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Tag Archives: boobies

Casting Call

I’m not sure how many of you are aware but TWTG is single again and on the prowl. I had been using a lovely little internet dating site called OKCupid. Now, I’m a big girl, and I can handle some bullshit but I’ve already taken my profile down. See, being the Queen of Everything has its advantages, one of which is having men flock to you by virtues of your, um, God given attributes. (Thank you parents and sweet baby Jesus for the boobies!) It didn’t take long to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of responses, which led me to consider a different approach:

I’m taking applications.

Now Hiring at TWTG Incorporated!

Position to be filled:         Boyfriend

Position vacated:             August 13, 2012

Requirements:

Day job (not as boyfriend, husband or gigolo)

Car (2009 or newer)

House (no roommates, kids don’t count)

Children OK but no psycho ex-wives

Adventure seeking, vodka drinking, affable and outgoing

Handsome (in my opinion)

Brains (mmmm, yummy, brains)

A sense of humor (if you can’t laugh at life, I have no use for you)

Please submit resume to thewhitetrashgourmet@gmail.com along with a photo and drink invitation (you are buying, buddy), to apply for a face to face interview. VEGANS NEED NOT APPLY! Anyone under the age of 33, I do not need to hear how age is just a number and you are so mature and don’t get along with women your age. I know damn well why you are cougar hunting and I just have to say, if I’m the cougar, I get to choose my prey.

Fig Seeks Bacon 

  • Fresh figs
  • Bacon
  • Chèvre (goat cheese)

    Cuddled up together

I didn’t include ingredient amounts because you can make as few or as many as you want.

Preheat oven to 400˚. Wash figs and pat dry with a paper towel. Slice each fig in half just below the stem (keeping the stem intact). Place about a teaspoon of chèvre between the two fig halves. Cut bacon slices in half. Wrap each fig with a half slice of bacon and secure with a toothpick. Place on baking sheet and roast for 20 minutes. Voila! Perfect small bite to impress dates.

Those loyal Subjects that have been reading the blog for a while know that I’ve had my share of internet stalkers. No big deal when you have a man in the house to deal with such threats. I could depend on my 18 yr old being home but that occasion is too rare to rely on. This is why no one gets an invitation to my house until I’ve first met them in a crowded, public place and sent a picture of their ID to my bite sized friend Autumn. Maybe I’ll acquire a hand gun, some mace and a large dog, just in case… not that I’m threatening you. I swear, I’m a sweetheart. Promise…

TWTG says, “I’ve had it with you people and your fuckery!”

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Why So Serious?

Ironic that while I proudly boast of my figurative white trashiness, the literal reality of it is one of my greatest fears. Poor, obese, saddled with a half-dozen kids, a car buried in the lawn… you know the drill. Now I love burning money about as much as I hate burning calories, so I’m in no way claiming to be rich or thin. As for the kids and the car, I tied my tubes at half of a half-dozen kids (so suck it, biology) and the HOA won’t let me grow my grass that high. The point is that none of us wants to struggle through life. After all, no one on their deathbed ever rebuked “if only I hadn’t done so well.” Yes, some of us are handed better deals than others, but if you are reading this in its original English, chances are good that doors are still open to you, irrespective of your socioeconomic status.

Does that sound indelicate? It’s not. I understand shit happens and have nothing but respect for anyone having to work that much harder to make ends meet. (Hell, as a single mom of three, plowing through an eternal divorce, still renting at forty, I better have nothing but respect for such people.) However, I also believe that we try very hard to twist laziness into a mission statement. Whether it’s a lack of money, society’s lack of moral fiber or any lack of whatever else we say is holding us back, there’s always an excellent reason to not try. For example, if you’re waiting for the right time to have children, you always will be. Stability matters, sure, but at some point you just have to roll up your sleeves, go heels to Jesus and procreate. You probably won’t regret it. Probably.

I really do.

Those were some of the musings I had while we were at the restaurant for tonight’s ReKimmendation: I Love Pho, in Oceanside. Perhaps it was the wonderful food that’s gotten me all sanctimonious, or maybe this is just a reaction to the conversation in the adjacent booth I couldn’t help but overhear (naughty eavesdropper that I am). It was between two men likely going through the crisis that comes free in every box of midlife cereal. They were endlessly bitching about the minutia of everything, from politics, to the environment and all the morons in the middle that don’t get it the way they do. Plenty of good thought wasted on way too much hollow anger. I’ll spare you the details, but all I could think throughout their whole diatribe was “life is not that complicated, fellas. Relax and get out of your own way.”

I realize how jarring this reads compared to my previous posts. It’ll always be my intention to keep this blog a fun, easygoing place, but, wow, it annoys me when age is no indicator of wisdom or decorum. I’ll start the review now, I swear. Actually, hold on. Let me climb down from my high horse first (I’m not very tall, this could take a second). There. All better. Boobies.

Alright. I Love Pho (I couldn’t find an official website or online menu). Perfectly named and priced even better. It isn’t a newly unearthed treasure, however, as my weird little family unit and I are frequent flyers there. All of us, save for my nine-year-old, are mutually in love with the titular pho. I like to go with the well-done and rare beef. The beefier the better, I always say (I really do say that). Yet, sitting in the midst of the kvetch-a-thon last night, I ventured outside of my comfort zone and got the pho with rare beef and tendon. I only tried tendon on the recommendation (their name isn’t Kim, so no fancy pun for them) of a friend, as it falls into my Three Ts of Not in My Mouth You Don’t. Before your dirty wheels start spinning stupid guesses, I’m talking about tendon, tapioca and tripe. And wouldn’t you know it? I Love Pho copiously serves all three.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: I HATE TRIPE. It’s not a mental blockade about where it comes from. I’ll eat any part of a cow, except for the parts that taste like tripe. But, feeling particularly adventurous, I tried the tendon and Hey Mikey! I liked it (loved it in fact, just like their name says)! We’ve never had any issues with taste or quality at this joint, so maybe I shouldn’t have been that surprised. As for tapioca… well, let me first tell you about Vietnamese iced coffee. Their traditional drip method of making it, while slow, results in the most amazingly sweet and rich blend you’ve ever had. Knowing that, how bad could adding tapioca be? Not bad at all, it seems, as I now covet those little black balls (hey, hey, hey… remember what I said about your dirty wheels). I Love Pho got two of the three Ts in my mouth in a single night. That’s pretty special.

I’ve tried Vietnamese food before, but I Love Pho is as good as I’ve ever had it. That’s probably why we go there weekly, passing by about a dozen other similar establishments and buffets. Oh, and the best part? Dirt cheap. The bill to feed Russell and myself, fancy coffees, tax and tip included? Just under twenty-five bucks. My type of place.