My mugs.

Yeah yeah, I know I’m overdue for my weekly post.  SO be it.  It’s not like I’m sitting around on my duff (though I certainly am at this moment and BOY does it feel good).  Listen, it’s hard finding time to write here when I spend most of the day in the kitchen and the rest wrestling crap out of the dog’s mouth.

So before Wipeout is over (I still have 17 mins) instead of some inspired something, or a blog post about the house, I am here to treat you with this:

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Love with a side of Mayo.

When I met my husband it was love at first sight. Even though we were very different people from very different backgrounds, we didn’t care. Like a monster truck roaring down the highway, tossing rational thought to the backseat and empty beer cans out the windows, our love was YEEEEHHAAAWWW!!! Days flew into weeks, weeks into months, and before we knew it, we were getting married. Yet despite our commitment there remains one fundamental difference between my husband and I. Something few couples can resolve without tension, especially when children come along.

I’m ashamed to admit this, but for years I’ve tried to convert him. I know it’s wrong to foist your opinions onto anyone – let alone the person you hold most dear. But I simply can’t understand why he doesn’t feel the same way I do. How he can’t see the beauty in the light! The purity, the wholesomeness. The divine deliciousness of mayonnaise. That cloudlike concoction of whipped oil and egg, the condiment that elevates a humble sandwich to celestial heights. You wouldn’t think something so creamy could be so divisive. But when a person has devoted years of their life to something as important as a choice of condiment, it’s bound to cause trouble when the spouse isn’t on board. The problem? My husband HATES mayo. And I’m a homeowner on Hellmann’s Hill.

Ooooh how I LOVE mayonnaise! And have for as long as I can remember. The look of it, the smell of it, the touch and taste of it brushing past my lips to my tongue. Just thinking about it now is making my mouth water. Even on my low sodium diet, I simply cannot say no. I know I should, I try to limit my consumption. But whereas normal people keep a normal size jar in the fridge, this is how I roll:

GALLON SIZE, BABY!

Now don’t be a hater. If you, like my husband, don’t feel mayonnaise is pure ecstasy, that’s okay by me. Feel free to pass that little plastic cup of yours on over. I like EXTRA. When our daughters came along I wondered on which side of the fence they’d fall. And as luck would have it, we got one of each. My older daughter hates mayo with a passion. My younger eats mayonnaise sandwiches: mayo and bread. She may even like mayonnaise slightly more than me, but as a fellow devotee, I understand.

The reason I am writing this mayo post is NOT b/c we are out of mayo. Heaven forbid! No, we restocked last month and we’ve still got a little ways to go:

It’s because of this mayo “issue” between my husband and I. You see, he’s a mustard man. I like mustard, really I do, but it’s not mayo. And even though I know my husband detests mayonnaise, I am constantly trying to get him to fall in love with it like I am. So I try to slip it in things when he’s not paying attention. Today he caught me fixing some sandwiches for him and spreading the rye bread with mayo. Just a thin spread – almost undetectable – and only on the one slice, but he caught me. And yelled. And then stormed out the door. When he came back in I made my “sad face” at him and apologized. He hugged me and said it’s frustrating not being able to eat a sandwich the way he likes it. Especially when he’s told me, oh, 6,703 times he doesn’t like mayonnaise. But deep down in my heart I just KNOW he’ll love it.. one day.

My weekend so far

Yes, things have been ever-so-exciting here at our palatial West Philly estate on this 3-day Presidents weekend. Yesterday I took care of some friends children most of the day, while my husband caught up on schoolwork (but mostly surfed the internet). I baked a cake for another friend’s party, but got distracted and when my husband yelled, HEY YOU WANT ME TO TAKE THIS OUT OF THE OVEN? I ran downstairs panic-stricken to find my beautiful cheesecake the color of burnt caramel. But I will be bringing it anyway. I don’t have time to make another one – the party is today. And it is a baby shower, so maybe they won’t notice. I cleaned the kitchen cabinets b/c I was bored and they were disgusting. But then I got even more bored and I stopped half-way through. My husband said he was jealous that I was getting to clean the cabinets and I felt really bad for him b/c that is so sad. His schoolwork must be truly awful.

Last night my husband and I had a Date Night Out (OOOooooohhhhhh). I know you are all hopelessly jealous, but try not to hate me too much. We decided to stay out as late as we wanted too b/c our friends were keeping the girls OVERNIGHT. (OOOOoooooohhhhh…) Yes, I CAN FEEL your envy. We decided to go where we always go when we have a night totally to ourselves. Atlantic City! And we were not alone. It was a way busy night down in AC, what with the Village People performing at Resorts and Frankie Valli at the Borgata. I am not a big fan of either, but they are both well-liked by many. The groups of fans were identifiably different and that was fun too.

So we did what we always do when we go down there. We went to stuff our faces at the Borgata Buffet. It was a very long wait at the Buffet. The line wound round 4 of those theme park line dividers, there must have been 150 people ahead of us. All waiting. I amused myself by staring at the people whose tables were closest to the waiting area. I sent them telepathic messages imploring them to throw a shrimp or two my way, b/c I was so hungry. I told my husband there should be some sort of device which tracks hunger, much like a metal detector detects metal. As you came into line at the Borgata Buffet, a restaurant worker would wave this special wand over your stomach and it would register your hunger in decibels. The hungriest would be moved to the front of the line automatically, leaving the less hungry to wait – and as they waited of course, their hunger would increase, making it an altogether more pleasant and satisfying experience for all. Especially me, b/c my hunger was very great and I would have been seated an hour earlier than last night.

While we were waiting in the verrrrrry loooonnngg line, I distracted my husband with stories from the supremely hilarious book I have been reading. It is called The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs and it is laugh-out-loud funny. I truly love this book, I guffaw heartily and then my husband calls from the other room – HEY WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT? I am reading honey. OH, THAT BIBLE BOOK? Yeah. OH. I think he is jealous of this A.J. Jacobs for making me laugh so hard. And I am not joking. He has glanced at his dust-jacket photo and I know he is thinking Boy I am glad that A.J.Jacobs looks like a writer and not a movie star (no offense, A.J.). Also, my husband has begun growing a beard. At first it was a mystery as to why. I complained but I FINALLY get it. He is jealous and wants me to like his beard. I think. It took me a while to put 2 and 2 together, but I am finally getting 4. So this book I am reading is all about A.J. (and his alter-ego, Jacob)’s quest to live by the rules of the Bible for a year. NOT AN EASY TASK. So many whacky rules to abide by. Like tending sheep, and not touching women. His wife Julie deserves accolades for her patience. I laugh as much about that as anything. I cannot imagine what it must have been like living with this guy for a year, on the receiving end of all this oddity.  I picture a lot of heavy sighing.  Way to go, Julie!  You are a very good wife.  So I regaled my husband with funny stories from this book, and I could sense even the women in line behind us listening, b/c it is that THAT funny. You really must read this book. I am looking forward to reading A.J.’s other book, The-Know-It-All when I am done. I just know it will be good fun.

I will have to tell you more about my adventures later, as I have to go to the baby shower now.  Hope you are having a fun weekend too.

Your own PERSONAL CUPID

Sometimes I think fate is out to make me its mistress. Take this thrift shop find: a whole store’s worth of vintage 80s Valentine cards. I just couldn’t resist. Maybe I could have if they’d been the traditional schmaltz, but most of these cards are suggestive. Who doesn’t like a nice racy card? Pretty hot stuff for 1985. Like this one:


Winky eye + smoke coming out of head = Most magically delicious valentine ever

Could there be anything cooler than whipping out a 1980s Recycled Paper Products, Inc. valentine, seemingly out of thin air? These things don’t just grow on trees (I am speaking figuratively here, b/c yes I DO KNOW THEY USED TO as they are composed of 100% recycled paper* obviously way ahead of their time). But you know what I’m saying. Especially if you lived through the 80s. Of course they were stupid and Hideous then, but it’s 2008, Now they’re RETRO.

Remember that TV show A CURRENT AFFAIR? No, I was not suggesting you’d ever watched it either. But I have a card based on it. Other winners include Boynton and the comic strip Cathy. The rest just suggest SEX.

But the greatness of this find doesn’t stop there. You see, my life is all about LOVE. I love LOVE. I enjoy joy. Valentine’s Day was MADE for people like me!! So now I have this surplus of vintage Valentine’s. AND a compulsive inner drive to make others happy. I’m thinking of starting up my own (one-season) seasonal business and I’m going to call it “Your own PERSONAL CUPID”. After all, just last week I posted a whole whopping list of creative, thoughtful, and CHEAP ideas for Valentine’s Day. because that’s just the kind of loving creative thoughtful and cheap person I am. But this idea goes well beyond all that. Can you imagine how awesome it would be to have a completely anonymous stranger act as your cupid? I can write and speak English (and a little French – oh la la! the language of looove). I can come up with interesting, totally spontaneous greeting card messages like “BABY, oh BABY. I am thinking of you right now. Meet me at the train depot at 6 PM tonight. I’ll be the blonde with the suitcase.” Or, “I WANT YOU. AND I KNOW YOU WANT ME. Guess who?”

GREAT stuff , huh?

What could be more titillating than sending a Secret Admirer valentine to someone you have the hots for?? IT IS GREAT.

Think about it:

  1. I send your love a card FOR YOU.
  2. They get it in the mail. Surprise!
  3. He/she looks at the postmark, thinking who the hell lives in Philadelphia? SURPRISE!
  4. He/she opens the envelope to find a HOT!HOT! message, signed with YOUR NAME (WHEN DID THEY GO TO PHILLY??) or NONE AT ALL.
  5. He/she cannot believe it – and WHAT A COOL CARD TO BOOT.
  6. BEST VALENTINE’S DAY EVER!!