Monkey Bread and Mr. Peanut

I've never made monkey bread. Ever. I have never even tasted it, although CPM claims to have devoured some at Jaime's house at a party. I must have been parked near the chips and dip or the M&M bowl that she always puts out (another of her ideas that I have stolen for all time, because M&Ms in a big bowl are just awesome).

For some reason, monkey bread popped into my head as the perfect treat to have on hand for a visit from some dear friends on Easter Sunday. I used Smitten Kitchen's recipe. I did not make the cream cheese glaze. I also veganized the recipe by using almond milk and vegan butter. That means that this was healthy monkey bread, because, as all the world knows, being vegan means that everything you eat is good for you :)

Thus, on Sunday, I woke myself up at 7:30: the dough requires two separate rises, and our visitors were arriving at 11. CPM was a little annoyed that the stand mixer was chugging away at 7:45 a.m., but that's what happens when your bedroom is right next to your kitchen. It's one of those things you get used to in a rancher. The mixer kneaded, the dough rose, I rolled balls of dough in butter and sugar, the dough rose again, then I baked. And dear gods, why didn't I ever do this before? I made Brian and Joselle take the few leftovers with them, to save me from myself...I could easily have spent the day popping little balls of sugary dough into my mouth.



***

CPM has been referring to me as Mrs. Peanut for the past two weeks. It's his new nickname for me, he says because my head is shaped like a peanut, and I should be wearing a monocle. Let's hope this nickname doesn't stick, because I am not starting a new blogging career as Mrs. Peanut. But Mrs. Peanut has gotten the perfect thing for her upcoming vacation, a peanut sized folding bike from Citizen Bikes. Our dream has always been to take our bikes with us on vacation. While I've read a lot about other people doing this, this will be a first for us. (CPM is taking his Xootr Swift.) Let's hope it all works out, because I'd love to be cruising around Waikiki on my teeny tiny bike.

Why am I afraid of something so small?

When I sat in my chair at my desk this morning, it squeaked. Hmmm, I thought, this chair needs a little WD40. I proceeded to spin around in my chair, to bounce up and down, roll it back and forth, to see how bad the squeaking problem was. Oddly, the squeaking was not corresponding to any of my movements. That's when I realized I was actually hearing the sound of a mouse on a glue trap.

I know that sound well, from my time living in the basement unit of an apartment building downtown. CPM and I had a private entrance that was in a narrow alley, across from a few dumpsters (said dumpsters were also a convenient public toilet for various homeless fellows...ah, college living). There were holes in the baseboard everywhere. We stuffed them with steel wool. Once, I swear something was trying to chew through that steel to get me, as I huddled in fear on the living room futon. Another time, CPM left for work in the morning, and I woke up thinking that the battery in the smoke detector must have died, due to the frequency of the squeaking. Once it registered that I was listening to a mouse, I got the hell out of dodge and left the guy stuck on the trap for CPM to deal with upon his return to the apartment. (Said apartment also featured cockroaches that were roughly the size of 747s. Yeah, I do not miss that place.)

I have a deadly irrational fear of mice. I don't know why. They freak me out. Rats are even worse. I can safely look at the pet mice and rats in Petsmart, but the real thing, in the wild, skeeves me completely.

So, this morning, I began to thoroughly investigate my workstation. Where had maintenance staff put the trap? I moved my waste bin aside, and almost fainted when I saw a stray paper towel behind it. I was lightheaded at this point. Finally, standing up, surveying the open office area, I saw the trap, fifteen feet from me. The little guy had drug his trap away from the wall, out into the open area. He was a real fighter. He was also gigantic. Unfortunately for him, the building maintenance has a clear mouse disposal policy. And I'm wishing we had a department cat.

Is this for real? and other shit.

Seriously. If you need to catch up with me: husband frequents a local pizza joint, chick at local pizza joint crafts a Missed Connection for him, friends notify husband, husband cutely confronts pizza slinger, we all laugh, all is well. And now, here she is, terminated from the pizza joint (probably for stalking old guys), and asking to KIT with my husband. Oh no she din't. Now the psycho in me is seriously contemplating a response. I won't though. My (male) co-workers have advised me to let the husband have the joy of an admirer, because there is so little happiness in life as it is. Okay, okay. Fine. But if she does it again, she's toast.

***

20 days and counting.


What? I got a frantic text message one day notifying me of "insanely low" airfares to Oahu from Newark. Indeed, I got tickets for a little over 400 per person, round trip. That is unheard of--it's about fifty percent less than the current average cost to fly round trip to Oahu from the east coast. It was a sign. A sign that it was time once again to return to vacationing. Yes, we have thousands of dollars of work left to do on the new house (landscaping, roofing, driveway repaving, etc). And yes, my husband is self employed, thus not really earning much in the way of actual money. But you know what? Who gives a shit! I could die next month. I haven't had a break from work (except the move week) in over a year. This winter has been beyond awful. I need warmth. I need a beach. I need Mai Tai's.

So, the disappointing thing about the trip is that I've grown too fat for all of my shorts from last summer. There. I put it in writing. While my brain fantasizes about losing a few pounds in the next few weeks, I know this is not going to happen (okay, it might, if I stick to my current self imposed pre vacation diet exercise torment schedule). I will embrace my new almost pre-muffin top. Old lady bathing suits, here I come.

Impatiently Tapping My Foot

...in anticipation of the "real" spring weather. I know, I know, in two weeks, we (meaning you crazy people who dislike the heat) will all be bitching that we skipped spring and jumped right into the sticky humidity. Such is life on the east coast. Still, I'm eagerly awaiting 70 degree days and 50 degree nights, even if they only last for a day or two.

This weekend, it felt like CPM and I were on vacation. We did a lot of work around the house, but still managed to eat out more than we would normally on your "average" weekend. First, CPM took me to breakfast on Saturday morning. He owed me one. The weekend prior, he had passed a late night comment about "going to breakfast in the morning." Then we woke up and when I asked what we were doing, he told me to cook. Man, that really ticked me off! You know how you fall asleep anticipating your next meal? (What? Is that only me?) Well, to wake up and find out that I wasn't getting fancy coffee and treats was super irritating. Especially since Mr. Spouse happily snoozed away while I prepped the pancakes and tempeh bacon. Arg! So, to correct his mistake, on Saturday, he took me to Green Eggs Cafe in Northern Liberties. This was our second visit. (It has easily become one of our top five breakfast spots.) We always strategize our breakfast order...we both get a savory dish, and then we split a sweet as "dessert." This order: Veggie Benedict, Egg White Omelet with Mushrooms and Tomatoes, and Sticky Bun French Toast.



We did a whole bunch of stuff on Saturday (me: cleaning and food shopping, him, electrical work), then he took me to dinner. Trust me, this is only normal when we have house guests or are on vacation, I never expect two "out" meals in one day. Nevertheless, we found ourselves at Gunner's Run early on Saturday evening. Me: Vegan Sloppy Joes. Him: Panko Fried Cod. Verdict: Delicious. Secondary Verdict: Will be stealing pickle recipe. They are AMAZING.





On Sunday, I cooked breakfast. Just threw together some eggs benedict. You, know, eggs benedict is so quick and easy, I don't know why I don't make it every day. Actually, I really wanted to try out my new poachpods. I've tried the normal egg poaching methods, the whirlpool, the vinegar in the water, etc. My poached eggs still ended up looking like snot. These poachpod things are great! Just lube them up a touch, crack the eggs into the pods, float them in boiling water, cover, and five minutes later you have perfectly poached eggs.





We also have a new Sunday tradition. It's called "Pizza Sunday." Yes, we go out for pizza on Sunday night (or we have for the last five Sundays in a row, at least). We've been frequenting Pizzeria Stella. The pizza there is fantastic, if a little bit pricey. I'm not sure how long pizza Sunday will last...it's the one day of the week where I don't feel rushed to prep a meal, so I normally enjoy cooking. Pizza Sunday might just become Pizza Tuesday. Which would be a nice predecessor to Thai Wednesday. (What, you don't do Thai Wednesday?)

Connection Found

I know all six readers of this blog are hungering to know the outcome of CPM's missed connection. Did he run away with the pizza girl? Did I go all psycho on her ass and send her copies of our wedding photos? Was it in fact just a juvenile prank by CPM's buddies? Relax people. You will get your answers.

CPM actually went to the same pizza place for lunch three times this week. (Yes, he did.) On the first visit, our mystery girl was not working. On the second, she was working, but he didn't say anything. Finally, yesterday, on a solo visit, he worked up the courage to do this:

CPM: What's your name?
Girl: Becky (not her name, name has been changed to protect the innocent)
CPM (smiling trademark CPM grin, blue eyes probably charmingly sparkly): If I told you that I was not an electrician would that mean anything to you? (I gave him kudos for being so cute and not creepy at this moment.)
Becky: OMG, you saw that?

CPM proceeded to laugh and tell her that he was extraordinarily flattered, that he was an old married man, and really thought that his buddies were pranking him. I'm sure the girl was embarrassed. (Side note: can't wait to go get pizza with CPM in tow!)

Once CPM shared the tale with me, we laughed a lot about how I need to go in and tell that girl that she needs to give me free pizza. In fact, we decided that I am actually doing the world a favor by keeping CPM off the market...he's extremely high maintenance and is a total pervert. (His favorite twitter feeds include Girls in Yoga Pants and Iced T's wife Coco for her trademark Thong Thursday posts.) Dear women of the world, send your gifts to my attention in thanks.

The end.

Missed Connections

Yeah. We're pretty sure this missed connection is directed at my husband. I wonder if the young lady will be disappointed to find that he is not an electrician? Perhaps she needed some electrical work done? Too bad, he does the HVAC.

Needless to say, there is currently no living with CPM. He claims this is the best thing to have ever happened to him (when I asked, he answered: yes, even better than marrying me). I don't blame him. I'd be pretty stoked too, if not a little creeped out. Currently, all of the friends claim that it isn't them playing a cruel joke on his ego. I'm not so sure.

The question is, will I ever dine at this pizza place again? I'm not sure I could handle ordering without bursting into laughter.

Suburbs v. City

While walking one of the dogs the other night after dinner, I came upon two police officers and another man calmly wheeling a corpse laden stretcher out of a house, and trying to stuff it into a minivan. (Is this where we all end up, in the back of a late model Ford Windstar?)

In our former city home, this would have been akin to a block party...every neighbor would have been out to watch the proceedings, kids would have been running around, shrieking, it would have been a festive chaos. Bad shit happens, neighbors watch and comment. It's the city way.

In the calm of the suburbs, the dog and I were the only ones to bear witness to this person's final "roll" down the sidewalk. I even felt guilty, as if I shouldn't have stumbled upon the scene. No one was out. No one was even peeking out of their curtains. It was spooky.