Month: December 2009

Just how "natural" are we talkin’ here?

The other day, while out and about, The Good Man bought himself a bag of cough drops to try to quell the dry cough the endless exposure to indoor heating provides.

Plus, we gave the house a good cleaning over the weekend and kicked up a bunch of dust that has us both sneezing and coughing.

After purchase and back in the car, he opened up the package and popped one in the ol’ cake hole.

After a cough or two myself, I said, “may I have one?” to which he readily agreed.

I grabbed the package and flipped it over to review the ingredients.

Yep. I’ve become one of those people.

Anyhow, I try to avoid corn syrup. It’s just my own thang. Doesn’t have to be yours.

So I read off the ingredients list aloud and got to “natural flavors.”

Now, what in the sam hell are “natural flavors?”

This is the part where I make it hard for The Good Man to share a life with me.

I turn and say to him, “I hate when they list ‘natural flavors,’ I mean, what is that? It could be anything! Are these cough drops poop flavored? Poop is a natural flavor!”

The Good Man turned slowly and gave me a look and a slow head nod.

This is a look that in going on five years together I’ve come to understand means, essentially, “While you are technically correct, it’s going to be better for me in the long run if I don’t dignify what just came out of that sideways mind of yours with a response. So I’ll just nod.”

We nodded at each other for a long moment, and since my “poop is a natural flavor” just hung there in the air, so to speak, there really was no good segue.

I chose then to open the pack of cherry and whatever-the-hell-other-natural flavored cough drops and fired one into the ol’ cake hole.

It tasted nasty. I spit it back out after a minute.

“Natural flavors” are gross. And possibly poop.

I’m just sayin’.

(these are the offenders in question)

Oh, here we go again

So the weather has turned a little frosty here in the Bay Area.

And I really do mean frosty, temps dipped into the low 30’s overnight (unusual for us). We had some freezing rain and snow as low as 500 feet.

Fer crimeny’s sakes, you’d think it was winter or something!

Oh. Nevermind.

Anyhoo, you’ll recall in February of this year, I was beset upon by menopausal coworker harpies screeching to me about my lack of a jacket.

This seems to be an *issue* for people. The fact that I don’t like to wear jackets.

So it cropped up again yesterday. Less screeching, less menopausal.

It was the kind concern of my husband. He wasn’t being a harpy, he was looking out for me, which I appreciate. However…

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

And then later.

“Really? You aren’t cold?”

Well, to be honest, yes, I was a skosh cold. For the aggregate of exactly two minutes we were not in the warm car and not yet inside an often too hot building.

For the remaining twenty-three hours and fifty eight minutes of my day, I was in a climate controlled environment with plenty of heaters to keep me toasty. Actually, way too toasty.

So, what I have here, feeling momentary cold, is but a small problem. The big problem, staying warm, is solved.

I can tolerate being cold for about two minutes. (it’s not like I live somewhere where it is SERIOUSLY cold like Canada or Alaska or Switzerland or something!)

I really, truly dislike being inside and dressed too warm and then I have to take layers off and then I’m schlepping around my stuff and worried about leaving a hat or scarf or something somewhere.

I’m forgetful enough with the stuff I do have to carry around, why add to my misery?

I guess I’m the kind of person that will focus on the 98% problem, not the 2% problem.

Or…in this case, two minutes equals .1% of a problem.

So I’m a 99.9% girl, I suppose.

I have no problem with others wearing jackets. I don’t ask people wearing a heavy coat on a summer day “aren’t you hot?”

I suppose if I’m dumb enough to get caught out without a jacket in a really cold situation…well, then my dad was right when he said (only sometimes, when I misbehaved) that I was too dumb to come in out of a rainstorm.

Then again, have you ever frolicked in a really nice New Mexico summer rainstorm? A bit of heaven, I assure you…

But I digress…..

Oh…and as a final thought…the radio stations last night were all warning about outdoor plants freezing and to take precautions. They talked about going to a garden center to buy plant coverings….

I’m sorry, have these people NOT heard of using your sheets and blankets and garbage bags? Do you *really* need to pay big bucks to buy a plant center approved “plant cover”???

What do I expect from a metropolitan area filled with people who will pay someone $100 to put chains on their car when they go skiing.

I believe if you aren’t smart enough to put chains on your car, you shouldn’t be driving in snow.

There. I said it.

This, from the girl who isn’t smart enough to come in out of the rain.

I am owned by a man named Joe

Oh man.

Lemme just say it again, oooooh man.

I have become such a little b*tch for Trader Joe’s.

Gad, I love that place.

I never thought I’d become one of those people who are all about Trader Joe’s…but I am.

Well, it all started about last year when the ol’ economic climate got a little weird.

And The Good Man and I started looking for all sorts of ways to save a buck here and there.

We’ve cancelled our cable (buh bye Comcast! I giggled when I made that call!), reduced our home phone services, got discounts on the cell phones, turn off lights at every turn, keep the heat low, and then started taking a look at grocery bills.

Well, we knew we could improve our food costs and not sacrifice quality.

So I agreed to start cooking more. It helps stoke my creative fires, saves us a couple bucks, and is awfully nice to have a home cooked meal at the end of the day.

But if I was going to do this, it needed to be easy.

So The Good Man got a cookbook from the Library called “Cooking with all Things Trader Joe’s.”

The authors, Wona Miniati and Deana Gunn say they use Trader Joe’s as their sous chef, since there are so many prepared items ready to incorporate into dinner plans.

So I picked a couple recipes from that book and found them both easy to make and tasty to eat. We read labels carefully to be sure we’re getting good quality stuff (we try to keep both corn syrup and wheat to a minimum due to food sensitivities for both of us.)

And *then* we found out that Wona and Deana had yet a NEW book coming out!

It’s called “The Trader Joe’s Companion and Wona was coming to a local bookstore for an instore event.

Oh man…this got me hooked.

Wona whipped up a couple easy cold dishes right there in the bookstore, threw out a couple other tasty ideas and when we spoke with her, we found her so kind and generous with her time.

She just basically fully convinced me to embrace Trader Joe’s.

What sealed the deal is when I went in with a list to support six dinners, breakfasts for a week, snacks and lunches for me.

I walked out with five full bags of groceries, good quality stuff, and I’d spent just $120.

Wow. For about sixteen or seventeen meals plus snacks. Not bad.

Now, I’m ALL ABOUT Trader Joe’s. Yup. I don’t do things halfway.

If you are curious, last night for dinner I made Shepard’s Pie with turkey left from Thanksgiving, a bag of veggies from TJ’s, made gravy from their chicken stock packets, and frozen mashed taters.

It was *delicious*!

Other greatest hits?

Almond crusted pork loin
Herb crusted Tilapia
And my own lime chicken green chile enchilada recipe

Oh little bit of heaven, each one!

I’m happy making the food, The Good Man is happy eating ’em and it’s all good all the way around.

Thanks Joe!

I have the powa!

Watch out for me. I am potent. I have powers even I don’t understand.

The power of mah mind.

Oh yes.

See, on Monday, I went for a walk over at the Stanford Dish, a pretty grueling up and down hilly walk that knocks the wind out of me and makes me sweat. Generally The Dish humbles me very much.

It’s hard for me to complete the Dish. It takes effort. A lot of effort.

On Monday, I had to stop five times during the journey to catch my breath. It’s embarrassing.

Exercising at The Dish is rather popular with the beautiful and healthy people of the surrounding Palo Alto area (home to Stanford University, rich AND smart people), so as I go schlumping along, I often encounter blond, beautiful and much more attractive than me-type people.

So, there I was on Monday, a nice day, walking along in my old faded yoga pants, a loose shirt and a grimace. I’d already wheezed up the first hill and made my first stop as my lungs were burning.

But damnit man, I was *doing* it.

As I continued to walk at an ok pace, I was passed by a young man wearing one of those shiny new tight, moisture wicking, Nike logo emblazoned shirts. He’d paired this with fancy running shorts, sparkling white shoes, fresh iPod strapped to his arm and the perfect runners stance. Hell, he didn’t even have the rictus you see on the face of most joggers.

No. He was a blond chiseled sample of running perfection. Elbows bent at the perfect angle, strides the right distance. All perfect. He passed me (wide, middle aged, out of shape) with a snotty air and as he cruised past me, he gave two dye job blondes with store bought boobies a long, meaningful look.

Ok, I’m not too proud to admit it. I got snarky. In my head.

“Loser! I hope you trip and fall! I hope you get a cramp in your leg! I hope you gas out on the next hill!” I thought to myself.

Then he was gone over the next rise and it was me and the Bee Gees on my iPod shuffle. And another hill to climb.

So I trudged along.

Fifteen minutes later, I caught up to the guy.

He’d gassed out. He was walking. Slowly. I passed him. I didn’t even look his way. I just kept walking. Smugly.

Later, I encountered a woman who was really pert and fit. She was walking ahead of me on a hill where I had to stop twice. She stopped not at all.

“Well aren’t YOU so fit!” I thought in my tacky brain. “Bite me! Just….oooh, I hope you get tired! Oh no, you are soooo healthy!”

And when I finally got to the top of the hill, guess who I found standing there, breathing hard?

She’d made it all the way up the hill, but then had to stop.

I passed her too.

Oh the mind power of a snarky out of shape girl with determination on her mind!

I smited them down!

Or…maybe…The Dish is just a really challenging route.

You know, I always thought that whole tortoise and the hare story was a bunch of bollocks. A story told to slow pokes like me to engender some sort of hope.

But maybe…just maybe, there is some truth to that fable?

Dear Tareq and Michaele Salahi,

Since I have now taken over the PR storytelling duties for Tiger, you’re next.

So, herewith, five reasonable and acceptable stories to explain your behavior.

Pick one, say it, and then please, on behalf of everyone (I’m asking nicely) go away.

Here we go:

1) Well, you know, that Tareq (Michaele rolls her eyes here), he will *never* ask anyone for directions. I told him I didn’t think turning left back there was the right direction, but he swore up and down this was the right way. We were supposed to be at a nice dinner party over at the Farklebergs. You know the Farklebergs? Lovely couple. Anyhow, I have no idea how we ended up here. Could we get a ride to the Farkleberg party? Margie will be beside herself if we are late! And I know Tareq doesn’t want to miss her famous mini quiches!

2) What? Where am I? Who am I? I was abducted by aliens. The big greenish gray ones. They came into my room, forced me to put on this tux/dress and then there was a bright light. I don’t remember what happened next. When I came to, I was shaking the president’s hand. I really have no idea what happened! I think they may have probed me.

3) Oh heck, haw haw haw, this is all one big practical joke! I mean, everyone was in on it, c’mon, this is all a big press stunt for that reality show (which I’ll refrain from naming)! No seriously, they paid us well and we donated it all to charity. No one snuck past the Secret Service, it was all planned out. Everything is *fine*, hasn’t this all been a great big hoot?

4) Look, now that you have totally blown our cover…we can only say that we are part of a top secret black hole government project and we *may* have perfected the ability to beam ourselves through the space time continuum. It’s not totally perfect yet, Michaele’s face wasn’t quite so pulled back and *tight* when we beamed up, but we’re getting close to a technology that will BLOW YOUR MIND. That’s all I can say. Hush, hush you know.

5) Tiger’s dad told us to. From the grave. It was all very mystical.

And there you have it.

Now scootch along. We’ve other media whores to deal with. Where’s Lindsey or Brittney or Paris? We’re due for a stunt from the professional crazies!

Anyhow, hugs and kisses!

Your pal,

Karen