I’m finally going home tomorrow! Don’t get me wrong, I love visiting my parents, but I miss my husband and my bed. I want my bathroom towel warmer, I want my secret stash of chocolates that I hide in the refrigerator drawer labeled “vegetables.” I want to know that when I push those tiny, rubbery buttons in this particular order “170”at any given point, that someone whose sole goal is to pleasure me appears on TV and brightens my evening.
Simply put, I NEED MY COMFORTS THAT KEEP ME SANE.
Alright, enough whining, because really, I did have a fantabulous time in Los Angeles, I got to meet this woman. But really – don’t be fooled by her cute, blonde hair and (ding!) gorgeous, sparkling smile. She’ll flip your legs over head and have your body splayed on the floor in 2 seconds flat, with one-hand behind her back whipping egg whites. Mental note: don’t be stupid and challenge her to an arm wrestle after 3 glasses of wine.
I took the kids to Knott’s Snot’s Berry Farm one afternoon and after the 156th time on the choo-choo train that goes around and around and around and around on a track the circumference of a blow-up kiddie pool, I wanted to just grovel to the kid selling shaved ice cones to puulleeeeze spike my razzlin’ raspberry cone with some gin, vodka or your choice of whatever stashed in your back pocket.
But instead, this couple came to my rescue and invited my raggedy body and my sugar spiked kids to dinner at their home. I was recharged with their generosity and home cooking. And my kids thought they were the coolest, as they always love visiting homes of people who don’t have kids yet. Because the fun is discovering: a) if the piano sounds better if played with snail shells on fingertips b) do fish like Sunkist orange soda and c) Dante, the doggy? Does he giddyup like a horse if you jump on his back?
No, no and yes.
I left with a carload of goodies from their garden like blood oranges, tangerines, juicy navel oranges the size of grapefruits and a Vietnamese perilla plant. Plus, I got to take home a fresh jackfruit for my parents who haven’t had it this fresh since forever. And because I was the one who carried the jackfruit bounty into the home, presenting it as an gift to the wonderous people who gave birth to me, it was I who got all the credit, praise, adoration for the offering of exquisite delicacy. But only for like 10 seconds. Then they were like, “White on Rice couple…can we adopt you?”
And these two bloggers who were blogging when blogs were still awkwardly called web-logs – they need to just get married and have many kids. Natural selection has worked in their favor, and no, that’s not his real pic.
Oishii Eats came to help me in the cooking class, and within seconds we worked side-by-side as if we had known each other in a past life as young grasshoppas. And him? He seduced me with talk of curves and levels. Ay-ya-ya! Dirty, dirty Photoshop talk.