I’ve never made out with anyone underneath mistletoe.
To be fair, if I’m at a friend’s home I’m not going to attack his wife because she happened to walk by the mistletoe plant on her way to the kitchen. Or sprig. Or whatever the hell mistletoe is. Nobody knows. What I do know is that it’s never helped me get over with the ladies. In the past I’ve even brought a tube of lip plumper to these parties, and taped it up next to the mistletoe so women can get their lips right for a kiss. I’m nothing if not thoughtful. But this column isn’t about me and my problems. It’s about yours. We got so many damn issues on this one topic, Allison Arnone and I are doing a part II next week. We started this advice column several months ago, and each time we do it we get more and more entries. It’s very much appreciated, and we respectfully bow to you. Now, go endure your family for the next week. It will be difficult, sure, but hey, your folks still load you up with some decent presents, and you’re thirty-seven years old. Just grin and bear it when mom starts in on your weight. Happy holidays!
I am broke as a joke. Possibly broker than a joke. How can I stay fabulous during the holiday season on a budget??? – Farishta
Allison – I feel you, girl. The holidays are an INSANELY expensive time of year and I’ve decided that the person I should be buying lavish Christmas presents for is…well, me. For every gift I bought a family member, I bought myself two. I then decided I wanted to get outta Dodge for New Year’s Eve so I booked a trip to Miami with my girlfriends (spoiler alert: that wasn’t cheap). I THEN BACKED INTO A LIGHT POLE IN A PARKING GARAGE AND HAD TO PAY $500 WORTH OF DAMAGES ON MY CAR. This all happened this month, so, yeah. I’m feeling very Kristen Wiig circa Bridesmaids/”Help Me I’m Poor” right now. My suggestion? MAKE everyone’s gifts this year. You know, like arts and crafts stuff. When I was in elementary school and made macaroni art my Grandmother seemed to really like it, so who’s to say she wouldn’t now?
D.J. – I’ve had a number of failed relationships over the years, but I’ve always been successful at gift giving. You could call me the Ted Williams of gift giving, except he hit .400 and I’m batting 1.000. So lace up your cleats and get ready to take the field. I’m your batting coach. Allison is right. The trick is to make something instead of shelling out the black AMEX for the tennis bracelet that never goes on sale at Tiffany. I’ve bought a million broads jewelry, but nothing is more exciting to them than saying, “I made this for you.” Even if it’s a huge piece of garbage. Head to JoAnn and buy some yarn. Watch a cross-stitch video on YouTube. 300 hours later you’ll have this objet d’art. Total cost – $.17.
My family and significant other don’t like each other, so we all aren’t getting together. I feel guilty, what do I do? – Chiaseeds
Allison – I first read this question as “My significant other and I don’t like each other” which is way worse, so at least you have that going for you? Without knowing the circumstances it’s bit difficult to give my opinion or a thoughtful response, but I’ll try. If your family and S.O. don’t get along and it’s to the degree that a fight is going to break out while you’re enjoying your pork loin or whatever, then don’t risk it. The holidays are many things to many people, but they should NEVER be filled with tumultuous fighting, tension or aggression. JESUS WOULD BE SO PISSED IF Y’ALL FOUGHT ON THIS BIRTHDAY. On the other hand, if you guys can all suck it up and pretend to like each other for one day, maybe that’d be nice? The holidays are all about togetherness and bonding, even if you’re all faking it.
D.J. – On my first day ever of therapy, I asked my shrink how to fix my problems. She said, “That’s not what therapy is for.” When I asked why I was spending $140 an hour, she revealed, “My job is to help teach you how to cope with tough feelings.” Because I’m like Jessie Owens when it comes to tough feelings – I run. I’ve dated some women with awful families too, but you know what? You show up for the holidays, anyway. And you cope with the craziness of your partner’s family. It’s a wonderful opportunity to stretch the muscles of acceptance. You just remember to set some boundaries along the way – e.g. “Honey, if your father throws another empty whiskey bottle through the sliding patio door, we’re leaving.”
My husband can’t seem to make a damned decision (23 years now!) On whether he wants a repeat of Thanksgiving Dinner for Christmas Dinner or if he wants ham. WTH?!? It’s meat! Pick one! So, this year I’m going to let YOU decide what we will have! Turkey or ham? And don’t forget the side dishes! Or the breads! Or the desserts! Thanks for taking this decision out of his hands (and brain) this year and planning our dinner for us. – Chris
Allison – OH GOD THIS IS A LOT OF PRESSURE. Of course I have to make this difficult and say: neither. Doing Thanksgiving dinner AGAIN on Christmas — a mere ONE month later — is a bummer and a half. Two back to back holidays with the same damn tryptophan-filled gobbling turkey meat is lame. Know what else is lame? HAM. I mean, ham is FINE — it’s fine! It’s just that I think you guys can do better. I’m Italian so gluttonous binge-eating is super important, so I’ll share with you what Mama A is making this year: stuffed shells, filet mignon and a HUGE antipasto. Now that’s a dinner. Step ya game up, Chris.
D.J. – This is such a great opportunity to blow everyone’s mind. This year you do halibut. Nothing but halibut. If someone says, “But I don’t eat fish!” point them to the shrimp tray sitting in the living room. If they have an allergy to shellfish, you hand them a plain bagel and some lox. Then, during dinner start reading from health journals about the importance of fatty acids in diet. Pause every few sentences until someone acknowledges your cooking as being consistent with recent heart studies. For side dishes, more halibut. We all know that grains are the devil, so you’ll serve no bread. For dessert, freeze some halibut into the plastic ice cube trays and call them “Fish Pops.” And here’s the best news of all – you and your husband will never again be asked to host a holiday meal!
I’m in a group secret santa and I got paired with someone that recently pissed me off. Do I get a bad gift, not spend the minimum amount, or suck it up and be in the spirit? – Anonymous
Allison – Now, now — let’s not be petty here. Just because this person wronged you doesn’t mean you have to get them a bad gift. How about getting them a nice book? Everyone likes books, right? Here, I’ll even find one for you. Ooh, perfect!
D.J. – The best revenge is a dish served cold – like gazpacho soup. But don’t actually buy gazpacho soup because it’s a terrible present. Here’s what to do. You’re going to spend the appropriate amount and get your person a decent gift. But then you’re going to fart all over it. Eat nothing but pinto beans and cooked cabbage for 48 hours. Each time you feel the need to destroy the air, grab the not-yet-wrapped gift and explode all over it. Wipe the front of your privates all over it too (if you have stinky privates). Then wrap it up with the nice paper and ribbons. For extra cruelty, a few days after the gift exchange casually ask the co-worker, “How’s my present? It’s the shit, no?” Then laugh and high-five yourself!
My biggest problem with the specific holidays of Christmas and New Years is everyone’s feigned interest in “wrapping things up for the year” at work which is just office speak for passing the buck and pretending that you are doing your job. Truth is, if you did your job then the end of the year wouldn’t be a time a crunch to get everything done. Bums. – Matt
Allison – Did you have a specific question, or…? Listen, Matt, you sound like a real blast to be around (you’re probably a real bitchin time at parties, amirite?) but the truth is, most people are procrastinators. Most people are cruising along on autopilot for 11 months out of the year and then realize on December 1st: OH SHIT, I HAVE TO HIT MY SALES NUMBER! I have to make sure I met and exceeded all those goals my boss laid out for me in January! Is it too late to start actually CARING about this job?!?!
Look, people tend to cram 12 months of work into 4 short weeks and that’s just the way it is. We can’t all be overachievers like you.
D.J. – Hi Matt, it sounds like you’re in middle management. To which I say, you must continue to strive and edge out the competition until you rise the ranks to a board position within the company. Ever meet a board member? They only come into the office three times a year. They stay for an hour in a closed-door meeting and then eat an expensive meal on the company dime. Before dusk they jump into their private jet back to their home state of Colorado (board members love to ski). They’re never stressed, always smiling, and have their clothes custom made. And you know what they don’t complain about? Underlings. So there it is – you see your carrot. Run for it, Matt. Run fast.
I’ve been dating someone for almost a year now and we talked about spending Christmas together. Great, except this means having to determine where to spend it since our families don’t live close. I hate to miss Christmas with my family, and he feels the same way. What do we do? – Conflicted
Allison – I’ve been single for three years and one of the few perks of Singlehood is not worrying about ANYTHING like this anymore. My parents know I’m a surefire guarantee to be at their house for every holiday, probably forever. That said, I GET this question. I love spending holidays with my fam and have this obnoxious view that no guy I meet could EVER have a family that tops mine, especially in the holiday department. I ALSO have a codependent mother who is horrified at the thought of me not being at the kiddie table around on holidays. For that reason, she always tells me to find and date a Jewish guy or an orphan. AN “ORPHAN.” Those were her exact words. Now, since it sounds like ditching your dude for a nice Hanukkah-celebrating-gefilte-fish-eating gentleman isn’t an option, you gotta turn to the C-word I hate. No, not that one. The other one.
Compromise. (ick)
Maybe you’re with his family this year and then yours the next. Maybe you play rock-paper-scissor to decide. Either way it sucks being away from your people, so seriously…maybe consider dropping your guy and finding one that’s family-less?
Orphans make great boyfriends, according to my mother.
D.J. – To make this really simple, you choose the family with the better house. Having a lot of square footage is important because that means you can escape to another wing after you’ve had enough of in-law nonsense. Aside from determining who has the bigger home, it’s critical to check out bedsheet quality. Knowing the thread count and fabric will help you make an informed decision. The cable package of each family should also be researched. Lastly, does one family have an extra Italian sports car that you can take out and do parking-lot-donuts to blow off steam? Oh, and if one family puts a lock on the liquor cabinet, do NOT choose that house.
photo credit: Ocean Networks Canada Pacific Halibut via photopin (license)
]]>We didn’t grow up hunting and no-one in the family owns a firearm. I’ve shot a gun exactly once, and that was in the Scottsdale, Arizona desert. I hit 3/5 targets and the instructor said that I had a pretty good shot.
Guns have always scared me. I don’t feel the need to possess or carry one, and I don’t get off going to the range and firing at human-outlined paper targets. I’ve have no desire to hunt deer or rabbits or birds. I enjoy other stuff.
Like turkey sandwiches.
Back in 2007 I started bringing my lunch to work. I was more often than not heading to Subway. I bought the same sandwich every time – turkey on honey oat loaded up with the same toppings and a light vinegar splash.
After discovering that making a turkey sandwich was not beyond my capabilities I began to appropriate the ingredients on my own. Each morning I’d fashion two sandwiches and head to work.
What I learned quickly is that tomatoes don’t sit well on wheat bread over time. Their juice gets into the bread and it becomes soggy. You have to pack them separate. Also, I found that I didn’t like to eat sandwiches whole – it’s better tasting for some reason if I cut them in half. I know – I’m weird.
Problem – the tomato slices were bigger (I bought huge tomatoes) than the bread halves. I understand this is boring stuff here but I’m trying to set the context for why I brought a steak knife to work every day. First I’d unpack the sandwich, then put the tomato in, and then cut the whole thing in half.
I had a briefcase containing the sandwich items and knife. I had no other reason to bring in the case. We weren’t allowed to take client documents home and it wasn’t like I was transporting a filofax. I just dated myself with the filofax comment. No, the briefcase was used exclusively to move the sandwich from home to work.
Months later I boarded a plane to Washington D.C. for a wedding.
At my seat I reached for my briefcase to an open compartment along the back. I had thrown my wallet into that space earlier and wanted to move it. Something bit me. I recoiled my hand and found a few drops of blood on my index finger. Reaching carefully back into the pouch I discovered what had cut me.
A large, serrated steak-knife.
Yes, I had made it through the crack security team of O’Hare airport with the six-inch blade I used everyday at lunch. I felt proud like this was a huge accomplishment and that I had “stuck it” to the man (sorry for the pun – unintentional). I shook my head up and down smugly as I had just pulled off a theft of a Hope-diamond caliber.
When we arrived at the hotel the girlfriend suggested I leave the knife in the room and not to press my luck on the return trip. I agreed and took the knife out and set it atop the armoire.
Well, even though I have a clear memory of removing the knife, apparently I didn’t remove the knife. At the time I must have been sidetracked (probably by something shiny) and forgot to pull the blade out of the bag. Or maybe I did remove the knife and a maid found it, realized it wasn’t the property of the hotel, and put it back in my briefcase. My memory sucks, so this is unlikely.
You can see where this is headed. Yes, on the return trip I, once again, made it onto the airplane with a knife. It was discovered much the same way before – I reached my hand in and found the blade tip. This time I celebrated even more than before. I had twice outwitted security detail. In two consecutive airports, no less!
Had I been caught, I would have explained that I brought that steak knife to work every day to cut a sandwich and left it in there by mistake. It had dried crumbs stuck to the handle and was stained red from tomato juice. Well, maybe the stained-red thing would be an issue. A great moment, however, having the TSA pull out a knife out in front of the rest of the people waiting in line. Maybe an old lady would have fainted.
I don’t carry a knife anymore as I now pre-cut my lunch at home. Which makes more sense. Took me a few more years to figure that one out. Sadly.
Well, it’s not exactly in Chicago – about an hour away just north of the Wisconsin border. It’s a long drive for a festival and I make it every summer. While there are street fairs and events that happen every weekend here in the city, I get most excited about the Ren Faire. Why? I really don’t know. I’m not someone that speaks in olde English nor do I play fantasy role playing games. I don’t own a sword, dagger, or scabbard. I don’t think to shout, “Huzzah” whenever someone wins my favor, and I don’t refer to the bathroom as a privy. So, what is so great about the Faire? I’ve thought about why I come back every year, and have found a number of reasons…
- It’s fun – If you’ve never felt the satisfaction of hucking an axe at a wooden target bullseye, well sister, you’re missing out on some good time. You can throw knives, shoot arrows, fire crossbows and attempt to climb Jacob’s Ladder. There’s ten stages of shows where entertainers sword fight, sing bawdy songs, recite Shakespeare in a mud pit, and, of course juggle flaming batons. There’s a huge jousting arena where knights duke it out – sure, it’s scripted, but when they fall off their horse because they took a lance to the chest, it’s pretty intense. I could go on and on, but you’ll have to trust me here – the Faire is a real hoot.
- The clothing and speech – The Ren Faire is only open for six weeks during the hottest part of the summer. It’s not the time to be dressing up in full Renaissance garb, yet hundreds of people do every day. Out of the thousands that attend per weekend I bet around 20% are fully decked out in heavy layered clothing. I love these people because of their commitment. This is their Halloween. But not only do they dress the part, they speak the part as well. Every woman is greeted as “M’lady” or “Hark, wench!” There are fairies, wizards, templars, pirates, princesses and harlots running around all sloshing their mugs of ale and cheering the queen. Also, you’ll see the occasional wood nymph wearing next to nothing which is always appreciated.
- The food – If you’ve never had a turkey leg, you simply haven’t ever had a turkey leg. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I’d say “you haven’t lived” but that would be a stretch. The Faire has every type of food imaginable. I didn’t realize people in the 1700s ate tempura vegetables, but, hey, I didn’t exactly stay awake during history class in high school. I was too busy not getting dates. The food is amazing, however, and you can even buy those gigantic pickles on a stick. I’m going to the grave arguing that I invented the phrase “Pickles – the dessert of lunch.” In fact, I want that on my headstone. So, if you’re in charge of my grave site, get that shit done.
Aside from all else, I love the community of the Faire. A lot of people who dress up, let’s face it, are what we in America call “nerds.” But, to me, they’re fun fanatics. I love that they have the balls to get gussied up in elaborate costumes. Sure, it’s easy to make fun of the heavy-set woman in the chain mail bikini. I literally saw one gal airing out her crotch (my date explained this to me) because her costume was so layered. Every lady’s bosom is up and out, and every man is carrying a sword and mug. They greet each other as they pass, and everyone is having fun.
In a week, I’ll be attending BlogHer with nearly six thousand women. I go because my pals go. Most of my writer friends will be there. It’s my community. I’m grateful to have found my tribe, and I encourage you to explore yours. Find people that love your crap.
The Renaissance Faire is a reminder that relationships are the pinnacle of human experience. Thank you for being part of my community.
I have pounds of deli sliced turkey from back in October, never touched. There’s a Lean Cuisine something or other – the box is covered in frost. This is especially awesome since it must have been from my ex-wife and she hasn’t lived here in three years. I have, for some reason, some low-cal tortillas, a pint of Breyer’s, what I believe is beef tenderloin, some ice packs (have never used an ice pack in my life), a sleep mask (also never used), and various other meats, cheeses, and vegetables.
I have one of those freezers on the bottom where it’s just a big bin. So the things you throw in there are on top. You know, LIFO (last in, first out). I have over ten pounds of frozen chicken breasts which is great, but I want to eat now. Plus, thawing those bad boys takes like ten minutes. Then I have to fry them up with frozen veggies. It’s a whole scene.
I scoured the bin looking for the easiest and most satisfying meal available. I found it.
Helen Keller wrote, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” And that woman had it rough hiding out from Nazis and all. Wait – that was the other one. Yeah. Anyway…
I just texted my friend Karen – “I’m currently eating meatballs leftover from my parents’ Christmas Eve party. An adventure awaits me in the bathroom.”
I have a belief that meat stays fresh forever in the freezer. I’ve yet to be proven wrong and I recently cooked up a steak that was well over a year old. When you cook stuff, bacteria stuff goes away. That’s what I remember from junior high science class. To be honest, I was a little concerned that the meatballs could make me sick. I outsmarted it, however. I decided to double cook them.
First I defrosted. Now, normally I think defrosting is for pussies. You can cook that shit frozen if you know what you’re doing. But I didn’t want to be out all day tomorrow with dysentery, so I defrosted, then cooked. I’m smart like that.
It’s near the end of this post and it’s been about forty-five minutes since the last meatball was consumed. I’d like to mention that I put down over a pound of meatballs. Then the majority of a box of Good & Plentys. My eating habits are questionable. I know this. It would be dishonest of me to say that I don’t feel a little queasy. I feel like I ought to lie down. Going to sign off here.
If this is my last post please remember that I always loved that girl from first grade. I don’t recall her name now. Something like Jenny. But not Jenny. Janell?
Okay, scratch that. Tell my parents my death is all their fault. That’ll be a real hoot to watch from heaven.
I hired a guy about six months ago for a position. He was in his early sixties and one of the nicest people I had ever met. His past career had been in education and he was a dean at a university prior to working with us. He would come in every day and sit at his desk working to build a business in real estate.
Then, suddenly, he died.
His daughter called me on a Monday morning to tell me her dad had collapsed during dinner over the weekend. They were at a restaurant on Navy Pier. He was rushed to a hospital and passed away.
This was a few months ago and he’s sort of faded from my memory.
Today I was in my office and a Jimmy John’s delivery guy was ringing the doorbell. This is not unusual as people in the office often order subs from Jimmy John’s. Too boring for my taste.
I just realized how ludicrous it is for me to say Jimmy John’s is boring when I bring the exact same lunch to work every single day. Two turkey sandwiches with a slice of American cheese, spinach, and tomato on whole grain. I’m not exaggerating when I say every day. I probably brought something different maybe a dozen times this year. The rest were turkey sandwiches.
Anyway, somebody yelled throughout the office looking for whoever had ordered the lunch. Nobody answered.
I was on the phone at the time and didn’t really see what was happening. The next thing I knew I saw a huge platter of Jimmy John’s sandwiches being set down on a table. I assumed it was a freebie as from time to time they do this as a thank you for all the business we give them.
Well, it turns out the employee that died had put his card in a fishbowl months ago to win lunch for ten people. Apparently he had won. When the delivery guy arrived nobody knew what to do. I guess the thought was, “Well, we have ten people… They already made the sandwiches… Uh…”
So, we ate them.
I’d love to say that we sat around a break table silently reflecting, but we all eat at our desks and business was still going on. I, myself, grabbed a few turkey sandwiches (shocker) in between a video I was editing.
I felt sad and confused about eating subs which were really meant for a dead man. He might have planned on taking those home to his family – might never have been intended for us. The Jimmy John’s deliverer was not told that the man had passed on. I don’t know about the rest of the guys, but it sort of felt like we got away with something. There was never any malicious intention to steal food. I guess they didn’t know what else to do.
Thus far I haven’t had anyone close to me pass away. I’ve lost grandparents I hardly knew and a dog that was eighteen and a half, but it wasn’t devastating. When I got divorced, that was devastating, and it is loss. But I can still call my ex-wife if I need something, and I actually spoke to her this weekend about pet medicine. To lose a best friend, though, that’s coming my way eventually. Whether it will be my future wife or my buddies from gradeschool or my dad. It’s all in the plan.
I was reminded that intimacy is the only thing that matters when we’re alive. Or, at least that the best “meaning of life” I’ve deduced. Or induced. Whatever the right one is. I think it’s deduced.
Oh, and Jimmy John’s needs to have a wheat sub bread. This white bread crap is over. It’s almost 2013 for chrissakes. I got a near-hallucinogenic sugar high from three half-subs. And I eat candy all the time. I need to show them my lunch sandwich. They’d be so impressed.
It started at work. I have an office with a little garbage can. Since I’m the only one that is ever in my office I have full control of what goes in the trash. I only toss paper in there. Even though I eat in my office my two turkey sandwiches for lunch are packaged in tupperware containers. I have a napkin that gets tossed each meal but most of the time it goes unused. I don’t even put any condiments on the sandwich. Just spinach, turkey, cheese and tomato. So, none of my foodstuffs end up on the napkin or in the garbage.
I only drink water at work. In the morning I make a protein shake but that gets washed out in the bathroom sink when finished. The rest of the day it’s water from a cooler. My dog comes with me to work and site under a chair in my office. Each morning I swap out the water in her dish. This is where I first dump water into my garbage. Old dog water.
Now, the dog is only six pounds and doesn’t drink her water all sloppy like some inconsiderate Saint Bernard. She’s a lady and doesn’t make a mess. But still, it’s old dog water. In the trash it goes. All three ounces.
At the end of the day I probably have half a glass of water which also is chucked into the garbage. I estimate each day about ten ounces of water is dumped in my office garbage can. Which sounds like a lot, right?
Nah, son! (such an urban phrase, D.J.!)
When I was in high school I developed a philosophy which was simply titled “Something Will Eat It.” I would chuck mostly anything out of car windows that I believed bore no danger of polluting the earth. This idea came to me one day as I was eating fried chicken in my car, while driving. At the time I had a stickshift and I was getting annoyed at all the gear changing and red lights. Halfway through a thigh I became so frustrated I threw the piece of chicken out my driver’s side window without thinking about it.
I was shocked at what I had done. The more I thought about it, though, I realized all was well. Half eaten chicken won’t sit on asphalt for long. Something will come along and eat it. But, D.J., what about the b0nes? First, I would tell you that something will come along and eat the bones, like a raccoon or worm or something. And even if it didn’t the bones would eventually roll off to the grass where the earth would reabsorb their nutrients.
See? This is clearly not littering.
I have a similar philosophy for water in my office garbage. First, since nothing else is in there except paper, I see no crime. So a few pieces of paper get wet. They’ll dry soon enough, and all the moisture will turn back to gas and reenter the atmosphere. I’m not entirely sure how water turns back into gas when it’s not boiling but it must happen. That glass of water I haven’t touched for a week on my bedside table is losing a half-inch a day.
I’ve found myself dumping water in garbages outside, too. The insanity is that water can basically be dumped on any outside surface without ever causing any issue environmentally. But I have found myself pouring out a water bottle out into our condo’s trash bin or public garbage can. I realize this is poor form. I’m just so used to it.
I’m going to ask the guy that cleans the office once a week and replaces the trash liner if my garbage is heavy with liquid. In my fantasy he will say, “What? How could a garbage can full of nothing but paper have liquid?” If this plays out in reality, I’m going to fist pump the air and declare victory on the elements.
However, if he mentions that some dick keeps pouring water into my garbage can making the liner all heavy, I’m going to have to blame it on someone. Someone will need to take the hit. I’ll choose whoever’s not in the office that day.
photo credit: Sebastiano Pitruzzello (aka gorillaradio) via photopin cc
]]>One time, back in college, we were shopping at a mall. At that point in my life I was terrified of talking to girls. He was completely strung out on caffeine. We saw some cute girl working at the Gap. He said, “I’ll make a deal with you. You go up and ask that girl out, and I’ll quit caffeine cold turkey.” Both of these goals seemed preposterous. You don’t just approach a woman after a lifetime of never doing so. Same with cutting out Diet Coke. Well, I couldn’t do it. He did. Fifteen years later and he hasn’t touched a drop of it since.
A few months ago my dad got fed up with his weight. Quietly, he cut out all the bad crap and probably half of the daily calories. He’s lost forty pounds and the desire to eat the same junk he’s been eating his whole life. Once the guy commits, he’s all in.
I was home this past weekend. He kept getting excited about this butcher he visits. He claimed they have the best deli sliced turkey. This is the man who hasn’t grocery shopped his entire adult life. Eats most anything you put in front of him and likes it. I told him I was fine with the stuff I buy every week. He insisted on taking me to his place.
The idea of going to a butcher for meat is a little beyond me. I buy everything at the Jewel – turkey, chicken, fish, and beef. And if the sirloin’s on special, even better. Maybe twice a year I’ll spring for beef tenderloin, but normally I stick with NY Strip or ribeyes that are a few bucks off. I never even go near the Angus section. That’s a sucker’s game! It’s two bucks more!
We arrived at the specialty meat store and I assumed it was too upscale for me. The previous night we had this amazing cod dish my mom had learned to cook. She suggested that she go to the fish market for the cod. I told her, “Just get the stuff at Kroger. It’s fine.” Again, the idea is that only rich people hit the butcher or fish monger is well-ingrained into my identity.
My dad went on about how this turkey he likes is not processed and that it’s healthier than normal stuff. I didn’t understand – do they give you chunks of real turkey? He said it’s deli sliced turkey. This I had to see.
Well, he was using the wrong word. He meant preservatives. He must have said it a dozen times before I corrected him.
I looked at the price of their turkey which was $9 per lb. I’m in no way a cheap person but I was like, “That’s really expensive!” He asked how much the Sarah Lee is that I buy at the grocery. “Uh, $6, when it’s on special. $8 normally.”
The math was clear. This was not going to dramatically alter my ability to retire in thirty years.
I asked for a taste of the Dietz and Watson turkey. I, in advance, thought that it was going to taste the same as the normal stuff I buy. I eat almost two pounds a week of deli turkey. When I tried the good meat, holy christ, I understood. This was better. A LOT better. I had no idea deli turkey could be that delicious. Since they don’t sell the brand in Chicago, I’m going to start buying Boar’s Head, which is very good as well.
My father had just taught me a valuable lesson. I’m worth the good turkey.
Walking out with a few pounds of high-end deli turkey made me feel like a rich guy. There will never be a coupon for Boar’s Head meat in Chicago. I’ll have to make a special trip to the butcher once a week. And I’ll be out maybe an extra $5. But I’ll be acknowledging a higher level of self-esteem.
I’m still way too insecure to go to the fish shop. I can work up to that.
One of these days I may throw caution to the wind and order the full lobster on the restaurant menu – market price.
Yesterday I didn’t really eat much other than yogurt, cereal, and protein drink. That’s not enough calories to get you healthfully through two ten mile bike rides to and from work. Since I often forget to eat during the day, I come home exhausted, sweaty, and famished.
As I realized I hadn’t planned dinner, I took to my freezer. After milling through five bags of mixed vegetables that will be consumed by 2014, I saw the bottom and realized there was no chicken.
I had plenty of deli sliced turkey, but sandwiches are for lunch, and I’m not a savage. I still cringe when I hear a grownup talking about how they eat cereal for dinner. I judge that.
Living in Chicago we have unarguably the finest pizza this side of Sicily. Lou Malnati’s is the best of the bunch, and for those who say otherwise I will fight you in the street until the police arrive. Then I’ll go beat up your first cousin because he probably thinks the same way you do.
Since I was tired and woozy I decided to order dinner. Even though I have a car, it has a cover on it and I have to tell on myself and reveal that sometimes I decide it’s too much effort to spend the forty-five seconds taking it off. This was one of those nights.
I checked the computer for a take-out option. I am not in any way above Chinese food, but I have never found a Chinese delivery restaurant that wasn’t disappointing. I’m 0/27 in good Chinese delivery. So that was out.
Delivery Mexican is just plain weird. To have some teenager deliver me a cold burrito didn’t appeal to me. Takeout sushi is a gamble and I wasn’t in the mood for Indian or Thai.
By the way Thai always trumps Chinese. If you’re Chinese, stop pretending you don’t think the same.
That leaves pizza. With all the great options Chicago has for pizza, why did I opt for Domino’s?
Coupons.
I love feeling like I’m making a sound financial purchase. Coupons do this for me. I found a coupon for Domino’s where I saved a whole three bucks. Move out of the way world, Delfin is coming through! I can’t be the only one at the supermarket who waits until the last purchase before scanning the savings card, just so I can see the total bill go down by $30. It feels like I just won life.
Because I was saving a bunch of green on this pizza order, I paid no attention to my stomach which reminded me that there were options that would actually taste better. Sure it might be an extra $10, but can you put a price on deliciousness?
Actually, yes. Perfect example – lobster is my favorite food, yet I eat it maybe once a year. Why? I’m too cheap to shell out $75 for myself at a restaurant. I feel like I’m not quite worthy of lobster purchase. I do buy the big shrimp when they’re on sale at the grocery and pretend that it’s lobster. It actually is pretty damned close.
So that’s how I find myself tonight eating leftover Domino’s. To be honest, I do sort of like it. I would never disclose it to my Chicago friends, and I hope they all hate me enough not to read this post. Alas, they don’t hate me, because I’m too great a guy. I’m going to have to go do something to invoke their ire – like bang their sisters.
Great – now I have to go and bang all my friends’ sisters.
photo credit: dead video kid via photo pin cc
]]>Thankfully I’m in a relationship, and my girlfriend seems to accept this body defect. I also have really big feet that she keeps talking about. Not sure what the deal is there.
See what I did? I’m a stinker.
Anyway, I had completely forgot that there is a solution to this problem. In fact, I had already solved it a year ago. And then promptly forgot.
Towards the end of last year, when it was still warm enough to do stuff outside, this girl I was dating encouraged me to run a 5k. They gave this godawful shirt as a tchotchke. The one nice this about it is made out of the fabric that whisks away the sweat and somehow drips it into the air or something. I’m no engineer. Anyway, it somehow makes it so that the sweat disappears into the ether.
I went online and bought three of these shirts from Champion (which I pronounce Cham-peen to sound like a New Yorker). Then I put them in a drawer and never pulled them out.
Cut to this year where I wore my normal cotton tees like every prior year. I’m sweating like crazy each day and then my dad says…
“Why don’t you get those shirts that breathe easy?”
Don’t follow. Explain.
I have these golf shirts made out of something so that I don’t sweat?
No kidding! How does that work?
I don’t know, but it does.
Wait – is that the same thing that runners wear? Oh, wait, I bought like three of those.
—
Not the most exciting conversation, but this is how out of it I am. Now, I don’t sweat while I’m on my bike jamming out to Kid Rock. I just went out on a big limb admitting that to all you. I hope you can appreciate the vulnerability there.
]]>It’s something small that I do for myself every morning. Actually I do three things that are healthy.
- Play with my cat using DaBird, the greatest cat toy ever made.
- Eat a thing of yogurt and drink some POM juice.
- Make my lunch for the day.
I still need to add-in “make the bed.” That would be great. But also it would take another two minutes away from my awesome morning nightmares, and who wants to give that up?
I’ve learned that for me, it’s the small ways I take care of myself that yield the best results. For example, it’s not that I ran the extra mile on the treadmill that I couldn’t do the week prior, but that I got myself to gym when I really didn’t want to.
My life’s challenges revolve almost exclusively for me being unkind to myself. When I was younger I didn’t like myself because I wasn’t getting all As. Nor did I think I was in any way handsome. Or that if I tried harder, I’d be better at sports. In short, I learned how to be cruel in my assessments of myself.
So far, shaming myself to do better has rarely yielded me positive results. I grew up thinking if I just pushed a little harder I would achieve all that I believed I was capable of. I never learned that it might be okay to be where I currently am at this moment.
I was afraid that if I gave up the shame that my motivation to improve and achieve would go away. I’m still afraid of that. But that is probably untrue. What seems to work is to do little things that are good for me, and that are esteemable acts. Like bringing the lunch to work. I feel good about myself which then leads me to other behaviors where I feel good.
By the way, I pack a few turkey sandwiches in plastic Tupperware things and put that in a cooler bag like below. Then I carry it on the subway, dangling from my hand like a purse. I never see anyone else doing this. It’s not cool.
