The other white meat

Do you know why in the US they promote pork as "the other white meat"? I figured it's because if you look at a piece of bacon, you see more white than red. When people cringe after I tell them that I love pork fat, I have to point out the fact that we all have our addictions; some to caffeine and some to gossiping, while I'm simply addicted to grease the same way Joan Rivers is addicted to plastic surgery. But I found a way to lessen your horror. I drain down the fat into lard, then use the lard to make pastries and I eat pork belly with zero guilt. All day long.

By the way don't let this UFO like contraption scare you. It's a convection oven and can make a pig crackle into gorgeous pork in less than an hour.

Indulge me

You know how it is when someone talks about their grandkids constantly and you can't relate to it because you don't like kids? They'd talk about how cute and funny it was, whatever the kid said or did and you're like, "shut up, I don't share your excitement fool." Well, I know that's what you'd say about me and my ramblings about "my cat". But indulge me anyway, at least I'm not posting copies of the jihadist Osama's porn collection.

This is how we hang most days. He never stay far from me.

I don't let him inside the house because he loves to roll in the dirt, the same way I love to roll around in a 600 count sheets. But the other day, he pussyfooted into my bathroom.
He's not a designer cat but I feed him designer foods and he's always begging for more...not necessarily because he's hungry but because he loves the taste of Whiskas.

Paint instead

I grew up around alcoholics; my dad and all my brothers were, but back then we didn't use that fancy word --my sister and I simply called them drunks. I didn't complain about dad's drinking except on days when it took a long time for him to pass out, because that meant I had to hide longer in the corn field. And I never heard my mom complain either, because she was too busy having her anxiety attacks.
It's not fun living with an alcoholic, I know, but if you're in that situation right now and divorce is too costly, just stock up on colored pentel pens and invite your artistic friends over. Or even the neighborhood kids.





Then send him to pick up some milk the next morning. And make sure he doesn't pass by a mirror on his way out.

Photo source: latenightmistakes.com, People of Walmart

Kids

Today is the third Saturday since my friends and I started teaching the neighborhood kids about Jesus. I round them up and bring them to my yard, and here they come, helping with the chairs to earn their keep of the "lugaw" or porridge. .
One of the kids asked me yesterday if I am going to give them some "surprise toys". When I get rich, I'll do that, I said. Anyway, I got them this and they told me they didn't need the pencil, I should have just bought more bubble gum.

Wedding or Marriage

The bride and the groom could not stop kissing after they exchanged regurgitated vows and we could not wait for them to be proclaimed husband and wife so we can proceed to the reception. So we can eat their food and guzzle their liquor. They honeymooned in an exotic island --so exotic that even the parasite that landed them in the hospital had an exotic name, but no worry they're in love. Sugar booger remember, in sickness and in health. Yes, I do. They ride on the rainbow. And then life hits them in the face. With twice the emotional upheaval as the preparation for the wedding, they're now scrambling to postpone the divorce. And hopefully stay alive in the process.

The above is a typical scenario of a typical life cycle of a man and woman in heat --which soon turned to hate. And what's even sadder is when they end the relationship obsessed with destroying each other. I knew of a woman who went to sleep comforting herself with a prayer for her ex-man to come back crawling and begging for her to take him back. "And I pray that he gets leprosy and be so broke." She says. Well, I can't help but wonder. "And would you take back a man with melted ears and zero bank account?" "Oooh, it depends." She raised her nose up in the air. It depends? Depends on what? If he still looks good minus his nose? Or how low he's crawled and how good he can make you feel by his begging?

At the start of a relationship we use words like, "he's the greatest, he's so good to me I won't know how to live without him." Then we find that we'll die if we remain with him--the ideal soon becomes an ordeal, so off we go and find a new deal. And there the cycle begins again. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm just jaded. But really, I still believe in love --that you should not give up on love, because love will take you to the finish line-- even if it makes you end up looking like this.

It's all a big deal

I woke up this morning with the neighborhood kids all calling my name, they're ready to go to church with me, they said. I don't do kids, but off to church we go.
They were determined to have fun, so I thought I should too. I told them we're going to start a rock band. They didn't understand what I meant....but I do....hmmmm.In this part of the world, everything is a big deal. Just look at our garbage on top of the garbage with wheels.
In Dallas, Chat hates their homeowners association more than facial hair, while I simply hate frogs more than anything---especially when they don't turn into a prince. Or when they park outside my door like they're part of my decor.

It's a cat, it's a pig

Finally, I am done with my commercial bread baking class. We learned recipes for breads intended for a bakery that would cater to the masses ---not for an upscale clientele. It's the kind of bread I was used to when I was growing up. For our final day bonus recipe, our instructor gave us the recipe for "lechon bread" and showed us how to shape it--- a "roast pig" bread. I just could not make mine look like a pig so I told my instructor it's a cat. "If you stare at it long enough it could pass for a pig" my instructor said after she chuckled looking at my bread.
Here she is showing us the steps.
She's right, the more I stare at it, you can psych yourself to make it look like a pig. (you can laugh out loud here)But then again, I'm not sure because it also looks like a catfish.
We did about 14 recipes, but all of us were only excited about this pan de sal.

Whatever

I once told you that I was looking forward to arriving at 50 because I felt that when a person turns 50, he or she is entitled to get ridiculously crazy or charmingly insane without having to explain. And really, no one should be questioning that because we have paid our dues.(however much that is) So when I turned 50, I milked every opportunity to go insane and my only explanation is that "because I want to." Now that I'm way past 50, my new obsession is this ugly, scrawny, why-did-you-stray into my life cat. Yesterday was the second day of my baking class and I got very anxious sitting there, I didn't want to stay because I wanted come home and be with "my cat." When I came home, here he was oogling at this cuter-than-him baby cat. Don't ask me where this baby cat came from...there's thousands of them here.


I really am bored with my baking class because it's too long..6 hours a day for 4 days, but I go because I look forward to the lunches they serve. The first day it was grilled pork belly, so even though I don't really want to go today, I will because I don't want to miss lunch. Ok, so I'm ghetto.

Baking Class

Yesterday was the first day of my baking class. Three more days left. The lady in the red apron is the teacher.I got bored and sleepy the first 3 hours, I only woke up when we started baking and I smelled the bread coming out of the oven.

Double my meds?

Chat says it is very difficult raising a parent. So I behave. I take my meds. My anti-psychotic meds. Because when I misbehave, Chat threatens me and says things like: I will double your meds and disown you. Well, am not so worried about that part, it's when she ends her sentence with, "and then I disinherit you."

I have a love-hate relationship with medication. The word "pharmacy" in Greek means poison. And yet I religiously take mine. Religiously-- meaning, when I remember them. I don't really suffer from depression, but my real malady is my anxiety attacks which is triggered by anything that I perceive as stressor to my perceived ordered and comfortable set-up. A friend dying or a changed schedule will send me on a tailspin just the same. Three ways to handle anxiety attacks; take anti-depressants on a daily basis, take a sedative at the time of the attack or winging it on a prayer. The first one is the most effective unless you want the 4th option which would be Mr. Cuervo or Mr. Beam. Then there's the fermented grape juice.