86 Pat Hingle*

This morning I saw "Hats off to Pat Hingle" displayed on the marquee of a local diner. For the next 20 minutes of my drive to work, I wondered who Pat Hingle was, and what he/she had done to merit such public recognition. Had he coached his son's pee wee football team to the pee wee Superbowl equivalent? Had she been the top producing real estate agent at the local Century 21 franchise? Had he (be still my beating heart) finally conquered the 8 lb. hamburger at the afore mentioned diner?

A little wiki-research revealed that Pat Hingle had played Comissioner Gordon in several Batman movies. Oh, that Pat Hingle. And that he had survived a near-fatal fall 54 feet down an elevator shaft. Wow.

It turns out that Pat Hingle died yesterday in Carolina Beach, NC from leukemia. So hats off to Pat Hingle, even though to my knowledge he never did conquer that monster hamburger.

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*The title comes from a horrible joke told by a co-worker when I was waiting tables. The kitchen would regularly communicate which items we were out off by writing "86 (whatever we were out of)" on a marker board in the kitchen. When one of the servers heard about Mr. Rogers' death, he wrote added 'Mr. Rogers' to the list. Even though I was sad about his passing, I couldn't help laughing. I will have a hard time explaining this to Mr. Rogers if I make it to Heaven and meet him there.

I totally would (with bonus Delicious Deliciousness)

So yesterday Nilsa over at SoMi declared it a De-Lurking Day. As I have a problem keeping my mouth shut, the holiday didn't really apply to me, but she did say that regular commenters could ask her a question. Any question. This is dangerous territory my friends.

Maxie's been doing a "Would you Wednesday" for a while now, and it's a game my friends and I play all. the. time. Usually it's along the lines of, "What if you met [insert name of current celebrity obsession], and the two of you fell in love, but he would only ever have sex with you doggie style? He would never want to look at your face when you were having sex?" Which typically leads to a 30 minute conversation in which we hammer out rules/details (could I look back at him? could we do it in front of a mirror? is it because he was molested as a child?) before finally deciding on a scenario all parties are satisfied with. Sometimes it leads to one party calling another party a psycho pervert, but it's all part of the game.

Anyway...so my question to Nilsa was:

Would you agree to wear a bag over your head (with eye holes cut out, but no mouth hole) every time you left your house in exchange for an enormous sum of money (enough to keep your immediate family financially comfortable without working for the rest of your lives)?

And you couldn't tell anyone (other than your significant other) why you were wearing the bag.

But last night Dexter had a bad case of Old Man Bladder, so after I had let him out a couple of times, I couldn't get back to sleep. I played the "What if?" game by myself. I thought up some new rules.

1. You could take the bag off to drive, because driving with a bag over your head is just dangerous.
   
2. You could not take the bag off to fly on an airplane. You'd probably look like a terrorist threat, so you'd either have to learn how to fly yourself (like driving, you could remove the bag while actually piloting the airplane) or resign yourself to only road trips for the rest of your life.
   
3. You could not embellish the bag, other than to cut the two eye holes. No drawing a face or bedazzling the bag.

I'm sure there were more but now I can't remember them.

So anyway, would you? And all you lurkers out there, would you, too? I want to know!

**Bonus Delicious Deliciousness**

Steve hasn't been feeling very well lately, and when he confessed to me on Monday that he was feeling "poopey," I promised to make him some chicken soup. How nice of me, right?

Well, it would be nice if I knew how to make soup. Which I don't. Really, I don't even like soup. But after the words were out of my mouth, I had to make some shit happen. We can't have little Stevie feeling poopey and disappointed, can we?*

Lucky for me, I found this recipe at epicurious.com and tweaked it a bit. Tortilla Soup with Chicken and Lime? Sounds like a winner!

And it was, internet friends, it was. Here's the recipe:

Ingredients
1 white onion (chopped)
1 jalapeno (de-seeded and chopped)
1 zucchini (chopped)
1 tbsp minced garlic

1 box chicken broth (I got the big one, I think it's like 36 oz.)
1 can corn
1 can black beans
1 can Rotel diced tomatoes (any variety would work, but I used "with lime and cilantro")
1 bay leaf
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper (more or less to taste)
2 green onions (chopped)
a handful of cilantro (chopped)
1/2 cup lime juice
2 cups Mexican cheese blend
1 ready made rotisserie chicken from the supermarket, about 4 lbs. (or you could poach your own***)

4 5-6 inch diameter tortillas (corn or flour)
no-stick cooking spray (I used Pam)

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Stack up tortillas; cut in half. Cut each half into strips. Spread strips on a non-stick baking sheet and spray with cooking spray. Bake until light golden (about 12-15 minutes). Set aside to cool.

Saute jalapeno, zucchini, and 1/2 of the chopped white onion (reserving half to add just before serving) in garlic in the bottom of a large sauce pan (or you can use a good sized electric skillet, like I did). When onions and garlic are just turning soft, add broth, tomatoes, corn, black beans, bay leaf, cumin, and red pepper; bring to boil. Reduce heat; simmer 5 minutes.

While broth is simmering, remove the meat from the rotisserie chicken and shred. Set aside.

Before adding chicken to the broth, remove half of the solids from the broth and blend in a blender or food processor. This makes the soup less watery and more like a stew. Add blended solids back to the broth. Add chicken; allow to cook for about 5 more minutes. Stir in green onions, reserved 1/2 white onion, cilantro, and lime juice. Season with salt and pepper.

Ladle soup into bowls. Sprinkle with Mexican cheese blend and tortilla strips and serve.

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*No, we cannot.**
**I apologize for the footnotes. I don't know what's up with me.
***Show off.

Fact or Fiction Wednesday

Item 1:

Statement: I am capable of dressing myself.

FICTION
I am capable of dressing myself exactly 33% of the time. The 8 hours when I am asleep, I am dressed totally appropriately. The other 16 hours, well, not so much. I see myself as a sassy career girl who looks trendy and put together. Unfortunately the mirror sees me as a slightly disheveled career girl with dragging hems and a serious handicap in the 'putting makeup on yourself' department. Working with post-menopausal ladies and tech geeks hasn't really helped me, either. If I took a cue from my office mates I'd be wearing turtlenecks and sweaters a la Kristy or short sleeve button down shirts a la Dilbert. Having a roommate, albeit temporarily, has made me re-evaluate my status as an adult. Since when does gray not match with khaki? Who made that rule? 26 year olds are not allowed to wear leggings? Fight the machine!

Perhaps I should stick with the triangle dresses.

Item 2:

Statement: I pack Dora the Explorer fruit snacks in my lunch.

FACT
They do not make fruit snacks for grown-ups. Except for organic fruit roll-ups, but they cost 75 cents a piece and do not fit into my food budget. Plus they are called "Fruit Leather" and that does not sound as appealing as "Dora Saves the Snow Princess Assorted Fruit Flavored Snacks."

Item 3:

Statement: I walked past a Chinese food restaurant yesterday and didn't (even for one second) think about stopping in and getting an eggroll.

FACT
I am as shocked as you are, internet. I haven't had a craving for Chinese food since October 18, 2008, when I stumbled out of Beer Fest and ate 3 eggrolls and a dozen crab rangoons, in addition to disgusting amounts of beef with broccoli and cashew chicken. Insult to injury? I made the rookie mistake of eating an eggroll on the way home, burning my mouth and seriously diminishing my ability to taste the rest of the meal.

Don't fret, Dragon Garden. I can't quit you. I'll be back...just not quite yet.

Item 4:

Statement: I am just reading my book on my lunch break until someone comes along to talk to me about something more exciting, like the new Board of Education members.

FICTION
I am reading my book on my lunch break because I finally wrestled New Moon away from my friend and I honestly can't wait to find out how Jacob turns into a werewolf. Don't get me wrong, I'm not proud of this. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Perhaps it's so you'll shun me and I can read my tween romances in peace.

Item 4:

Statement: I don't know how to spell 'receive.'

FACT
I get the 'i before e' part, but the 'except after c' never looks right. I always spell it 'recieve,' which looks much better, right? Oh well, at least I'm not still pulling a Ramona Quimby and spelling relief 'r-o-l-a-i-d-s.'

Item 5:

Statement: Ernie is one handsome Mutha Fudrucker.

FACT

The one where vampires cause me to break into my own car with a screwdriver and an American flag

I am an idiot.

I left work during my lunch break yesterday with two goals in mind: mail my rent check and buy a copy of New Moon. I was unsuccessful in both endeavors.

I went to the Wal*Mart up the road where I thought I would have the best luck buying both the book and some stamps. I'd looked at both Barnes and Noble and Books-a-Million, but every 13 year old girl, her mother, her maiden aunt, and her 20-something sister has been buying up these books so they are pretty scarce. As I grabbed my purse, I glanced at my copy of Twilight sitting on the passenger seat. Visions of Edward-crazed tweens played out in my head, and I decided to lock the doors.

Inside Wal*Mart--no New Moon. Dammit. Defeated, I bought some stamps from the vending machine and headed back to the car. Where I had unfortunately locked the doors with the keys still in the ignition. Double dammit. Spare key? Nope. With the whole of Wal*Mart at my disposal, I figured I could find something to help me break into my own car.

Trolling the aisles, I settled on a flat head screwdriver and a 3 ft. dowel, which unfortunately had an American flag stapled to it. Back at the car, I managed to wedge my door open enough to stick the dowel into the car and push the 'unlock' button on the door handle. After, of course, I had ripped the flag off while cursing the entire Cullen clan and my own stupidity.

It's not everyday you see someone desecrating the American flag and cursing Stephenie Meyers in the Wal*Mart parking lot.

On an up note, writing this post reminded me to mail my rent check.