Turning Japanese

The Salad Ballroom hit its first major snag Sunday evening, when I caught a man having a conversation with his elderly father over whether the crab-pasta salad was mayonnaise based. You’d think that by the very nature of its WHITE CREAMINESS and PASTA SALAD-NESS that its mayo-ness (lots of OBVIOUS NESSES) was a total no-shitter, but apparently, you would be wrong. You be wrong, because the man actually DIPPED HIS FINGER INTO THE PASTA SALAD AND LICKED IT, and continued on his merry way. And later, OH LATER, I watched him do the same to the poppyseed dressing WITH THE SAME FINGER.

I think this is why people are afraid of salad bars. I just happened to have lived my 32 and a half years without witnessing such an incident first-hand. But I ask you: how the HELL do you not know if a) a WHITE CREAMY PASTA SALAD has mayo in it (Hint: IT DOES); or b) what poppyseed dressing tastes like? I’m sorry, but if you don’t know the answers to either a) or b), then you don’t have the right to visit a salad bar. They should do random spot checks for such knowledge to avoid such vomitous contamination.

In other, equally stomach-churning news, it seems my basil plants have Japanese beetles. And folks, I’m PISSED. I LOVE my basil plants and use them almost every day, and while I really don’t want to go on about how absurdly proud I am of my garden (I’ll tell anyone who walks, “Hi! I HAVE A GARDEN AND IT IS AWESOME”), the truth is that I AM, and I’m not in any mood to tolerate any little iridescent beetle eviscerating my preshus baby basil plants.

Unfortunately, they were able to nearly eviscerate me, for when I went out and bought the traps (DIE BEETLES DIE), no sooner had I peeled off the protective backing to the bait was I — I mean, my body, my head, my PERSON — completely swarmed with beetles. As in, I later unearthed a beetle carcass from my bra. That shit is apparently uh, attractive to them. Too bad I was too much of a dumbass to put it ON TOP of my basil plants, thereby leading them to the food source. (Am smart.) This is total evidence that I should not have a garden and further evidence of such claims is that I found a set of mating earwigs in a lettuce head I’d just harvested and proceeded to THROW the lettuce across the room in my kitchen, losing the earwigs entirely. Somewhere in my kitchen there is a set of mating earwigs spreading their pinchy assedness throughout my entire house. GRAH. See also: screaming fits when encountering garden slugs.

Can you tell there isn’t much going on here, other than work and sweat, work and sweat, work, sweat and Dexter (season two, y’all!)? Well, that, and a visit to a farmer’s market with a friend tomorrow (artisan cheese!), and if THAT’S not riveting, I don’t know what is.

Also, look, there’s been something kind of big I’ve been keeping from you — from everyone, really — and I’m not sure how I can go on. Many people know my secret because I’ve really sucked at keeping it, and was hoping to NEVER EVER HAVE TO ADMIT IT, EVER.

I joined Twitter. Ski slopes are being groomed in Hell.

I don’t even know WHY I joined — on a Friday night, no less — but I do know that I did it on a total whim, decided to “follow” (WORST TERM EVER) Sundry, who unfortunately knew of my Twitter-hate, and within ten seconds had a direct message with little more than “HAAAAAAAAAAAAA”, followed by a similar one from Whoorl saying the same. There was a lot of laughing at my expense, and while I still hate it, sort of, I’m USING IT. AND EMBARRASSED ABOUT IT. BUT IT’S NOT STOPPING ME.

And now you know. Mock me, for I deserve it. I mocked Twitter mercilessly and now I’m uh, Tweeting (GROSS). Someone hold me or stone me or something. Because I am a hypocritical piece of crap, I KNOW.

(Between you and me, I’m only outing myself because Tessie and Swistle joined and I felt like I was HIDING when I followed them, because surprise! AM TWITTERING.)

Happy Wednesday!

*The Vapors

33 comments July 8th, 2008