Literacy

Sadly, the holiday season is winding down. I decided to start to put away my holiday decorations. Actually, my 'holiday decorations' only consist of Xmas Stockings with the pets' names on them (and mine, from childhood). Actually, most years I don't even bother hanging those up. Actually, this year was one of those years. I'm not really into holiday decor. Still, I had removed them from their top secret under bed hiding place, so it was time to put them back there. They were conveniently located in the middle of my living room floor where Fondue left them after she attacked them. Trespassers! Interlopers! You will be punished! So, I lift them up and notice that Fondue has destroyed the leading 'L' off of Olita's stocking. Poor Olita, that dog has had it out for him from day one. I'm not surprised that Fondue focused her rage and fury at Olita's stocking instead of the other three. I am a bit surprised that she can read.

B and E

There are things that I do, that are not common, but do not seem out of place. I mean, they aren't things I do all the time, but also aren't things that seem incongruous to my personality. What I am trying to say is, last week, in the harsh 60 degree California winter I locked myself out of my own house while wearing nothing more than a robe and socks. People have keys to my house. I have always handed out spare keys like candy in case I ever lost my keys or locked myself out; I just never thought I would actually do it. It's like how I have enough AD&D insurance in my name to pay off my brother's considerable medical school loans, but don't plan on actually dying or dismembering. (Note to Michael: killing your sister to pay off your medical school loans is not only wrong, but will also mean you will be forced to care for three badly behaved pets.)

Let's go back to the beginning. It is Sunday. It is late to still be in a robe, but I have just gotten up and frankly won't be dressed any time soon. I let the chihuahua out to do her outdoor chihuahua things. Sniffing, Bathrooming, Running in Circles, Barking. The barking is getting out of hand, she is targeting the kindly retiree across the street. He is walking over to say hi to her, I think about going outside to intervene, the barking escalates, I notice my Sunday NY times is missing AGAIN. I am out of my mind with anger and confusion. I go outside and shut the door behind me, checking to make sure it is unlocked, but perhaps not paying too much attention to the results of that check. Neighbors get talked to, chihuahuas get calmed down, papers are still missing. I start to head back inside, turn the doorknob and hear the little click it makes when it does not open for you.

I'm a resourceful woman. I pick up my chihuahua and start ringing the doorbell of my spare key wielding neighbors/aunts. No answer. Now, I'm a little freaked out. I go to my messy backyard to figure out how to break in to my house. Unfortunately, I usually think about my house security needs in terms of how to keep people from getting in. There is no faux rock hide-a-key or unlocked back door. The only window that happens to be cracked is the bathroom window. It also happens to be a very high, very narrow window. Still, I grab a chair, pop out the screen and start considering how I will get through it. The one problem is I won't fit through it. The other problem is I would need to exit the window head first onto my porcelain bathtub. So, I'm stuck. Luckily only figuratively.

My next decision is that my neighbors'/aunts' yard is much nicer to stay in than mine. If their gate is unlocked, I can hang out in their jacuzzi until they come home. After all, I'm dressed for it. Fondue and I head back over and break into their yard. We are sitting on the porch, waiting for my heart rate to go down, when my aunt opens her back door. Apparently, she was in the shower during my doorbell ringing frenzy, but now she is clean, dry and ready to let me in my house.

Also, my New Year's Resolution is to start wearing PJs to bed. Not sexy, but apparently, necessary. Very, very necessary.

Keepin' Curfew

I think we are all making time this busy holiday season to start knitting baby blankets for the young Ms. Jamie-Lynn Spears. I am not here to start in on accidental pregnancies or young parents, after all both of those were critical factors in my own conception and birth. I just want to talk more trash about the Spears family.

So, first the parents name her after themselves, Jamie and Lynne. I don't know, I would go the George Foreman route myself. Rachel-Dog, Rachel-Cat, and Rachel-Other-Cat.

Then, she's 16 and pregnant.

Okay. And then we are surprised because she "never missed curfew"? Really? Because you can't pregnant before midnight? Because you don't have to talk to your children about sex and birth control until they get sent to juvie hall? So now, this poor girl, is now about to become some sort of symbol for all that is wrong with today's youth. And she's just a young girl, that became accidentally pregnant in the midst of much family chaos.

Any decent stage mother would've shipped the girl off to Europe for nine months and then pretended the baby was Britney's. Britney is too messed up to keep count at this point, so who loses? But, Mama Lynne in her infinite wisdom, allowed another of her kids to be thrown to the wolves. Brilliant, she should write a book. Oh wait.

Ten More Shopping Days Until My Birthday

A $3.00 egg McMuffin for $50.00? Sign me up!

click.

Newsless Sunday

I am trying to have a good Sunday. I am watching Weeds Season Two on dvd and wrapping Festivus presents for you, gentle readers. That should bring me great joy. But, there is a dark cloud hanging over my day.

After crawling out of bed at an unreasonable hour, I went outside to get the paper. Just to discover that my Sunday New York Times was missing. Oh no, the neighborhood car radio theft is one thing, but fucking with a girl's erudite crossword is another thing altogether. I know, I can't finish it, but I still like to fill it up with random words and keep it on my desk at work. Makes the bitches think you are all kinds of smart.

I better not be missing out on important world geo-political news because I am without my Style section. I better not.

Sleeping Like a Rock (of Love)

When I finally tear myself away from the t.v. at night and crawl into bed, Galileo is always there to greet me. She does happen to be a big fan of the bed, and unless she is sitting next to me on the couch, or meowing for fresh water, she is on the bed. So, we always have two seconds alone before the other animals catch on that it's bed time.

I've been trying to dream more, or remember my dreams more, or something. I try to say (out loud) what I want to dream of at night before I fall asleep. I've decided that saying this out loud to Galileo is slightly less crazy than saying it to the pillow. So, Galileo and I sit in bed and, uh, talk about what we want to dream of. Last night we decided we would dream of fish, mittens, and hot cocoa (she normally picks fish, fresh water, or human slaves to constantly pet her). Our dreams did not come true. Or mine didn't. Galileo looked pretty happy this morning, so she probably had the fish/mitten/hot cocoa dream that I was gunning for. So, what did I dream about? Rock of Love: Season 2: Return of the Cheap Strippers. Now, it's not on the air yet, so we will all have to wait for the real deal. In the meantime, let's review what the sandman delivered to me last night.

So, in this dream, I am on Rock of Love: Season Two. Except, I'm me, not a cheap stripper. More like a would-be-expensive stripper, or a HR professional with low morals. And I am just making out with Bret the whole time. What a dream! If Bret and I were together my life would be full of touring with a crappy band, spending my free time in strip clubs, and dating a man that wears more makeup than me. And, then, the downside, listening to his crappy band all the time, never having a dollar for a diet coke, because I spent all my $1's at the strip club, and getting pink eye because my whore of a boyfriend used my eyeliner again. I guess, that makes it more of a nightmare.

Tomorrow, I plan to ask to dream about bad 80's bands, balding rock stars, and stripper poles. Hopefully doing that will guarantee me that nocturnal cup of cocoa.

Galileo says: if you put down the camera, you could pet me with that hand...

Soup Season

The good thing about the unbearable harshness of the California winter (rain, more rain, and sometimes wind!) is that it is the perfect weather for eating soup. I've been on a soup frenzy. Minestrone, Pureed Roasted Vegetable, White Bean and Sage, Won Ton and Hot and Sour. Most of them I've been making myself, but occasionally I outsource the job to a local Chinese restaurant.

The White Bean and Sage soup is fantastic, super simple and hands down my favorite soup to make. It goes like this:

2 Cups Diced Onions
1 Cup Diced Carrots
4 Garlic Cloves, Pressed
1 Tbs Olive Oil
15 Large Fresh Sage Leaves
6 Cups Cooked White Beans (if using cans--about 3 cans, reserve liquid from canned beans)
3 to 4 Cups Veggie Stock
Salt and Pepper to taste

1) In soup pot, saute the onions, carrots, and garlic in olive oil on med-low until onions are translucent. Stack the sage leaves and cut into thin strips. Add sage to vegetables. Add cooked beans and 3 cups of vegetable stock, bean-cooking liquid, or water. Continue to cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the soup is hot and simmering.

2) Ladle 2/3 of the soup in blender in batches. Puree until smooth and add back to pot. Thin soup with remaining veggie stock if needed. Add salt and pepper to taste.

I also add fresh rosemary with the sage a lot. And I have adapted it into a better blended, less liquid state to make white bean puree, which is fantastic on toasted bread.

The Pureed Vegetable Soup may be even easier. I like to roast vegetables in the winter months. Lots of them. I cut up as many root vegetables as I can find, toss them in olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt and Herbs de Provence. Roast in oven at 350 ish for 30 minutes ish, stir on occasion.

The vegetables are great just like that, but you can make a double batch and puree half of the roasted veggies in the blender with some veggie stock and you have instant soup. Almost as fast as ordering from the Chinese place. But, alas, no fortune cookies.