Who's the Enemy of America?

Say what you will about McCain, Obama, Clinton, Kerry -- hell, even NIXON -- none of their grandpappies tried to take down the American government.

I know this story's a year old. I came across it while considering how to fit Todd's brilliant post about Bush's efforts to destroy nature as we know it into a story about how Bush wants to destroy the world in general.

And he only has a few more months to get the job done!

I know this is an overly bleak viewpoint, but some punk teenagers stole my comfy lawn chairs with the drink holders in them, and I tend to overreact.
Seize the Day. You Never Know When What You Hold Dear Will Be Taken Away.

My pain is considerable, but if I can help but one person by sharing my story today, I can take some small comfort that someone else was spared my agony.

Brooke begged me to sign up for Facebook, but would I listen? No, I put it off. I took it for granted that I had time, that it would always be there, unchanged, waiting for me when I finally got around to signing up.

So, this week, I finally did get around to it, only to find ... sorry, give me a minute here, the wound is still fresh ... Scrabulous is gone. It's gone, people. Before I even had a chance to play it.

The tragedy doesn't end there, folks. The alternative -- the methadone to Scrabulous's heroin, if you will -- Hasbro's Beta version of Scrabble is gone, too. Maybe not forever; there remains a small hope we'll see it again someday.

To some of you heartless bastards, this may not mean anything. Maybe it's just another board game to you, just one in a big, uncaring world full of mindless pursuits. Yeah, to you, games are a dime a dozen; you play them, and toss them aside like yesterday's newspaper.

But Scrabble meant something to me and my family. It meant devious scheming to undermine opponents. It meant near-constant arguing after Thanksgiving dinner. It meant my mom, my aunt, my grandma and my sisters coming together to attack each other, using any means necessary to claim victory. It meant cheating and hiding tiles in your slipper and turning the egg timer back over when no one else was paying attention.

Yes, this and more is what Scrabble means to me.

And now it's gone. There's just never enough time, is there?
Why We Is Not Edumacated

The more I think about what the Bush Administration has done, the more conspiracy-minded I become. I can't help it. It all seems to fit together into some evil plot. Today, I'm thinking about "No Child Left Behind" (NCLB).

Many people more knowledgeable than I have explained how detrimental to the public education system NCLB has been. If you Google, you can find dozens of examples. It's amazing how many different problems this one program has caused.

But the propensity for evil, to me anyways, is the total removal of any sort of critical thinking skills from the education process. Critical thinking cannot be measured in the way the NCLB tests like to measure things. Students and teachers are forced to focus on the "what" but not the "why" or "how."

As usual, the question arises, "Is BushCo (I can't just single out George; there's a whole group behind him. Bush is just the spokesperson, like the Jolly Green Giant or the Pillsbury Dough Boy) stupid, or is it evil?" It's difficult, because compelling arguments could be made either way.

My vote? Evil. If you take away people's critical thinking skills, they can no longer question authority. They will do what you tell them to do, buy what you tell them to buy, and life will go along peacefully and happily for the people in charge.

This administration is not achieving its goals by happy accident. It's not "dumb luck" that certain events just happen to further their ultimate purpose.

I recommend buying this book or one like it now, while you still have the chance.

That way, when someone says, "Oil prices will only go down when we're allowed to drill in protected areas," you can ask questions like, "Aren't you already allowed to drill in places? Are you drilling there? Why aren't you drilling where you're allowed to drill, first, before asking to drill in protected areas? Aren't those areas protected for a reason? What is that reason?"

Or, you could sit back and hope someone else does it FOR you.
I Want to Be a Burlesque Dancer and It's All Miss Kendra's Fault

To celebrate Nick's birthday on Saturday, Miss Kendra flew in from Los Angeles to join us for dinner and to perform a show in the city. Dilf, Nick and I attended. Now, I am determined to become a burlesque dancer.

A burlesque dancer is not a skanky whore stripper, demonstrating nothing more than the fact that she does, in fact, possess a vagina. See the lady in the picture? She was one of the dancers in the show. She performed a routine to "The Pink Panther." She was no Miss Kendra, of course, but she was still entertaining.

No, burlesque is so much more than mere titillation. It is comedy. It is mystery. It is shiny and shimmery. I must glue sequins to my shoes and feathers to my bra and start dancing immediately. The theater calls to me.

I am thinking either Cupcakes Royale or Cupcakes Galore for my stage name. Or, I could pick Penny Dreadful and perform only spooky routines. The possibilities are endless.
Bad Lyrics Thursday

I am about to become a traitor to my youth.

Grease was the soundtrack to my formative years. It served as backdrop to innumerable slumber parties, with my friends and I singing karaoke-style into a hairbrush years before anyone had heard of karaoke.

It was the first video purchased and watched by us once VCRs hit the consumer electronics scene.

For better or for worse (I would venture to say "worse;" nay, I will shout it: WORSE!) it colored our views of romance.

If ever I mistakenly cross the movie's path while channel-surfing, I cringe. If I listen to the lyrics of the songs, I bury my head in shock and horror. Barry Gibb, may God have mercy on your soul for perpetrating a monstrosity that is simultaneously fatuous and hazardous. I'll admit, that is difficult to pull off. Perhaps you fell under some demonic influence.

Let's examine the lyrics of the theme song to clarify my position:

Verse One
I solve my problems and I see the light
We gotta plug and think, we gotta feed it right
There ain't no danger we can go to far
We start believing now that we can be who we are

Have you seen the movie? What problems are solved? Do any of the characters "plug and think?" And, I think Stockard Channing's character proves there IS a danger in "going too far." As for "being who we are," a shockingly stupid and simplistic concept, the movie encourages BECOMING SOMEONE YOU'RE NOT in order to be accepted (more on that later.)

Verse Two
Grease is the word WTF?
They think our love is just a growing pain
Why don't they understand, It's just a crying shame
Their lips are lying only real is real
We start to find right now we got to be what we feel

Okay, this is typical baby boomer bullshit, portraying unseen adults as some sort of menacing yet clueless force restricting "love." Yet I can't recall any parents appearing in the film at all, and the teachers didn't seem to notice or care what the characters did in the back seat of "Greased Lightening." And "only real is real?" Ugh. That's just painful. "Got to be what we feel?" More baby boomer bullshit platitudes. I "feel" like punching someone in his shriveled, useless nutsack. 60 is NOT the new 30! You're OLD! Fucking deal with it already! (I think I'm digressing away from my main point. Where was I? Oh, yeah.

Grease is the word
Grease is the word, is the word that you heard
It's got groove it's got meaning
Grease is the time, is the place is the motion
Grease is the way we are feeling

Really, Barry? How much lead time did the studio executives give you to write this them song? Because only I'm the Map from "Dora the Explorer" exceeds this in sheer repetitive vacuity. None of this refrain contains the barest suggestion of meaning. "Is the word that you heard?" Oh, I thought it was "GEESE." I was confused there, for a minute. Thanks for clearing that up for me.

Verse Three. (and, uh, Four? or is that a misprint? see below)
We take the pressure and we throw away
Conventionality belongs to yesterday
There is a chance that we can make it so far
We start believing now that we can be who we are

Could it be... MORE baby boomer bullshit? You see, because the 50's were so conventional and conformist, while the 60's and 70's were so free-spirited and individualistic. Which is why everyone had the same long hair and jeans. Also, how exactly did Reagan and the Bushies and our greatest (moderate) Republican president, Bill Clinton, get into office? How did everything get deregulated and put into the hands of monopolistic corporations? Right. Those counter-culture revolutionaries. Thanks, jerks. I think I'm getting off topic again.

Back to the movie. I love that we're supposed to "believ(e) now that we can be who we are," when Sandy must completely overhaul her appearance and change her behavior in order to be accepted by the Pink Ladies (who all dress and look the same, by the way), and be reunited with Danny? When Frenchie wants to be a hairdresser instead of going to high school like everybody else, she is pressured to give up her dream after one hair-coloring disaster, by none other than FRANKIE VALLI? Is there no end to the evil foisted upon us by this man, in relation to this movie?

End, Coda, Mindless Repetition
Grease is the word
Grease is the word, is the word that you heard
It's got groove it's got meaning
Grease is the time, is the place is the motion
Grease is the way we are feeling
This is the life of illusion
Wrapped up in trouble laced with confusion
What we doing here?

We take the pressure and we throw away
Conventionality belongs to yesterday
There is a chance that we can make it so far
We start believing now that we can be who we are

Grease is the word
Grease is the word, is the word that you heard
It's got groove it's got meaning
Grease is the time, is the place is the motion
Grease is the way we are feeling

Grease is the word, is the word that you heard
It's got groove it's got meaning
Grease is the time, is the place is the motion
Grease is the way we are feeling

Grease is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word
Is the word

In conclusion, I don't like this song.

(I'm going to get attacked by fans, aren't I? Well, it's been a while... I guess I'm due.)
Well, Maybe That's YOUR Perception...

People have been known to generalize Schrodinger's superposition principle of quantum physics, applying a blanket "perception is reality" approach to life.

I beg to differ with this view. As proof that perception is NOT reality, I offer the inane conversations of Chicago suburbanites as proof.

For example, I have heard the following things said about our local high school:

"It's a bad school! I'm sending my kids to parochial high school when the time comes."; "They (former residents) had to move away because they had to get their daughter away from the 'bad crowd' she met in high school."

"It's dangerous!" "Drug crazed!" "Gang-infested!"

The truth about our high school is much less sensational and infinitely more positive. Out of 590 public high schools in Illinois, Downers Grove South is rated 43. That translates to a spot in the top 10 percent in the state. Horrors! Keep my children AWAY from that place!

The "bad crowd" feared by the parents came from less wealthy suburbs, and were referred to as "darkies." Their paranoia about this new influx of students caused them to move to a high school rated far lower than Downers Grove South -- at 152, specifically. Plus, the drunken disorderly ruckus raised by their daughter didn't involve these new acquaintences in the first place.

Speaking of race, a far more racially-mixed school in the Chicago Area, Oak Park River Forest High School, is rated 19 (for those of you keeping score, that makes it in the top 3 percent of all Illinois high schools.) However, when I lived in Oak Park, people would whisper about the "decline" of their high school, the gang infestation, the violence...

Maybe it's high schools that cloud people's judgment. When I lived in Wheaton, one of my sister's friends warned that our high school at the time, Wheaton Warrenville South (rated 38), got "dicey" because of the "kids from Warrenville." Yes, Warrenville, that cesspool of danger and criminal activity. Stay out of The Satisfied Frog if you value your life!

It's beyond that, though. When my sister met with her former high school buddies to reminisce, one of them explained where she lived. Since it was near the border of Downers Grove and Westmont, my sister asked, "Is that Westmont or Downers Grove?"

The lady sneered, "Downers Grove! Do you know anyone who would live in Westmont?"

Actually, I do. I know several. And they're quite happy there, with its cute little downtown that keeps getting better, and their beautiful, spacious homes. And their disposable income, because they didn't overpay for the exact same house located 1.5 miles west.

You can see why I have hard time trusting other people's perceptions. After all, have you taken a good look at Top 40 music? Popular television? Chain restaurants?

I rest my case.
Perfect Fantasy
I love magazines. To a one, they present the kind of impossible to achieve perfection fantasies that I love to compare to real life, just to feel the pangs of disappointment and failure.

I might as well watch "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" and think, "Hey, I should put a hidden candy forest in my back yard! Staffed by tiny imaginary men! Wait, no -- tiny imaginary men who sing!"

Most recently, I read Parents magazine. I particularly enjoyed this article about discipline.

I actually agree with this guy's approach -- for kids aged two and under. After that? Well, I agree -- if you want to raise a sociopath.

...if you really want your child to be better-behaved, you actually need to praise him
more enthusiastically, and you can't rely on punishment to fix a discipline problem.

Dr. Kazdin, director of the Yale Parenting Center and Child Conduct Clinic, says he knows what works: helping your child practice doing the right thing and then showering him with compliments every time he does it.

I specifically found this example troubling:

Q. How about using logical consequences -- for example, if a child scribbles on the wall, she has to clean it up?

Making these connections for kids seems to make sense, but it's still a punishment that won't change behavior. Later on, or in the days that follow, you can practice drawing pictures on paper with your child and compliment her. ("You used markers like a big girl and made such a beautiful picture on this piece of paper. Think you can make another for your sister?)

Okay, part of my problem with this example is it criticizes my own particular discipline style. But more importantly, he fails to realize you need to teach a kid more than simply "don't write on the wall" in this instance.

By giving the kid a dampened Eraser™ sponge and telling her to clean up the mess -- (and I'm not advocating beating the kid over the head over it; "You horrible, contemptible child! I shall not feed, comfort or love you until you have returned my wall to its original state! Now get scrubbing, before I throw you out into the street, miserable dog!") -- you're also teaching her that actions have consequences that need to be addressed, and that (importantly to me) mommy (or anyone else) isn't your slave.

If you don't have your child clean up his or her own mess, he/she will go through life expecting some invisible servant will come up from behind to fix everything. Is that what you want?

Additionally, I don't know how practical his advice is. If you have 10 and 8 year old boys, for example, how are you supposed to carry out his "praise while they're behaving correctly" thing?

"Oh, good job, Billy! You're not pinning your younger brother to the ground while dangling a line of gooey saliva over his head in a threatening manner! Hooray for you!"

Yeah, I don't see that happening, do you?
My Flash Fiction Friday: I Think She Likes You

When did it become fashionable to wear those baggy tank tops that expose your disgusting hairy armpits? Good Lord, men are revolting. Hello, I think that shirt was meant to show off that you’d been to a gym, not that you haven’t seen the inside of one since, oh, high school when they forced you to?

And look at that guy. Actually, look at all of them. Do they have a dork uniform store where these losers all buy their clothes?

And listen to them. Every night it’s the same tired bullshit. Ah, questioning your friend’s sexual orientation; that’s a good one. Never heard that witty banter before. Wait … the bald joke is coming. I can feel it. Wait for it… wait for it… ah, there it is! I knew you wouldn’t let me down, polo shirt guy!

Now they’re going to talk about golf. Sigh.

I wonder, do these guys really feel as cocky as they act? Because if they do, they’re seriously lying to themselves.

They’ve run out of routine insults and golf discussions. What will it be, talking about cars, or looking over at the game on TV? I’m waiting, gentlemen. Cars it is, then.

Now, I can’t tell by looking at you. When you’re done with the same old car discussion, will you switch to computers, or will you finally look to the game to relieve you of the stress of conversation? Still the cars? How long can this go on.

Finally! Okay, the truck thing makes me think you’ll look at the game instead of talking about computers. Aaand… I’m right. Of course I’m right. I see the same generic groups of miserable jerks every night. They’re looking at the screen, so now it’s my cue to go over and talk to them…

“Hi, I’m Carly!” I hear myself say in my cheer-uppy syrupy voice. “Welcome to Hooters! Can I take your order?”

Overpriced beer and mediocre chicken wings, you say? I already had that written down.
Return of Return of Return of Return of Return of Flash Fiction Friday
It's not too late, right? It's still Friday, right?

I still miss my friend JJ. I'm going to resurrect his group writing exercise, Flash Fiction Friday. Again, here are the rules, which I copied directly from his website earlier:
  • You will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem beginning with the sentence below.
  • You will add comments to this post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story.
  • You may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
  • You will display your story as a post on your own blog.
  • You will be done by Monday 12:00 Noon CST.

Oh, and if you ask about the rules, Jeanne Martini will style your hair.

Your sentence...

I've been drunk before, but how on earth did I manage to..
My Bathroom Is a Hotbed of Doll-on-Doll Action
First, I stumbled upon this.

Now, I turn on the light to find this going on in my sink:

What sort of establishment do they think I'm running here?
Enough Ugliness.

I have counterbalanced the ugliness and I feel much better.

After all, how bad could a world be that produces something as delicious and uplifting as coffee?

Plus, ÜberYounger has mastered the art of bicycle riding, and we've been taking family jaunts. Most recently we traveled out of our subdivision, across the big street, into.. Darien. Besides hearing Elder shout joyfully, "Downers Grove in da house!", it was an eye-opening lesson on why I like my neighborhood.

The Darien subdivision, while comprised of newer homes, was sterile and desolate. No one was outside, besides one cheerless woman preparing to whack weeds. It was eerily silent. We stopped at their park, briefly. I felt like a neutron bomb had gone off without us knowing, and we were the only living things around. Truly, this must be the culture of death which I've heard tell of.

We got back onto our bikes and headed home. Once we crossed over Fairview Avenue back into our own territory, I once again heard the cheerful cries of birds, the giggles and shrieks of playing children, and the metallic hiss of locusts. I saw a man playing catch with his daughter, another man taking a stroll, and a woman jogging with her dog. I rejoiced in the presence of living things.

As if that weren't enough to make me happy, Dilf found the missing NetFlix DVD.

So, as long as I stay away from people who ridicule those who are different from themselves and stop watching or reading the news, I should be fine for a while.
Sorry I Let You Down, NaPaLaBamba

I tried.

I thought talking about food every day would help, but it didn't.

I'm losing heart.

When a search for "funny cooking shows" yielded a hateful diatribe against developmentally disabled people as the number one response, it was the straw that broke this camel's back.

I am tired of the ugliness, half-truths, outright falsehoods, spite, and low-blows that pass for "facts" on many blogs and internet "news sources" these days.

I am sick of people using their blogs as an opportunity to lash out at other people, belittle others or prop up their saggy egos by taking pot shots at commenters for their own aggrandizement.

When I can be a sprightly, energized blogger again, I will be back. Right now, instead of feeling good about what I've read from others or written myself, I feel drained and disheartened.
I'm Contractually Obligated to, That's Why

Still Cookin'.. But Why?
I haven't watched MadTV since the last millenium, so I was amazed to see it's still on the air. Who knew?

Here's a cooking-related clip from the show, and it's only slightly stale:

In other food news, coffee makes you invincible.
Some Corn on the Macabre with Your Creepies Suzette, My Dear?
Vincent Price was so deliciously spooky that Michael Jackson turned to him for help with "Thriller" when he needed someone even creepier than himself. He appeared in countless horror movies, including "The Ten Commandments" with Charlton Heston.

Thus, it may surprise some of you to learn that Mr. Price was also an excellent cook, who not only sold cookbooks but actually had his own cooking show called "Cooking Price-Wise".

He may have intended to keep his cooking and his horror careers separate, but when you hear his voice in your head saying, "Come Into the Kitchen," it still seems pretty scary, as does his confessional "I Rub My Roast." (thanks to April Winchell, yet again.)

Speaking of creepy and fear-inducing, I'd like to share this story with you. Despite the fact that this man was planning a terrorist attack to both cover up his wife's intended murder AND obtain more money from her life insurance policy, AND despite the fact that nearly 2/3 of the poison he purchased is unaccounted for and the man in question "declined to comment after the hearing on whether the missing vials or the contents of the empty vials posed a public danger," the Chicago Tribune decided this story is not front page material. I found it in the Metro section.

Go ahead, read the whole story. Nice job, FBI and National Security Administration. I just wish Richard Reid had told investigators "I was bored," when questioned. Then maybe we all wouldn't have to take our shoes off at the airport.
Just in Time! Recession Recipes!
I have worked through the stages of grief regarding my economic standing as a member of the defunct middle class; I have arrived at acceptance.

But that doesn't mean I have to give up my passion for cooking. I just need to adjust my expectations, the way I've adjusted to the fact that some things I took for granted are now luxuries -- like movie tickets, ice cream and dental care. Lets face it: eating once a day isn't so bad, as long as you make that one time count!

To that end, I found a wonderful resource called Recession Recipes.

It has taught me not to fear poverty, but to embrace it with inspiring menus like this:

Grilled Local Fish with Herbs - Go to your nearest body of water or stream and catch yourself some fish! This is cheap eating! Don't worry about "heavy metals" or other poisons, because you might agree that recession life really isn't worth living anyway�Alternatively, use the tropical fish in your fancy 1000 gallon fish tank because you can't afford the upkeep anymore.

and this:

Grilled Wild Mushrooms - Don't blame us if you pick your own mushrooms from the backyard and get poisoned. Don't blame us if you get a "how to pick wild mushrooms" book and screw up and get poisoned. Don't blame us because you worked at a doggy company that went bankrupt so now you can't afford to buy mushrooms in a store. That's your own fault. We hope you learned your lesson.

Who needs affordable utilities, health care, housing, education, or footwear when you can have delicacies like these!

Now, as for my dinner plans tonight... here, Miss Muffin! Here, kitty kitty kitty...

UPDATE: Have no fear, good citizens! World leaders feel your pain. Wait, is your pain gout, or indigestion from too much rich food? No? Oh, then they don't. This news courtesy of my friend Ms. McGee.
Don't Eat It Update

With July being "Food" month, I thought it an excellent time to revisit Steve.

Steve is an internet celebrity who eats things he probably shouldn't. Because his posts run oldest-to-newest instead of newest-to-oldest, I decided to skip to the bottom and link to his most recent exploit. To my dismay, I found his most recent entry to be dated October, 2007, when he ate a tree fungus growing in his front yard.

What's happened to Steve? Why hasn't he updated in 10 months?

Maybe he shouldn't have eaten it.

Edit: I also posted on Ubermilf Dark today. Be warned.
Back to the Food:

Why celery salt?

I don't know.

I don't even like all that crap on my hot dog. But this is an informational video, not an endorsement.
Did you know that sarcasm is good for you?

It is! University neurophysiologists say so, so it must be true!

This is very good news for me. For once, something in my brain is healthful rather than a disorder of some sort.

However, for some people who don't pick up on sarcasm or facetiousness, it's not so funny.

I could say something mean, like, "I have to be sarcastic for my own health, and if you don't like it, don't slip on your own tears on the way out the door, crybaby," but I won't.

Because, people who can't understand sarcasm "must have some damage to your parahippocampal gyrus which is located in the right brain. People with dementia, or head injuries in that area, often lose the ability to pick up on sarcasm, and so they don't respond in a socially appropriate ways."(from the referenced article.) They aren't choosing to be oblivious; they're damaged!

It's also a good blogging skill.
Where Conspiracy Minds Go on Vacation
As I said in an earlier post, I recently finished reading the book All Over Creation. It was set in the year 1999, and mentioned that year's WTO protests.

I've been thinking, where have those protests gone? Remember how so many different groups of people got together in opposition to the WTO, the IMF and the World Bank -- like labor unions, environmentalists, religious groups, women's groups, farmers... just about everybody who wasn't anybody joined forces. Then, all of a sudden, they dissipated.

They didn't disappear entirely, as the demonstrations in Cancun in 2003 illustrate. (Curiously, that website claims "the protests outside on the street also contributed directly to the fall of the WTO," yet the WTO appears to be alive and well and living in Switzerland.)

Why the shift in focus away from the disastrous effects of Globalization? As Rudy would say, 9-11. And Iraq.

Speaking of Iraq, Globalization seems to be rearing its ugly head again. I sure hope all you Boot-in-the-Ass Americans who supporting the senseless invasion of Iraq are glad to know all those American soldiers died or came back maimed or otherwise damaged by the "conflict" in Iraq sacrificed so that the GLOBAL petrochemical industry could benefit.

Not that American firms aren't benefiting as well. Especially if you are a personal friend of George W. Not that he knows anything about it.

Wait, am I supposed to be talking about food this month?

Suddenly, I lost my appetite.
potato salad
for every 2 lbs of potatoes:

1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 to 1.5 tsp. garlic
1 tsp. dijon mustard
1 TB lemon juice
1 TB dried dill
1/2 tsp salt

simple yet effective
Salad Dressing Plague Hits Ohio

I was going to talk about my potato salad today, but who can talk about potato salad when the end of the world is at hand?

It is written:

"Lo, in those last, dark days, a plague shall strike the nation. From the bowels of the earth, a spring shall rise forth, not of water, but of buttermilk, and of mayonnaise, and of a blend of herbs and spices known only unto the maker.

And this spring shall rise forth to damage untold number of consumer goods, beloved by the people. Machines that make delightful sounds unto the listener shall lay in ruins, as shall the tiny houses, such that a doll might live in, and idolotrous trees that appear as those trees as the Lord has made, but are made by the hands of man and thus found to be an abomination unto the Lord, shall also be destroyed.

It is by these signs, and many others, that you will know the end is near."

Repent. You've been warned.

story via B.A.
C'Mon... You Know You Want It...

I just finished reading this, which made me contact this place about membership.

Then, because it's Wednesday, the food ads came out, and I found myself rejoicing that Duncan Hines brownie mix was on sale. And hot dogs! Potato chips! Cases of soda pop! The joy!

Not to mention, it's carnival season.

The problem is, aside from the carnival food, unhealthy food is much cheaper to buy in the short term. But, with they skyrocketing cost of health care, it's potentially much more expensive in the long run.

Does one gamble with one's health? For the temporary pleasure of velvety mouthfeel and that satisfying carbohydrate rush that hits that beloved pleasure center of the brain, much in the same way heroin does?

Does one dutifully deny oneself pleasure, elongating life but making it less celebratory and joyful in the process?

But how celebratory are Type II Diabetes and hardened arteries? How joyful are acid reflux and overburdened joints?

What to do? What to do?
Why, This Almost Tastes Like Real Food!

Not only did my mother and grandmother teach me to cook, I had many years of actual cooking experience when my mother went back to work full-time, and I was put in charge of dinner at the tender age of 12.

So, when I disastrously married for the first time at the (again, tender) age of 21, I was not at a loss in the kitchen -- until my then-husband (remember him?) turned up his nose at my from-scratch cooking and demanded food the way his sainted mother used to make.

Because his sainted mother worked full time and spent her leisure time sleeping with her married boss to further her career, the "food" she fed her offspring came from a series of boxes containing pre-measured dehydrated semi-organic matter that required little more than a sprinkling of water to bring it back to "life." In fact, Elder cooks similar items with her Easy Bake Oven.

So, against my better judgment (my entire marriage, nay, my dealings with that man from the very beginning, could begin with the phrase "against my better judgment), I began buying and preparing things like instant potatoes, Shake and Bake, Rice a Roni (which really isn't that bad in comparison to the others), Cheez Whiz, packets of dehydrated gravy... oh, the list is endless and nauseating. Do you really need to hear it?

Needless to say, Dilf is quite the opposite. In addition to actually enjoying sex with women (or, now, woMAN, singular. Right, Dilf??), he prefers food made from actual foodstuffs. That you can pick up with your hands and look at in its natural form. That my ex preferred instant mashed potatoes to homemade is as foreign to him as the random, anonymous blowjobs in the forest preserve outhouse that my ex preferred to loving me.

Incidentally, I can't believe I haven't written more about my ex-mother-in-law. I mean, there was this about her cat, and this, in which I fictionalized the ending to reflect how I wish it had ended.

But I never wrote about her flossing the afore-mentioned boyfriend's teeth in front of us? After she had finished clipping his toenails while he sat in the Barcalounger? Really? Because there's some good material, there.

Maybe when the food month of July is over, I'll tackle her and her issues.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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