and the winner is... (there's nothing to win, but nothing to lose either)

i was watching this tv show the other day about a loser. this man is broke, divorced, and lives in a tent in his own backyard. so naturally he attends a seminar on how to employ his natural talents in a profitable way. except that the only innate 'winning tool' this guy could come up with about himself was the fact that he's hung.

right. because the only direction this show can go is for him to become a hooker.

so it got me thinking about what my winning tool was and how i could put it to work for me, without involving prostitution in any way.

the first thing that came to mind is that i'm a decent cook. but then i realized that a million other people can also do that as well. not to mention that i'm lacking both the massive start-up capital and spare hundred hours or so a week needed to ensure that your culinary skills will ultimately become profitable.

i can also knit pretty well. but again, a trillion other people can do that. and i'm way too lazy to maintain an etsy account. besides, i'm also learning that yes, you can have too many throw blankets. and then, maybe i can't knit so well because i can only make things that are square or rectangular. this is what happened when i tried to make a hat for the fuss:



it was a little big.

so what the fuck else am i good at? (besides throwing unnecessary sweary words into sentences)

my moment of clarity has arrived.

i am an awesome negotiator. or i guess you could say i make good bribes. but i like negotiator better, it just sounds slightly more badass.

this is a skill i've had to hone over the years. it wasn't always so sublimely refined as it is today. when i was in college, the power of my skills used to even blow my own mind. like, for example, when i would go out to the bar with a fiver in my pocket and come home wasted and with about thirteen bucks stuffed into my pack of marlboro reds.

there was also the time that my piece of shit nissan sentra exploded on a major interstate, at 11:00 at night, on my birthday, in those dark days before cell phones. somehow i managed to convince the state trooper, who found me crying in a ball fifty feet from my smoldering vehicle, to drive me the forty plus miles to my house instead of following his orders to drop me at the place where they were going to tow my car to. he even let me use the radar thing to clock speeders. it looked like a tv remote from the eighties.

as i matured, so did my ability to reign in my power.

just this morning i successfully convinced the fuss that playing with the maraca i made out of plastic cups, hot pink duct tape, and quinoa is way more entertaining than chewing the nest of wires underneath the desk.



as anyone who's ever had the pleasure of a teething nine-month-old's company can tell you, this is not an easy thing to accomplish.

and if you wanted even more evidence of my winning tool at work, i will now predict that i will become, literally, a winning tool over at yo mama's blog. i'm pretty sure i can convince miss yvonne to send me a care package of insult gum, a handmade card, and maybe some cookies by spreading linky love for all you out there in blogland. i know you want to be a winner too, and you just may be if you head over and check out her contest.

whew. all this talking about myself has tired me out. what about you, dear reader, what's your winning tool*? i ask in part because i care about you and want to get to know you a little better, but also because i want to get some ideas for different ways i can exploit things to make bags of money. alright then, let's hear it.



*please don't creep me out by being perverted. i may be using a dirty pun, but i'm hoping for clean answers.

there's no segue good enough for this mess

i'm back blog, did you miss me?! whatever, not like i have anything earth shattering to talk about, just a few random stories of weirdness. but before i get started, i have to send a huge thanks to kristine for hooking me up with a funny and nostalgic post and reminding me that my shoulders used to be real bony. and also a hello and thanks for stopping by(!) to the new readers that she may have lured over here with promises of who knows what.

after my much needed mini vaca to cape cod, i returned home to jump right back into my routine of work and more work. saturday night i was catering a wedding for about 300 people. the decor looked strikingly similar to the wedding scene in beetleguese, but the blood red calla lilies and black lamps on the tables wasn't the weird part. what struck me as being a little over the top, not to mention an unnecessary mixing of genres, was the troupe of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.

those little guys were lingering in the kitchen, watching us plate up 300 pain-in-the-ass tiny little plates of a dessert sampler, in full costume. when i first saw them i almost giggled and clapped, but then i realized just how out of place they were. they didn't talk much. in fact, they all looked extremely bored and put out. maybe that was their defense against the question we were all dying to ask, 'what exactly are you guys going to be doing here?'

i never found out. by the time my boss said 'aqui, chula, take some chickens for your husband' their act had yet to start.

maybe that's for the better anyway, those fuckers always scared the shit out of me in the movie.



as i related the story of my night to b, he reminded me about another uncomfortable food-related situation. it must have been last summer, because i was in that 'i'm so pregnant my baby might come out if i fart too loudly' condition, and also because we were at the hospital for the baby classes. being unable to waddle too far, we ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria. b ordered two hot dogs, thinking that that was a reasonable request.

what he got looked like this:



i know that's a piss poor job of photoshopping two hot dogs into one bun, but it really was the best i could find. no, what b got was actually worse. it was two sorry looking naked dogs nestled into one bun, but they gave him two. so on his plate were two buns and four dogs. the chick behind the counter looked at him like he had three heads when he asked for two more buns.

the real humor was the fact that he ate the weird dogs out of desperate hunger.

he felt so dirty afterwards, like as if someone had made him watch a bad porn or something else comparably naughty.

he made me promise not to tell anyone that he really ate the weird dogs.

sorry b.

even more bizarre than the double dog incident was the first time i met bill murray.



bill is a good friend of the restaurateur i used to work for. he was in and out of the different kitchens of the restaurants my former boss owned, and he even showed up to our summer picnic one year and played on our softball team.

as you can imagine, he's a total wacko in person. not only does he look about thirty years older than he really is, but he dresses in those old polyester blazers and shirts that look like the stereotypical garb an old, bumbling geezer would wear. i don't know if it's a deliberate effort or not, but it only adds to his oddball persona that he's developed over the years.

so the first time i met him i was working at my station, getting ready for dinner service. i was so intent on chopping scallions or whatever the fuck it was that i didn't even see him until he was about four inches from my face on the other side of the pass line (the shelf where you put plates for pick up). my boss introduced me to him and he mumbled something indiscernible and stuck two fingers at me through the pass, at about chin height.

two fingers for me to shake in some weird alternate version of a handshake.

i didn't even want to touch him, i almost yelled out loud 'what the fuck?!'

but i saw my boss nod subtly at the fingers and i just took a deep breath and did it. i shook his fingers and said some 'nice to meet you' crap, all the while wondering if this was something he did with everyone, or did he think that i couldn't handle exposure to all five digits on his right hand.

not that i dislike the man, but come on. two fingers?!

i still feel like scowling and shifting my weight uncomfortably when i think about it.

and now, some cuteness for a little balance:



little miss was way too annoyed about not being able to crawl after the dead jellyfish washed up on the beach to co-operate for a nice photo shoot. but these two in their tankinis was worth me stepping on a little dirty jelly and slimey seaweed.


of course, getting trapped by a rapidly rising tide with a stroller laden like a packing mule might have been a little too much. thanks miss, for at least not protesting to being carted over an acre of beach rocks while mommy scrambled for saftey.

I Love Kristine the Best*

HEY EVERYBODY!

It's me, Kristine! From Wait in the Van?

Sigh. Moving along.

I had a really great idea about what to write for Lana's blog today, but I had the idea at night right before I fell asleep. And I am SO not one of those people who keeps a pen a paper on her nightstand. Hell, I don't even really have a nightstand; it's more like a cardboard box. So, instead I tell myself, "Oh, hell yes, that's hilarious Kristine! You're so amazing and funny and gorgeous and skinny...and....SNORE." Then I forget.

So I went through some of my crap. You know, that I keep in my cardboard-box-nightstand, and I found THIS:


And I figured, since Lana's out of town and all, we could totally talk about her behind her back! HA! And by that, I mean, she'll totally be in the loop and reading it and listening and shit because this is HER blog. So it'll be pretty much just pretend. And full of love. Because we love Lana. And that part's NOT pretend. YAY! Rainbows!

This picture was probably taken in like 1996 or something. We were apparently sitting on the floor in my bedroom in the house my family rented during my middle-high school years. It was the only free-standing house I lived in until I graduated from college. Don't you feel sorry for me?

Well don't, because we're here for LANA. I like this picture so much because it captures quite a bit of what defined us as angsty teen punk shitheads. I mean, do you SEE my room? And those clothes? Including the shirt I'm actually wearing? Sal's Boutique, baby**. We were all class.

Also, I'm not wearing my glasses. Neither is Lana. Big deal, right? Probably contact lenses! Um, no. More like, probably we thought we were cool enough to walk around blind because SEEING ISN'T REALLY A BIG DEAL. And if we were in fact wearing contacts, Lana's were probably covered in fungus (changing them is optional) and mine had probably fallen off my eyeball. Hey, dry eyes also happen without herbal supplement, smart alecs.

This was also the house where I considered myself cool enough to throw a party while my parents were away. And by "throw a party" I mean, invite a full band to set up in my living room and let the place get totally out of control while I get tipsy on 2.5 beers. When my mother came home the next afternoon, she found an empty in the oven, the heat cranked to 80, and a missing block of mozarella cheese. We really knew how to party.

So, let's cheers to Lana, the cheese-loving-contact-abusing-formerly-man-clothes-wearing blogger who is totally vacationing WITHOUT ME right now.

Love her.

__________

*You can tell this is not written by Lana because it's properly capitalized and stuff. So I don't feel all that badly for making her pretend to declare her love for me.

**Um, or you could also call it The Salvation Army Thriftstore.

i forget what sunshine looks like

tomorrow i will be on my way to the beach. except that i probably won't spend much time at the beach with all this never ending rain and unsummery cold air.

little miss and i are road-tripping it to visit some fam out by cape cod. i may yet still parade her around in her new pink and white polka dot tankini, because i don't foresee another beach trip before she outgrows that piece. and also because my cousin bought her daughter the same one so of course we've been talking about them playing together in matching tankinis for about two months now.

suck it up girlies, parents are allowed to make you uncomfortable for their own entertainment, that's what you're here for. and besides, playing in the rain is almost like swimming in the ocean, right? close enough.

oh, and let's not forget about the concert i will subject my kid to on the three plus hour drive. i never could carry a tune, but i sure can have fun car singing. at least she'll sleep through half of it, and when she is awake for my singing, she can't talk yet so i don't have to worry about any verbal objections.

my set list might include some of the following, in no particular order:

- the entire we are scientists album, starting with this one



- weezer, circa the blue album. i can never have too much of a good thing.

- anything by ryan adams.

- the shout out louds, playing this one no less than four times




of course once we get to the lovely land of the green monster, i will promptly turn off the music, roll down my windows (no matter what the weather) and blast the yankees game on the radio. unless they're losing, then i'll just mutter about it to myself.

and that's basically all i need for a good road trip. luckily i have an ipod full of 90s rock so i'm sure i'll find plenty of soundgarden, smashing pumpkins, and toadies thrown into my lineup as well.

as for little miss, how could she not enjoy that? actually, the way i see it, i'm doing her a favor by not playing boring classical or dreadfully repetitive children's music in the car. i think she's only pretending to like 'i've been working on the railroad' anyway.

one thing i know little miss does love, is kristine and her masterful paint skills (and also my segue skills), so it only felt natural that she should guest blog here at the pearl hiding spot while i'm away. i personally think k is hilarious, and i think most of you already read her blog, but for those of you who don't, you should. go here. but also, come back here, please.

i can't vouch for content, but i'm pretty sure there will be words and there may or may not be a picture posted in my absence sometime this week.

i shall return, hopefully with some interestingness this weekend, perhaps with an update on hook-up chef. happy first week of summer y'all!!

bambi doesn't want to see your junk, and neither do i

i love to go hiking, whether by myself, with monster by my side, or just with some friends. i have been to many local parks and mountains nearby over the course of my years and have almost always enjoyed the feeling of being close to nature.

there was that one incident at weird mountain, but that's not where i'm going with this today.

no, today i'd like to talk about how hiking can be a pleasant experience, with your clothes on.

this morning, the one article that jumped out of my monitor and slapped me in the face was the one in which i read 'hikers who prefer clothes are not happy.'

now, i'm all about letting people decide whatever lame annual events they want to participate in, but just because there's a naked hiking day, doesn't mean that you can hate on me for wanting to walk through the woods with my clothes on.

i love natural crap as much as the next person, but you'll never find me using the summer solstice as an excuse to pretend i'm chilling with pan or diana, traipsing around in the buff.

and don't even try to pull that whole 'but it's easier to spot deer ticks' argument with me either. i can check for ticks just fine by pulling up my pant leg.

no, you silly nude hikers, you have no grounds to label me. in fact, it is i who can call you names. how about pedophile? do you like that one? because that's what you're going to be known as if someone spies your junk swinging in the breeze if they happen to be out hiking with their children.

if communing with nature was something that made you feel strongly enough to free yourself of your material shell on one specific day, than perhaps you should look into one of those off-the-grid habitats where your blatant disregard for social norms will be more accepted. that way you can go all out, literally i guess, if you wanted to.

and now, because i can, i will show you some pics of hiking + clothes + happiness.






even monster is smiling in these pics. you can't argue with that happiness.

fried = fancy

what do four culinary school graduates do for fun in their spare time? curious you should ask, i was just about to tell you anyway.

what we definitely don't do is go to trendy restaurants and analyze the various components and techniques used in our meals. instead we get together at places like this where it's ok to throw your peanut shells on the floor and the house specialty is fried pickles.

oh yes. you heard that right, fried pickles, and they're fucking fantastic.

sometimes it's the ease of junk food that lets people enjoy themselves more than the expectation of culinary wonders ever could.

you can have your fancy dressing-up and sterling flatware and countless courses of tiny things. i'll always prefer foods that can be eaten with one hand allowing me to hold a beer in the other.

i think that's what the marketing suits had in mind behind this gem:


the 'big az chicken' can be found in corner stores all over this great land of ours. its simplicity lends a hand in its success. sometimes, people just want a big ass chicken sandwich.

how could you argue with that logic?

and now, if you'll excuse me, i'm off to work where i will prepare thousands of hor d'ourves for people all dressed up in uncomfortable clothes.

i miss you too!

hi blog! it'sa meeeee, maaaaaaaaaarriiiooooo!!! no, it's not. it's just plain old me, no cartoon plumber in sight.

it's been a while since we've spent some quality time together. i'm starting to feel like you're another kid that i have to take care of and nurture and shit. fuck that, i have enough responsibility in my life. i need to get back to the way things used to be, where we could tell silly stories and just enjoy a few laughs. no pressure.

over the past week there were a few things that i wish i could have shared with you, but for some reason i don't think i could get it together enough to spend more than five minutes at my computer. and when i did manage to find my way to the internet, it was only to play my neverending scrabble battle.

i thought for sure i was going to be able to write a nice cohesive post about safety coffins and those wackos out in arizona who buried themselves alive to see what it would feel like. talking about how bullshit it was that they had flashlights and sleeping bags in the graves would have done all the work for me.

instead, i'll just give you a picture.


then there's also the story about my unfortunate luck to be in the walk-in at work, carefully placing chives and chervil in their appropriate homes, at the exact moment that two of my coworkers decided a giant refrigerator was the perfect place to have a little secret sexy time.

there's no picture of that.

although, the respective spouses of the two in heat might appreciate a little photo evidence should they decide to go ahead with any divorces.

additionally, i think my dog might be spending some time doing things that i don't even want to imagine. $300 for the vet to tell us that his stank ear is caused by a thriving community of yeast feels like a punch in the babymaker. she gave us doggie monistat 7 and sent our little monster packing.

on a lighter note, perhaps the highlight of the week may have been when b came home from the gym, exceptionally proud of himself for his renewed commitment, claiming that 'in two months my muffin-tops are gonna be gone, son!'

and of course i have to throw some bloggy love to beckybecks who made me a lovely pic of her face on a stick body with huge tatas. we all know how i feel an unbridled kinship to any chick with huge tatas, those things are ridiculously hard to corral sometimes, i feel your pain becky! and thanks for the awesome pic!


so there it is, blog. i'll make a little more effort to not neglect you and maybe you could meet me in the middle somehow. i don't really know what that means, so i'm going to give you a day or two to figure it out.

love always,

your mom.