Green Acres

Cheese curds emit this incredible squeaky sound when you chew them. I've read about this phenomenon, somewhere, before, but growing up in the land of industrial cotton didn't reward me with a firsthand experience of the mythological treat. I'd never seen one; I imagined that they were kind of like a Cheeto. Also, in somewhat of an aside, whenever I hear the word "curd" I can't help but imagining the girl (what was her name?) in the nursery rhyme eating her proverbial curds and whey (minus the next part about the spider). But like a Cheeto, curds are not, well, except for the incredibly fun-to-eat part. I am now a fan. Of course, I didn't know the proper eating etiquitte of cheese curds -- that you really shouldn't keep them more than a day, and that you definitely shouldn't refrigerate them because they loose squeak power -- so I wish I had polished off the entire bag at once as my internal urge had demanded. I can't wait for the Wisconsin Cheese Festival. And I am being totally serious. I heart cheese.

The cheese curds were purchased at the opening day of the Farmer's Market just around the corner from our apartment. We were among some of the early arrivers and scored, in addition to the curds, some magnificant granola, honey, artichoke pesto, and a beautiful bunch of Iris flowers (my favorite!). I can't wait to go back next week and get some fresh vegetables (most likely asparagus) and herbs to cook a delicious meal. I also want more cheese curds.

Cooking Noodles

I've been told I need to update my blog.

So here it is. Not much going on. I'm waiting for the shells of my alfredo shells and cheese (Annies brand!) to cook. For some reason I think the left front (or is it front left?) burner doesn't get as hot as the front right. Also, our stove is slanted. Makes for complications w/r/t olive oil distribution, but for boiling noodles, I'm not sure it makes a difference. Anyhoo. I haven't had much to complain about lately, which is why I've not updated in a while. We bought Lula a velour leopard print "crinkle" tunnel. Because of her bizarre obsession with tissue paper, we thought the tunnel would be a hit for sure. Not so much. She only sticks her head in when treats are placed in there. If catnip is in there she'll run through it really fast. By the way, she DOES like catnip. I guess she's a purist because any attempts at presenting her with catnip treats or a windup catnip rat were dismissed with repulsion. But the second we sprinkled some of the real stuff on the ground she behaved like a normal cat: batshit crazy. So that's about it, OH except for the Grey's Anatomy finale. WTF? I had to drink heavily to make it through night 2 of the finale. I mean a fucking prom? And don't even get me started on Izzy. The only person on that show that doesn't make me want to pull my hair out and walk around in a dirty shredded pink bathrobe is Bailey. Geez. I hope next season gets back on track.

Oop. Noodles are ready. That is all.

Yes, I get drunk dialed by my parents

Role reversals seem to crop their heads quite frequently in the family of disFUNction. My dad and his wife (and well, the rest of my dad's side of the family) are in New Orleans for the trial. Can't explain more, except it's a legal dispute over the estate of a deceased uncle (he died like three years ago).

However, I was not aware of that last night when I received a call from my Dad's cell.

"Hi Lauren! It's Dad! I'm on Bourbon Street!" Oh dear, I thought, is this payback for all those times in college I called him shouting the exact same line?

Then Dad's wife grabs the phone. Incoherent Bourbon Street babble. Then the phone cuts out. At first I was excited to hear that things seemed to be back to normal in the Quarter. Then I was like, wait, it's TUESDAY night. WTF? What middle agers/borderline senior citizens go out on Bourbon Street on a random Tuesday night?

I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

Then, this morning I got the obligatory drunk-dial apology call from my Dad's wife that explained it all. I told her to eat a Beignet for me.