Cham Cham

Tonight I had my very first cham cham, sometimes known as a pleasure boat.

The boyfriend is on set, so it's my duty to provide dinner and cooking was out of the question. We're in a heat wave, Tuesdays are for two hours of dream-following and Glee is on. I also made an embarrassingly mediocre batch of pasta last night. This lack of cable TV is compromising my inner Giada.

I recently heard an NPR report about parents making their children wear oral expanders to produce a more attractive smile. Apparently the wider the smile, the more attractive it is. And the more attractive it is, the better off you'll be in this world. Needless to say, Giada definitely had an oral expander.

Moving right along, I ended up at India Sweets & Spices, because saying "surprise me", when I ask what he wants means he's getting something Asian, spicy and mysterious.

I ordered a combo of whatever the nice man recommended and took notice of the glass case displaying rows upon rows of fun Indian sweets. One of the trays held what appeared to be a pile of burnt, oozing twinkies, called cham chams. I ordered one so I could hold a cham cham in my hand. I say cham cham daily in reference to kittens eating kibble or in my sleep while dreaming.

Cham chams are sweet and squishy, made with flour, cream, sugar, safron, lemon juice and coconut flakes. They taste nothing like twinkies, and are rockin' good.

India, don't stop it.

Scary Strawberries

Strawberries for dinner tonight, Tuesday. Red, sweet, tart, nutritious strawberries make eating whimsical and delicate and happy. Place them in a bowl after washing, or in my case, place the colander in a larger bowl to catch the drippings because I can't wait for them to dry. I can't wait to eat these strawberries that I bought at the grocery store on sale!

Gently picking each berry by the green part, not really stems, maybe leaves. So, by the leaves, I take one from the bowl and put it in my mouth without looking because I know what's about to happen. And I'm correct, because it's as delightful as it is delicious and I can have lots of them because they are not pizza and they are not cheeseburgers and they are not chow mein.

I got a squishy one. It's ok. So I look at the next one and there's mold. Mold all over one side of it. Like it fell in the snow or a bathtub about to be scrubbed with Comet. It's dark, so I switch on the light and look at the rest of them. And I'm afraid. But not because I am eating strawberries in the dark on a Tuesday.

They are weird. Strawberries are weird and no longer cute. They are strange and menacing like monsters. The monsters that seem inanimate, but when you least expect it they open their eyes and roar then bare giant claws and dangle you by your throat with one of them. The other hangs on to the spire of a tall building.

I deal with this frightening dillema by reasoning that not all strawberries are monsters. A few of them are in my belly right now, and I am not a gonner. I feel fine. So I put the innocent ones into a ziplock and the suspicious ones right in the garbage. Just got rid of 'em right away. For safety.

But I'm still hungry and a little put off by strawberries for dinner. It went from a strawberry night to a top ramen night in a blink of an eye. Strawberries are tricky and quick to pull the wool over your eyes. So be careful not to eat a monster when all you were doing was enjoying an adorable springtime strawberry.

"I Miss You"

Three years of outdoor media buying was put in the past on Thursday, which meant writing the obligatory goodbye e-mails to clients, colleagues and vendors. Since I'm myself, I thought about the content of these farewells since the day I gave 30 days notice, which left me rocking back and forth with insanity by 2:30 everyday (as opposed to 5:30). Generosity isn't always a unicorn ride in the park.

Many of the responses to these e-mails included, "We'll miss you!" or "I'm really going to miss you :*( !" Ok - this made me feel awkward because, in truth, I will only miss a select few that can fit in the palm of my hand. It made me realize that people are quick to say these three words, which to me, are almost on par with I love you. The majority of these important-phrase-abusers were obviously lying and I just can't get down like that. Those who will truly miss me needn't say it, because I'll miss them too, so it really goes without saying. The point here is, when people say I miss you, they don't always mean it, and I feel that this phrase shouldn't be thrown around casually. My feelings about this are strong and brawny. And I am doubting humanity with each passing thought.

Though I did receive some appropriate and honest responses such as, "Thank you for all your hard work!" and "We appreciate all you've done for us". Those are real. They're real because, yes, I did work hard, and thank you for acknowledging that. But come Monday, planning requests will be sent to the next of kin without much thought, like killing a can of keystone light and popping open the next one, never to think of that crumpled ball of aluminum again. Life's realities are best explained with drinking analogies.

All in all. In the end. In closing. In conclusion. What it all boils down to. When you say "I miss you", you should mean it. Because people should say what they mean. Or try to anyway.

Radishes are crunchy and slightly spicy.