Diary of The Food Whore

Yeah, I know.

 

I go, I come back, I go, I come back…. I am like a yo-yo on a very long and twisted string.

 

I don’t think I had plannned for the breakneck schedule I would be on after the “hiatus”.   I thought, you know, ease back into it all like that first dip in the pool.  Instead it was like that time I was 5 and The Father decided it was time I learned to swim, so he hurled me off the dock into The Lake.  

It really wasn’t as traumatic as it all sounds, the water was only about 2 feet deep, and I did exact my revenge when I got out of the water and punched him direct in his… er… manhood.   It was a learning experience niether he nor I would ever forget.   (or is it he or I…. whatever, like I care) 

 

The Tricking has been a little out of control.  Recession be damned, people want to party, and they are hungry as Hell.   I’ve never served so many freaking meatballs as I have over the last few weeks and I keep thinking that at some point someone is going to say, “Enough of the balls already, toss a little lamb shank our way…”  But it’s always about the balls.

Graduation parties, weddings, funerals (I know… but people do eat at funerals…), anniversary parties… you name it, we’ve done it.  I keep waiting for a call from The Circus when they come to town, though I can’t express enough - as I have already before - Clowns…. NO CLOWNS.

 

But it’s all a great blessing, and I can’t complain.  I still seem to be in this ‘happy place’ that I can’t shake, and don’t tell anyone, but I am actually starting to enjoy all the happy.  There is a fair amount of trepidation coming from those around me - not wanting to poke the sleeping bear - but also just slightly afraid to become to comfortable with all the smiling for fear one of these days all the smiling could just mean I am plotting their death.

 

Either way, I am smiling.

 

Even last week when we sat down with what I can only describe to you as Red Neck Hairy.   His Daughter is getting married - a sweet little waif of a girl - and he wants “some good grub thrown on the table with all the fixins…”   Which, we can do fixins, but not for $5.00 per person.  When I said as much to him, he took the knife* out of his mouth long enough to say, “Why?  Chickun is cheap…”   And as soon as he said that I had this visual of him showing up to my back door with 40 headless chickens demanding to be plucked.

Fortunately he was a man to be reasoned with, and we were able to come to a common goal.  I was only slightly frightened when he wondered if he provided the beef if it would be cheaper - again - I saw a bloody carcass in my future - but it turns out he knows a butcher, who as it just so happens is friends with the baker making the wedding cake.  

And no, as tempted as I was, I didn’t ask about the candle stick maker… the man used a pocket knife* to pick his teeth.  

I might be happy, but I am not stupid.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 25th, 2009 at 9:26 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.