I’m coming back

After an extended absence due to work and life in general, I do have a couple of posts in development. The old neighborhood rant type of posts.

Part of what’s been occupying my time lately is the NHL playoffs. Some of you know I’m 35+ year New York Ranger fan. I never thought they’d make the playoffs this year. I’m not a fair weather fan, I’m simply realistic. I will be content if 1994 remains their only Stanley Cup in my lifetime-at least I’ve seen one. But another would be nice.

So far, I’ve let superstitions dictate my playoff viewing. And I’ve been trading game commentary texts with an old high school friend – all positively reinforcing our NYR support. After last night’s nail-biting game, I’m not sure I can sit through tonight’s game.

This morning I received the following text from my NYR fanatic friend:

My initial thought was to reply that I, too, thought the Rangers might fail. But to support Ovechkin? The Ranger buzzkill?

Thankfully, soon after she informed me it was a prank pulled by a Caps fan colleague of hers. I’ve resisted the urge to trash talk back. I don’t want to eat my words later. All I have to say is: LET’S GO RANGERS!!

For the motherless and childless on Mother's Day

Reblogged from Hippie Cahier:

• 

In one of my earliest memories, grown-ups are huddled together under a dimly lit chandelier, most of them sobbing.  As I watch from nearby, my toddler heart breaks for  the woman whose grief seems inconsolable and also for those who are trying, helplessly and in vain,  to comfort her.

My father is there, with my sister, “the baby,” on his hip.

Read more… 734 more words

A moving post for Mother's Day from one of my favorite bloggers.

Fighting Fire With Fire

<Alert to male readers: although the first paragraph may make you squirm, I promise, it doesn’t get more cloyingly female.  Stick with me and you may learn something to help your currently-afflicted or later to be affected female partner.>

Almost four years ago, I had a hysterectomy (aka The Happiest Day of My Life).  My ovaries were left behind.  No big deal because it DID instantly cure a lifetime of monthly misery.  I was told that the dreaded beast called menopause would still pay me a visit because my ovaries were still there.  At that point, what did I care? It simply brought an end to six-to-eight ghastly days each month.

During this past month of July after turning in for the night, there were several occasions where I awoke with my torso drenched with sweat glistening with moisture. It began right around the time that the Connecticut summer finally kicked in with typical 90+ degree temperatures and 85+% humidity.  Even my keratin-treated hair began to frizz.

I simply attributed the multiple occurring moments of nightly discomfort to be a result of the weather.  But then I stopped and thought, “Well, Betty, your central air is set at 70˚ at night.  It canNOT be the weather.”

True That.

At my annual doctor visit last week, I told him of my night sweats (ugh, I’m sure you can tell I was trying everything possible to avoid owning that phrase.) He said, “On average, women begin menopause at age 51.4.”  I had just turned 51 three weeks prior.  There you go.  Average Betty.

At the same time, my first attempt at growing habanero peppers on a suburban deck began to pay off.  It started slowly.  A single habanero finely diced into chili.  Excellent heat and flavor.  A few days later, an attempt at jerk marinated chicken containing the four peppers that had ripened.  Even better.

hot hot hot

As the crop continues to ripen, I’m struggling to keep up with recipes utilizing these fierce chiles. Tonight I made a Thai Red Curry Chicken Pasta dish.  I have a high tolerance for culinary heat. Any time I go to a restaurant where the menu offers diners the opportunity to request a specific level of hotness, I always specify the maximum.  And I’m never fully satisfied. When home cooking, I ALWAYS go overboard on the quantity of chiles called for in a recipe.

But satisfaction has been realized in an entirely different way.  I’ve experienced a decrease in the occurrence of night sweats that has been in direct proportion to my increased habanero consumption.  The more heat I pump into my body via jerk marinade or pineapple habanero salsa, the less my internal middle-aged furnace tries to force heat to escape.

So, my advice to anyone dealing with the dreadful side effects of menopause: consume habanero chiles in any way, shape or form you can. Spread the word.  It works for me.

Growing Your Own is the Way to Go.

I’m now at the point where at least 5-7 habanero chiles fully ripen on my deck plants each day.  Please forward me any recipes you may have to make use of the bumper crop.  Or, if you live in CT, let me know and I’ll personally deliver a freshly-picked batch.

I plan to test every recipe for the preservation of habanero peppers that I can find. Tomorrow I will be threading a string through about 16 of them and hanging above an air vent in my office in attempt to dry/preserve these wonderful gems of my menopause relief. If you have any recipes to recommend, please share.

Special note to contact lens wearers: most recipes using habanero peppers recommend the use of rubber gloves while chopping and handling.  Feeling quite confident about my ability to handle the intensity of the habanero on my taste buds, I didn’t completely discount the handling cautions, but nor did I take it seriously.  Please be advised that up to six separate hand washings are insufficient to cleanse the fire from your fingers.  I could wash my hands over the course of six or seven hours and I still singe my eyeballs when trying to remove my contact lenses.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t done it three times now.

The eyeball burn is still better than night sweats.

Elder Betty – The Official Beer of The Bubble

I’m not much of a beer drinker.  A couple of times in the summer, then around Thanksgiving a decade-plus-long Johnsondorf family tradition of Harpoon’s Winter Warmer.  Since I’m having a few people over for a 4^th of July celebration, I decided to stock a six-pack or two of something new and different.

A few weeks ago I was shopping for a beer to use in bread baking (that’s mostly what I buy beer for…as well as a couple of slow cooker stew-type recipes).  At that time, I noticed a blueberry flavored beer.  Because I’ve been on a fruit kick lately, that was the beer I intended to purchase.

But when I started gazing at the selection, a watermelon ale caught my eye.  As I opened the cooler to reach for the six-pack, I saw an adjacent label that seemed to say Elder Betty.  I assumed my middle-aged eyes were deceiving me (I didn’t have my reader glasses handy) and I saw that the beer was flavored with elderberry.  It still looked like Betty to me so I bought it.

I googled around and it turns out, the beer actually IS called Elder Betty.  How perfect is that?  I hereby proclaim Magic Hat’s Elder Betty 

the official beer of the Bubble.  Makes me recall Patty Punker’s 

 plea to Franzia to sponsor her blog….

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas…unless it’s posted on a blog

I had the privilege of bringing The Oma on a recent business trip to Las Vegas. For a more comprehensive experience of his adventures, I encourage you to visit The Oma Today Project. While the primary mission of the week in Vegas was business, The Oma did manage to see the sights and enjoy the debauchery for which Las Vegas is famous.

Following are several outtake photos from the adventure that might have exceeded the boundaries of good taste to allow publication on the primary blog. But The Oma made so many new friends, I had to share them in this more R-rated forum.

An innocent start to the night. Thank you to the services of a Chicago resident for giving The Oma a boost.

The Oma moves in to uncork the wine

…and promptly drains the bottle

Later that night, The Oma is kidnapped and spends the night with someone other than Betty.

After taking a night off for room service and healing, The Oma knows his nights in Vegas are numbered and decides to make some new friends.

The A-team

Matching guns

Michael didn’t like The Oma getting close to Sue

So Louis encourages The Oma to try for Kim

Viva Las Vegas, my friends!

Back to my Roots

It’s pretty clear that I’ve had very little to say over the better part of this year. Even though my muse/partner-in-crime, June B. Stewart, no longer walked the beat with me, I still thought I’d have things to say. Apparently not.

In addition to June’s absence, I guess I didn’t realize that there was simply nothing interesting happening in the Bubble.  Until….the tenants in Unit B (which shares a porch with my unit and another) moved out.  Swell, here we go again. Most importantly, it reminded me why I launched this blog.

I won’t bore you with the usual petty b.s. that happens when a neighboring condo unit turns over. But those of you who know a little something about me know that while I’m basically a laid back, easy going person, unwritten condo common courtesy parking infractions send me over the edge. It’s the Betty possession.

After three weeks of watching the new arrivals in Unit B blatantly disregard established parking courtesies, they continued to park in my second space, which admittedly is not occupied even close to 24/7.  But since each condo unit is entitled to two parking spaces at all times, I act like an unreasonable lunatic to ensure that the four to six total hours a day that I might need my second space, it’s available.

So, as Mr Unit B (whom we’ve officially nicknamed DB) and the four cars associated with him continued to park beyond the two spaces to which he was entitled, I dropped this “joke” parking citation on his windshield one morning.  He did not find it humorous. Come on, wouldn’t you laugh if someone hit you with it?  Especially the hummer violation.

If you didn't laugh when this was dropped on your windshield, then you are probably a jerk.

Have a great Thanksgiving holiday!

xo

Betty

Payback’s a bitch. Revenge served cold – 6 year old style.

If you’ve read my rubber snake post, you know the background.  (If not, check this out first.)

Soon after scaring the bejeezus out of my housecleaner, I decided to launch the snake on my six-year old neighbor, Lola. I did ask her mother’s permission, of course.  I may not be fond of children, but I know where to draw the line.  Plus, this kid is cool. You can actually have an interesting conversation with her.

I knew that Lola was a prankster, so I asked her Mom if it would be okay for me to put the snake in their mailbox.  Lola’s newest extension of boundaries allowed her to walk to the mailbox herself to collect their mail. Mom thought the snake was a great idea.

I watched from my window as she skipped to the mailbox, opened it and….immediately grabbed the snake, dancing around with laughter.  Within seconds, my doorbell rang and there was Lola mocking my pathetic attempt to snake her.  I then told her that the snake was hers to pay forward. I explained that revenge was best served cold.  The next day, she sprang it on her father.  She had it waiting in the bathroom for him.  I was disappointed. She just didn’t get it.

Or did she?

This afternoon, a good three months since I snaked her, I stepped out with the wiener dog to collect my mail.  I opened the mailbox to this:

Ben, is that you?

I’ll admit, my initial reaction was fear.  But then I connected the dots.  I could not, however, bring myself to touch it. Its paws just looked so creepy.  I brought the wiener dog back inside. I knew if she was beside me when I pulled it out, she’d come unglued, thinking it was another fun thing to chase like squirrels and chipmunks (the latest Bubble invaders.)

I returned to the mailbox to collect the rat and my mail. As I walked back to the porch that is shared with Lola and her family, there she stood. Bent over with laughter. She knew she got me.  But the rat is now mine. The wheels are turning.  Who will be the next victim?  And what does Lola have in mind for the snake?  I haven’t forgotten that she’s still sitting on it. Two in play.

Would you ever expect evil glee from a cute kid like this?

A Perfect Example of When Facebook is a Good Thing

Let’s face it. Everyone’s got their own idea of Facebook’s place in the world. There are those who sign on minimally – the anonymous avatar,  birth date and year just slightly off , only a list of  the last few “Betty is now friends with Hippie Cahier,” type posts. Others jump in a little bit deeper, adding a photo, venturing back a few decades to high school and remaining current with some friends made along the professional way. Some of these folks simply lurk, others dabble with comments across a wide range of friends.

Then there’s the set of Facebook friends we all dread: the all-out friend whore multi-level assault.

Of course, there are different levels of assault. Most annoying is the “friend” who reaches out to every person they can call to memory (and often some they can’t), then communicate as if they were best friends back in the 70s or 80s (even if they rolled in different circles), and post TMI status updates.

Today, however, I’m writing about the joy that diverse friend bases can bring.  Unlike many who enjoy the quantity friendship Facebook can provide, my “friend” list is fluid. I would say I’m active on the site at least once a week and take a few moments every Friday to “thin the herd. “

Those who remain are a group appreciated for the variety of things they add to my life. Just a few minutes ago, I signed onto Facebook and viewed the home page listing the most recent news from my friends. It warmed my heart to see the following two updates side-by-side (one is an “actual” friend, the other is a “fan friend” for a driver in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series):

<name deleted to protect the innocent> werd up these new babymomma stollers look like escalades…me and my brother were zip tied and ducked taped to my uncles old unicycle with a leash…. · Comment · Like

XXXX driver Just got home from qualifying to a house full of Krissie’s family for another baby shower. It’s amazing how someone so small will require so much stuff! · Comment · Like

How beautiful is that?

I’ve been “tagged”

photo via cheezburger.com

Fellow blogger, Hippie Cahier, has been kind enough to tag me in one of those “interview”-type chains and I’m happy to oblige. I’ve been in a bit of a writing drought and welcome the motivation to get back to it.  Please be sure to check out Hippie’s blog, too –  I know you’ll enjoy it as much as I do!

1. If you could have any superpower, what would you have? Why?

My preferred mode of travel

I would like to have the superpower held by Jeannie (from the 60s sitcom, I Dream of Jeannie) that enables her to instantly travel anywhere by simply folding her arms and blinking. I’d travel a lot more (and a lot more stress-free) if I didn’t have to get on a plane.

2. Who is your style icon?

Oooh, um, I have no style. Although I did once compare my dog walking attire to Carl Spackler in Caddyshack. I do know enough to clean up/dress up when necessary. In those cases, I try to follow the advice presented by Clinton Kelly and Stacy London on TLC’s What Not to Wear.  This doesn’t necessarily mean I can pull it off, but I try.

3. What is your favorite quote? That can change with the seasons. My current favorite is something I heard Tony Bourdain say on an episode of No Reservations, “There’s a party inside my skull.”  I feel that way a lot and for multiple reasons.

4. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

Okay, I’m sure this is going to sound corny but….last fall, at my 30 year high school reunion, the former head cheerleader came up to me and said that she always viewed me as her competition.  Say what? She was (and still is) prettier, thinner, and more personable than I am. The cheerleader keyword probably tipped you off. My crowd in high school was more like….let me put it this way: if I attended Ridgemont High, I would have been friends with Jeff Spicoli. Anyway, she went on to explain that she viewed me as competition because apparently I attended a high school dance with her soon-to-be high school sweetheart (and now husband). It was a one date deal that I barely remember but now will never forget because that compliment made my day (my decade.)

5. What playlist/cd is in your CD player/iPod right now?

I’m listening to a playlist called “Cocktail Party.” The song currently playing is Girl (by Beck) and, to give you a bit of a feel for the playlist, the next five tunes are Bittersweet Symphony (The Verve), Psychic City (Yacht), Young Forever (Jay-Z feat. Mr. Hudson), Peaceful World (John Mellencamp), Champagne Supernova (Oasis).

6. Are you a night owl or a morning person?

Very much a morning person. Every morning, whether midweek or weekend, I awake unassisted anywhere between 5:30 and 6:15am.

7. Do you prefer dogs or cats?

Without a doubt, dogs.  Cats are the devil’s spies.

8. What is the meaning behind your blog name?

When I moved into my current home, the previous occupant passed away a couple of weeks later and took possession of me. Her name was Betty (read About Betty for the rest of it, that says it all).

Who needs ADT when there’s Batman?

This is a photo of a home in a fringe section of the Bubble.  Batman is stationed on a corner of the house near the garage and facing the street. Could these folks have been inspired by my use of cardboard Dale Jr. as a nightwatchman? Just a little something to let you know I’m still out here.

Awaiting the Penguin