Here it is – the un-holy tale of Cooper, the Syphilis Chicken

Years ago, I was hanging out with my gay boyfriend, Scotty. Scotty is a medical professional, and so, the only person I talk STDs with.  We agreed that syphilis was kind of a hideous word and that it should be renamed something cuter. We renamed it Cooper.

Fast forward a few years. I was working as an intern at the Taste of Minnesota festival. The Gold N Plump Chicken people were there, handing out little beanie chickens with a name tag that read, "Hi. My name is Cooper." Of course, I snatched them up, gave one to Scotty, one to my sister (she'd heard the story. She hears all my stories.) and I kept one to myself. Ne Ne, the sister, still has hers, hanging in her kitchen.

Fast forward a couple more years to March, 2008. I had just gotten home from my second time running away to join the circus. 4 days after my return, my grandma died. We were sitting in her kitchen, all a little numb. I walked into her living room and there,  inside the large brandy snifter that sat on her bookshelf, was Cooper. I immediately texted my sister, "Grandma's got Cooper." She, of course, replied with "What? How did she get Cooper?" And my response was, "I imagine, the same way you did."

Fast forward a couple days later, at Grandma's house after the wake. All of my cousins are sitting around, quietly mourning. My sister, again, asked me about Cooper, so I liberated him from his brandy snifter and told the story, the one I just told you, to all of my cousins. They immediately decided to turn "Cooper" into a tribute to Grandma, Shouting the name of a syphilitic chicken and raising our beers high in the air. It's how we mourn.

Fast forward one more time. Probate is an ugly, ugly thing, My mom and her siblings spent months fighting over the contents of Grandma's house. We were not allowed to remove anything until it had all been inventoried, not even little stuffed chickens. So we sneaked in one day and liberated Cooper from his perch. My mom made chatty small talk with the relative everyone hates, to distract him from the chicken pilfering in the next room.

Now, he's my traveling gnome. Wherever I go where someone could benefit from Cooper's story, or wherever I go when I travel for fun or work, he comes along and takes photos. He has his own Facebook page. You're probably on it.

Toilet Fudge

I travel a lot, and I like to cook. For several years, with the living-in-hotel-rooms component of my job, i had limited opportunities to cook. So, whenever I went home, back to MN for Christmas, I was very excited to do some holiday cooking.

I was at my sister's apartment, just a couple days before the holiday, and we really wanted to make some fudge. We had a recipe, which has produced some great confections in the past, but what we didn't have was an appropriately stocked kitchen. My sister has never been one for cooking and had just done an apartment purge. No double-boiler, to be sure, but really, she had almost nothing to cook with. There was one large glass kettle and her fondue pot.

I try to be industrious. I thought, really, what's the difference between a double-boiler and a small kettle, boiling in a larger one? My sister was in the other room, and i wanted to be creative. And more importantly, I wanted some fudge.  So, I started the water to boil in the big glass kettle and put all the fudge-fixin's in the fondue pot. I set the fondue pot on the ledge of the boiler, stirring the chocolate chips and marshmallows, waiting patiently for the melting to begin. It had just started to look like a pre-fudgey liquid and then the fondue pot fell into the boiling water. "Whoops," I said. This was my sister's first clue that i was doing anything unusual in her kitchen. I didn't elaborate.

It didn't just fall into the water, it promptly sunk to the bottom of the lake. The fudge was ruined, and all our ingredients were used up.  Merde! I was also embarrassed. I fancy myself quite the domestic goddess, so I was ashamed at how horribly awry this experiment had gone. I couldn't just throw the mess away; she'd see that.  A garbage disposal would have been an easy way to dispose of my dirty little secret; but this apartment was ill-equipped. Ugh, what other option did I have?

Yeah, I walked the kettle of hot liquid into the bathroom. When things go amuck, what better place to dispose of food that you can't eat than down the loo, right? Its usually the best course of action . . . but I forgot one tiny little detail. Hot marshmallows, cold, cold water. Marshmallows congeal. Who knew?  So, I had to clean it out and come clean.  Ugh.

So, yeah, failed kitchen experiment. Its important to share your failures, right? So, no fudge for us that day. Or, since, for me. Maybe I should remedy that this weekend.

Pet Peeves

Let's start with the big one; I hate that this is late. I am trying to become more consistent and here we are, 1 week in and I miss a blog. But, to be fair, I wasn't feeling well last night and rather than write, I took some Advil PM and went off to a blissful slumber.

Second, I was going to write about how people react to celebrity deaths, with the breaking news that Paul Walker died and how many people are boo-hooing it on FB. Seriously, you didn't know him, Get over it. Oh, wait . . . you did know him? Then and only then can you have my condolences. I'm sure you'll miss his ever-present talent or whatever. Couldn't act his way out of a wet paper bag, but a fiery car crash isn't something i'd wish on anyone. And I feel bad for his daughter who has to spend the rest of her life, sans father. But, this happens every time a celebrity dies. You didn't know them, make your meme and move on.

OK, now for the real list of pet peeves. I have things that annoy me, to be sure. But not many of them bother me so much that I can extemporize about them. Took me a little while to create a list

, but here goes:

1.

2. Why are all the tastiest food so hard to work with?  Lookin' at you, Pomegranate, butternut squash and pineapple. Surely, I could buy them pre-peeled and shucked, but what's the point of that? it usually costs twice as much for the convenience, and frankly, no convenience is worth that. 

3. People who shout at me when I am following the bicycle laws; and the people who don't follow them. I'm in the bike lane, this is where I am supposed to be. See that over there? It's called a sideWALK not a sideBIKE. So, no, I should not be biking on it. And neither should anyone else. So, instead of shouting at me to get off the road, when I am exactly where I am supposed to be, kindly cram it!

4. People who don't accept the right of way. If you are supposed to go, go. Don't wait for me to cross in front of you. I've already stopped moving and it takes a lot of energy to get started again. I was looking at this street crossing or red light as a much needed reprieve from moving, but when you stop in the middle of the intersection, waiting for me to go, you just took that reprieve away from me. And annoyed all the drivers behind you. And all those people are going to give me the death stare, as if I asked you to wait for me to go. I did not, people behind Skippy McDumbass who can't accept his right of way. I was waiting for my very own right of way. Its how I roll.

5. My fingernails grow straight, I want them to curve. And I have this deep wrinkle that goes all the way across my forehead. It sits right where my helmets sit, so I think it looks as if I wore my helmet too tight. And its always there. I'm obsessed with it. It's not these imperfections that pet-peeve me, its that I worry about them. I want to be one of those people who celebrates imperfections as marks of uniqueness. Imperfections are beautiful, sure and I try to think that, when it comes to other people. But then I become obsessed with this forehead wrinkle or my straight nails or my excess facial hair and I am forced to face the fact that I am just as superficial as everyone else. Everyone is a little more concerned about the look of things than they want to admit. And I hate that. Time for some personal growth, I guess. 

My views on mainstream music

Honestly, I don't get it. Its probably because I am at least 20 years older than their target market, so I'm probably not supposed to get it. I'm sure, 20 years from now, these kids will bemoan current music and say, "Music hasn't been good since 2013." But really, the 90s was the best decade for music. Am I right? Well, its the years I was in high school and college; with music being more meaningful when attached to meaningful moments in your life and with all those meaningful moments that you're sure are important in high school and college, naturally, Pearl Jam, Nelson and Hanson rule!

Admittedly, its not all bad. I love a lot of modern country music, Brad Paisley, Carrie Underwood, Lady A, Miranda Lambert -- great stuff. Even Taylor Swift can get me car-singing. There are some really great pop songs too, but I can't think of anything off the top of my head.  I rarely drive and that's almost the only place there are music-playing radios in my life.

Most of my exposure to current popular music -- Glee! If not for Glee, I wouldn't know Imagine Dragons, Philip Phillips, Katy Perry. I would never have heard Wrecking Ball, almost by design, if Jake hadn't cheated on Marley. And I like it. A lot. Great song. Well done, Miley Cyrus. Never would have thought those words would ever leave my head.

And, seriously, does it need to be this loud? Music is supposed to be a social experience, of course. But maybe we could keep it social in ways that make sense. If I want to share a particular song with someone, I can share it with one person without having it at such a volume that the people who don't care don't have to care. When I go to the skating rink, I don't need to feel the music in my fillings to enjoy it. In fact, feeling it in my fillings makes it less enjoyable. Turn it down!!!

OK, rant done. Good music is out there. You have to look for it. And if you have any suggestions, I'm willing to listen.

Something You Want To Say to an Ex

While, technically, I don’t have any exes, I do have someone in my life that I wanted to say things to, but couldn’t. And since he’s never going to read this or hear anything I’ll ever have to say again, this shall be my purging of everything that never got out.

Hi. I was crazy about you. There is nothing in the world I wouldn’t have done for you, but finding the words to tell you about it was just not possible. I was so scared. Scared that you felt the same way I did or scared that you didn’t. Scared of giving you my heart, soul, body, all of it, telling you I was in love with you and then not being able to take it back. Scared of  pain, both physical and emotional that would have come with letting you into all areas of my life.

You were the first person to notice me. See me as a complete person, with a brain, heart and lady parts. I loved touching you and loved when and how you touched me. I wanted badly to turn off the scared part of my brain and let you deflower me. I really wanted it to be you. We were almost there, you said you didn’t want to push me and I was so far into my comfort zone, the Friend Zone, that I left it at that. The next day, and the next weekend, I wanted to re-visit it, but we never talked about it again. We’d still talk, but not about that. We’d still see each other one more time after that, but still I was so scared to scare you away and you were so sure I didn’t want it. But I did.

But then you disappeared. You stopped answering my calls. Stopped calling me. Cut me off completely. I still have conversations with you in my head. You were still the first person I wanted to talk to when my dad got sick. You were the first person I wanted to call when I got sick. I want you to see how much I have changed since you knew me but that I am still the person you liked enough to go to the trouble of getting to know me.

So, like I said, I wanted it to be you. Really, I did. But you left me when I needed you to stick around. So, a couple years later, it finally sunk in that you were gone and not missing me at all. I went through a short phase of getting all the experience I could. Still, not a lot, to be sure, but I, at least, have some stories to tell. But, I’d trade all those stories for the chance to wake up next to someone I actually care about. And there haven’t been a lot of people I’ve cared about since you. You were the one person I really opened up to and allowed for the possibility of loving.  There is still a chunk missing from my heart. You took it with you. How am I supposed to give it to someone else if its not whole? Yeah, I’m broken. And it sucks. 

Bullet Your Whole Day

12:45 a.m. -- why am I still awake? Oh, right, 'cuz I'm watching the episode of Facts of Life where Natalie loses her V-card.

1:30 a.m.-ish -- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

5:40a.m. -- what is that awful noise? Right, my first alarm. Time to take my thyroid pill and go back to sleep

6:00 a.m. -- Well, I'm awake and the internet isn't working. Let's get out of bed and deal with the brunch pudding.

6:21 a.m. -- second alarm goes off, so I can have a banana for breakfast.

6:30 a.m. -- Well, the pumpkin fell apart in my hands, so I can't transport the whole thing. Instead, I scooped out the rice and got as much pumpkin out as I could. I put it in a big bowl, but didn't want to carry that on the T. So i put it in a smaller bowl.

6:45 a.m. Walked to the T. Sat next to a guy in a Packers hat. Tried to make conversation, but that is a two way street and he was not looking to talk with me.

7:15 a.m. Got out of the T and walked to the office.

7:30 a.m., Way too early for work. But here I am.

8:00 a.m. Work, work, work. Book hotels, send e-mails, Facebook stalk an actress, that kind of thing.

9:30 a.m.ish -- Pot luck breakfast at the office. Ate way too much, but it was pretty delightful.

10:15 a.m. -- more of that working thing.

12:30 p.m. Left work, walked to the theatre down the street to see the1:00 showing of Catching Fire.

12:40 p.m. Why is everyone on the street in front of the theatre?

12:42 p.m. Oh, you say they evacuated the theatre. Fire? Bomb scare? Yeah, I don't know.

12:50 p.m. Watching 2 guys fight in front of the theatre. One bumped into the other (i'm sure accidentally, this was a very packed sidewalk) and the other took umbrage. Almost came to blows.

12:52 p.m. finally let back in to the theatre. Somehow, the ticket machine isn't working. Guess I'll get in the line where I talk to people.

12:55 p.m. Got cut in line by a tiny girl and her boyfriend. They promptly left the line.

1:10 p.m. Still waiting in line.  Guess I should be pretty giddy that there is also a 1:30 show.

1:15 p.m. Older dude cut me in line. He seemed to think he was in front of me the whole time. This was not the case. Alas, I was too polite and midwestern to say anything. Now I'm gonna be pissed at a stranger all day.

1:20 p.m Got to the ticket counter. The first thing I said was, "There's nothing you can do about it, but that rude man, him, right there, cut me in line. I'm here now, but I had to say something or I would just get more angry." Bought a ticket and went upstair.

1:25 p.m. Called Bank of America to see why I still have an account there, even though I closed it two weeks ago. Hopefully its now taken care of

1: 26 p.m. Got in line for popcorn and soda.

1:30 p.m. Still in line for popcorn and soda.

1:40 p.m. Spilled my popcorn in the bathroom while fighting with my backpack. Ugh. Swore a little.

1:42 p.m. Got into the theatre. Saw a couple previews (Divergent? Yes please!)

2:00 p.m. Catching Fire begins. It was pretty good. The kids around me were obnoxious and rude. My chair got kicked at least 5 times and two people around me made phone calls.  I enjoyed the first movie a lot, and the first 2 books were quite good. But I had forgotten most of the finer plot points, so it was a nice refresher. I think, originally, I was Team Gale, but Peeta is starting to grow on me. Not sure if its Peeta or Josh Hutcherson. Gonna have to give that some thought.

4:15 p.m. Movie over, watched all the credits. Walked to the T.

4:20 p.m. Stopped at Thinking Cup for a cookie. Yum

4:30 p.m. Got on the T, played some Phase 10 and rocked out to my Pandora A Cappella station.

5:00 p.m. Home from my day. Sat down, took my boots off and was told to steer clear from the kitchen, where my chocolate chips found their way to the floor.

5:15 p.m. Ate some punkin pie.

5:30 p.m.  Cut up a squash. More punkin pie.

6:00 p.m. And now, here we are, writing this blog.

A Book You Love

I love reading. I wish I did it more, but there always seems to be something more important to do . . . knit a mermaid tail . . . update my scripts . . . re-watch Sports Night for the 50th time. I haven't been sucked into a story in a really long time. Too long, really.

My favorite book series is by Megan McCafferty, and there is a new one out, which I can't wait to download on my Nook. Sloppy Firsts, Second Helpings, Charming Thirds, Fourth Comings, Perfect Fifths -- a great story that starts as the diary of Jessica Darling,  a snarky 16 year old who hates her friends. It follows through till she's about 28, where she is reunited with her first love, yada, yada, yada. Great stuff. The new book is a prequel, starting when she is 11 or 13 or some such craziness. I think I may re-read them all again, to prepare myself for the prequel. Again, if I could find the time to read. But lately, I've been falling in love with a different book.

The one audio book I have ever purchased. The only audio book on my iPod, and when its on shuffle, I jump around to different parts of the story. The first time through, I followed it chronologically, but every chapter, if you know the basics of the story, can stand on its own.

Love is A Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield tells his true story of a shy guy from Boston who goes down south for grad school and meets this crazy girl with wild hair and a wild spirit. They're both obsessed with music and are rock writers when they're not working their crappy day jobs. They fall in love, get married and start their lives together. And not to spoil the story, but he'll tell you in the first five minutes, she dies.

So, really, its about the two of them falling in love, making a life, losing a life and him learning how to move on. And its all peppered with that love of music that brought them together. They would always make mix tapes for each other, were constantly tripping on the little plastic cases. So, Rob uses all these tapes to tell the story. And he lists the songs. All of them.

One day, maybe one day soon, I am going to make a gift pack for someone; the audio book as well as a compilation of all the songs he mentions. woo, project!!

http://www.listsofbests.com/list/32086-songs-mentioned-on-mix-tapes-in-book-love-is-a-mix-tape