My favorite and least favorite thing about owning a dog is how she wakes me up EARLY every. single. morning. I hate it because she whines and complains until I get up and take her for a walk; I love it because I don’t have to set an alarm clock and can depend on her to whine and complain to get me out of bed. So basically I love her method during the weekday and hate it on the weekends. No matter what day it is, I love our early morning walks, except for this past week when they’ve gotten SCARY. Yes, scary.
Last weekend we were walking, minding our own business when Amelia spotted a cat in the bushes. Amelia loves cats, wants to be their friends – just like I do, actually – but they’re never interested in friendship. This particular thugged-out cat was pissed that Amelia was interested. So, I did what I always do and tugged on her leash and was like, “C’mon Amelia, that cat doesn’t like you.” And she usually tries again and then gives up.
So as Amelia was still staring at the cat, it surprisingly leaped out at us and screeched. Amelia let out this yelp that I’ve never, EVER heard before and then of course since I’m scared of things like ants and teeny-tiny spiders, it startles me and we take off down the street, running like two crazy mad things. I stopped running when it dawned on me that I was running from a thing that I’m totally bigger than. It was absurd. But then I look behind me to see the cat running after us. So we do what anyone would do: we ran again.
Yesterday I saw Halloween candy at the drug store. Just no. NO! Summer is not over! It’s still 90 degrees out and peaches and plums and watermelon are still in abundance. Sure, I’m kind of sick of sweating, but I’m not ready for pumpkins, apples, sweaters and halloween. I’m not, so stop trying to force the future on us. We’ll get there…let us be.
A few years ago, I whipped up one of those very common watermelon and feta salads and got pretty obsessed. They became the thing I took to every BBQ or get together I attended. Super easy to throw together and everyone would always be really doubtful about watermelon and feta going together, and they’d always end up being so psyched about the salad.
This is a take on that salad, but with grilled cheese because grilled cheese is grilled cheese. Duh. Very big no-brainer. Grilled cheese is delicious, always.
It’s Father’s Day on Sunday. I know this because yesterday my dad called to kindly remind me, as well as giving me strict instructions as to what he wants and where I can find it. He was even nice enough to go so far as to Google Map the store from my apartment, too–it was helpful…and bossy.
It’s cool. I realize that this bossiness must be genetic because I sort of do the same thing with him. We know what we like, I guess and aren’t all that shy.
So yes, it’s Father’s Day. And I made popsicles for me to make and for you to make.
Whiskey always reminds me of my papa. And this is because he gave it to me at age 3 (!!!!). Yeah, I had my first sip of alcohol under the age of 5. I’m sure when he reads this he’ll be all mad at me for disclosing this, but I assure you it was actually to deter me from liking alcohol. It was a part of a bigger scheme to make me a non-drinker/rager. It worked, actually. I’m not a huge drinker, but I mean, if you add some watermelon, mint and lime juice…and then freeze it! Uhh…yeah, let’zzzz go!
In my humble little opinion, limeade always trumps lemonade. Always. Why? Well…I’m not exactly sure; maybe it’s the extra kick of sour, or maybe it goes back to the times I used to eat whole limes with my Mom while watching bad daytime television. It was our little secret, because if you tell someone you eat whole limes while watching Jerry Springer, judgement ensues. Trust.
I wasn’t introduced to limeade until I had to go on a grocery run for my best friend’s grandmother, Mimi. She’s a badass of a woman who’s never afraid to speak her mind. She’ll tell you the cheap wine you bought sucks, or that the bread you took too long to bake is as hard as a rock. She also plays beer pong like a fratboy (seriously). Can you tell that I like her…a lot? Mimi’s turning 90 years old in September and she’s demanding a party, and I couldn’t agree more with her.