Fangs, Boobs, and a Crock O'Shit

Thursday, Jul. 24, 2003 - 6:17 a.m.

Today, John's ten thousand mile mouth checkup & cleaning takes place. He generally can't stand this, because no matter what happens, and no matter how gentle the dental assistant purports to be, he comes away from the cleaning in pain. I told him to ask for a toot of nitrous oxide, because the dentist we go to is very cool about painkiller.

Tonight's dinner -will- be soft tacos.

Oh, also, before I forget, VCR Alert: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, tonight on NBC after Will and Grace. Do not miss this.

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Yesterday evening, I bought two new bras from Lane Bryant.

I've been losing weight. I still have a ways to go, but I -am- losing weight -- but mysteriously, my breasts were the first thing that got smaller.

Why it couldn't have been my ass, I'll never know, but that's the way it goes.

So I found two excellent bras in my size (okay. 44 DDD. Sigh...). One is plain white cotton, and the other is translucent white lace. They are both underwire, and miraculously, they actually look like brassieres, instead of what I previously wore, which were basically these things consisting of two huge lace-covered containers that could have been mistaken for frilly pet-carriers.

In short, I have a figure again. My girls are standing proud.

The only mild complaint here is what I paid for this privelege. With the ten percent discount, the amount for both bras still came to a total of $43.30. I'm told by some other women friends that this is actually a fairly decent price for a pair of bras.

This still feels like sticker shock, though. I guess this is the case because my last bra purchase was made at Ross Dress For Less during the first term of Bill Clinton's presidency.

A dollar an inch... But I feel so lovely right now... It was worth the price.

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I was talking to Paul in the wee small hours of the morning while he was doing the dinner dishes, and I asked what was for dinner.

"Oh god," he said, "It's something I made up that both of the kids just LOVE... but the smell just totally makes me -retch- now."

Naturally this revelation was irresistable -- I -had- to know what was in it. So Paul told me.

You take your crock pot. Then you put in cooked cubed turkey. And cooked cubed chicken. Then a metric assload of cheese. And finally, a can of chili. Then you let it simmer until you can round up everybody, get their hands washed, and sit them down at the table. This takes anywhere from five to forty minutes, depending on whether the kids are sugared up. And the dish apparently tastes the same no matter how long it's been simmered.

I was stunned. "Does this wondrous creation have a name, Paul?"

"No," he said.

I made a suggestion."How about calling it 'Crock O'Shit'?"

Paul laughed. A lot. "Perfect! I'm gonna call it that from now on!"

"Wow," I said, "You mean I've named one of your original creations?" I asked. "You sure have," said Paul.

Okay. Here's the disturbing part: I want some of this stuff.

If I do get to Utah, Paul, who is a chef by trade, has said he wants to cook some of his favorite meals for an adult, who can appreciate them. I guess I can understand that. In fact, I look forward to it.

But I still want some of a Crock O'Shit.

Forgive me, Paul. Please. :)

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