Tossing salad...with LETTUCE, people!

I am very food oriented. I love to cook it, eat it, read about it, daydream about it. When I get particularly stressed out or anxious, I often have fantasies about carrying one of those boxes of tiny oranges around (satsumas, cuties, mandarins--whatever) and just beaning people in the head with one when they piss me off. That, or carrying around a bag of fresh cherries and spitting the pits at people when they get on my nerves. Sometimes, when I am bored, I imagine getting a garbage bag and filling it with shredded lettuce, then going up to people in the air so it falls on them like confetti and shouting, "Lettuce have a party!" Because I'm bad at puns. (You're just going to have to cope.) The fun thing with the lettuce is that they wouldn't really have grounds to get all that mad. It doesn't hurt, it isn't THAT much of a mess. It's just fucking confusing. Especially if you are at work. Or the proctologist's. Whatever. Maybe you work in a proctologist's office, I don't know and it's not my business. What I do know, is that you're not expecting to have lettuce thrown on you. And that is what makes it fun.

My vivid food imagination plays out in other ways as well--some good, some gag-inducing. When I am at Costco or one of those bulk stores and I walk by the vats of "Extra Heavy Mayonnaise" (who in the name of crack-loving-kittens tasted mayo and was like, "This is good--but not heavy enough! Could we possibly add some more fat to this whipped vegetable oil? Because it just isn't leaving a slimy enough coating on my mouth and throat."? If you find out, let me know. I'd like to smack them with a knee sock full of cat-pee jello.) I cannot help but imagine sticking my arm in the monstrous jar up to the elbow and swirling it around. (Have you gathered that I don't care for mayo? Because you're wrong. That is a serious understatement. I detest mayo, and so of course can smell it from 10 feet away.) This grosses me out to no end (which amuses Jsun to no end), so all it takes is Jsun tickling the back of my neck and I involuntarily shriek from the sheer ickiness. Which, I am sure, makes everyone around think I am a freak--but they probably already thought that if they watched me while away 5 minutes determining which economy size bottle of pills makes the best maraca, or if they noticed that I periodically punch or kick random grocery items in the store, or if they saw me try and start a marshmallow bag pillow fight, or...

Occasionally my food visualization is more ambivalent. At same said bulk-stores, I often find myself standing in front of the ginormo cans of nacho cheese, pondering. I know I am game to sit in a bathtub of nacho cheese. And I strongly suspect warm would be the nicest, but I think cool/room temperature would be nice too. I'd like to get other people's opinions on the matter, but no one else seems to think about this shit.

Most of the time my tactile food proclivity just leads to disappointment. I desperately want to swim in a pool (full size, in-ground type pool) filled with whole milk, but that will never happen. Aside from the wastefulness, where would I get that much milk? And who is going to let me ruin their swimming pool? I would also very much like to sit in a claw footed bathtub filled with either creme anglaise or warm melted chocolate. All of this had led me to believe that I should try to attain a pornstar-type body and start a sploshing website and find people to pay for me to do these things. Because, really, I can't figure out where to fit a bathtub full of chocolate into my grocery budget.

There is one long time food fantasy that I did live out. Since I was in high school (maybe even before then) I have wanted to do pudding wrestling. Not in a sexual way, I just wanted to play in a wading pool full of pudding. Finally, in my mid-20's I decided that I had better get off my ass and get it done. So I did. I got a big ole inflatable wading pool. I took measurements and did the math to figure out how much pudding was needed for the desired depth (gleefulest math ever). I bought 66 gallons of tapioca pudding (the kind that comes pre-made in cans). Some people did not understand the choice of tapioca over chocolate. I do not understand some people. Tapioca has a bajillion little fish eyes in it! It was the ideal tactile choice. Ultimately, a great time was had by all. After everyone else got tired of playing in the pudding, I spent about an hour lying in the pool making pudding angels. Despite repeated showerings, I smelled like pudding for 3 days. There are not words for how much that delighted me. (I was like one of those Strawberry Shortcake smelly-dolls!)

There is a whole world of tactile food experiences most people never even think about, example: cornstarch massages. (These are spiffy, but messy. Maybe that makes them miffsy.) The fact that I frequently involuntarily think about coating myself in whatever food substance I happen to be looking at (or thinking about) means I may be disappointed a lot (like how I can't imagine how to set myself into a jello mold without getting hypothermia), but it also means that if I ever find myself with a tanker truck full of milk, I will have some very good ideas what to do with it.

I think Gin and I may need to have a talk...

Gin and I have never seen eye-to-eye...but I am contemplating calling an international peace summit. With Gin.



So this is a Gin Fizz (with the egg white...TRUST ME, I know it is terrifying and we are all  going to die [I have had food poisoning an unreasonable number of times and am subsequently terrified of it every time I eat even a Butterfinger], but it is both delicious and worth it). Even better (and I do love the basic/"Ramos" gin fizz), this is a Damson Gin Fizz...meaning it is a gin fizz made with Damson Gin, a gin flavored with damson plums. It makes me want to touch my boobies, it is so tasty.

Anyway, this in conjunction with my experience of liquor tasting (which is just not the same damn thing as wine or beer tasting--WATCH THE FUCK OUT!) at the Ebb+Flow distillery...They had a lot of tasty stuff, but the gin was so exquisite and refined that it made me think. One of these days, gin and I need to have a reckoning.

Naturally, I do not particularly care for gin. I actually think it smells like medicine sometimes (yes, I understand the pragmatic reasons why that is so--doesn't matter if you can't manage/ignore the association). But I am starting to think she is the sexy librarian, and I need to spend some time with her so she will unbutton her blouse, take off her glasses, and shake down her sexy hair...

Also, it seems like a good excuse to spend a day getting insanely drunk and blogging...It also is inspiring me to look into what it would take to turn this blog into a business...How awesome would it be if I could write my booze receipts off? I actually don't have a word for that level of awesome.

Damnit, if I could get the baba ghanoush I used to get in Madison, Wisconsin (at The Casbah), I would have to say life was damn near perfect. I am not sure what it means when pureed eggplant stands between you and perfect happiness, but I think it is a damn good thing.

Because no holiday is complete without a penis cookie...and I forgot to post it earlier

I love the holidays. I know it isn't cool...but I do. I have always been a dork, if it means I get egg nog, I am willing to stay one. Happily. I'm not into a specific holiday, it is just that everyone gets a winter holiday, and so I am willing to accept whichever one is available and convenient.



For a long time, my mom had rules (RULES!) about how cookies could be decorated...I left for awhile, but by the time I came back, I decided there could not be COOKIE RULES (that is CRAZY TOWN)! Now I (sadly) live very far away, but I get to make whatever the fuck cookies I want. And I want penis cookies. I think it is because I like cock. But that isn't the sort of thing you can actually say. Unfortunately.

P.S. I am sure this relates to Zombie Jesus somehow...so it is probably totally appropriate that this winter holiday post is being posted for the Spring Sexytime holiday. (Spring...eggs...fertility...the ubiquitousness...it is the SEXYTIME holiday...which means it should probably be my favorite...)