A Little Bit of Boca

In honor of the last debate being in Boca Raton, I thought I would share one of my Boca stories. Every word is true.

One night, I went to an event at One Thousand Ocean in Boca. It's a fancy condo building right on the ocean. Yeah, it was  fancy. We were there to celebrate the Kleiers. They are a family of high-end real estate agents in NYC, but have been working to sell units in this Boca building. They also have a place there, and we wrote a feature about them for the magazine I worked for at the time. They were part of a reality show on HGTV called Selling New York, so they showed an episode having to deal with the Boca property.

So we were in the penthouse, amazing views, Botox, boobs, orange tans, the whole scene. There was a woman there, probably about my mom's age, probably older… who can tell with all the "work." She was wearing what I can only describe as a figure skating costume, in that it was see through except for sequins and sparkles in the "right" areas, so she could wear it and not be arrested for indecent exposure. Fake boobs. Fake tan. Real love for the bubbly. Lola took her picture. Here she is:

Any-who, after they showed the episode (and fed us yummy movie snacks!), I went to the ladies room. Now, this is the penthouse, but it's not really done yet, so they had some unisex bathrooms throughout. I went in, and locked the door (or so I thought). The lock was just a tiny button the size of a finishing nail next to the handle. I pushed it in as hard as I could. And so I got to the business at hand. I was just about finished when the door opens and there she is. Now, usually, in polite society, if you open a bathroom door, and someone is already using it, you say you're sorry and you shut the door. Well, Sparkles whipped that door right open and walked right in. She apologized and shut the door, but with her on my side instead of back out in the hall. Mind you, I was still...busy.

I quickly pulled myself together and finished up and then… I had to wash my hands, thinking she would let me go out. But NO, she just squatted over the toilet (no panties!!!). I was like, OH! OK! this is really happening… She was talking to me, but I just focused on washing my hands. Then I was trapped, because I couldn't whip the door open with her … The door did crack open (it was Lola), but of course since she was raised properly, she apologized and shut the door without barging right in. She didn't see me, as I was still washing my hands. 

Then… she finished, so I was like FREEDOM!! She holds out her hand (THAT SHE HAD JUST HAD TP IN), "Nice to meet you…"  I shook it as fast as I could and bolted. Lola was there, and of course was, "um WHY were you in there with her"… I shoved her in the next available bathroom to tell her the whole story (and to wash my hands again, because, ew!!!).

I mean really!!?!??! I have peed in front of a lot of people. I have shared the handicapped stall at the Northbound Junction with at least 3 or 4 other sorority sisters. But COME ON!!! You don't just walk in on a total stranger and do your business.

Lola said, "So I guess you two are sisters now."

I just had to rant.

I look at my hometown paper everyday. I like to see what is not going on in Bingo-town, plus, I look at the Obits (I know, morbid!). Then I look at the viewpoints, and I am reminded of why I will never go back to that place to live. It's the same people that comment on EVERYTHING, and the same people that turn EVERYTHING into a political discussion. Oh, and their all red and I am assuming have whatever channel that plays Rush Limbaugh as first, second and third on their pre-set dials.

One of the letters today was a short letter on how the contraceptive mandate does not violate any one's freedom of religion, as it is insurance companies that are footing that bill. You can read it here.
Naturally, since it's a topic about contraceptives, all the comments thus far were from men, because who knows more about being on the pill than men, am I right ladies?? The first comment was by a man named Steve Palmer. According to what I can see from his Facebook profile (which is how he posted his comment, I did not stalk him!), Steve graduated from Ithaca High School in 1982. And that's it. So, he's not a doctor, I am assuming. Just a man who cares about the ladies, right? Um.. no.

Steve writes: Putting religious freedom aside here's a thought Lindsay.How about people who are sexually active either go to the store and pick up some condoms or go to the doctor and get a prescription for birth control pills and BUY THEM.There is no reason why a business or individual should have to pay for any body's other than their own contraceptives.

An argument we hear a lot. Sluts should pay for their own sin, right? Since I am a lady on the pill, I thought I would educate this man as to what the argument is really about. Get his facts straight from the whore's, SORRY, horse's keyboard, as it were. Well, as I am not a paid subscriber to pressconnects.com (seriously?!?!), I was not allowed to post my response to Steve on that page. So I decided to do it here, as I just needed to get it out.

Steve, since you apparently just believe what Rush tells you, and you think us gals are just trolling the streets looking for free slut pills, let me blow your mind and say, GASP! Not true. The reasons I am on pill is between me and my doctor. Yes, I go to the doctor to get a prescription for the pill. A doctor that is covered under the insurance I have through my job. My insurance is not free. There is money missing from each and every paycheck that goes toward covering it. So, I DO pay for my pills. We're just asking that they be covered without a co-pay, through the insurance that we already pay for, like your Viagra or other boner pills that are not medically necessary lifestyle choice prescriptions. Oh, and guess why I have to pay large premiums for my insurance? Because some of my coworkers are fat and unhealthy and smoke. I am neither, and yet I still have to fork over for their lifestyle choice.
When I didn't have a job or insurance, right out of college, I went to Planned Parenthood for my pills and my heath care. Guess what?? Also NOT FREE. 

I left out the part where I cursed him with 72 straight hours of the cramps I get when I am not on the pill, without the ability to take anything for the pain. But believe me, it's implied. So if Steve doesn't show up at the salt lick for a few days, now you know why.

Rainy Days and Mondays

People keep asking me "are you still cooking and writing on your blog??" Well, yes, I am still cooking, but sadly, I haven't documented anything in a long time. So... here it is, another cooking adventure along with, of course, a play list.

It's Monday, and yep, it's raining. So you know my hair is a disaster. But unlike Karen Carpenter, I'm not down (or dead), I'm hungry (too soon?)! Time to make a cozy, yummy pot of stove top cassoulet.
I got the recipe from a magazine, after falling in love with a delicious bowl of cassoulet that I had in Carcassonne, France, when I was visiting my friend/sorority sister/also learned math from Jan, Kim (Koral!). This one is easier, I am assuming, and is made without lamb. Or veal. Or anything else I don't eat. For the record, that list consists of lamb (You might as well eat a baby harp seal), veal (I will eat the hell out of an old cow, though) and venison.

I digress. This recipe has chicken and smoked sausage. I joked with my friend Paige that it was kind of like a French jambalaya, since they both have onion, green pepper, chicken and sausage, and you cook them in the same order. Just substitute beans for rice and ... NO. It's not, Michelle.

OK.

Any-who, here are my ingredients.

I shopped from memory, and I forgot I needed a can of diced tomatoes. Luckily, I bought tomatoes for salad, so fresh instead of canned!! Since I use the turkey sausage, I got the bacon for added fat when browning the sausage, and for another layer of flavor. And, it's bacon, so what am I explaining it to you for?

On a side note, Kroger is selling wine for $2.97. Like their very own version of Two-Buck Chuck. I got the Chardonnay. It's better than you would expect it to be for $2.97. Buzzing on a budget!!

There is a lot of chopping to be done, (You have to do your prep work before you even turn on the stove!), so I don my fancy apron (Yep, I'm that official. Or messy. Either way, it's adorable. Anthropologie, on sale.)

I enjoy the whole process of chopping ingredients. No SmartChopper cheater thing for me. Although, sometimes when chopping onions, I feel like they look like they were chopped by that idiot woman in the chopper commercial, just hacking away at them randomly with a steak knife. I have nice knives and I try to get everything uniform in size. Perhaps it's rebellion from the times my grandfather yelled at us while we chopped up veggies for the chowder. "Is that a dice? Is this potato piece the same size as this potato piece?" ARGH!!! Make it stop!!

Or I could just need knife lessons. That's it. I need to chop onions like Meryl Streep in "Julie and Julia" until I'm perfect at it. Or, I could just cut them how I like. No one is here to tell me I'm wrong.

Although knife lessons would be a nice gift, if someone wanted to get me a present. (I'd also love a bunch of cutting boards. Different ones for veggies, for meats, etc...)

Here it is, the results of my hard, overly critical of myself, chopping skills.

There are a few cloves of garlic in with the green pepper and onion. The recipe calls for one clove, but really, why add one little clove when you can add three nice sized cloves? I'm in charge here, after all. (The fancy plate has two strips of bacon, cut into "sticks," or lardons.)

NOW it's time to take out my fancy Le Creuset Dutch oven, and in goes the sausage and bacon to brown. Take it out, and put in the chicken to brown. Take that out and put in the onion, pepper and garlic to sautee. Then you add the sausage and chicken back in, and toss in the tomatoes too, along with a bay leaf (I used two, they are so small!) and a teaspoon of thyme.

Now, it says to bring it to a boil, and simmer covered for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Bring WHAT to a boil, you might think. OK, that is what I thought. I splashed in some chicken broth, slapped on the cover and lowered the heat.

It really does generate some liquid in there. But, then you add in two cans of Great Northern beans, undrained, and 1/4 cup of chicken broth.

Wait, let's get a better angle...

Look at that gorgeous Dutch oven. Chef Daniel Boulud has the same color as I do. I'm just saying.

OK, 10 more minutes of a covered simmer, and.....

Dinner is served. In a word, Yum.



And here it is, the "I love a rainy night just like Eddie Rabbit" play list:
Dreaming OMD ("It seems that I've been looking for something that won't be found")
Don't Change INXS (Again, I miss that sexy freak!!)
Hanging on the Telephone Blondie ("Oh why can't we talk again...")
Pink Cashmere Prince
Hot Thing Prince ("lookin' 4 big fun...")
Toy Soldiers Martika
Watching the Northern Lights Barenaked Ladies
Frankie & Sue Darden Smith ("Susie went to China, oh... broke Frankie's heart..")
It Would Take a Strong, Strong Man Rick Astley (I love a good Rick roll)
Sweet Child O' Mine Guns N Roses
Telescope Graham Colton ("You're in my telescope, don't want to get too close...")
Not Coming Home Maroon 5
Shiver Maroon 5
Wake Up Call Maroon 5 (Three in a row. Really?!?!?)
In My Room Yaz
Tiny Little Song Barenaked Ladies ("Hey I'm a cow, I'm curious. Hey watch me now, I'm furious.")
What You Feel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Yep. I have the songs from the musical "Once More With Feeling" episode on my iPod. Deal with it.)
Wish You Were Kate Voegele ("I'm still in love with who I wish you were.")
Gold Lion Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Tears are Falling KISS
A Winter's Tale Queen (They recorded this album "Made in Heaven," in France, when Freddie was sick. It's amazing.)
Dizzy Miss Lizzy The Beatles (Tell me they weren't influenced by American rock and roll)
Cuts Like a Knife Bryan Adams
Dark Road Annie Lennox (I love her.)
Don't Ask Me Why Billy Joel
Take it Outside Barenaked Ladies
As George Michael and Mary J. Blige ("Do you know that true love asks for nothing..")
Night Moves Marilyn Martin
Bull in a China Shop Barenaked Ladies

Why I don't bake

A short essay.

Because I can write my recipes like this.

The end.

Kale, sausage and potato soup

Swirl of olive oil

1 white onion, diced

2 good-sized potatoes, cut into ½ inch pieces

3 good handfuls of kale (It came from a bag, so I just reached in and pulled it out. It’s just about half the bag.)

4 cups of chicken broth (maybe ¼ cup more. Enough to just cover the other ingredients, but not drown them)

3 links of hot Italian turkey sausage, cut into ½ inch pieces (take the casing off, and then cut it.)

A few shakes of red pepper flakes

½ cup fat-free half and half

In a Dutch oven, brown the sausage in the olive oil with the red pepper flakes. Remove sausage and put in a bowl.

Sautee the onions, scraping up any browned sausage bits. When the onions are translucent (about 5 minutes), return the sausage and any juices (that’s why you put it in a bowl!) to the pot. Add kale and stir until wilted. Add potatoes and broth, and bring to a simmer. Simmer for about 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are done.

Stir in half and half.

Serve.

And, like any soup, it's even better warmed up the next day!

 

Apology NOT accepted

So under pressure and losing sponsors, Rush Limbaugh "apologized" for calling Sandra Fluke a slut, saying "I chose the wrong words in my analogy of the situation. I did not mean a personal attack on Ms. Fluke."

He did this quietly, via a post on his website. Not on his radio show, which he has focused three full days on attacking Ms. Fluke, calling her a slut, a prostitute and suggesting she post videos of her having sex on line as a trade for her contraception.

Well, Mr. Limbaugh, as a woman, I will say loud and proud—your half-assed non-apology is NOT accepted.

Maybe you should focus on the fact that your whole take on the situation was false. And misleading. And out-right lies.

You said on your show that Sandra Fluke told Nancy Pelosi during a hearing that "the women at her school are having so much sex they are going broke buying birth control pills."

That is a lie.

You then brought her parents into the discussion, questioning the pride they must feel for Sandra.

"Your daughter goes up to a congressional hearing... and testifies she's having so much sex, she can't afford her own birth control pills and believes Obama should provide them. Or the Pope."

I know research and fact checking are two practices that are completely foreign to you and your team, but if you had taken five minutes, you would find this. It's Sandra Fluke's testimony.



If that is too much for you to watch, you could also get a copy of the actual transcript of her testimony.

Then you would know that Sandra Fluke didn't talk about her sex life at all, or anyone else's for that matter. She spoke of friends who take oral contraceptives to counter the effects of polycystic ovarian syndrome. Sounds sexy, doesn't it Rush?

Actually, I don't think you know what it is, and you don't care to learn. Truth and facts, again being foreign concepts to you and your team. It's much easier for you to go on the radio and hurl insults and call women vile names for wanting their medication covered under their insurance plans. Not the government. Not taxpayers. The insurance companies. Like the ones we all pay into with our paychecks, and what Sandra Fluke and her fellow students pay for with their tuition.

I'm surprised that, having been married four times without having any kids, no one has taught you how the birth control pill works. Unlike Viagra (which is covered under insurance plans), or your precious Oxycontin, you just take the pill once a day. And that's it. Just the one. Then you could have sex 10 times, or not at all. You still just take the one pill. And, again, unlike Viagra and your precious Oxycontin, it doesn't really make you feel different. I take it every day, and afterward I don't feel any sexier or more aroused than I would without it. I get more of a reaction from my daily allergy pill.

You see, the birth control pill actually is medication, not a sex pill. Women take the pill for a variety of medical reasons. By reducing its purpose to just calling it a sex pill is demeaning to all the women who take it, let alone the women who are taking it specifically for medical reasons. Frankly, it's none of your business or anyone else's WHY someone is taking birth control. It's a legal medication that allows women to have control over their bodies and their reproductive choices.

You said in your "apology" "I think it is absolutely absurd that during these very serious political times, we are discussing personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. I personally do not agree that American citizens should pay for these social activities."

That would be absurd. If it happened. But Sandra Fluke was not talking about her personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. You made that up. For three days. And again, women are standing up and speaking out to ensure that their basic health care needs are covered by their health insurance plans. Not by taxpayers. By insurance plans. The plans we pay into with our paychecks.

But it seems that you reap what you sow, as advertisers are abandoning your ship despite your half-assed apology.

Karma's a bitch, Rush, and I'll bet she's on the pill.

A Real Page Turner

I need new bookshelves.

There's really no more room here...



All filled up here...



(Before you say it, yes. I also have a lot of picture frames and do-dads. This isn't about that.)

It's getting a bit tight here, too (and it's hard to get a good shot with the sofa in the way. There are more books on top of the books on the bottom shelf.)



Actually, I guess I just need MORE bookshelves. Because I'm definitely not going to stop buying books. This isn't even all of them. My mom has my Boom by Tom Brokaw. Traci has a few. Sue has one. Paige has Take the Cannoli by Sarah Vowell. I loaned Helen a bag full when she was on bed rest that I don't think I ever got back, since I am short on chick lit that I know I had...

And before you think I'm a hoarder, I have donated more than a few bags of books to the library. Actually, that might be where most of the chick lit went.

I always have a stack on hand, too.



To be fair, The Pillars of the Earth is Jan's, so we're even. For now. How the Republicans Stole Christmas is Trisha's.

I just love books. I always have. Look at this girl. What's in her hands?



Books. Probably Little Golden Books, like The Poky Little Puppy. My grandfather thought I could read when I was 2 or 3, because while he read to me, I knew exactly when to turn the pages. Jan assured him that while I was probably brilliant, I couldn't read yet, I had just memorized it. (I might have added that "brilliant" part. Maybe.)

My mom is a teacher, so she knew the importance of reading, and started me out early, so I could memorize those stories until I could read them on my own.



And Dickie helped out, too.



(Please take a moment to soak in the awesomeness of Dickie's kick-ass mutton chops.)

And when they weren't reading to me, I was listening to those books with the records, and you could follow along with the story, and you knew when to turn the page because Tinkerbell would wave her magic wand like this (insert a little ding sound).

When I could read on my own, there was no stopping me. Dr. Seuss, Madeline, E.B. White, Tom Sawyer, I whipped through the Little House books and sucked in everything by the great Judy Blume. The Outsiders! We got library cards! Sweet Valley High! I probably read Princess Daisy waaaay before I should have.

I didn't even mind reading the books they had us read at school. Well, except for The Hobbit. Jesus H. that was boring. Actually, some of the time, I'd already read the assigned book, but I didn't mind reading it again. I had great teachers too, who encouraged it (Mr. Stanton and Mrs. Donnelly, I thank you). Two of my all-time favorites are Wuthering Heights and A Tale of Two Cities. I could read them over and over again.

I know it will make me sound like an even bigger geek, but a book can just take you away to another place and time. I am perfectly content curling up with a book and just losing myself in Tudor England, the hills of 1950s Ireland or even inside the tunnels in Carrie Fisher's head.

I had a boy say to me once, "I'll bet you read a lot because you're a journalist." I said, "No, I read a lot because I can." I don't think we went out again...

I don't understand people who don't read, or don't enjoy reading.

I love books. Not just escaping into a story, either. I love the feel of turning the pages, I love the smell of them. Even if I'm just going in for shampoo, I always go to the book section at Target. The Costco book table is conveniently located on the way to the water (and the wine). I can wander the stacks at a Barnes & Noble for hours, just looking for something new to discover, or an old classic to reacquaint myself with.

And I mean books. Actual, tangible, flip-the-pages, crack-the-spine, fold-the-corner-to-mark-your-space books.

I've had conversations with people about Nooks and Kindles. To me, it's just not the same. Yes, you're reading a book, but you're not reading a BOOK. When you come to my house, you see the books on my shelves, and it tells you something about me; I'm an open book, if you will. If you walk into somebody's house and all you see is a Kindle on the coffee table, what does that say about them? They could have 1,000 books on there. They could have none.

And, admittedly, I have thought about getting a Kindle. But a Kindle Fire. So I can check the web and play Words with Friends. With Alec Baldwin. On a plane. To France.

Sorry.

I don't want Kindles to replace books, though. Because I will cling to my stacks and piles like a hoarder. I'll lead the resistance if it comes to a Fahrenheit 451 thing, and real books are outlawed.

In the words of the brilliant John Waters (whose Role Models I am dying to read): "We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them."

Amen.

So, my birthday is coming up. I do need bookshelves. But Barnes & Noble gift cards work, too.

Or maybe a new coffee table.

In Memoriam...

The year-in-review magazines are coming out, TV specials are airing, reviewing the best, the worst and the strangest things from 2011. Along with these looks back, they also dedicate a few pages or moments to say a final good-bye to people of note who have left us. Like during the Oscars, where the crowd watches images of the stars that now only shine in the sky, politely applauding as if offering up a last toast.

I'd like to take this space to offer up a little toast myself.


Audrey the Civic
Sept. 2000-June 22, 2011
I know, not a person, but still. I got her when she only had 11 miles on her, and she was shiny and green with a CD player and auto-locks. For almost 190,000 miles, she traveled the long and winding roads.


Daphne Marie
Feb. 21, 1999-July 26, 2011



My furry boo, who slept on my head. Her personality won me over as soon as I laid eyes on her, and she never disappointed. Daphne was very vocal, and had a comforting purr. She preferred plastic milk lids and hair elastics to store-bought toys, liked to curl up on the big red couch, and enjoyed Christmas because Christmas trees are magically delicious.





Margaret Mae Hitchcock Wathier
March 7, 1922-April 30, 2011



Our beautiful Margaret. Beloved mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend. She loved playing games, doing crafts and going to lunch with her friends. She liked Bridge and Scrabble and was cut-throat at Monopoly. She knitted lap blankets for patients at the VA hospital, made Christmas pins and ornaments, and had a surprising talent for drawing. She also enjoyed a nice vodka martini. On the rocks.





And the screen goes black to the sound of thunderous applause...