choices, choices…

28 03 2010

Debating between making these or the raw apple cake.

Hmm. Maybe I should be thinking AND instead of OR.


Heinz 57

25 03 2010

I’m a mutt.  Vanilla, white-bread, maybe even beige: mutt.

Let’s see, I’d say 50+% is Germanic heritage, the other ~49% is a melange of Scottish and English, with a little Cherokee Indian thrown in. (So one of the ancestors took a walk on the wild side, how daring!) All that adds up to what? Right: mutt.

I’m OK with that. Really. I’ve had the unspoken privileges of being generically white in this unfortunately still very much racist country (not the point of this topic, so hold your comments and keep reading please), so seriously, no complaints.

Having every Lufthansa flight attendant, and every German shopkeeper automagically assume I’m German does give me a giggle (and I do mean EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.), but with the exception of making Kielbasa every year (it’s just sausage, people) I certainly didn’t grow up with Leiderhosen or anything else that I can specifically recall that was German, despite the name of my hometown and it’s heavy German ancestry.

I only mention it because we attended a World Cup Soccer “friendly” game last night (kinda like an exhibition, it doesn’t “count” in the rankings & such) between Mexico and Iceland. And LAWDY, it was ON. We walked quite a distance from our cars, and were wondering just how far we’d walked, as somehow we ended up in Mexico, complete with all the delightfully over-the-top lights, noise, and general chaos that comes along with it. Between that, plus that we were walking with some new friends who have a distinct other ethnic identity of their own, it made me realize that I’ve often missed out on having a specific “culture” to call my own.

Then again, maybe my vanilla-ness will allow me to be a culture chameleon. So what the hell: 3 years of highschool/college Spanish won’t go to waste, right? (Donde esta el bano? Uno mas cervesa, por favor. Vamanos. Las luces apprendias, pero nadie esta en casa. See? I’m practically fluent!)

You can bet your churros that last night this little white girl from the country was just a wee bit Mexican.

Ole! Ole! Ole!


(Post Script: Hey wait, maybe I’m more German than I think– HEINZ 57 is what I had originally chosen for the title. Besides, I hear it’s a very versatile all-purpose sauce, probably good on multi-ethnic food choices. Still, pretty sublminally German just the same though, huh? 🙂 Tchüss!)

good tea

21 03 2010

You talkin’ to me?

alcohol kills everything

18 03 2010

Yeah, I’m tired. Veeerrry tired. But alcohol kills germs, plus queso is a miracle drug.

Besides, good amigos don’t hurt either.


rock on

17 03 2010

Remember these?

Yep, still standing. Crazy, huh?

it’s about time. period.

16 03 2010

The folks at Kotex are damn funny.

AND smart.

Who knew?

nancy reagan would appreciate the irony

16 03 2010

I always thought Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” was a little bat-shit crazy. But in this case, maybe it works. In any case, surely it’s not just me that sees the irony.

Finally broke down and went to see a doctor yesterday. Got a little light pneumonia/bronchitis hell still kickin’ around. Wheezy, light headed, coughing, yadda yadda. Just plain tired, now with the bonus of an elephant on my chest. Result is I’ve got antibiotics (which I was trying to avoid, which is probably why it’s gotten this bad) plus I’ve refilled a basic steroid inhaler. So I’m officially on the mend, aided by the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals. But drugs/meds/whatever isn’t the point.

During the “family history” gathering time of the exam I got hit with “anyone in your immediate family have a history with cancer?” Ugh. Wow. I’m not sure why that came as such a surprise question for me, it’s not like I’ve never been to the doc before, right? Sheesh. Shake it off, geauxgirl. But ALSO, not the point. 

Call me strange, and just stating pure raw facts: I don’t think a parent developing lung cancer after having smoked for 45 years, plus having lived in the middle of a farm for eons too (hello crop dusters with scary chemicals) really says diddly squat about my genetic predispositions, do you?

So that was the point. I actually think the little tidbit of info ended up being a big red herring, making an accurate diagnosis take even longer, as then we have to have a little “convo” about it to explain the Outlier away. 

Oye. I know I still need to talk part of it out, and I’ll get there, but not with the doc-in-a-box at the local Urgent Care walk-up facility.

Maybe next time I’ll Just Say No.