Make that six

My boss's daughter is in Girl Scouts, and THANK GOD FOR THAT, because I really thought this year I was going to have to go without Samoas. But now I'll be ok.

So on Monday I signed up for five boxes. At $4 a pop. Since when were Girl Scout cookies $4? I remember when I was a kid peddling my wares like the sugary crack that it is that it was only like $2.50 a box. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO? But anyways, five boxes. Two Samoas, two Thin Mints, and one Lemon Chalets. And I'm thinking "Wow, awesome, we're getting Girl Scout cookies, we're set to go."

So I get home and tell Edgar in all my excitement about the coming Girl Scout cookie goodness, and what is his response?

"But what about the peanut butter ones?" *sad face*

Now this is all kind of shocking to me because I've been with this man for three years and I had no idea that he liked peanut butter cookies. Those are things you're supposed to know, right? Like allergies (green beans) and favorite TV shows (Seinfeld) and how did he get that scar on his leg (you don't want to know)? Apparently I fail in the delicious cookie department.

So I'm all The Tagalongs? You want a box of Tagalongs?

And he's like "Um, I don't know."

"Tagalongs. They're the peanut butter ones, with the chocolate."

"No, they don't have chocolate."

"Um, yes, I was a Girl Scout. I know these things. Tagalongs have peanut butter on the inside and chocolate on the outside."

*sigh* "Forget it then. I don't know."

*lightbulb* "Do-Si-Dos?"

You would have that it was Christmas with the excited look on his face and the joyous exclamation of "Yes!" that went with it.

God, I love that man.

Walk this way

Having won a $25 gift card for PF Chang's at work (because I'm just that awesome), Edgar and I decided to have ourselves a little date night. Because date night for middle middle class citizens like us entails having dinner at a restaurant in the vein of PF Changs, Olive Garden, Chili's, Outback Steakhouse, etc. You know, those havens of good worker-bees. We're good little faux-yuppies pumping cash flow into the economy.

The PF Chang's at Shoreline Village is about a three-quarter mile jaunt down the street from our apartment. There's a part of the sidewalk that goes down a hill at a fairly steep grade. So la la la, there we go, walking down the street, going about our business in totally sensible shoes, and then all of a sudden BAM my left foot slips out from under me and I fall with my right knee behind me and my left leg sprawled in front of me. And besides keeping a hold to my hand, Edgar just starts laughing and I had to be all "Need I remind you about that time earlier this week when you almost died because you choked on your Diet Coke in the middle of a Jack 'n the Box? A JACK 'N THE BOX? REMEMBER THAT?" So after limping the rest of the way to the restaurant I discovered that I had torn a hole in the knee of my jeans and scraped my knee to shit.

So, you know. Awesome.

Forget the food. Get this. On the way back, walking home, all full of Dan Dan Noodle-y goodness, we passed on the street....

...you'll never guess.....

.....THE MOTHER OF MICHAEL PHELPS. That's right, the lady that pushed out of her vagina the Dumbo-eared boy (I'm thinking they used forceps) that would one day become an Olympic, no, scratch that, an AMERICAN hero that won eight gold medals in the land of China. THAT'S RIGHT, TAKE THAT COMMUNISTS. And his sister was there too. And the reason I recognized them was not because I'm a Michael Phelps stalker but because when the Summer Olympics were on in 2008 Edgar and I were glued to the events for a lack of other things to do and how many freakin' times did they show little pre-recorded segments of interviews with his mama and then show him giving his sister the flowers after he got yet another gold medal draped around his neck.

And no, just because I live in Southern California, I don't see celebrities on a daily basis. Or, in this case, people with shared glory that bask in the glow of said celebrities. So it's kind of still a big deal to me in that "girl from the Mid-West that dreamed of being a star as a child" kind of way. I think that the only celebrities I've seen since living in California were Magnum PI and Carrie Ann Inaba at the Revlon 5k in 2008.

Oh, Pine Avenue, I never know what you're going to throw at me.

What an eventful evening.

Yes, this is where I live

Keeping in the tradition of Friday night date night, Edgar and I walked down Pine Avenue last night to have dinner at a place called George's Greek Cafe. We've walked by it every weekend since we've lived here, usually always saying "Hmm, we should give that place a try sometimes." And would then continue on down the street to Rock Bottom to get $3 beers. BUT, since the drinking has been kiboshed since I'm trying to get pregnant, we've started trying out the places we've wanted to go.

We got a nice little table outside on the patio right against the sidewalk. We started out with their hummus, and dear lord it was the most delicious hummus I have ever had in my whole life. I'm planning on having pregnant cravings for it once I'm knocked up.

But then, out of freakin' nowhere, these two ghetto teenagers that had been walking back and forth in front of the restaurant ran by a table a few tables down from ours, grabbed a plate off of their table, and threw it on the ground. Then they ran away down the street laughing and yelling like the little tools that they were, holding up their pants that were down by their knees.

Welcome to Pine Avenue.

Why would you even REMOTELY think that it's ok to just ruin someone's dinner like that? What the hell is your problem? Do you have a disease that prevents you from wearing your pants around your waist instead of belting it around your knees?

Motherfuckers.

Oh, Internet. You make me laugh.

Since Edgar and I are trying to have a baby, I'm trying to do everything right. Start exercising again. No more alcohol. Don't stand in front of the microwave. Easy on the ibuprofen. Morning sex. OH THE MORNING SEX. Eating right. Those five servings of vegetables a day aren't going to magically get in my belly on their own, you know.

So I've been brown bagging it to work again. Part of my lunch today was an Apple Turnover flavored Yoplait Light. Out of curiosity I was reading the label to find out how much fiber was in it. Fiber=good. But there wasn't a listing on the label for dietary fiber. I wasn't really sure what that meant; does it mean that there is no fiber at all or just that they chose not to list the fiber? I'm not an expert on the requirements of food labels, so I went to Google to find out.

Google. I heart you. Here is why.

As I started to enter my search string, which I intended to be "Is there any fiber in Yoplait Light?" Google conveniently listed what they thought I might be looking for as each letter was typed in. And after getting to just "is the," the SECOND item listed in the search suggestions was:

"is there anyway i can get this popular guy to get me pregnant"

Of all of the questions that could begin with "Is there" in THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD, this is what comes up second on the Google search suggestions?!

Oh, honey, where there's a will there's a way. Good luck in your endeavor.

Get to "is ther" and it's number one.

Ay carumba, papas del jamon

So this is just too good to pass up.

One of my coworkers just returned from vacation in Spain, bringing with her lots of tasty Spanish treats, including: HAM FLAVORED RUFFLES POTATO CHIPS.

That's right.

Ham flavored potato chips. And they are delicious.

Thank you, Spain.

Guacamole: A Love Story

Breaking from tradition, I went to Quizno's today for lunch. I say "breaking from tradition" because tradition is a Lean Cuisine that I eat at my desk. I could not take another Lean Cuisine. Or Healthy Choice. Or Smart Ones. Or Eating Right. I am frozen entree fried. I fear if I eat any more that I will soon be crapping only Santa Fe Rice and Beans.Thus, Quizno's.

I haven't eaten at Quizno's in forever. I was somewhat put off of Quizno's after my last experience there with my husband, probably almost two years ago. There was a Quizno's near a Ralph's and a Blockbuster a few miles from our first apartment that we had together. We normally would do our grocery shopping on Friday nights after work, go to the Blockbuster and grab a few movies, pick up some takeout for dinner, and settle into an evening of domestic bliss. You may think that's boring. Excuse me, did you not read my use of the term 'bliss'? Domestic bliss totally kicks ass, and ye singles should not be knockin' it.

Okay, going off topic. Right. Quizno's.

We go to Quizno's. Two stoners are working behind the counter. Now, let me be clear and say that I have no problem with stoners. I myself was a super-stoner from my senior year in high school through when I graduated college. Then I realized I needed a real job, and with that real job took on the responsibility of things like rent and health insurance and groceries, and could no longer afford said stoner activity, especially the groceries for the munchies. But I was a good stoner. I was a stoner that graduated second in her class in high school and first in her class in college. And the only reason I missed out on being valedictorian in high school was because my junior year I wanted to take AP Chemistry, which would have vaulted me over the person that ended up being valedictorian, but they only offered the class during fourth period, and fourth period was show choir. Yes, show choir. I gave up valedictorian for show choir. Whatever, my sister was valedictorian of her high school class and she never got anything special for being that either, except the title of valedictorian. My valedictorian was not in show choir, so she did get to take the AP Chemistry class. Suck it, valedictorian girl, you didn't get to wear dresses covered in sequins for three years while you sang and danced!

Oops, off topic again. Right. Stoner guys working at Quizno's.

Stoner guys took about 15 minutes to make our sandwiches. There were no other customers before us. None after us. Fifteen minutes. FIFTEEN MINUTES. They, however, probably thought they were going super fast, because they were stoned, and in Stoned Time fifteen minutes is like 18 seconds and HOLY SHIT, DID YOU SEE HOW FAST I MADE THOSE TWO SUBS? IT WAS LIKE 18 SECONDS.

So being fairly disgruntled, Edgar and I got home, unpacked our groceries, and opened up our sandwiches. Our sandwiches that were made ALL WRONG. I had asked for something with chicken, maybe turkey, I'm not quite sure because it's been a long while now, but the sandwich I unwrapped was prime rib. That's not even in the same category of animal! Cow, not poultry. Four legs, not two. And I hate prime rib. So there I was, no sandwich to eat, not willing to go back because I didn't feel like being arrested in the double murder of two stoned Quizno's employees.

This boycott of Quizno's has unintentionally lasted almost two years. It wasn't really an intentional thing, it was just that after we moved away from that Quizno's I never really had a craving for it, haven't really lived close to one, and it's never come up. But there's a Quizno's by work, I was hungry, I was fearing the Lean Cuisines, and it made a perfect storm.

After perusing the menu for a few minutes, I finally decided on the Turkey, Bacon, and Guacamole sandwich. Seems yummy, right? Until I got back to the office with it and discovered *gasp* THEY USE IMITATION GUACAMOLE. All it is is mushed up avocado that they freeze and then squeeze out of a bag. THAT IS NOT GUACAMOLE. Guacamole should be made fresh, and it has more ingredients than just avocado. That's why it's called guacamole, not avocado. This guacamole, this cheap imitation of guacamole, is the kind that restaurants order in bags that come in bulk that they freeze in the freezer until the day that they need it, and then they throw it in a boiling vat of water to unfreeze it, along with bags of things like "homemade" chicken noodle soup or marinara sauce. Guess what, people? If the menu says homemade, they're probably lying. It was delivered to them on a truck in a frozen bag until the day you ate it. I used to be a waitress, I know this, and now I'm giving away trade secrets and they'll never let me back in the club. I DON'T CARE, I'M TAKING A STAND ON MY GUACAMOLE.

This is clearly important to me, because back when I didn't know better, I used to think that I hated guacamole. I told everyone it looked like something that I would find in my niece's diaper. And maybe that's true, I haven't changed any bright green diapers as of late, but it could happen. And because of that mental image, I wouldn't eat it for the longest time, but when I finally did.....oh, when I finally did. Eating guacamole was like coming to Jesus, it was JUST THAT GOOD. My husband doesn't eat guacamole. I KNOW, what kind of Mexican is he? A BAD ONE. You know what else he doesn't eat? Cheese. Queso. He's not havin' it. It was very odd to me when I met him, because I come from a place called the Midwest where we are of a firm belief that if it doesn't have cheese on it, it's not worth eating in the first place. Oops, we weren't talking about cheese, we were talking about guacamole. My husband doesn't eat guacamole! He says he's allergic to avocado. On our second date, we got burritos from this awesome Mexican place called Alberto's, and it had guacamole in it, but he didn't die. He claims that it made him really nauseous and that he had to try really hard to not look like he was going to throw up. I didn't find out about this avocado aversion until several dates later, and I was all "Um, why didn't you tell me that burrito was about to make you throw up?" and he said "Oh, I didn't want you to feel bad since you suggested the burrito." THANKS FOR SPARING MY FEELINGS, BUDDY. YOu gave it away, guacaomle won't kill you, GIVE IN TO ITS GREATNESS.

Oops, off topic once again. Right. Quizno's is a total cheater when it comes to guacamole.

Congratulations Quizno's, I'm probably not going to eat you for another two years.