Friday, February 10, 2012

Tastebud terror

I'm not an adventurous eater.  My idea of a perfect meal is caesar salad, medium-well steak with mashed potatoes and veggies, and raspberry and chocolate tartufo.  Despite my aversion to culinary bravery, I've eaten some unusual things over the years:
  • a candied flower - plasticky and hard to chew.  My teeth were confused.
  • frog legs - tasty but not very filling
  • a banana coated in tempura batter and drizzled with chocolate syrup and ice cream.  It was called the Red Rocket and no, that is not what she said.  By far the most revolting thing I've ever ingested.  A coating that normally goes on fish just does not translate well with sugar.
  • a ladybug.  I thought it was a runts candy and chewed it right up, so my tongue got the full ladybug-internal-juices bath.  It was as disgusting as you might expect.
  • a worm.  I was eight, a serious tomboy and a dare was involved.  I don't remember what it tasted like, only the pride of doing it.
  • fried crabmeat.  I like seafood in general and was trying to expand my horizons.  So I bought a tin of crabmeat, dumped a bunch of butter in a pan and tried to fry it.  The smell was so dreadful that I had to carry the pan outside, gagging the whole time.  I suspect there's some other way you're supposed to cook it, but I was too traumatized to give it a second chance.
  • a tamarind.  "It's like a sweet fig," my Indian friend said.  She neglected to mention the part about the fruit being dipped in some kind of unholy jalapeno/cayenne pepper mix.  My mouth still cringes thinking about it.
What kind of strange things have you eaten?

12 weeks

I'm excited tonight - tomorrow is 12 weeks!  Maybe this baby will make it after all.  For the last few weeks I've been throwing up on the way to work.  S. is usually with me, and after I pull over and throw up, she makes charming yarky noises the whole rest of the drive. 

Yesterday I had to stay home from work with S., because my mom was sick and couldn't watch her.  S. took her sippy cup and dumped the water all over the coffee table, then started shrieking with excitement and slapping her hands in the water.  So of course I took her sippy cup away and cleaned up the table. 

When I went over to the kitchen, I heard these noises and looked over...there was S. spitting on the coffee table and then smearing it around with her hands.  The only good thing was that she doesn't really know how to spit, so there wasn't a ton of nastiness there.  But still!

Sigh...shouldn't she be getting more civilized, not less?

Thursday, February 9, 2012


I see myself folding in, curled up tight as can be.  I wanted to feel the fire in my veins, but all I feel is exhaustion.  An overwhelming urge to turn away from the world and its bright chattering noise, to huddle silent and contained in the privacy of my fears.  Afraid to look ahead and haunted by the path behind, because every day could be the day I listen and listen and hear nothing but static and that eerie whooshing through the trees. 

And then the blood...and the tiny broken can I retrace those steps without lying down and not getting back up?  I should feel reassured as time slips by, but every week only seems like a higher cliff from which to fall.  So I burrow in, close my eyes and ears, and wait for my foot to slip.