veg4me

veg4inspection

My father farts. A lot.

At home and in public places.

He's polite about it.

He says "Excuse me" beforehand. Which makes it worse because once he mutters those words you pause, look at him and start to ask "Excuse you for what?" but sometime before the "what" part of that sentence crosses your lips your ears are assaulted with the noise of his gas.

"Da-ad! Why don't you just fart like a normal person and act like it didn't happen or blame it on someone or something else?"

"Okay, excuse me that guy over there just stepped on a duck"

Dad you just stepped on fowl a lot bigger than that. Or should I say foul.

When I got married to my husband I was amazed to hear the sound of him peeing so audibly each morning. I don't ever remember hearing the sound of my father peeing as a child. Did my mom make him sit down to pee so that he wouldn't be offensive? The three of us lived in a 900 sq ft home with only one bathroom. Why didn't I ever hear him pee?

I did hear him fart however.

I haven't lived with my parents in almost 20 years but if I am out in public and I smell a fart, I immediately look around for my dad, who lives 3,000 miles away. His timing was impeccably bad. He could be outside doing yard work for hours on end, only to walk into our tiny house as we were sitting down to dinner, mutter "Excuse me" and let loose a "ffffttttthhhh" as we scurried out of the way.

It infuriates my mother almost as much as a Sunday paper without the coupon inserts.

Yesterday afternoon two realtors, a home inspector, the couple that is buying our home, plus their two children and grandma came into our home. I made sure my children had on nice clothes, their hair was brushed and I instructed them "These people are buying our home. They are coming to inspect it today. Please be good"

Everyone filtered into the kitchen and was making polite small talk. I heard a deafening "FFFFTTTTTHHHHHH" sound and the room went silent. I looked out into the hall and expected to see my Dad there.

Instead I found a four year old girl who decided that a home inspection was a fine time to unleash the wonder of the Whoopee Cushion.

I excused myself, asked Cakes to put away her toy and grabbed the cordless phone to call my father.

You could hear him laughing and farting.

veg4monster

Illustration Friday time again.

Ever since we've announced our upcoming move, Cakes has been less self assured and a bit more prone to the melodramatic. Nightmares and fear of goblins have come into play as well. I hope that once we've moved and are settled into the new house, they will cease.

I always have had the oddest dreams. Full color dreams. As an adult I can still remember snippets of odd dreams I had as a child. Catnip mice coming to life and attacking me, a very fat Chinese man who wouldn't stop jumping up and down on my bed as I tried to sleep. Just last night I dreamt that I rode a sled to my grandparents house and stood in their field while giant strands of irridescent DNA floated in the sky above their pond.

My mother was prone to odd dreams as well, so I assume Cakes will always be cursed with them.

Tonight when she goes to sleep I plan on telling Cakes the story of what her grandma did in her sleep when I was a little girl.

Cakes is sure to get a giggle out of picturing her grandma dreaming there was a giant grey elephant in my parent's bedroom. In her dream she was frantically trying to get out of the room. So much so that she jumped out of bed sound asleep and ripped every single curtain and curtain rod down from the windows in an attempt to escape.

My poor father, who woke up in the middle of her destruction, was terrified. Only when my mom said "It's the elephant! I've got to get away from him!!" did my dad roll over and go back to sleep.

veg4enawhat

When I was growing up we had pretty strict rules regarding table etiquette at dinner time. I don't remember going out to eat much. Stir fry was done at home in my mom's old red wok, pizza was made from scratch and without fail turned out to be a lopsided rectangle. Pancakes were made from scratch and cooked on a tabletop griddle.

No matter the menu, the rules were always the same. Elbows off the table, appropriate subject matter, speak minimally, the less audible the conversation the better. As an only child I didn't have much to occupy myself during the meal. When my parents conversations about IBM and volunteering at the library made me want to scream or talk about Duran Duran's latest album I stared at the bird feeder outside the window.

Once in awhile my parents would pause their conversation to remark on the type of bird.

"Today I wore a tie to work for the 12,000 day in a row and- Oh! Look! A chickadee!"

As the weather got colder I'd sit in front of a bowl of homemade split pea soup the color of my mom's kitchen cabinets and wait for a certain bird to arrive. It was the highlight of 52 weeks of mature dinner conversation.

"Tonight on my way to the library I stopped at- Oh! A tufted titmouse!"

Such inappropriate commentary! God, I loved that bird and the 10 seconds of giggling it allowed me.

Now I'm a parent and I find myself getting uptight at the dinner table if the kids start acting, well, not acting up per se, but acting like they have a pulse.

Mistah Checka's mom was a single mother and she raised 4 intelligent children who were left to their own devices from time to time.

He thinks nothing of breaking out into song at home when we're eating Mexican food.

"Beans, beans they're good for your heart! The more you eat the more you fart! The more you fart the better you -"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" I say in my best impersonation of my mother circa 1982.

Mistah Checka had to look up the words to Rock A Bye Baby on the web after our first child was born, but I bet he can recite tons of off color psuedo rhymes from memory.

Today we ventured downtown to mill around with 200,000 other aimless shoppers. Uninspired by the beer tent, the fried chicken tent and the pulled pork tent, we ducked into a bar to get lunch. We chose that bar because they make good sandwiches and they have a giant fishtank.

Grabbing a prime piece of dining real estate, we plopped down in the booth in front of the tank. The kids were entertained by the various salt water fish and Mistah Checka and I were able to stare at the menu.

We ordered one peanut butter sandwich on wheat, one grilled muenster cheese on wheat, one grilled provolone and tomato on rye and one turkey and avocado on rye. Side order of sweet potato fries all around.

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Thirty minutes go by.

Still no lunch. The place was slammed or else I would've complained. Instead, I kept myself busy making sure the kids were behaving.

"Look at the angelfish! Wow, that fish sure swims fast!"

At the table behind us a toddler was screaming and his parents were alternating turns of putting their hands over his mouth as they continued to eat.

A lady at the table next to us commented on how well behaved our kids were and asked them "Do you always get along so well?"

They both nodded yes and I was proud and knew my mother would be proud.

As the lady was smiling at us, Mistah Checka sat upright and pointed at the tank and exclaimed,

"Hey, that's a HUGE ENEMA!"

As I sucked in air and the surrounding tables got quiet, he glanced at me and looked scared.

"What did I just say?" he asked

"Enema!" I whispered.

"What was I supposed to say?"

"Anemone" I answered and hid my face in my napkin.

What would my mother say?

veg4realtors

Last week the veg4fam was blindsided by a vengeful intestinal bug that caused an 8 year old to involuntarily crap his pants and a 4 year old to projectile vomit at Olympic distances while watching a 3D IMAX.

Realtors were calling the house, with a psychic, freaky ability to determine the exact moment one of the 4 of us was either suffering through a bout of explosive diarrhea or about to give birth to last night's dinner through our mouth.

Hi! I'm calling from ABC Realty and I have a client that is interested in your property! We are on our way over right now!

So, we'd quickly disinfect the house and hobble, hunched over at the waist to the playground one street over in order to be out of the house when they arrived. Then we'd stagger home, woozy with nausea to see how many people had signed in on the visitors sheet.

One name on our sign in sheet was Montana Meadows. Mistah Checka muttered "Fuckin cow pasture" and fell over onto the couch, holding his gut.

Today another amped up  realtor called and chirped "Hello! I am Animalina and I would like to see your house!'.

I thought to myself, why do realtors have such porn star names? I chalked it up to being so close to the Mexican border and just assumed it was a weird little pet (haha, pet!) Spanish name that her parents gave her.

When she showed up I asked "Are you Animalina?"

"Yes"

"Okay, well Animalina, I am going to go for a walk with my daughter, enjoy looking around"

As she walked to the back door I remembered that the dogs were outside.

"Oh, Animalina? The dogs are locked in the side gate, just thought you should know"

She gave me an odd look and continued on her way.

As I walked back to the house she was walking out the front door and I said with a wide smile "Have a great day, Animalina!"

I'm so desperate to sell my house, I was just trying to kill her with kindness.

She opened her car door and as she was getting in I instructed Cakes to say goodbye to Animalina.

"Buh bye Animalina!"

Off she went.

I came inside and checked the sign in sheet.

First name Ana. Last name Molina.

veg4pot

Town: Pot Paintings on House Not Illegal

By Associated Press

5 hours ago

WINSTED, Conn. - Having marijuana in your house is illegal, but having marijuana images on your house is not, according to town officials.

Five months after Christopher Seekins was arrested and charged with cultivating marijuana in his home, neighbors have complained about the giant marijuana leaves he has spray-painted on the outside of his home on High Street.

Anyone else find that slightly humorous? Look again.

Marijuana. High Street.

*Snort*

veg4fairy

As a parent there is nothing worse than the sound of Nooooooooooo jumping to the forefront of your brain when your kids are both sound asleep in bed, you are cuddled up on the couch watching The Goblet of Fire and one of the kids stumbles down the hallway clutching something.

"Look! I lost a tooth!"

Crap, not tonight. I just gave my last 9 dollars to the library today for overdue fines. We had reserved 6 movies at the library and could not check them out until the fines were paid.

I stared at Noodle trying to muster up some enthusiasm, all the while my brain was frantically trying to figure out how I could make 5 bucks appear...damn that Harry Potter, he makes it look so easy.

After tucking him back into bed and ensuring he was asleep, I scrounged around the house for quarters. Lots of them.

With my hands full of noisy change, I tiptoed into his room. It was going to be difficult, but if I could just quickly slide my hand under his pillow and drop the pound of quarters while I snatched the tooth!

I stepped into the dark room and started to feel for the tooth. I felt something weird, like a bigger body part. Like a nose.

I jumped back and turned on the light. His face is planted squarely on top of the tooth.

Now I am sitting in the kitchen with 20 quarters, fearing that tonight is the night an 8 year old kid figures out that the tooth fairy is his 6 foot tall mother.

There is no way I can get all that money under his pillow without him noticing.

Maybe I'll slip him a library movie instead.

veg4menu

As I mentioned the other day the veg4fam planned on doing a lot of dining out in the upcoming days, in order to avoid making a mess in the kitchen.

Friday morning I was going to begin my city wide restaurant tour by joining two friends for coffee. Yet, I've got a sick 8 year old who woke up and looked at himself in the mirror and said "Mom! What happened? I used to be tan, now I look so PALE!"

Then he bent over and vomited. Looks like I was staying home.

Sigh,I don't even drink coffee anyway, so I cancelled the first stop and replaced it with a trip to get ginger ale and crackers.

For lunch I was going to visit a new grocer down the street and pick out a deli sandwich. Instead I am eating oyster crackers with him while watching "Tom and Huck".

Last night I thought we might visit a place downtown but instead we made homemade calzones. Miraculously we didn't make a mess, which is surprising given the combination of cornmeal, pizza dough, shredded cheese and pizza sauce.

Today I hoped to make a 2nd attempt at the culinary tour of Tucson. It's a great city to try different cuisines, I wish that more people who visited would steer clear of Cracker Barrel of Crap and such. However, we are the midst of a hell driven wind storm. Tumbleweeds are zinging across streets like wooden space ship frames. I walked outside chewing a piece of gum and it became crunchy with dust. Looks like that is going to be my lunch for the day because once again, the veg4fam ain't going no place.

So when the wind dies down, the children stop being contaminated and the stars align in a pleasing manner, I might try again. The following list is only partial at this point. Consider a good stepping off point if you should ever be in Tucson.

Maybe next time for dinner:

Hotel Congress: Located downtown on Congress Street. Saw a fantastic show there last fall, with the highly annoying Living Things opening up. Meal of choice: Portabella mushrooms stuffed with herbed goat cheese and pine nuts, roasted garlic white bean puree, sauteed spinach, & red bell pepper coulis.

Janos: Located in the wonderful Westin La Paloma resort. Meal of choice: Layers of roasted peppers, chiles, braised fennel, mushrooms, grilled eggplant and chevre with balsamic reduction, golden tomato vinaigrette and blue corn bread salad with heirloom tomatoes and panela, drizzled with tepary bean vinaigrette. If I could return a second time it would be to J Bar, adjacent to Janos. They serve mojitos, something I accidentally found out that the above mentioned barf boy enjoys. "Gee Mom, this is refreshing!" "PUT THAT DOWN!". Meal of choice at J Bar: Venezuelan corn cakes.

A restaurant that actually has more than one locale, North. Meal of choice :basically just their pizza, but the views are endless and the loft style decor makes it worth the $150 we spent last time we visited. And no, the pizza is not that expensive.

Another great place to grab pizza is the aptly named Sauce.  When five of the ten pizzas are veggie friendly, I'm bound to like it.

Okay, now I'm hungry. What's your favorite restaurant?

veg4kidnapped

Today our house went on the market, so as soon as the For Sale sign was hammered into the ground I announced to Mistah Checka (who was preoccupied with his thesis) "T-minus 45 minutes and counting!"

He looked up from his desk with a quizzical expression and I clarified by saying "I am kidnapping you! For lunch!"

Ahh, after weeks of prepping the house for sneaky, nosey, non-preapproved for a mortgage folks that are soon to descend upon us, I was in need of some bakery therapy. My hands were practically worn down to a nub after painting every floor board in the house, but I was able to wrap my hands around a veggie sandwich with cheddar, avocado, lettuce, tomato, sprouts and jicama. Fire roasted tomato soup topped with tortilla strips and sour cream sat steaming at my side.

The food was so good I was able to overlook the complete lack of ice at the soda dispenser. It was also so good that I lost my common sense because as soon as Mistah Checka finished his BBQ roast beef panini we walked up the block to the market. I meant to just pick up some snacks for our upcoming trip this weekend. Dried apple slices, check. Date nut stick thingies, check.

Next thing I know my overstuffed brain is thinking we should pick up some items for dinner tonight. Mistah Checka has been a tad bit overworked between opening our pool, washing the windows, making numerous runs to the storage unit while working on his thesis and upcoming Monday morning presentation in California. I thought I would be a good wife (why? WHY?!?!) and make a nice dinner.

As soon as we drove up to the house with the paper bags full of groceries it hit me.

I don't want to cook in this house! This house is for sale! Strangers could be stopping by at any moment to see how spotlessly we live.

Here's the thing. We don't live spotlessly. More like hopelessly.

As I explained to our realtor this morning "This is my house, not a museum". And then I showed her my pantry but neglected to tell her I spent 2 hours cleaning it. I'd rather she think you could always eat off my pantry floor...and you could, but it would probably be a piece of kibble that fell out of the dog food container.

After the kids got home from school today I wanted to make some cookies with them. Cookies are easy. They can get popped in the oven. They smell yummy. They make people want to buy houses.

Only if you don't put two sticks of butter on top of your preheating oven so they can "soften"...all over the black shiny surface that your husband polished that very morning.

Only if you use the correct size bowl so that when you turn on the beaters brown sugar and melted butter don't fly all over the the island counter you wiped down that morning in order to take MLS photos.

It took me so long to clean up the mess that before long it was time to start dinner.

The phone rang half way through prepping and it was my mother in law. Even though I did just take her to an Oscar Night party I wasn't going to miss a chance to show her what a great wife I was to her son.

"Oh sorry, I can't talk for long! I've got oatmeal/raisin/butterscotch cookies in the oven and I am steaming artichokes, boiling potatoes, cooking corn on the cob and simmering some veggie ground beef and also some veggie chicken strips!"

(See, I told you I bought too much stuff at the market)

After I hung up with her it was time to bring out the carnivore's food. I took the butcher paper package of bison out of the fridge and did a double take.

I swore I saw "Fresh Guts" printed all over the paper. That wasn't the case, but it wouldn't have been far from the truth.

I melted the butter and squeezed the lemon juice for the artichoke and hoped that it wouldn't spill all over the table just before someone rang the doorbell.

Tomorrow night we are eating out. And the night after that and the night after that. I can't handle the stress.

I hope we sell our house soon. I'd hate for all the profits to go towards paying back the food portion of our credit card statement after eating our for every meal.

Screw being a good wife. Screw being a good daughter in law. I'd rather be a good customer.

veg4insects

Illustration Friday comes around, well, every Friday, just like Photo Friday. I barely have time to snap a picture or two anymore, much less sit down and create something on paper or via drawing tablet. This might be the only time I participate in I-Fri for the duration of 2006, but what the heck.

veg4fem

Photo Friday time again. Click here.

I really wish I could be more dedicated and structured about getting photos submitted.