Results tagged "Food"

Ugh. It’s Sunday. My timing is off. Never post on the weekend, right? And while I know I’m completely alone here, in this massive void called the Sunday Internet, I am happy to see that not much has changed since my last posting — oh so many days ago. Because, the time in between has been spent up with family stuff– a birthday, Baptism, and gobs of (lovely, mind-you) guests.

I’ve also continued to work on projects, managed to read The Hunger Games at rapid speed and get myself all wrapped up in a self-deprecating diet that IN NO WAY reminds me about being anywhere near a South Beach. Bastards — WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME? Although reading about the avoidance of starvation while starving has made for an interesting juxtaposition. Perhaps Katniss, (die-hard main character of THG, for those of you that are in denial) should have considered the South Beach Diet before heading into the arena to face the possibilities of going hungry… then she TOTALLY would have known how to starve. The book is supposed to be eons into the future — safe to say that SOMEONE wasn’t paying attention in history class. And, whatever, I know she is victorious (TOLD YOU!) but it wasn’t until the Gamemakers decided to allow two people to win that the book really begins to sink down into the depths of teenage romance. Which is about as deep as a pint of Ben & Jerry’s…. which I would totally go Hunger Games all over the place for right about now and I don’t even like ice cream. Dammit.

And now I’m hungry again.

So, as you can imagine, I’ve been rather busy these past few weeks and therefore don’t have very much to write about. Hence my internet absence.

But while I’m here….

There. There it is. My son throwing the largest rock he can manage into the bay next to our house. Impressive, right?

Well. Whatever. I’M IMPRESSED.

But do you know who really isn’t impressed?

Josephine. She turns one and suddenly has NO REASON to smile about rocks. While I’m all “YAY, NICE ONE!” she’s scowling at me like “OMG, Can we GET ANY LAMER!”… in the driest sense possible. In fact, after chastising me for wearing my hoodie hood OVER my jean jacket this morning, it was apparent that we are all in for a major lashing of the vanities. That is, if she ever allows us to be seen with her. Plead with her for a family make-over and maybe she’ll smile….

While she silently judges… That’s right…. At least that’s what we keep telling ourselves.

I’m sitting here at my desk being all uppity because my son has food allergies.

RIGHT?

Because I know everything. AND, I’m not being sarcastic… AT ALL. Not here – Not there… Not anywhere… Okay, a little too much Cat in the Hat, but you know what I mean. By the way, I am being totally sarcastic…Because some people just don’t get it.

It all started a few weeks ago when I came to the realization that if I want Will’s Kitchen to actually achieve anything in the world of food allergy awareness, that I was going to have to get off my tuckus and actually tell someone about the website. I know. Because apparently, if you don’t tell people about it, they simply WON’T KNOW. And yes. Apparently I just used the word tuckus.

So I did what any marketing trained mind would do. I turned to Mr. Sal and told him I needed an operating budget of no less than 20K to hit the ground running…. Bombarding him after a hard day’s work, with charts and graphs and media calendars combined with returns and percentages of success. He was suspect when I excused myself from the dinner table to change into business-wear and sexy heels — because that’s when you know you mean business…It may have worked better if had gone the extra mile and showered… but then again, I don’t think he enjoyed snarfing that first martini sip when he heard the bottom line, so no water wasted. Perhaps I should have waited until sip number six.What?

At any rate, my attempts to achieve my first major investor failed. Shocking, I know. So off I went a-packin out into the wild, wild wonders of the interweb with my anti-food allergy flag held high in an attempt to achieve a grass-roots, gorilla campaign. A few stops later, I found myself with a mini ad campaign on Mini Munchers, as well as a guest recipe post. Wandering around I also found gobs of other useful contacts — like-minded people that are just asking for food allergies to be acknowledged and taken seriously, which then led to engaging correspondence about awareness and the right way to reach the food weary audience. One such response came from the lovely ladies at The Mouthy Housewives — whom I join today in answering a very important question regarding peanut/nut-free policies at schools — a topic that I deal with on an almost daily basis with Will and his new preschool. It was a great opportunity to be able to voice my suggestions to the Mom that wrote in as well as the general public AND, interesting to see the debate so far…

One Mom suggests putting all allergy kids on their own island in their own classroom! BEAUTIFUL. Allergy kids and Lepers having so much in common****….

So, once you’ve gathered yourself after rolling on the floor laughing at the ‘OMG someone SAID THAT insanity’ over the above statement, click on over to read some of the more intelligent thoughts that are being thrown out — share and enjoy — in all seriousness, because YOU KNOW that I’m taking every word TO HEART while I muddle around in a pool of sarcasm.

****This is a joke. Despite it’s lack of grace….

HOMEMADE DONUTS.
Need we say more?

Donuts—1st attempt (Also, we love kitchen gadgets)

I know. Who needs a Donut Maker? I mean, one could go through life — several lives, actually and never even once consider how much better things could be if one were to acquire a Donut Maker. Right? Which is exactly why… read more… (don’t stop now!).

As I walked into the office, I immediately felt hives creeping up my neck. Were we crazy? Obviously this doctor didn’t have the first clue about the modern world… The piles of outdated magazines caked with dust and strewn around the ramshackle 1950′s decor. The faint scent of mildew entered our noses as we took the clip board from the 200 year old receptionist that looked at us over her bifocals with annoyance and doubt that we were indeed old enough to care for the three year old and infant in tow. You know, 35-40 being the new 15-20, we were obviously checking in to meet the doctor due in part to our own stupidity… but didn’t she know the levels of our desperation? We called them, obviously…. and they relied on filing cabinets and clip boards, not computers and other fangdangled tricks of technology. But did we need to be met with the sketchiness of HR Puff-n-Stuff meets Land of the Lost all because we wanted a third opinion?

And as she held out her skeletal pointer finger in an attempt to direct Will to the toys of antiquity, I tried to think of an analogy to express our ever growing frustrations over Will’s food allergies. Unfortunately, my attempts were immediately sidelined when the definition of eccentric walked out of his office to invite us in.

Large portraits of family pets and a coffee table encasing a Floridian sea shell collection found us speechless and grasping to understand our surroundings as he turned to us to initiate the conversation.

Why were we there?
Grasp.
Because….

The wood paneling of his office walls screamed with anticipation as I realized that the heels on my shoes had become entangled in the orange shag. Really?

Because… we want another opinion.
Grasp.

The room was hot as I gazed over his desk to a self-portrait of the doctor in a civil war reenactment uniform. Long-gone were my dreams of forward thinking, as OH – I think the hives had reached my face. I found my voice and explained our situation — reeling off the script that I had repeated to a list of other allergists and pediatricians. We want our son to have a flu shot and his egg allergy is preventing this. We don’t completely believe his test results from his other allergists. And, after almost 4 years of living with several food allergies  — we aren’t sure that he would ever have a severe reaction considering the number of times he has already been exposed. We want a cure. We don’t want to be scared anymore. We want world peace — perfection, and while he’s at it — we want him to tell us EVERYTHING WE WANT TO HEAR. Because this food allergy thing SUCKS. And here we ARE — uncomfortable, and… SWEATING in an office with a man that we would only avoid eye contact with in any other given situation. PLEASE. TELL US. MAKE IT ALL OKAY.

And then he did. That is to say, he agreed to a few of our demands while acting out weird and undoctorly movie quotes that made us laugh uncomfortably. He suggested that Will might not really be allergic in the terms of your typically defined allergy. That although his blood might scream severe, his reaction may be quite the opposite. In short, he told us almost the opposite of everything we’ve ever been told about Will’s allergies AND he suggested some proactive steps… like giving him the allergens directly, allowing the flu vaccination in a controlled environment and, instead of hovering over him in a “no, you can’t have that” kind of way… being more open and suggestive that he might try more things. And for about forty minutes we felt euphoric. As if the must in the air was really a choice herb emanating from a giant bong connected to the office humidifier. We were encouraged to breathe deeply while Mr. Sal and I held hands and danced rings around Dr. Eccentric. His sea shell collection came to life — floating around us as if they were still alive in the deep blue ocean. It wasn’t until we walked out of the office that we, as parents, actually glanced at each other as if we’d just met Jesus — but not so sure it was really him or just some weirdo asking us to buy real estate in heaven. Because, there really isn’t anything scarier than having someone tell you exactly what you want to hear.

This is my favorite pre-ceremony picture…

But there are many more pics to come…

The wedding was amazing… And with the Bride and Groom now off, safely away to an island paradise, the rest of us — Or, at least I, now have to try to leave the bubble of awesomeness behind and get back to real life. It isn’t easy… an entire two days packed full of family and life long friends that I never get to see… Similar to my own wedding where it was hard to remember all of the conversations that took place along with all of the ones that I never had a chance to have… Regardless, it was priceless… I’m giving myself a week to detox, and I didn’t even drink but aside from a sip-a-loo of pinot noir (which suspiciously tasted  like the finest wine on earth). I’m sure that as the haze fades away, and the ability to feel my feet returns, there will be a lot more to share…

So here we are! I can just hear you… Gushing with anticipation.

Thanksgiving is upon us. And I know that sounds as heavy as it really is. Heavy — food, family, home, food, friends, relationships, news, football, politics, food. I know, WHATEVER. Almost everyone has that stuff. Or if it isn’t blood relation, its a family of friends — its a group… but most importantly.. its a COMFORT ZONE. I, in particular, have only spent one Thanksgiving really really away from my family. I mean there have been years where I have sat among in-laws and or other additions to my family — my zone-o-comfort, but only once was I really far away — and dudes, it sucked.

Yeah, no. Not going to sugar coat this one. Years upon years ago — another lifetime, even — I spent a college break over Thanksgiving with the family of a boyfriend… the ever DOOMED relationship that every other girl in existence has locked away somewhere… only to pull out for gasps and shrieks of OH MY GOLDEN BAKED BIRD, WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?. But that’s all I can say about that….for now.

I spent this one Thanksgiving among a group of über dysfunctionals, while my own family, displaced for a brief year-long stint in Atlanta, enjoyed in splendor among each other. And whatever — I’m sure it wasn’t awesome — both of my sisters were at great ages in Jr. High & High School… TONS OF FUN, right?!? But had I known what I was in for, I would have driven nonstop from Philly to be there with them… Instead, I went to New Jersey (and I’m not knocking, Jeerz). I’m not going to lie. I couldn’t eat. I didn’t want to — everything was gross to me — AND I was hideously uncomfortable — calling every friend I could think of on the phone… if only to interrupt the fun they were having with their own families. Tears burning behind my eyes, and this had been MY CHOICE. I’m sure there are pictures out there somewhere of me at this affair… my hair standing on end, hives all over my body — shoulders resting at complete tension by my ears. The very brush of another’s arm against mine made me flinch… just forget about the nice hello hugs and cheek kissing… I was completely standoffish and impolite… which, given that GRUNGE was so IN — I was probably way hot.

But that was then, and this is now. Now is when I get so juiced up about Thanksgiving that I run outside and cut dried berries to decorate the front door wreath (above.. — shut it, Martha.)… Imagine if I had allowed more experiences such as the one non-family Thanksgiving into my life… Just think about how balls out freaky I’d be. I allowed myself to think about this over this past weekend while my husband and I celebrated our 6th Wedding Anniversary… I know, SIX is so nothing in the scope of a lifetime… but when you add on another 10+ non-married years, things start to sound a little more permanent. We celebrated by actually GOING OUT TO DINNER, which — if you haven’t heard, is this new trend where you leave the house, sit down in a public establishment and allow someone to wait on you… There are a few bumps in the road… like having to sit near OTHER PEOPLE, but as we giggled our way through the idea of being adults, we were able to drown out the others… that is with the exception of the woman looking for dental floss. Now that was just unforgivable.

In short, the weekend was really nice. We had lovely guests — who were gracious enough to allow us out of the house… I remembered my hideous nightmare of a Thanksgiving on the eve of Thanksgiving… while on our Anniversary — making me beyond grateful for where I am now… and (OMG!) where I most certainly AM NOT. And while it all comes and goes so fast — Christmas is next week, right? — It was so nice to just think about the comfort of  what’s to come this week — even if it equals something… heavy.

Happy Thanksgiving my Friends!

Perfection isn’t easy to come by.

But for those of us that strive to be perfect, it is important to be aware of others that have convinced themselves that they have succeeded… Because all they are going to do is point out that we are (#1) doing it wrong and that (#2) they can do it better, even if they have to cheat. Case in point — Sandra Lee and her infamous Semi-Homemade… Because isn’t everything semi-homemade anyway? Think about it… one might grow the food, but did they create the seeds? I mean really… move on over chicken because the egg came first. I too can melt a candy bar and call it ‘syrup with caramel sauce’. Because it is THAT hard to not be homemade or store bought, so we need to MAKE everything, even if its only semi made… at home. Not to mention that the kitchen decor and outfits match the cuisine of choice… While the rest of us run around like losers in our standard kitchens, NOT COORDINATING and totally not looking at her boobs.

And while I need to be a little careful because Sandra just might be moving into the New York Governor’s mansion at some point in time, by way of husband Andrew Cuomo. Which means that pretty soon it will be LAW that our napkins match our earrings, and the possibility of running into her on the street is an actual maybe. I highly doubt that Martha would give her the time of day. Nope, she’s way to busy stuffing her own mattresses with hay from her recently shaved fields of lavender. Semi-Homemade, HUFF — I PULL THE LIKES OF YOU?! Martha, that knitted her way through the penitentiary only to emerge well rested and ready to publish. Leaving all the little jailbird ladies with expertly coiffed shoes… polished with the morning dew. Martha is real people. REAL. (Call me, K?)

Whereas Sandra is only mostly-real. And no, she isn’t a lunatic — no way. Look into those eyes, she’s not crazy AT ALL. Because not only was Semi-Homemade probably not really even her own idea to begin with… hello Campbell’s Soup, as she attempts to make it OK to only do it homemade part of the time… because who wants anything that isn’t homemade even if its only part way? Right? I mean, YUM — that cheese bread made with broken up Cheez-its versus real or vegan cheese may have increased the sodium intake by 800mgs, but HECK I sure saved 3cents—Thanks to Sandra and a predictable tank truck of prescription meds… not that there’s anything wrong with that. Did I mention that she’s not certifiable? Am I being mean yet?

I guess that you kind of have to be a little nutty when you’re smiling so damn hard, while trying to talk and eat, be pretty and right all the time by being only semi-original…. Only doing things part of the way and then telling others that they too can be this person, if only they stopped trying so hard to do it the right way…

I am a control freak.

This isn’t news to me — and it most certainly isn’t news to anyone that knows me, but it is kind of news that I’m stepping out of my carefully dictated world to say it. Part of it is because I am a designer. And if you are a designer, you know… Being a designer, requires this constant thought bubble to follow you around reminding you of how ginormous your ego is. You don’t even have to be a good designer to have a bubble in tow… although, despite the latest Frumpy McFrumperstein appearance — thanks to a little visit from e-Coli, I am still the best — dehydrated and recovering, but still the best.  

So when old clients call me up to say MY GAWD HELP ME, I try my hardest to look the other way… Did someone hear something? But then they start clanging my pots and pans about, making me feel like I have to do something. I mean we really can’t have anarchy… THIS IS SOUTHAMPTON. And in making a long story short, I have spent the better part of the past ten days telling a self-proclaimed designer that, in reality, he is not a designer… and that I AM. You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around… Which has not only been obscenely gratifying — but has also left me all in a tizzy about what I am going to do next. What am I going to do when I have to stop beating this poor not-a-designer-but-thinks-he-is into submission? Well – if it hadn’t been for the damn food poisoning, I might not have had the chance to think about it.

First of all, Food Poisoning, in all of its controversial glory, really does exist and needs to be banned immediately. I know, I know… there are worse things. But Food Poisoning must be removed. It sneaks up on you, grabs your ankles from behind, drops you to the floor and starts kicking you in the stomach until every muscle in your body is being stretched and strained beyond capacity. Then… then it depletes your water resources while making it seemingly impossible to replenish. It makes you take a hard cold look at the human body and realize .. My Sweet Basil – IS THERE NOTHING MORE DISGUSTING? But this post wasn’t intended to note the obvious…