Oh I had all those delusions of grandeur. I was going to spend spring break perusing all of your blogs, leaving snappy little comments and wishing you happy spring solstice. But I am failing miserably. I am a sucky blogging friend. Witty means never having to say you’re sorry. But I am, really.
Instead, Itty Bitty Consulting chief bottle washer was a slave to life in the work zone. The company that interviews me endlessly continues to have me do contract work. But they are like jealous boyfriends, all sad and spurned when I have other client meet and greets. Where are you going, when will you be back, are you kissing any other consultants? Any spare time I had I spent writing fancy assed papers on the Ethical Protocols for Maintaining Social Equity, 20 pages of bullshit frankly. But the end of the spring session is almost over and then one semester until I hop, skip and jump to that shiny abet pricy degree.
I did manage to have a ladies wine hook up with Bebe and Miss Anonymous this week in a cold dark wine cellar. It’s the oddest place, neon yellow drive in liquor store, but a secret magic cellar that you have to crawl over crates of Budweiser to get to. I may have even had to shove a few Clydesdale out of the way. Three late forties ladies on the town drinking real wine, restraining ourselves from adding ice cubes because by golly we’re sophisticated like that. We scurried off to a dark corner with plush couches after carefully inspecting for any inappropriate stains. If I have to explain this to you, this is not the blog you think it is.
But some young pup thought we were cougars on the prowl. Don Juan had spotted our giddy golden girls and sauntered over with his imagined good looks. El Boyo slightly tipsy from the beer tap, plopped down on the couch between Bebe and me. Separating her from the herd like a limping gazelle. Run Bambi Run!!!!! After expressing shock and amazement that we were indeed old enough to be his mommy, that our children were actually older than him. That shit, we had underwear older than him he starting oversharing how he spends his free time as a bar bouncer and a MMA fighter. MMA? Mommy Makes Arousal? Icky boy, move along or I’ll blog about you.
This week I went to my favorite shopping hood Trader Joe’s . We won’t discuss how I went after a riding lesson in my attractive riding britches with green horse slime down my shirt and helmet head. Instead I will share the recipe from the free samples.
Rigatoni with Artichokes in Goat Cheese Sauce
½ pound Rigatoni pasta cooked
1 can artichoke hearts drained and quartered
1 package TJ’s Chevre Goat Cheese with Kalamta Olives
1 cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
In large pan over medium heat combine the heavy cream with the goat cheese. Stir until cheese starts to melt and then add artichoke hearts. When everything is heated through, add pasta and toss to combine.
The problem with Bebe is she is too polite. When our new snuggle bunny offered us a little sip of his flavor of the month beer. I rudely declined while Bebe caved to his peer pressure and took a taste. What are you thinking? At the very least I’m sure he’s been licking toads for a cheap high our something. Perhaps it was the Stockholm syndrome. At least we can reassure ourselves that we still look better than the plaintiffs on Judge Judy. Happy week Team Tuna.