I've been in stalking mode and have gone for months now without blogging, but after all this time I'd like to write about:

McDonald's!

 .

First, let me make the disclaimer (I am dripping with guilt as I sound like an organically-concerned poseur mother) that I don't remember the last time I've been to Mickey D's for anything other than coffee after seeing Food, Inc.  Even so, that was a brave move, since I had once found beard hairs floating in my latte.  But it was one of those running-around days--you know the type.  One of the kids shouted it out along with "meat paste!", I made a justifying statement about why McDonald's might be okay just this one time, and there we were.

No fries with the Happy Meal--Claire asked for apples!  She wanted the caramel dipping sauce though.  What a way to negate the nutritional value, I thought, but hey, those apples are surely coated in every pesticide approved by the EPA, and who knows what they were soaked in to keep from turning brown, so....food values tossed to the side once again.

But wait!  The cashier said they no longer carried the caramel dipping sauce at that location.  We asked why and got a garbled response over the speaker that included "customer" and "lawsuit."  We were intrigued and grilled the guy further when we got to the window.

Turns out our local McDonald's was sued over this harmless condiment!  

The caramel had been on the warming tray, and supposedly exploded when opened in the car of the offendee.  I am thinking that this person did not drive a '99 Buick as I do (or anything remotely similar).  

I probably would have cursed out the package, considered going back for more, ruled that out from hunger, and then proceeded to dip the apples in whatever was gobbed up on a clean part of the seat and chocked it up as another "character stain."  When I got home I might have let my dog hop in the car and lick up what she could since she is so much better at handling messes like that than I am.

I can't imagine taking time out of my life to sue a restaurant because my car got stained by their food.   Eating in the car is not the best idea anyways, especially if you own one that would cause you to bring a lawsuit over a splatter of caramel.

It's like the frothy matcha latte I bought today that was foaming out of the cup and onto my pants as I walked through the grocery store.  I appeared to have an episode of uncontrollable diarrhea, with dark green splotches running down the front that I couldn't hide with the groceries I was carrying.  Hmmm...could that pass for emotional distress???

August Heat Wave and the Cheese Drought

The heat has finally broken in Middle Tennessee, at least during the morning hours. With highs in the mid-80's and lows in the 60's at night, we can finally sleep without the air conditioning on. The sky has been overcast at sunrise over the past few days, but I don't think we've had anything more than teasingly scattered raindrops in over a month. Still, my lawn remains green. Our first year in this house and we've let the crabgrass run wild, much to my retired next-door neighbor's chagrin. But crabgrass is a beautiful thing when there's a stretch of dry days, because it lives on while everyone else is pumping water from the Harpeth river to save their fescue.

At work the other night, I asked around to see if anyone liked pierogies. I was unable to find anyone from the South that had ever even heard of them! You know, similar to potstickers, but with potato filling. The responses went something like "Potstickers, what are those?" and "Polish people, they have their own food?"

In their defense, though, Nashville nurses at my hospital who work the nightshift full-time typically have diets which consist of Taco Bell, Chinese take-out, and pizza. So they are really only exposed to Mexican, Asian and Italian cuisines, along with the occasional American burger joint such as Sonic. Oh, and Starbucks. Columbian.

So I went grocery shopping at Kroger to look for farmer's cheese to fill my pierogies, which when mixed with sugar makes a sweet cheese that reminds me of crepe filling. Anyways, I found one little 8 ounce package hidden away for $4.99. I was dismayed. Being from the North and having spent much time in Wisconsin, farmer's cheese was as easy to obtain up there as grits and salt-cured ham bodies are here. The package said "Made in Wisconsin." I've seen cows grazing in fields near my home. Surely some of them are used to make dairy products.

I guess I will have to settle for potato and cheddar cheese (from Ohio) pierogies until I find a good cow willing to donate to my cause.

Williamson County Fair

What is it about carnivals that the workers have to be so creepy? Is that one of the job requirements (must have a large, noticeable facial scar, a raspy voice, and hair that looks as if you've been manually pulling it out), because you certainly don't see normal people (e.g. salesmen in suits, pastors, nurses?--oh, forget it!) operating those machines. As Claire was having a ball on the kiddie cars, all I could think was "I wonder if this guy is a registered sex offender?" I am jaded in my old age, yet I have always thought about this, even when I was a kid. The weirdo-radar was programmed early, way back in Safety Town at age 4.

I was scolded by the woman in charge of the rotating pink elephants for fastening my two-year-old's seatbelt too tightly. In case of an emergency, she explained harshly, we need to be able to get the belt off quickly. Other than the bolt loosening and sending the elephant flying into the air like Dumbo, the only emergency I could think of would be my 2-year-old trying to be funny, wiggling to stand up, and falling out. Note to parents: always check behind the carnival people.

I need to have a side job as a carnival worker (after I get older and a little weirder-looking). I'm going to run one of those stands with all the goldfish bowls that you get 5 balls for $2 to throw in order to win a fish. They must make a killing, considering that you can buy feeder fish 12 for $1.99 at Walmart, and it's so difficult to get a ping-pong ball into one of those little bowls. Imagine how the fish feel, with balls bouncing all around them.

Either that, or I can buy a mobile food stand and a vat of frying grease and offer up all the Southern delicacies that anyone will buy. My favorites are fried Oreos (double-stuffed), and sweet potato fries. By the way, spellcheck replaced "oreos" with "oleos." Hmmmm....fried margarine, now that's a new one that I bet the Southern chefs haven't dabbled in.

Okay, my spellcheck program is WAY
behind the times here.
It underlined Walmart as a misspelled word!

Dental Accessories Assembled During Lunch

Back to the cardiac lecture I go, but first a detour to the restroom for breath control.

Pizza is a risky venture when you haven't brought a toothbrush to work.

Dried sauce caked around the corners of the mouth. Dough crammed into the spaces between each tooth to make them appear conjoined, like those candy wax molds I used to goof off with when I was a kid. And then, the dreaded basil sprig wedged splat in the middle of the front teeth.

A couple of swishes of water may serve to loosen up that little bugger.

Maybe if I position the holdout particle between my front teeth it will look like a small space--a clean vacancy showcasing a display of ivory.

It's not working! Basil is still recognizable as a foreign object in my mouth. What the hell?! I have to get back to class. By now they've probably already started, but I can't go in like this. I'll forget about it in the drone of the lecture and end up smiling in a false display of fascination, and then it will make its unwanted appearance.

I have nothing to work with here. Maybe this paper towel will do. Just roll it into a tiny point, jam it in there forcefully, and joila! Okay, let's try that one more time. Roll, jam...come on already, get the hell outta there!

Ah, perfectly positioned. After my braces came off my wisdom teeth pushed my perfect smile askance. This is a good look for me now. Maybe I'll carry around a small container of dried chopped basil instead of gum. Parsley would also do the trick, but it wouldn't give that fresh herbal scent to my breath.

Finally, freedom from the mirror. As I pass through the classroom door and greet my coworkers, I notice a piece of toilet paper hanging off the back of my shoe.