F-ing Good Ham Mom

Having missed half a day of work on Thursday and all day on Friday, spending most of my weekend recovering from my malaise and having to put up with MDH and his bad attitude about having to finish doing our taxes (he fired our accountant earlier this year) and raking the leaves that he for some mysterious (lazy) reason wasn't able to rake up before it started snowing last November, well fuck it...

Let's just say I had a shitty weekend. I didn't feel good and the husband that I know and love went away and was temporarily replaced by some yelling, complaining tax monkey.

The best thing about my weekend? Honey Baked Ham.

I'm not normally a big ham eater. Too salty for me really, but sometimes, like once every 2 or 3 years I crave it like nobody's business. So on Saturday when MDH's incessant ranting at Turbo Tax and anyone who dared move or speak within a 20 foot radius of his charm-free tax doing (me and the cat) drove me (screaming and peeling out of the driveway like some crackhead in an episode of COPS) from the house for a couple of hours (and cough, cough, ahem, excuse me I still wasn't feeling well) I happened for the first time notice the Honey Baked Ham store across the street from the DSW at my preferred mall location.

What better way to deal with a surly spouse then shoe shopping, eh?

Anyhoo... those of you mall goers out there will realize the degree of my intense craving and subsequent sacrifice when I tell you that I actually crossed the street in front of the busy mall to get to the goddamn ham store. I won't even cross my legs for $50, so we're talking about a serious ham craving here.

Once the busy street was crossed I was greeted at the ham store by a large hand written sign taped to the glass front door that said:

NO CHECKS TODAY
CREDIT CARD MACHINE BROKE

SORRY - CASH ONLY!!

Oh no you don't. I just crossed 5 lanes of Saturday afternoon mall traffic and you're telling me cash only? Under normal circumstances the bad grammar in the sign would make me stomp away fuming, but not today Ham Store. You can't get rid of me that easily.

I walked in anyway knowing full well that I only had eleven dollars in my pocket, and really having no idea how much ham costs. Surely ham for 2 costs eleven dollars or less!

Alas no. I asked the nice toothless lady to please show me her smallest ham and it was like 30 bucks. But she was super sly and reeled me in by peeling away the foil so that I could better smell the damn thing. It smelled good. Really fuckin' good.

So good that I crossed the busy street again, eager as a hog in heat, back to the ATM machine at the mall where I withdrew $60 and then crossed the busy street yet again practically screaming with desire, out of breath (not really because of course I was driving back and forth across the busy street) and waving my ham cash in the air (again, not really, the money was in my pocket. I'm just trying to convey the bizarre sense of urgency I felt to buy a goddamn ham).

When I arrived Toothless was waiting for me with my gorgeous little ham bundle. I picked out some au gratin potatoes from the freezer, paid with my thrice busy street crossed on a Saturday cash and headed back home.

It was f-ing good ham. It still is f-ing good ham because even though it was the tiniest ham they had it's still as big as my head and I'll be eating ham for the next half century.

In honor of my delicious ham and the fact that my friends Dan and Steph celebrated Dan's birthday by seeing The Kids In the Hall this weekend with Amy Ted, Frenchie and Nature Boy, I tried really hard to find an old Kids In the Hall Sketch where a teenage boy accidentally tells his mother that her ham was really fucking good, but this was the closest I could find. Won't you please enjoy it anyway.... the words at least rhyme with ham.

Please Pass the Midol

I don't know what it is about Burt Reynold's Mustache that makes me sick, but here I am once again on the 4th of the month at home and ailing. I won't trouble you with the details, but I'm uncomfortable and dreary. I am also paranoid about missing work.

It's not a bad day to be staying home at all. It's raining and gray and the joy of my new green raincoat has already worn off. Besides MDH is in Chicago so the TV and I are enjoying the nice little break from all of the seemingly endless college basketball. I read this morning that UMass lost last night to OSU in the NIT or whatever so I'll have the rest of the spring and summer to be miserable with the Red Sox.

At the same time, unlike the time that I had that horrible stomach thingy, I'm not too ill to write a little something and somewhat enjoy my "day off" by watching daytime TV, getting a little laundry done here and there and catching up on my New York Magazine crossword puzzles.

While I'm busy being lazy and feeling sorry for myself won't you please enjoy this lovely post at Burt Reynolds Mustache? Cough, cough.

I should mention that I'm not really having "female trouble" as such, it's just that I read an interview with John Waters in New York Magazine so Divine has been on my mind. I don't know what to make of that.

Anyhoo... I was troubled to read about the interviewer's discovery upon a vist to Mr. Waters bathroom of " a Maybelline black eye pencil with a sharpener and a little pile of shavings" next to a jar of Crème de la Mer. It's a mustache kind of day.

My Secret Shame

I noticed that this morning as I arrived at the office that my freakish personality disorder was extremely pronounced and difficult to hide from my coworkers. It was raining and dreary and amidst the grumbling, grunts and general surly nature of the office on a rainy Monday morning - I am (dun, dun dun) - perky.

Now you know.

Can I help it if I am a (gasp!) morning person who is all hopped up on the joy of finally having an opportunity to be able to wear my new green rain coat out in public?? Not to mention the fact that I've been up since 5:30 or 6 and have already had about 4 or 5 cups of coffee.

Normally I'm able to keep this annoying trait to myself so that no one will know and when they ask me "How are you?" I respond in the appropriate morose tone with answers like:

"Jeezus Christ - don't even ask"
"Fair to middlin'" or

"Piss off postie"

when what I really want to say is
"I am Fan Fucking Tastic!" all excited like.

I'm a total freak and don't I know it. I do the world a huge favor every single morning by not speaking to anyone, singing or doing soft shoe numbers until around 9:30 or so.

You are welcome.

I realize that some of you may find the photo at the top misleading, as this post has nothing whatsoever to do with meat. The photo merely represents a woman who appears to be beside herself with glee about a chuck roast, which is kinda like I was this morning over a damn rain coat.

I should also like to let you know that I more than make up for my morning perkiness by being a complete bitch package all the rest of the day.

The Horror, The Horror ... or whatever.

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

So I was perusing Skyler's Dad's blog and clicked on a link to do this quiz and clicked on What Classic Movie Are You? instead.

Oh yeah, and here's my leader thing:

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Crab Dream Update... and proof that I'm a bad listener

MDH just woke up and came into the office to give me a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. My hair is kind of short so when I'm leaning over typing/reading intently, my neck is exposed for kissing.

Anyhoo... I told him that I had blogged about my dream and he informed me that I had been screaming in my sleep and woke him up in the night. Apparently the crabs were more frightening than I had realized.

When I told him a little bit about my dream he said that it was probably a direct result of a conversation we had last night about our upcoming Hanalai vacation rental. You see, normally we live a life of vacation luxury. 4 and 5 star hotels that I try not to fuss about much because, well, I just don't. But for February next year we have shunned luxury and booked a beach cottage in Hanalei (that's on the magical island of Kauai in Hawaii). And yes for those of you who have read this and this - we are still planning to go back to Hawaii anyway.

It's really more of a rustic shack on a dirt road, but it's steps from the pacific and we'll have our own stretch of beach. MDH is sceptical of this plan, probably because it was my idea and he's usually the one plotting and scheming all of our travel.

Anyhoo... he thinks it's going to be too rustic and that we will be eaten alive by bugs. What's left of our bodies will no doubt melt in the February heat because the cottage has no air conditioning.

He has already mapped out a Tsunami escape plan on Google Earth, and informed me that we will need 2 kinds of insect repellent, in spray and lotion form, both containing deet.

So last night we had a long discussion about bug repellent which is probably what caused my crab dream.

He is skeptical of any accommodations that have molded plastic seating. Snob. Here is what the view will be like from our little cottage porch - I might be willing to have my coffee sitting on a bed of thumbtacks for this view.

The proof that I'm a bad listener, I nearly forgot...
He said that he was going to finish watching his DVD rental about the war of 1812. To which I replied "Oh, is that the one that's in color?"

The Crab People

I'm not a big dreamer. Not in a skies the limit, wild horses couldn't stop me goal accomplishing way and also in that I don't dream when I'm sleeping, at least not much that I can remember.

Sometimes I really feel like I'm missing out when I hear other people discussing (or blogging about) their dreams. Like, "cool you flew around wearing a magic bath towel and drank lemonade with Liberace?"

I'm merely well rested.

Dreamers are well rested and also got to go on some nifty adventure while they were sleeping. I call that excellent time management.

Well today for the first time I'm going to blog about my dream. Mainly because I had one. A vivid one and I haven't been awake long enough for it to fade and forget about. So here's my dream:

I was with MDH in what looked like a movie set of some old western town. The sidewalks were wooden planks and the street was dirt. We were walking and with some people we had met who told us that the town was infested with some kind of giant chigger bug the size of your fist that looked like a soft shell crab and attached itself to the back of your neck and took over your body.

No sooner had the people said this than I noticed one on the back of MDH's neck. It had just landed there and hadn't gotten it's claws into him yet, so I knocked it off and we were very relieved but immediately started to high tail it out of town. This was the frightening part of the dream.

We made it home to a house which of course was not our house and everyone there was having a party. In my waking life there is normally nobody else at the house but me and MDH, but in my dream there were tons of people. The one who stands out foremost in my mind is my friend Rachel because she was having an engagement party at our house while we were gone and for some reason I didn't seem to mind. As far as I know in real life Rachel not only doesn't have a key to my house, she is also steadfastly single although she has been dating and getting a lot of attention from the fellas lately.

Rachel was sporting the latest fashion which seemed to be brightly colored home made crocheted shawls like the kind people wore in the 70's, with little puffy yarn balls at the ends of the draw stings. I looked down and I was wearing one too.

Anyhoo... the party was rocking and I was having a great time until I noticed several people come into the kitchen for snacks and they all had crabs on the backs of their necks and the crabs looked like they had been there for awhile. They mostly went for the crab cakes, which had suddenly appeared, and took paper platefuls of Rosemary & Olive Oil Triscuits. They ate the whole box and I was very upset.

The crab people had blank looks on their faces, but otherwise seemed pretty normal, other than the fact that they had a nasty soft shell crab attached to the backs of their necks and a crazed hankering for crab cakes and Triscuits. I said "what's the big deal, having the crabs doesn't seem so bad" and then I cracked myself up.

I felt the back of my neck to make sure I didn't have a crab on it and checked the necks of MDH and all my friends and we were all fine. I called an exterminator to make sure that there weren't any loose crabs crawling around that might jump on my other guests and went back to the business of partying.

I'll take merely well rested if this is what my dreams are like. Crocheted ponchos and crab people? Where's my magic towel? Where's my Liberace?

This dream was a total waste of time and I'm not well rested at all.

Are you still reading this? I hope you'll come back and read my blog again another day anyway. Meanwhile I'm going to go get some coffee.

JBF Thursdays

Tomorrow is Friday. AKA "Jeans Day" at work. I actually overheard one of my coworkers saying in an excited, upbeat tone, "Thank goodness tomorrow is Jeans Day!" and another person agreed with them wholeheartedly. "Yes! Thank Goodness!"

Well, whoopidee doo.

I'm sorry. I'm afraid I forgot to drink the Kool-Aid on this one.

Am I supposed to get excited about this? When did wearing jeans become a humongous privilege? Or, conversely, when did wearing pants made from fabrics besides denim turn into some new kind of torture?

Many of my co-workers get all whipped up about wearing jeans. Although my boss explained on my first day of work that jeans were allowed on Fridays, on my first Friday I wore my normal dress trousers. People nearly fell out and every goddamn person I saw said "Didn't they tell you? You can wear JEANS on Friday."

I don't really have that many pairs of jeans, and frankly they aren't as comfortable as some of my other pants so I don't understand what all the fuss is about. I've tried to rationalize it and have come up with nil.

It's cool to wear jeans because:

- It's far more relaxing than the tuxedo/ball gown and tiara that are required in the corporate dress code.

- I don't already dress sloppy enough in my cargo pants and faded fleece mock turtlenecks.

- It's so confusing to have to decide which pair of wrinkled khaki's and hideously patterned polo shirt to wear on Monday thru Thursday.

- They are far more comfortable than the chain mail and burlap sacks that are part of my regular business casual wardrobe.

- Working my boring job has made me desperate to cling to any lame reason why I should keep coming back here every day instead of going completely kooky - so yes, yes, Jeans Day. Oh and Hurray! - left over sheet cake in the break room from Eileen's Retirement "party".

Management even give out "Free Jeans Day!" passes as rewards for work well done and people are excited to get them.

If I have done a good job I would rather not be rewarded with permission to wear my own pants.

Cash money does me just fine baby. A gift card works good too.

I'll save my excitement for when they come up with "Bathrobe Day", "Pajama Pants Day", or "JBF Hair Day".

*JBF = Just Been F&cked.