I like to think that I look younger than my years. It’s a harmless, pleasant fantasy that keeps me in a good mood. But every now and then, something comes along to shatter the delicate shell I keep around my ego. You wouldn’t do that , would you?
I didn’t think so. And that makes The Incident this week all the more annoying. Here’s a tip: If you want me to buy magazines from your 50 year old ass, do not take a quick look at me for the first time ever and then refer to me as your mother. This really happened. Sometimes I think you don’t believe the things I’m telling you here , so lucky for you that my Ring doorbell camera captured it.
You could tell this is going to be an event just from that knock, right? There’s a part 2 to this encounter where the solicitor and I get into an argument about whether or not he should be soliciting in a non-soliciting neighborhood but I’ll spare you that one.* That’s another tip: if you want someone to buy something from you, don’t get into a fight with them.
*Now that I’m thinking about it, I actually did sort of act like his mother when he was trying to give me the baloney how he had permission and I refused to let him wriggle away, point by point, by calling him out on his bullshit. Apparently, I’m highly the suggestable type. I hope someone comes to the door today to tell me I look like a lottery winner.
Life in the suburbs can be rough if you are a hermit that wants to be the boss of their own time but mostly just wants to avoid being annoyed. Also, I get all the magazines I want for free by taking quizzes about recycling at recyclebank.com
I hope that you realize that America’s misbegotten fascination with balsamic vinegar has pushed Red Wine Vinegar and Oil salad dressing right off the shelves?
Yes, you can still sometimes find it on Amazon for nine bucks a bottle but you can’t find it in a supermarket. Go ahead and look. Anything with “vinaigrette” on the label is immediately preceded by “balsamic”. Don’t get me started with the burial of oil and vinegar as a descriptive phrase for a simple thing in favor of the more exotic (or possibly more expensive? definitely more snobby) vinaigrette. Likewise do not get me started about the popularity of olive oil. Olive oil is fine and I have no objection to it, it’s just that sometimes a girl wants a little Wessonality on her plate.
I know it’s easy to make your own red wine vinegar and oil dressing, but sometimes I like or liked past tense to pour a little from the bottle and then supplement with pure red wine vinegar then salt the whole thing up. Usually, when I start out making my own RWV&O dressing, it morphs into the house Italian I used to get from a local Italian lunch place in NJ – red wine vinegar, oil, salt and a ton of minced garlic and oregano.
I want to hope that the balsamic craze will be short lived and out of my hair sooner rather than later but I’ve been wrong before about popular but aggravating food trends, namely overly decorated dessert plates and garlic mashed potatoes. They will not die.
In other grocery store news: there’s a big, blond and brawny manly man who works the early shift in the meat department* of the local Winn-Dixie. I’m an 8 am kind of grocery shopper so there is rarely anyone else around when he sees me rolling down the aisle towards the meat case. He always says “Mornin’, darlin’. Let me know what y’all want” in a very friendly manner. I wonder if he ever played football? I’m going to ask him next time. The only men I ever knew that used the term darlin’ were Talk Show Joe (Namath) and my cousin Ray who at one time played for the Minnesota Vikings. And the only person that I heard Ray address as darlin’ was my old Aunt Natalie when he asked her for another beer.
*I originally typed meet department. Calling Dr. Freud!
Anyway. You don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’. Is that why I can’t stop singing this song?
Twitter makes me sick right now and nobody cares what I do on Instagram so I’m turning to my trusty old blog to express myself. In the spirit of healing a divided country, I am opening this space for us all to come together on at least this one topic:
I HAVE SEEN ENOUGH OF PRINCESS MARKLE’S PIPE CLEANERS TO LAST ME A LIFETIME.
Has anyone started a class action suit against PAAS for their irresponsible release of inferior egg dye this year? Because I am 100% on board with that.
Let me tell you something – I’ve been using PAAS Color Cups for a number of years but this is the first time that PAAS color has let me down. Below are some comparative photos of the evolution of these sad eggs over a 10 hour period:
I thought it was just me but we had Easter dinner at my brother-in-law’s home and his eggs were exactly the same blotchy mess. He is fastidious about the details of presentation so I have to assume he was the victim of the same inferior PAAS Color Cup situation.
How many Easters have they ruined this year? Enjoy your profits, PAAS executive decision makers, borne on the backs of disappointed egg dying customers. They paid the price. Think about that while you’re out enjoying the evil fruits of your profiteering machinations.
I would also like to point out that the dye is not the only evidence of corner-cutting going on here. The cups themselves have devolved from the colorful and sturdy American plastic of the originals to flimsy clear plastic of the sort that they’d probably have in Soviet Russia. There was a mid-step in there of tinted translucent plastic but that probably ate up too much of the PAAS profits and some junior exec likely had to make do with last year’s yacht, so they had to go.
I made a mistake this week and chose form over function. Which is nothing new for me. In fact, it’s my default mode. But you’d think I would have known better this time.
When we moved into this house, it already had a super fancy kitchen faucet that had a retractable sprayer but also 2 (two!) motion-detecting sensors that automatically started water flow. That sounds like a good thing, right? That’s what we thought and we were thrilled to be living in modern times. But 2 out of 5 times we go near the sink, we receive unwanted wetness. We laugh about it and call that faucet “the enemy” and have developed some weird approach movement patterns to try and stay dry.
So you would think I would have known enough to resit the urge to get a dish soap dispenser activated by an electronic motion detector. But no. And guess what’s happening now.
Yes. Little 1/2″ pools of emerald green dish soap slobbing up the countertop. And that’s now when it’s in its permanent spot. During the short trip from the counter where I unboxed it and filled it up to the resting spot next to the tap there were at least 6 surprise dispensing incidents.
It looks good, though right? Unless I go broke from excessive dish soap purchases, I think I’m going to keep it. Expect kvetching!