"So much that I wanna do when I dream I'm alone with you" --ABBA

True confession: I have never played Spin the Bottle. No really. If I had, I'd totally tell you. I've played Truth or Dare, which, let's face it, is a stupid thing to do. Let me get this straight: I can either tell you something I had no intention of ever telling you or do something I had no intention of ever doing? Sign me up! What could possibly go wrong with this plan?

But, alas, I was never invited to play Spin the Bottle. I've never been in a room with people playing Spin the Bottle. I've heard of people playing Spin the Bottle but I have no first hand knowledge. I have a hard time imagining ever being that indiscriminate about whom I smooch on. Suppose you do get the dog. With it's ALPO breath and floppy tongue and muddy paws* and sheddy fur and over-enthusiastic tail. The slightest encouragement and the next thing you know, this happens (Warning: strangely NSFW):



Um, no.

Do people still play Spin the Bottle? Have you ever played Spin the Bottle? And, if so, was it *nudge*nudge*wink*wink* fun?



* Okay, that's pretty hot.

"Let's call the whole thing off" --Ira and George Gershwin

I have a friend who I love. Dearly. There's just one little, itty, bitty thing she does that irritates me.*

When looking at art--and we both like to look at art--she will talk about the particular palette for the piece. But instead of saying palette like I would, and like Miriam Webster's online pronunciation does, and like every other person I've ever heard does, she will say pa-LET, with the accent on the second syllable. Now, it's a French word and maybe in Pa-REE that's how they say it. I dunno. Never took French.** But it comes off sounding pretentious and goofy.

Here's the thing, I can't really say anything because I am guilty of similar transgressions.*** I make a Rachael Ray**** appetizer of endive, mandarin oranges, almond slivers and goat cheese. And it's good, I tell ya. It's really hard to get it wrong, which is a key requirement for my kitchen successes. If I tell people what they're eating? I say on-DEEV instead of en-dive, as Miriam says it. Because that's the way I learned it, right or wrong--dunno, no French, remember?** And even as I'm saying it, I think: Jeez, how pretentious. But it doesn't stop me from saying on-DEEV next time.

So, what do you say all pretentious and snooty like? Do you ever intentionally mispronounce something just to see if someone's paying attention?*** When someone else pronounces something wonky, do you call them out or embrace the potato, poTAHto philosophy?




* Pretty good, right? Just one thing? Dang good, I'd say! When I was in high school, a friend told me that at most you got 80% of what you wanted in another person and it was just a matter of choosing what 80% was important to you and what 20% of the yeech you could tolerate. Like Frost said, that has made all the difference.

** Shut up. You know what I mean.

***Forgive me, Blogger, for I have sinned.

****You say Antichrist, I say Easy Appetizer Supplier. It's not like I have to listen to her giggling when I make it. Wow, can you imagine if you heard the Rachael Ray giggle all the time like some sort of horror show tinnitus? *shudder*

"I couldn't close my eyes 'cause you were on my mind" -- 5th Dimension

I have a confession. I think of you sometimes late at night. Not every night. Just some nights. When I'm in bed. It's late and I'm trying to go to sleep but you're in my head. TMI?*

That is to say, while you are getting a bad case of pillowface, I am thinking of an idea to post about that may amuse you. Then, I wonder if I'll remember it in the morning. So, I reach for the pad and pen that are on my night table for just this purpose and, in the dark, I jot down a few key words. So, come morning, it'll trigger bleary-eyed me to remember what I was thinking about as I was drifting off.

Here's last night's gems:


Yeah, that's a great big FAIL. Make sure your pen is actually writing before you trust your midnight squiggles to it.

So, if this post isn't all it should be, let's agree to blame the pen, shall we?**

I think what I wanted to say was that reading a blog is like taking ice core samples. (You probably already got that from my notes.) And by "ice core samples", I mean what I make up about taking ice core samples because I know nothing about taking ice core samples. Maybe less than nothing. But why mess up a perfectly good analogy with pesky facts?

[Don't get nervous, I will not be taking out my ruler.]

You're still here? Huh. That's nice. And always a little surprising.

Anyway, here's what I was thinking...

When you read someone's blog regularly you get samples of them. Core samples. They're deep but not broad.

You don't really know much about what's happening on the surface. You don't see the animal tracks. You don't know how many acres the ice is covering. You just know a few random deep drills where you get a keen insight on what's happening at the core and maybe some of the layers in between.

So it's more biopsy than plain old microscope viewing. Maybe, over time, you get enough samples to put together a little kaleidoscope.*** And you get a little intimacy and a little connection with people you may have absolutely nothing else in common with and with whom you would have no other way of knowing about their really nice cores. And that can be quite beautiful.


****


* Sometimes I dress you in funny outfits. Is that wrong?

** Note to self: Astronaut pen real?

*** I'll bet you thought I couldn't get there.

**** Ice art credit: Dr. Peter Wasilewski.

"I want it... I want it... I want it..." -- The Who

I never thought I'd be participating in LivitLuvit's TMI Thursday because, well, it's just so... sordid. But, if I'm honest with myself, I need to get off my high horse and just tell you.

*takes deep breath and drops eyes* So, yeah, I did it.

I could have not done it. I could have stopped myself. But I really didn't want to.

I deprive myself enough. And, especially at this time of year--losing light and losing warmth is really challenging for me, so I don't think it's unreasonable if I'm in need of a little extra, um, comfort. Yeah, I'm probably rationalizing here, but, I dunno, maybe there's a part of me that gets tired of always doing the right thing. Maybe I like being bad.

So I did it.

You know what? I liked it. A lot. It was satisfying in a deep way. It was profoundly sensual so I lingered. I wasn't alone in the house and I did it anyway, knowing I could get walked in on at any time. And, sure enough, I was caught in the act. Yup! So, maybe I got a little self-conscious but I kept going.

And even that doesn't stop me from thinking I may do it again.

I'm re-reading that and it may sound a little braggy. I'm not trying to brag here. The thing is: you show up here trying to connect with me. You make the effort and I'm grateful. Really, you've no idea what it means to me that you check in on my stupid, little show. So, in return, I figure I owe you a little honesty.

*swallows and catches lower lip in teeth* Some of you are judging me right now. You think less of me. I get that.

*raises eyes* But some of you... you think more. Because either you've thought about it or you've done it, yourself.

You know.

You're into the grilled cheese, too.

Pass the yolk

I was going to write a post about how I don't like egg white and I was going to do this because, well, let's face it, you and I have known each other a while now and I figure we've reached that level of bonding. I understand about expectations and I don't want you to feel like I'm holding out on you.*

But then I got to thinking about how people love to talk about what foods they hate and isn't that sort of strange and, well, I reconsidered.

Why do you want to hear about my egg white aversion?** I'm thinking you really don't want to hear about my egg white aversion.

I'm thinking you also don't want to hear your Uncle Morty talking about how he "likes onions but they don't like him." Or your cousin Delilah saying "I wish I liked salad more because I know it's good for me but I just don't."

What's the point of all that? At best, you find someone with the same food hang-ups as you. "You hate milk?! I hate milk!!"*** And then you do your happy milk-hating dance together.****

So... I'm not going to talk about my egg white issues.

That's healthy, right?

I'm just not.

No.

It's not like I need to.

Uh-uh.

*sweating*

Unless you really want me to.

If you really want to know, do nothing. That'll be our secret signal.

Huh!

Well, I stand corrected! It's amazing how well we communicate!

Okay, then, in brief:

It's the rubbery texture that makes me all squeebee.*****





* Who says I'm cold and unsharing? Just don't eye my Pecan Twirls.

** This has nothing to do with the aversion but, let's face it, I'm all about the tenuous tangent and this one is at least about eggs. Several years ago, I was over a relative's house for dinner and she asked me to carry in a tray of deviled eggs. I did, but as I got to the table, I, and the tray, stopped moving, but the eggs, slippery suckers, kept going. Pity there was no America's Funniest Home Videos slide whistle sound effect to accompany the arc of the eggs as they went flying off the tray. I was particularly pleased that one deviled egg did a beautiful swan dive into a tall glass of soda. *Sploosh!* ... Wah, wahhh.

*** Yeah, I actually do hate milk. You, too?! OMG!

**** Because I have complete faith in the Interwebs, I searched Google images for "milk hating dance". Hey, you never know. It gave me images for each of these words but not the combination. I think Google should create a mash-up of images for you if it can't actually find the combination you're seeking.

***** All right, your turn.