Edward all the way, bitches.) And the movie basically sucked my delicious balls. It was entertaining, and i liked the fighting alright, but dang. It was even a little too gay for me. The best part, however, was the scene where Jacob and Edward have a heart to heart in a tiny tent in the mountains. I am sure you can see where i am headed here, but i'll say it anyway: My deepest desire was for Jacob to go totally fucking Heath Ledger on Edward's Gyllenhaal ass and get it over with. That is the only possible way it could've been gayer than it already was, and it would've been far more straightforward and enjoyable.

Oh yeah, and speaking of gay, i forgot to mention the buncha Mormons (who else?) sitting behind us. Apparently this was a big event for the lot of them, and they wanted to be sure they got some GREAT pictures. So right before the movie the husbands stood in the front of the theater and took group shots of their wives sitting in the theater seats until "Oh! Uh-oh, the memory card's full!" said one husband. "Oh my God," said Beau. "That is the most annoying thing in the WORLD. What is the matter with them?"

In short, see this movie if you: A) are a Mormon fucknut, B) you are bringing your tweenage daughter you are attempting to keep chaste via vampire undead unsex, or C), like me, you simply have no self-control whatsoever. The best part of the whole movie? The Harry Potter Deathly Hallows preview. Totally righteous.

So Sustainable

2010-07-07T20:17:00.006-06:00

Like any self-respecting white (mostly), liberal (mostly), middle-class American, i paid a visit to the Farmer's Market on Saturday afternoon. Dave was home with two of the kids, so i brought the two-year-old, Georgia, along for some quality time with a bunch of whiteys and their fucking dogs. Also, i really wanted some fresh peas, as the availability of fresh peas is short-lived, and i love those little guys.

While waiting approximately 45 minutes for a woman to vacate her parking space (having to collapse her reusable, recycled plastic wheeled shopping basket after slowwwly and deliberately emptying it of her reusable, recycled shopping bags full of organic local vegetables and slowwwly trying to somehow fit it into her wee Prius, then slowwwwly attempting to untangle her baby from the convoluted web of her organic cotton baby sling....) i was honked at by the line of cars forming behind me, which i actually reveled in--i heretofore believed myself to be the only person who honks in Salt Lake City and as an East Coaster, i miss that kind of grit. I happily flipped them off and pulled into the Prius's spot. During that time i'm pretty sure i burned enough fuel idling in my seven-seater Volvo to negate that woman's owning of recycled, reusable goods, or possibly her even owning a Prius.

On to the market, which was starting to wind down by this point, i grabbed the last of the pea supply from a local grower at the nice price of $6 for a whole plastic grocery bag full. (Yes, i forgot my reusable bag and would be forced to endure the judgmental stares of more "conscious" market-goers...). Time for a celebratory latte. The little stand that sells them here has what i think are some of the the best iced lattes in town, and unfortunately they don't have a store save for this little kiosk at the market.

Latte in hand, we spotted a tomato stand with just a few heirlooms left. I approached the seller and asked his price--the 'maters were looking pretty shoddy, and as a home 'mater-grower myself, i wondered how he could have a harvest at all this early in the season, especially with the ridiculously extended winter we've had this year. "I start them at Christmas," he told me. "I have a hydroponic, sustainable greenhouse setup down in Sandy--i use a low-water drip system, totally sustainable, all natural and organic symbiotic heirloom growing, worm castings, blah blah blah i'm a big fucking hippie with no job blaaaah." "These look like total shit," i thought to myself.

-"These must be the end of your supply--they look pretty blighted," i said to the vendor.
-"Well," he said, "that is all part of the natural process of organic--"
-"Come on, dude," i cut in. "I grow tomatoes, too."
-"Um, earwigs, " he muttered. "I have an earwig problem."
-"Yeah, ok. So how much for those two?"

He discounted the tomatoes, and i bought two small ones, and thankfully another customer showed up before i had to listen to the rest of his spiel about how someday his (5-year-old) daughter will have an Organic Hydroponic Vegetable Empire in the Salt Lake Valley. Yeah, P.S. we live in the goddamned desert dude.

I realize i sound like some sort of callous, carnivorous, Wal-Mart-going, Arab-slaying, Republican fuckwad here, and maybe that is partly true. But not really. (i did have a latte, right?) I love to support local and organic causes, i just find these people endlessly entertaining.

Back to the food: as the market was closing down, GA and i headed across the street to Caputo's, a delightful Italian specialty market i love and can barely afford. En route i ran into my friend Adam Curfew and his friend Jeff, who were, in fantastic Farmer's Market Sustainable form, on bikes. I love talking with Adam, except that he is the brewmaster for Squatter's, and therefore he reminds me of beer--this is difficult for me to deal with when i am pregnant and would enjoy a beer or twelve immensely. It's exactly like talking to a giant, charming beer. We chatted for awhile while GA hung out and held my latte for me. By the end of the conversation said latte was all ice and i'd only had a few swallows. No nap.

At any rate, Caputo's sells these chocolates that are so exquisite i cannot even convey...[insert Homer Simpson drooling noise here]. They are by Chocolatier Blue and are $2/piece. Check out the site--every piece is like a jewel. In fact, eating actual rubies or emeralds would be only slightly more expensive, but not nearly as delicious:


http://www.chocolatierblue.com/new_collection.html

That guy Chris Blue is my hero i think. The passionfruit caramel is my personal favorite, and they were out, so to fill the cavernous void in my soul, i moved on to the cheese counter to spend something like $42 on cheese and Creminelli sausage. Dinner was a delightful cheese plate consisting of the sausage, bread, some gourmet mustard, an aged Gruyere, a soft and runny La Tur, and to top it off, this awesome Boxing Cheddar from, where else? Costco. NOM NOM NOM.

Shitstorm

2010-06-27T13:47:00.000-06:00

Soooo...i was going to blog about pasta, but life has taken a turn for the clusterfucked. Against all laws of science and nature and birth control (but not religion...thanks, Mormondom!!!), Dave and i are expecting our FOURTH child. I cannot believe this. We have a nine-year-old, a baby who turned one yesterday and a two-year-old who i believe to somehow be the direct offspring of the late Janis Joplin and Oscar the Grouch. I feel sick as hell, so food posts may be affected by extreme aversions and a sense of smell better than our dog's. *SIGH*. Let's hope the Celestial Kingdom has a Target...

Visconti House/local dentist

2010-06-11T23:24:00.007-06:00

I need my teeth cleaned. Oh no wait, I want lasagna. Oh no wait, has anyone seen my fucking socks?

Happy birthday Ashley! Let's celebrate! Visconti House. You pasta-filled freakshow. Our only warning was that Helen, a dear and lovely friend with a flare for the retarded, suggested it via email using phrases such as "Total hole in the wall Italian" and "quite hilarious and fun". (Recent Helen-related events involve her trying to squeeze me into some acid-wash jeans against my will, and pissing off a boat last used by David Hasselhoff into a frigid, subzero lake and subsequently losing at least half my anus as a result.)

Although the facade of Visconti House looks EXACTLY like my dentist's office, or possibly a more discreet abortion clinic, the food was actually acceptable--fantastic minestrone and a very good cannelloni that i was urged to order after the Server-With-The-Questionable-Eyebrows told me that they were out of the lasagna i wanted. "I ate it!" he cordially divulged. The other ladies evidently had sub-par meals, including gnocchi that was more of a mashed potato mess con sauce, and some greyish meatballs that had apparently been involved in the same "work-related accident" as the owner, God bless him.

But the real treat here at Visconti House is for those who might need to relieve themselves during dinner. One does not generally expect a full size shower with glass doors in a public restaurant bathroom. Nor does one expect, should there be a bathing facility, someone's SOCKS to be hanging in said shower. Furthermore, should there be hanging socks, one's only hope is that they not have mold growing all the fuck over them. No such luck. Our friend Michelle took this shot with her iPhone and emailed it to me with the subject "Secret Ingredient". Buon appetito!