And What is That?

Before putting it in the oven my husband said, "I don't know but I think they're supposed to look alike." This was my ill-fated attempt at making Samosas, an Indian appetizer filled with a spicy potato/pea mixture. I had all the right intentions but somewhere along the way my first one became misshapen so I tried to correct the next one, then that turned into a glob, trying to correct it, the next one leaned to the left and by the time I was done - they all looked different. (I guess it's good I'm not throwing a dinner party.)

As I had mentioned in an earlier post, my husband's birthday was coming up. My husband likes to cook and I like to try new recipes which we both seldom do. (With children and schedules we're lucky if we get macaroni and cheese made.)  We decided to make  two recipes we really liked: Samosas and Eggs Benedict.

We started out early in the morning. The word for the day is EARLY and is a good indication, things didn't quite go so well. We bought groceries to make this green sauce (cilantro/mint) which is a traditional dip for the samosas. We bought the ingredients for the Eggs Benedict. Finally, we were ready to cook.

Well, you can see how the samosas turned out from above. The filling was pretty good (sauteed sliced onions with some curry powder, add mashed potatoes and at the end peas). The dough, not so much. Who knew Pillsbury pie dough (America's standby and what the recipe called for) doesn't really work so well with Indian food. (I think we should have used phyllo dough which is less doughy.)

Stephane, my husband, worked on the green sauce, called a chutney. My samosas were done after a half hour, his chutney, four hours later and believe me, it took all those four hours to make it. Little did we know, the recipe on this cook's website was wrong!!!   It said to add two cups of mint and one cup of cilantro, along with a tablespoon of sugar and a few other things. My husband took an hour trimming the mint leaves because they were from our garden and it was hard to get ones which were edible. After everything was blended in a blender, we now had green goop which tasted like spearmint gum. Yum! (Not the taste we we're going for.) Where the recipe messed up, the cilantro and mint amounts were interchanged and the cook should have put a teaspoon of sugar, not a tablespoon. Big difference.

As I mentioned before we were trying to save money and at this point we had a lot of ingredients in this concoction. So what did we do? We started adding things around the kitchen to see if we could make it better. Garlic, why not, add a few more cloves, not so good. Let's try some chili paste, not so good still. Maybe a few more jalapenos, no. Yellow mustard, bad idea. More garlic to counteract the spearmint, still not good. What about parsley, that's it. It's supposed to wipe out a bad taste. It helped a little but not enough.

In the end, after an hour of adding things, we now had a full blender of green goop (instead of half) and we were able to make it taste okay and by okay, I mean eatable. (The majority of green goop went back in the refrigerator for someone to eat where it lasted three days and ultimately, ended up in the trash. So much for saving money.)

So now it's 10 P.M. on that day and it's time to start the Eggs Benedict. No, I don't think so. Too tired. Too beaten down by this God forsaken green chutney recipe.

Ah, recipes. They are fun to look at (especially when there are photos), interesting to see how they taste but once you put in all the effort for a long drawn out recipe, it looses its luster. But, I will try again. Just not for a few months.

Getting Ready for the Loony Bin

For my friends outside of the U.S. the loony bin is the insane asylum and that's where I'm going. Today, my daughter is on vacation with my sister so I thought I would take the time (which I haven't done in a long time) to work on my story, Finding Hope. I went upstairs to my office where I haven't been in a week and surprise, I have elder bugs all over. They are everywhere outside in August, usually in massive quantity. Apparently, they get in through the windows and lucky me, half of them were on top of each other mating. Great.

First, I freaked out, then I grabbed Kleenex after Kleenex, and started killing all 20 some of them. I went to wash my hands, came back and there were two more. Got them. Went to wash my hands and there were four more. Went to wash my hands and there were . . .yes, you guessed it more and more and more.

This happened about 10 times before I did what any woman would do, I called my husband, screaming. "You have to do something! There are about twenty of them all over and I killed them and now there are more and they keep on coming and ah, there's one on my book. Take that you MF. And they're breeding. And they won't stop coming!"  It was like an invasion movie on television and I was the blonde bimbo screaming "help, help" when the monster was a little bug.

And of course he said, "What do you want me to do? I'm at work."

So I did the next best thing. I called my parents and my dad's reply was, "What do you want me to do? I'm in Indiana."

Now I am in my office, trying to write and every ten seconds I glance around for bugs. Meanwhile, my baby, who is in the bouncy chair next to me, has learned it is fun to throw things on the floor and have mommy pick them up. It has now become a ritual, he throws it down, I pick it up, he throws it down, I pick it up. So in between looking up for bugs and picking up a constantly dropped toy, I try to write. Ready for the insane asylum? Yes, I think I am.

Where's that stupid tissue, there's another bug. Freakin' A.

A Man's Birthday, What to Do

This week is my husband's birthday. Since we are trying to save money, I asked him what he would like to do. Wrong question. I have now promised to watch 5 seasons of Babylon 5 (described by Wikipedia as "an American space opera") complete with an Earth Alliance and spacefaring races.



Now, I like Star Trek in doses. Let me tell you, Connor Trinneer "Trip" in Star Trek: Enterprise wasn't too bad to look at, but Babylon 5 is like a B version with weird looking characters. One creature is bald with green spots and another looks like Napoleon's long lost father.






And maybe his crazy long lost brother as well . . .






Last year for his birthday, I decided to make gourmet food. I cooked lemon risotto, chicken with morels and panna cotta with balsamic strawberries. I know, sounds like a lot of fluffy upscale food. But it was pretty awesome. Except when he called an hour beforehand, when I had been cooking for three hours, to tell me his car broke down on the highway. I had to turn off the stove, take things out of the oven and stuff everything into the refrigerator. I then headed out to the highway (an hour away) to search for his car at an abandoned gas station. We ate at 11 P.M. but the food was awesome. I was quite proud of myself. Rachael Ray, take that.

When my husband and I first dated, I decided I would impress him for his birthday. (Before you get married, you always do it this way you know. After, anything goes.) I bought him a nice outfit and for extra brownie points, I bought his cat this expensive canned food. (What a joke. The cat turned his nose up at it.) Anyway, what did I get for my birthday that year? Nothing. I believe it's a guy thing. They just don't get it. Birthdays are important to women. You have to hit them over the head with hints before they realize, We Want Something Special (Done or Bought) For Our Birthday.

So we'll see how this Babylon 5 marathon goes. I'll be able to hold out for three shows, this is my bet. Once we hit more than that, I'll probably be snoozing on the couch. Unfortunately, I dream about what I watch at night so I'm sure I will have "an American space opera" going on in my head.
Lucky me.

Stalking Arnold

Here is an excerpt, well a pieced together excerpt, from my story, Finding Hope, regarding ta da, Stalking Arnold. He is a not-so-pleasant man who likes to meander into peoples' personal bubbles and as luck would have it, he is a member of the Love Club, a weekly dating club where Hope and Gina are members.

The Love Club is like a Welcome Back, Kotter type of group (if you can remember the television show) with a group of misfits. Some of the Love Club members are: druggy Alice who can't choose between the only two men who have shown her interest, the Jiffy Lube guy who changes her oil with a smile or the barista at Starbucks who says "hi" when he does the foam just right on her coffee; a Domino's pizza delivery driver who drives a broken down Pinto with a delivery sign on top of it; Minerva, who has more hair than a sasquatch; Javier, who wears white cabana shoes, a pastel shirt and thinks he is in a Miami Vice episode and of course, the beloved, Stalking Arnold. So, here is part of an introduction to Arnold. God, I love these strange characters. Normal is boring, right.

from Finding Hope

“Arnold Thaddeus Mizilwick,” Hope said as she peered outside of her living room window down at the street corner where Arnold was leaning against a telephone pole, “is one hell of a name.”

This was the name Hope was given by the private detective she had hired to find out who had been following her for the past two weeks. At first she did not recognize the name and was worried a dangerous and strange man was following her. As it turned out, dangerous he was not, but strange, more so than most. To Hope and Gina, he was better known as spatially challenged Arnold from The Love Club, a dating class they attended once a week. Now, they could add stalking his description.

The private detective had told Hope that Mr. Arnold Thaddeus Mizilwick was actually quite harmless. He had no prior charges, lived a quiet life, and was just an unfortunate victim of low self-esteem. “And,” he had added as an afterthought, “he had a brief but uneventful stay in the Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital—but nothing major.”

Although the bit about the mental hospital did not particularly make her feel at ease,Hope felt Arnold was for the most part, harmless. And in some twisted way, she looked at him as her somewhat protective but demented guardian angel.

***

“So how did Arnold find out where you live anyway?” Gina asked Hope who had relayed the information to to her the next day at breakfast.

“You know the old Victorian house down the street. The one which had the sale sign for the longest time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, guess who bought it?”

“You’re kidding me,” Gina squinted. “Arnold?”

“Yes, Arnold Thaddeus Mizilwick.”

“Girl,” she said pointing her fork at Hope, “that’s a stalking sounding name if I ever heard one. That’s your cue to move.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I happen to like my house. So I have a man who follows me. I’m sure other women have that happen from time to time.”

Gina shook her head. “I’ve always said you live your life in denial, Hope. But I never knew it expanded to stalkers.”

***

Later in the story, as Arnold's stalking issues progress, they break into his house to find out if he is really dangerous . . .

“Okay, now I’m starting to freak out."

“It’s about time,” Gina said. “You just have bad luck Hope. Of all the men that could have had an obsession with you; you get Arnold. Why can’t women ever get stalkers who look like Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt. But no,” she said plainly, “they always have to look like Arnold. It’s the first rule in the Stalking for Dummies Handbook, you have to be weird and crazy ugly.”

Hope stopped finagling the bedroom window latch and turned toward Gina. “Are you done talking to yourself because I could really use a hand here.”

After they break in and find a few things . . .

Gina opened one of the bedroom doors. "Oh man. It's a Barry Manilow room!"
Hope turned the corner and pushed open the door. "You've got to be kidding." Concert posters were everywhere, t-shirts with his picture were framed and hung, and magazine stories and newspaper clippings of every place Barry Manilow had been covered the back wall.
"I think this guy has an obsession with someone else besides you," Gina said.
"You think?" Hope noticed a watch, a Christmas ornament, a snow globe, a dog tag, an iPhone case, water bottles, book bags and even a container of Eucalyptus bath salts all containing the Barry Manilow name. "This puts a whole new meaning to the word Fanilow," Hope said.
"I don't know," Gina said, looking at The Greatest Hits album. "You would think he would pick someone a little more, I don't know, womanly to stalk."
"Have you seen Barry Manilow recently?" Hope asked. "Anyway, let's move on. This gives me the creeps."
"Now, all we have to do is find your room, Hope."
Hope looked at her, "You're kidding, right?"

Finding Hope: The District Meetings Nobody Wants to Go to

So here's a brief (okay, lets change that to long) bit or chapter from Finding Hope, the book I mentioned before. And again, I know this is NOT what you are supposed to do because it's not revised and such to be perfect or turned in to a publisher but hey, I have a baby to attend to and we're just informal here on my site, right. That gives me a pass, for now.

There are two funny things to the following story: everyone has gone to work seminars and meetings where they drag on forever and this is partially a true story for me. I went to an informational work seminar a long time ago and a coworker actually wrapped some of the left-over food from the buffet table in tin foil and put it in her purse. She even yelled over, "Do you want some tin foil to wrap some food up?" She was a good person but it was pretty funny. See, I don't even have to invent these situations, it just happens. And then you embellish it a little and away we go, it's fiction after all, right? That's life, comedy is happening all the time - if you look around.

Finding Hope

The Sales Meeting from Hell

The hotel on 5th and Main Street was home to trade shows, expensive weddings, and monthly District wide sales meetings for the management team at Harcourt Investments. Those managers that is, who couldn't finagle an excuse to get out of them. Motivate Your Team For Record Sales, Learn How to Get the Most Out of Your Employees the memos stated, initiatives which all sounded great to the vice presidents and CFOs as long as they could send someone else to get the information.

Attendance was mandatory, participation non-existent. It was the dreaded first Monday of the month and Hope and Gina sat down on the white banquet chairs as far away from the podium where the monthly presenter What the F*** Chuck? (so named by the seminar attendees since nobody knew what he was talking about) was about to give another speech from the company sales handbook he wrote: Fifteen Ways to Get the Most from Your Sales Team: Lessons from a Superstar Seller.

“Why do we get stuck going to these sales meetings each month?” Gina said taking her pen and drawing mustaches on Chuck's picture in the sales brochure. “There, he looks better,” she said holding it up for Hope to see.

“You should have been an artist,” Hope said sarcastically.

“Huh,” she held out the brochure to see how it looked, “I didn’t realize I was that good?”

“I was joking. Don’t get your hopes up." Hope turned back to her own sales brochure and started writing down her TO DO list in the margins.

Gina sighed and watched the presenter for two minutes and then turned to Hope. “You do know, Mr. Harcourt sends us to these seminars each month because we’re women. He is a prime example of a man who thinks women are supposed to do all of the unpleasant work. I bet his wife just loves him in the bedroom.”

“Gina,” Hope shushed her. She looked around knowing many of the people at the seminar knew Mr. Harcourt.

“All I’m saying," Gina continued, "these monthly sales seminars and sales initiatives and sales targets bore me to death. I’d rather be in the office with that twit Corbin than sit here all day looking at pie charts.”

“Do you think I like sitting here?” Hope said. “No, but sometimes we have to do what is required because it’s our job. So stop complaining.”

“Personally,” Gina said going back to her doodling, “I think half of the business meetings that employees have to go to are crap and a waste of time. The managers spout off about time management and then send us to meetings that go on forever and ever and ever . . .”

“Shh,” Hope said again. “Gina, just listen and be quiet.”

“Why should I? You’re not listening." Gina pointed to Hope's brochure. “You’re writing down your grocery list and what you’re going to eat this week for your diet.”

 “No, I’m not,” Hope ignored her.

“Yes, you are,” Gina said loudly, “its right there,” she pointed. “See, you’re eating a chicken breast with broccoli on Tuesday.”

“Fine,” Hope said putting her brochure into her purse, “Now we’ll both listen to the stupid sales presentation.” They turned to see what Chuck Peterson, Executive Sales Manager for the U.S. Division, was saying while he stood on the podium looking over everyone.

“Furthermore,” Chuck took his silver extension pen and pointed to the pie chart on the screen behind him, “The statistical evidence shows that 15% of our investment group will go for the sales acquisition in Denver. Therefore, if we project a fairly accurate picture, the profits could bring back a highly equitable sum. Once we computerize the S.P.F.S, for those of you who are unfamiliar with their work acronyms it stands for Sales Projection and Forecast Spreadsheet,” he smiled, “the output will be in the 25% to 30% range. Please turn to page 76 and consult diagram F on the page. As you can see, the pie chart shows a larger yield in just a matter of one year. Now if you turn back to page 30 in your sales handbook…”

“Oh lord, kill me now,” Hope said putting her head in her hands and sighing.

“See, I told you,” Gina whispered. “You think Chuck’s boring, too.” Gina took her sales handbook and looked at the cover where Chuck’s photo was displayed. On the cover’s photograph, Chuck Peterson was sitting at an expansive oak meeting table, his trophies strategically placed in the background, while he held his gold pen up as if he was about to write some amazingly important sales letter. He smiled at the camera, his overly whitened teeth brighter than anything else on the page. Gina took her pencil and started coloring in his teeth.

“Gina, that’s defiling company property.” Hope grabbed the pencil from Gina's hand.

“Who cares,” she said putting down the 15 pound sales manual beside her chair with a thump, “Mr. Harcourt should pay us extra to go to these stupid meetings and besides,” she looked up and pointed, “Chuck, the sales geek, is way too peppy for a Monday morning.”

For the next hour, Hope looked around the room at the people in the seminar trying to find something to drone out Chuck’s monotonic voice. First, she decided to count how many people were in the room. There were 42. She then decided to count how many men had a comb over or toupee since strangely enough, it seemed like there were an overwhelming amount of them. She counted how many were wearing black suites, 30; then who was paying attention versus who was falling sleeping; and then finally, the number of men who were good looking, which, unfortunately, there were none.

“So we’ll take a 45 minute lunch break and then we’ll start again at 1:00 P.M.,” Chuck said, “After lunch we only have an hour to go. We’re going to talk about the new sales initiatives we're implementing next year. You'll be pretty excited.”

“Did I hear lunch?” Gina popped up from her five minute nap and rushed up to the buffet table where sandwiches, muffins, rolls, coffee and fruit awaited everyone.

“Thanks for waiting,” Hope called after her, but Gina had already disappeared. After Hope took her food, the two sat and ate in silence at their banquet table.

“Oh shit, here comes Norman Fiske,” Gina said ducking underneath their table.

“Gina, get up,” Hope said pulling on the back of her suit coat. “Oh hi Norman, how are you?” Hope smiled. Norman Fiske was a man who Gina despised. Hope looked at the young sales manager and shook her head. He was a hundred pounds overweight, a short 5’4 and had a tie that was way too long, half of his shirt was not tucked in and his suit jacket arms were way too long for his five foot body. He was harmless and, he was in love with Gina.

“Hi H.G., I mean Hope,” he smiled. “Forgot you changed your name. But it’s pretty, real pretty,” he said kindly.

“Thank you Norman.”

“I thought I saw Gina around here,” Norman said. “I could swear she had come back to the table after she went to get her lunch.”

 “Oh she’s here,” Hope said feeling Gina slap her knee underneath the table. “She’s just somewhere else at the moment. Try the bathrooms in the hallway. I think she went there.”

“Why did you go and tell him I was here at the conference?” Gina said trying to get up from underneath the table.

“He obviously knows you’re here. It’s not like he’s going to think it was a figment of his imagination that he saw you up at the buffet table.”

“I wish,” Gina said smoothing her skirt and sitting back down. “Man, I hope Chuck starts soon before Norman comes back.”

“Why don’t you just go out with Norman one time? You’ll make the poor guy’s day. You never know, you might like him?”

“We’re talking about Norman Fiske, Hope. Norman Fiske,” as if the name alone could explain everything. “He’s a guy who wears the same suit every month to this sales meeting; a guy who has more hair on the back of his neck than he does on his head; a guy that eats his food like he’s inhaling it.”

“Enough, I get the picture. But it might just be that the love of your life is coming in an alternative package.”

“Give me a break,” Gina said finishing her sandwich, “If that were the case, then why haven’t you given strange, stalking Arnold a chance?”

Hope didn’t speak further. The last hour of the seminar dragged on. Hope didn’t know why she had to go to these meetings each month. Every single thing Chuck said, every word, was right there in the 300 page sales manual for anyone to reference: Everything was written, rephrased, drawn in a chart and then outlined at the end of each chapter so even a person who didn’t know anything about sales figures could understand it.

“What do you think they’re going to do with all of that left-over food?” Gina said eyeing the buffet table.

“How should I know?” Hope said not interested.

“I mean, that’s a lot of food over there. They bought those sandwiches from Café Venue. I love their food.”

“It’s just food Gina. Besides, we’re on a diet, remember?”

“But they shouldn’t throw it away, its wasting money. Not to mention all of those poor kids in Africa who don't get any food.”

“If you want another sandwich Gina, just get one.”

“No, I don’t want one right now.”

“Then stop talking about it,” Hope said turning back to Chuck’s presentation. She was now counting how many bricks were behind him on the wall. This had to be the most boring presentation since they started having to attend them a year ago.

“I’m just saying,” Gina continued, “they would have put those sandwiches in the refrigerator by now if they were going to save them.”

Hope turned to look at her. “Do you have an obsession with food, Gina? Are you going mental on me?”

“No, of course not,” she turned to face Hope, “I just think it’s bad to waste food, that’s all.”

“So in conclusion,” Chuck said ending his Power Point presentation, “we can see that the estimates for sales program will increase not only the companies profits but your clients’ profits as well. And no matter how you look at it . . .”

“Lord, here we go again with Chuck’s closing line,” Hope sighed.

“A good business is a profitable business,” Chuck drew his hands up, did a 1, 2 as if he was shooting two pistols in a gun fight, winked his left eye and then smiled widely, showing his fluorescent white teeth.

“He’s such a weenie when he does this at the end of his speeches,” Gina said watching him.

“What can I say he probably wanted to be John Wayne as a kid. Now let’s go before the traffic gets bad.” Hope gathered her purse and books.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hope watched Gina go over to the buffet table with her purse. Slowly, Gina looked around and after seeing nobody present, she grabbed a napkin and wrapped up one of the salami sandwiches and put it in her purse. After taking one more glance around, she hurriedly stuffed in two bananas, an apple and a few rolls.

“I don’t believe this,” Hope said surveying her from across the room. She went up behind Gina and whispered, “What do you have a bottomless purse? What the hell are you doing?”

“Hope, they’re going to throw away this food. So what if I take a little for later? You know what the bible says about free food.”

“I know, I know, we’ve been down that road before. It’s in another translation. Just load up the food in your purse and let’s go. One would think we don’t pay you enough for as many times as you go for the free stuff. But I know your salary, Gina,” Hope said, “and while it may not be enough to afford a mansion, you certainly can afford any food you could possibly want. It’s not like you’re one of those starving African children you mentioned just a minute ago.”

“So what, their black, I’m black. It’s a brother sister type thing. You wouldn’t know anything about it. You white people never ban together, it’s all about your differences,” she said wrapping up another roll to put in her purse, “You have every kind of white person in the world. This guy is a hillbilly from Kentucky, that guy is a lawyer from New York, this woman is a Mormon from Idaho, that woman is a prostitute from L.A. and all of them are white but none of them would stick up for one another.”

“Okay Rosa Parks. You’re going into your equal rights speeches again and frankly, I have no idea what on earth that has to do with buffet food.”

“I’m just saying, free food is free food and whether it’s a skinny girl in Ethiopia wanting it or a chubby one is San Francisco, we’re all entitled to some extra helpings once in awhile.”

“Then finish getting your food and hurry up. It’s embarrassing.” Hope went back to her seat and sat down. Hope could just imagine Gina’s $300 dollar purse smelling like salami and fruit. She saw the employees of the building, who were standing by the door, looking at Gina, saying things to one another as they watched her stuffing food down her purse like a clown with a bottomless bag.

Gina came over to where Hope was sitting. “Hey Hope, do you want some tin foil?”

“Where did you get tin foil?”

“I asked the Marketing Director over there.” Gina pointed and waved.

Hope looked across the room toward the buffet where two business women, holding clipboards and dressed in elegant business suits, were looking at them. Hope tried to hide her face with her seminar handbook.

“What’s the problem?” Gina said wrapping up the remainder of the roll she didn’t eat in tin foil. “What?”

Dog Saved by Working Together

A few weeks ago, I saw something amazing. At least to me. I have my times, Lord knows I do when I don't believe in the goodness of people. When I see them look the other way when others need help, when they push and shove their way at after Christmas sales, when they drop off their pet at the humane society because "it" doesn't fit in with their lifestyle anymore, when I see a mother smoking while she is pregnant, when I see in the paper a drunk driver lives while killing a family - I know I am not without my own faults or issues but it makes me wonder where we're all headed.

I was driving down a busy street to a grocery store and suddenly, a small dog (perhaps a puppy) was walking on the side of the street. He was sure to be hit by a car, no question it would happen. He was about ten pounds. I said, "Great, here is another dog I need to save." (After saving countless cats and not knowing where to find homes for them and about five dogs including a flea-bitten belly bloated chihuahua in Aruba who just wandered from a cactus forest when we stopped the car, I have seen it all. A cat with a tail chopped off, another with half an ear torn from a cat fight - they flock to me like they know where I am. Or maybe, nobody else notices them when they walk by?) Anyway, I knew I was going to have to stop and the reason why I was frustrated, I didn't know what I was going to do with him.  And then it happened! Like God opening the sky and sunshine coming down, SOMEONE ELSE STOPPED!

The person in the car ahead of me pulled off to a side road, got out of their car and tried to get the dog. The dog ran across the road, all four lanes were stopping.  Then one car which was turning stopped right in the middle of the road, got out of his car and crawled underneath another car which stopped. The dog was hiding underneath the wheels of the car. I thought I heard angels singing. People were working together to save one dog who wouldn't have made it otherwise. I was so proud. I don't know if it restored my faith in humanity but it showed me people have the power to make a difference and when they all come together to work for the common good, in some kind of special moment to save something many might find insignificant, it's almost like God is there with them, proud in this one act of humanity which shows we were worth it.