Archive for November, 2009

Delicious Ice Cream

I live very near Lincoln Park.  It’s a great park, if you can get past all the dogs and children and the unsavory statute of Lincoln.

Unsavory, right? Well, you should see it from behind. Unsavory indeed.

While walking home from work a few months back, I came across this small market on the park called P&C Market.  It is a super cute shop, selling delicious gourmet and European items.  This means it’s crazy expensive, but that’s for another time.

So the first time I went in there, I noticed that they had a local ice cream in the freezer.  I decided I’d give it a whirl.  Big mistake.  BIG.

The ice cream is made by Trickling Springs Creamery.  I grabbed two containers – chocolate and butter pecan.

One quick clarification.  When I buy ice cream, I usually buy one pint that HC will like and one that he will hate.  Chocolate, HC will eat.  Butter pecan, no sir.  Allergic to nuts.

Let’s pause here too.

HC claims to be allergic to all sorts of stuff.  These so-called allergy claims are based on a test HC took when he was five years old.  FIVE YEARS OLD!  Some of these allergies are real, for sure.  But others?  I think he just trots them out to annoy me.  When just one of his allergies does to him what a cat does to me, I’ll be more sympathetic.  Until then, bor-ring.

Anyway, so back to last tangent.  Ice cream pints…. right.

So I buy two pints – one HC won’t eat and one he will – to guarantee that HC will not eat all the ice cream before I get to it.  The last time I did this, HC got all bent with me.  I got Giffords’ pints – one chocolate chocolate chip, one coconut.  HC, again, is allergic to coconut.  So these were great choices.  And not only because HC wouldn’t touch the coconut.  It was delicious ice cream.  Just ask AM, who, along with me, stood in my kitchen, digging into the pints as soon as I got them home.

This time, I finished the chocolate chocolate chip, leaving only the coconut, because, llet’s be honest, a specialty flavor like coconut can’t be eaten with the same speed as a basic flavor like chocolate.  You would have thought that I murdered HC’s puppy.  He was upset, angry, and verbal about it.  I still don’t think he’s over it.  I know this because, the last time he picked up ice cream, he got some Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie or Half Baked or something, both of which I find less than appealing.  Whatever.

Anyway, back to the original story.

I got two pints from Trickling Springs Creamery – chocolate and butter pecan.  I got them home, and HC and I dove into them, finishing both in minutes.  This was, hands down, one of the best ice cream brands I’ve ever had.  EVER.  Seriously.  So fucking good.  Like AMAZING.

Because of this episode – killing two pints in one night – I’ve steered clear of the P&C Market ever since.  Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I went into P&C to get some tomato sauce for dinner.  I walked out with a delicious pastry – almond and chocolate, needless to say, fucking delicious – tomato sauce, and one pint of TSC coffee ice cream.  I managed not to eat both the pastry and the ice cream last night.  Major success.  But tonight, I couldn’t stop myself.  Killed the whole pint.  I started it while making myself dinner, and finished it after I finished eating dinner.  An absolutely disgusting – and delicious – display.

I guess I have to start avoiding P&C again.  Damn it, TSC!  Why are you so delicious?!


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Gross and Weird

A few days ago, AED sent me a link to a post on babycenter.com.

Let’s pause here for a second.

Why would AED send you a post from some nefarious website called babycenter.com, you might ask.  Well, I’ve come to learn it’s because AED hates me.

I G-Chat with AED pretty much every single work day.  On weekends, I BlackBerry Messenger her.  Occasionally one of us with call the other.  But, inevitably, the call is missed, leading to long, rambling voicemails.  So we generally go with virtual communication.

Anywho, AED, probably more so than anyone else, has had to endure my complaints about mysterious stomach illnesses, theories about plagues and whatnot, and overall bad moods because of the lingering “illness.”

Despite knowing more than she bargained for about my queasy state, AED sent me the following link via G-Chat:

Turn your placenta into a teddy bear

Posted by Kristina Sauerwein in Babies, Crafts, Labor & Delivery, Lifestyle, Pregnancy, Toys, Trying to Conceive | October 11th, 2009 | Trackback


For all of you who expressed repulsion at eating placenta, toy designer designer Alex Green offers you the option of crafting your baby’s placenta into a unique teddy bear, according to Inhabitots, a parenting site for those interested in sustainable design and green living.

The site’s Managing Editor, Beth Shea, wrote in last week’s post that designer Green’s Placenta Teddy Bear is a “crafty alternative for those who don’t necessarily want to eat their baby’s placenta, but want to pay their respects to the life sustaining organ by turning it into a one-of-a-kind teddy bear. Green’s Twin Teddy Kit ‘celebrates the unity of the infant, the mother and the placenta,’ and enables preparation of the placenta so it may be transformed into a teddy bear.”

To make the teddy bear, Inhabitots reports that the placenta “must be cut in half and rubbed with sea salt to cure it. After it is dried out, it is treated with an emulsifying mixture of tannin and egg yolk to make it soft and pliable.”

But is it soft enough to cuddle? Apparently not. The teddy is meant to be displayed in a protective glass box or dome.

Hey, I have an idea: Why not use the placenta teddy bear as the centerpiece for your dining room table? After all, it would be a conversation since it’s a one-of-a-kind piece.

OK, so I’m being snarky. I consider myself green, and I’m all for reusing things, but placenta? Disgusting. It’s beyond yuck. Or maybe I’m being judgmental? Is turning your placenta into a teddy bear, or anything else for that matter, a lovely idea or simply gross?


Seriously, this is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.  And I find this shocking.  SHOCKING!  You’re telling me that, following the birth of a child and all the disgustingness and pain and ung-dliness associated with it, a woman will collect her placenta and consider:  A) eating it… EATING IT!  B) Turning it into a child’s play toy.  Or – as you would have learned if you read the comments to this post – C) burying it and plant a tree.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?!  EATING the fucking placenta?!  Are you fucking kidding me?  Making a gross looking teddy bear?  Burying it?

Guys, c’mon.  This is gross and – I am not afraid to say it – crazy.  Anything that does not include the hospital discarding it is not something I can get behind.  Fine, to each her own.  But Jesus, this is weird and gross.  Truly.  And, frankly, I will judge.

Now I feel sick again.  Thanks, AED!  Dude, you’re killin’ me!

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I think I’ve mentioned my love for Glee here before, right?  Because I love it.  Just love.  Seriously, it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  And I mean that.

Anyway, last night, HC and I were watching Glee.  Despite continuing to feel under the weather, the show was – yet again – a bright spot in an otherwise not-so-bright week.  And I mean that.

The performances were fantastic.  Endless Love duet?  Amazing.  Love the song, love hearing Kurt’s thoughts on Finn and Diana Ross, love Shu’s eyes, LOVE Lea Michelle.  Mr. Shu’s mash-up?  Love.  (Do you see why I want someone to sing a song about me?!) That fab performance of Lean on Me?  Well, it was fabulous.

But the highlight of last night’s show was probably this.

Rachel, who has realized that she was walking down the road charted by Amy Fischer and, um, Pepper, put the brakes on and apologized to Mr. Shu for her behavior.  Shu tried to say the things an adult recipient of teen affection should say – and I’m paraphrasing:  You’re going to find someone who likes you for you.  Someone who likes even those things that you hate about yourself.  In fact, that person will love you because of those things.

At that moment, HC leans forward and says to me:  That’s not true, by the way.

Rude.  Just, so rude.

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Death by Plague

I may be dying.  Seriously.  Dying.

In addition to being obscenely busy at work, I’ve been under the weather lately.

Before you go jumping to any conclusions, it’s not the swine flu.  I don’t have a fever or feel like I have a cold.  I just feel off.  Like majorly off.

And no, it’s not depression.  Jesus!  You people think you know me, but you don’t.

Okay, so I did ask HC if he thought that all my sickness symptoms were just a byproduct of depression.  He asked, “Are you depressed?”  I responded, “I don’t think so… but maybe I don’t know I’m depressed.”  HC chalked this whole thing up to me being a head case, but not actually being depressed.

While I still leave the depression door open, I’m growing increasingly concerned that I might have some slow-moving plague of sorts.  The number one reason why I think I may be dying is that I have had chronic nausea for going on three weeks.

Let’s just stop here one second.  I have an iron stomach.  I can eat anything.  The only time I actually have an upset stomach is when I’ve been over-served the night before.

So you can imagine that, feeling nauseous for three weeks sans alcohol overindulgence is really messing with me.  It’s not so bad that I have to stay home sick, tho I desperately want to.  And it’s not like I’m actually throwing up or anything.

Except that one time.

So I was walking to an appointment on K and 21st.  I was not feeling tip top.  It was 8:15am, which is way too early to do anything.  I had to park the car, then head into the appointment.  Thankfully, HC was with me and offered to get me something to eat, hoping that perhaps food would help-not-hurt in this situation.  HC went off to forage for food the way urbanites do – you know, at the closest Starbucks.  I started toward the office building.  People were walking toward me, and I was growing more and more unsettled.

It was too late.  I turned inward toward a building, instead of outward toward the street, frantically looking for a safe spot to stop and collect myself.  then I saw it – a flower pot.  Perfect.  I stood over the flower pot, trying desperately to pull myself together.  Then it happened.  Yup, threw up into said flower pot.

You would think, 1) good thing you found the flower pot so that you didn’t have to throw up on a pedestrian heading for work and increase your overall embarrassment, 2) good thing you have the type of urban survival skills that would allow you to quickly assess your surroundings to locate a next-best to a toilet or garbage can while on the street, 3) good thing you actually threw up, because you should feel better now.  You would think all of this, but you’d be wrong.

While I was pleased that I minimized my embarrassment by finding a sheltered flower pot and did not have to inadvertently ruin some stranger’s day, I did not feel better.  The sickness lingered.

And three weeks later, it continues to linger.  So either I have a slow-moving plague OR I am going to be nauseous for the rest of my life.  I will tell you know, I choose the plague.  Because I’m not sure I can stand even one more day of this nonsense!

The worst part?  I might actually have to go to the doctor to deal with this.  And that’s annoying.

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I have one question.  Doe you think she knows the definition of teabagging?

Teabagging 4 Jesus

That's what she said!

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Mary J

So, you know I’m a Yankees’ fan, yes?  Well, I am.  I grew up on the Yankees.  Those games were a big part of my childhood, in no small part because I watched the games with my grandfather, who would tell us about watching Mickey Mantle and Joe DiMaggio play, and my dad, who would tell us what about the games he saw at the stadium during the Reggie Jackson years.

So, basically, you can go fuck yourself if you think I’m making any apologies for root, root, rooting for the Bronx Bombers.  I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course.

Anyway, to all the haters out there, you missed one hell of a series.  There were highs.  There were lows.  There was history.  There were old rivalries reinvigorated.  And there was everything in between.  Seriously, it was good baseball.

But possibly better than everything short of the Yankees winning the series, is this:

Oh.  My.  Goodness.  WHAT?!  This is un-fucking-believable.  Seriously, I have a lot of love for Miss Mary J.  And I am a sucker for the National Anthem, but this is above and beyond.  That hair.  Those glasses.  Those quintessential Mary J tears.  The Yankee gear coupled with skinny jeans, a cinching belt on the jersey, and those heels… WHAT?!  Good lord, so good.  I don’t think this eeks out pre-Bobby Whitney’s performance of the song back in the day.  But Mary J makes me want to stand up and be proud to be an American.  And a Yankee fan.  Of course.

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