Food For Thought

I found the most wonderful thing today in my office's freezer: It looks like a corn dog... but it's a breakfast sausage... rolled up in a pancake... on a stick. I couldn't get out of my head what a wonderful idea - what absolute genius - this really is. Whoever this belongs to in my office - I am your best friend.

This reminds me of the time when I was a bit younger, one hot Chicago summer at the annual "Taste of Chicago" food festival. Nothing too mind boggling here... deep dish pizza, some fried meats, seafood... and then I saw it - my new definition of "Chicago." A simple pie-sized slice of plain old-fashioned cheesecake, frozen, and dipped entirely in chocolate. And it wasn't handed to me by the vendor on a plate and there wasn't a plastic utensil anywhere within reach. This slice of icy chocolatey cheesecake was on the end of a stick, like an 800 calorie popsicle.

Here's a version I found by searching for "cheesecake on a stick," from ViennaBeef.com. (Why a site called "Vienna Beef" is selling cheesecake on a stick is beyond me.)

Local Vacation

The Big KL has survived an entire week without adult supervision. Wifey has taken a well-deserved vacation in Cabo San Lucas, with three of her girl friends. I have had my own vacation at home. No longer was it necessary to make the bed or wash the dishes or wait until late night to play video games! I can drink on any night of the week and wake up with a hangover and my clothes from the night before on the floor. It's like living in the college dorms without the college.

When I stayed in on Sunday to fend for myself, I got by with a bowl of cereal, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some frozen pasta from Costco for dinner. I haven't eaten a meal at home since. I've had four minor hangovers, and have probably consumed twice my body weight in food and drink.

But The Big KL is no longer the strapping young lad he once was. My body is sore and worn from the late nights. I can't help but think that the money spent frivolously could have been more wisely invested. A sink full of dishes and clothes on the floor isn't as novel of an idea as it used to be.

I've had my fun this past week, but I can't stay in vacation mode for too many days before I'm too tired to make it through a day of work or my liver falls out of my body, whichever comes first. It was fun regressing back to a lifestyle I don't even remember living when I was single. But I am an "adult" now, and I undoubredly have many responsibilities I've accepted as my own a few years ago, when I changed my status on every survey I took to "married." And when my biggest responsibility touches down in NY tonight, I'll have to have all the dishes washed and the clothes folded and put away at home.

Thanks to everyone who kept me company, laughing, and inebriated this past week.

Bargain Fashionista

This past weekend, I went shopping with another couple and their out-of-town cousin. This cousin is a retired dancer for an all male dance troupe, stage name "Moshimoshii." Moshi recently retired from the stage due to a bad hip, but continues to travel the world to support the troupe and shop for fine clothing. I've never gone shopping with a male stage dancer with good taste in clothing to boot, but Moshi was kind enough to introduce me to the fine subleties of suede jackets, which I know I would have spilled something on before I got it to the register. Although I wasn't bold enough to buy anything that wasn't stain resistant, I did go home with a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and a more form fitting than usual button down from Banana Rebublic. (It was $15 less than the same shirt a size larger.) Not basing the following comment on my sense of fashion I'm sure, Moshimoshii did say that he wants his next boyfriend to be just like me.

Life Is A Highway

Driving within the five boroughs of New York is not what you want to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but it's something that I do every weekend ritualistically. And I can handle the traffic, the bumper to bumper obnoxiousness, and the barbarians of the road. This Sunday though, I traded lanes wth one gentleman, originating from Brooklyn, who would spawn rage in someone who was pushing a shopping cart.

I try to be very careful when I drive - always aware of my surroundings, checking mirrors, and turning my head to check the blind spots. So when I moved from the right lane to the middle lane on the BQE, in about 20 MPH traffic, I could see in at least two ways that it was an open spot. So I signal and turn, when I hear an approaching flock of angry geese. I instinctly swerve back to my lane, straddling the line now, and see in my mirror at a good length behind me, this ugly orange auto closing in, horn blaring. I wish I could have properly identified his car; I think it was a 1989 POS. At this point, several things race through my mind:

• This guy is an arse
• I've got plenty of room in the middle lane still
• This arse has a loud horn and also has brakes

So I conclude to move back to the middle lane with his melodic horn cheering me on.

Now my new friend behind me is visibly agitated because he hasn't yet learned to drive without large spaces in front of him in 20 MPH traffic, so he shifts into the left lane and attempts to cut in front of me. I think this worked in First Grade when we would line up to leave class and you cut the line to hang out with your friend, so I think he just wanted to hang out with me, maybe teach him how to drive. While looking for his opening, he slows down enough that he's leaving a busload of space in front. At this point, I'm thinking that this guy just has really bad depth perception. So I let him get in front, and he swerves rapidly over like an ugly neon orange motorcycle from Tron, and I take his place in the left lane to cover all the empty space he ignored. As I pass him, his car seems to be calling out to me: "Help me..." I fight the urge to wave goodbye to my new friend with the top of my finger, knowing that another slight distraction might not be good for him and his poor 1989 POS.

On another note, have you ever noticed that there are at least three universal hand gestures for cursing at someone, but not even one for "thank you?"