Adventures of The Yellow Peril

HONEST TO GOD

My youngest sister went camping in Tennessee this weekend, and she called tonight to relay this story.  Two relevant pieces of information: 1) she didn't really know the people she was camping with except for one guy; and 2) while my family camps on occasion, we're not extraordinarily outdoorsy people.  Because I was laughing too hard, the below excerpt isn't verbatim, but it's pretty close:

"Now, I'm all nervous during this trip about how I'm going to get along with all these people, because I'd heard they really love God, and not that there's anything wrong with that, but you know, I don't really know the guy.  Or Guy.  Whatever.  Except ... halfway through the night, I find out that most of the people on the trip are virgins, and then that pretty much freaks me out.  I mean, I've seen the movies, and I know what happens to virgins in the woods.  You might as well have strapped a T-bone steak on my back and let the bears have at me."

I'm not saying she needs to quit her day job, but I'd pay for more funnies like this one.

Sorry if I offended anyone.

AND THEN BEEF, SAUTEED WITH PEAS AND ONIONS

The next time you're struggling to figure out what to make for dessert, try this recipe, which I ate yesterday at a Malaysian restaurant on M Street:

3 cups shaved ice (requires snow cone machine or ice storm);

3 tbsp. brown sugar;

1/2 cup evaporated milk

Sound good?  Oh wait, I'm just getting started:

3 tbsp. peanuts, unsalted

3 tbsp. red kidney beans, partially cooked

3 tbsp. creamed corn (canned, if you don't have creamed)

Unidentified black gelatinous substance, to taste.

Add top three ingredients to a bowl; then add remaining ingredients.  Serve immediately.  Watch as everyone around you vomits in their mouth, then asks you, "What the EFF is this?"

To which you reply, "Just a little something I learned from the Malaysians, courtesy of The Peril."

I wish I knew how to transfer photos from my cell phone to my blog. 

PS - Yeah, it totally tastes like feet.

OXYMORON MORON

I managed to lock myself out of the house today with the TV on and corn boiling on the stove. 

I managed to lock myself out of the house today without my cell phone or shoes.

I traipsed around the garage for about fifteen minutes, cursing my stupidity and trying to find a way back in.  I bent a paper clip on the lock, Inspector Gadget-style, and discovered that I am terrible at picking locks.

I finally left the garage, remembering that a spare key was available up the street at a neighbor's house.  I couldn't remember which neighbor it was, and since I didn't have my cell phone, calling was out of the question.  Again, I was also not wearing shoes and didn't want the entire neighborhood to know that the hick from South Carolina had done gone locked herself out of the effing house for the second time since moving in.

By minute 18, I was standing in front of the house, wondering why anyone would have security rivaling a lockdown at the NSA.  I dropped the F-bomb, loudly and twice.

Then, I remembered that earlier that day, I'd left the front door unlocked.  I'd figured that I'd leave the house to take out the trash and go for a walk, and because the number of locks on this house truly baffles me, I'd done it deliberately to avoid such a situation.  How I managed to forget this minor detail for 21 minutes now escapes me.  I scampered up to the front door, held my breath, turned the knob, and ... voila.  The corn was drying out in the pot, but otherwise still salvagable.  The TV was blaring "My Super Sweet Sixteen," which would have been mildly embarrassing, had I actually needed the neighbors' spare.  I don't need the entire street to know that I have the cultural tastes of a preteen.

In conclusion, I am an idiot.  The only comfort I have is that in 27 years, I have become an idiot with built-in safeguards. 

At least I think.

NEVER AGAIN, ETHIOPIAN

I've had Ethiopian food for the second time in two weeks. 

I've also come to the conclusion that I don't like Ethiopian food.  The spongy bread weirds me out too much.  Also, I can't stop making inappropriate jokes about it.

What bothers me even more is that I have yet to have a really, really quality meal in this city.  JH warned me about this, but I didn't listen.  I was convinced that, by sheer population size, there was fantastic food to be had all over the place.  In the past week, I've had $50 sushi that tasted like rubber, a chicken marsala dish that kind of tasted like the back of an airplane seat, and -- the most egregious offense -- a chicken parmesan sandwich made with -- wait for it -- Diced.  Grilled. Chicken.  Breading on a chicken parm is the glue which holds the entire sandwich -- nay, civiliation -- intact.  Oh, if Hog Island could see me now, I'd be ashamed.  So very ashamed.

The inevitable conclusion of all of these horrendous meals is that it's time to start cooking.  I love catching up with all of my friends, but for reals, I don't like to wake up the next morning from some god awful meal feeling like death.  I miss Whole Foods.  They have them here, but it's not the same.  I miss Central Market.  God, I miss Polvo's (this fantastic Mexican restaurant in Austin that stole my heart two years ago and has yet to give it back).  I didn't even get to say goodbye.  The problem is, I think I'm finally going to have to go through the basement and unpack my kitchen boxes, and I hate unpacking.  Especially when I just have to move again in September (long story about that, but if you know of anyone that's renting out a 2 BR apartment for September with parking and doesn't smell like cat pee, give us a holla).

In other news, I ran possibly the dorkiest 10K on Saturday ever with J and a new Iowa kid that I managed to bully into running with us.  Afterwards, we drank bloody marys and watched the World Cup, and then later that evening I met up with Kanye and Pooky and various other significant others for dinner.  Don't even make me talk about the food at dinner.  I'm too traumatized on the inside. 

CLEANING OUT THE 'FRIDGE

What do you do with 6 slices of stale bread, 2 mushy bananas, and a handful of dried Ranier cherries?

Why, turn it into a bread pudding, of course. 

I am a golden god.

HIT ME AGAIN

We're running another 10K on Saturday.  With 4,000 other legal professionals.  It starts and finishes at a harbor.

Insert lawyers-at-the-bottom-of-the-river joke here.

GENIE IN A BOTTLE

I'm going to start off by telling you that, as I sat in traffic on Tuesday, I thought to myself, "Man, if I had three wishes right now, one of them would be to hear Nick Lachey's 'What's Left of Me.'"  Not my proudest moment, I know.  In fact, it's usually one of those things you'd just keep to yourself.

But then -- but then -- it came on the radio not 5 seconds later.  This development, of course, led me to the logical conclusion that I only have 2 wishes left.  Whoever my genie is, he decided at the absolute worst moment that Tuesday was the day my wishes would begin.  God. Damn. It.

So, ever since then, I've been careful.  I haven't wished for a lot of things that I usually otherwise would, like the ceviche at Cafe Citron to not taste like lime-marinated ass, or that I could be seven feet tall so I could reach that bottle of Grey Goose.  I'll probably use one of my wishes on passing the bar without having to try very hard, seeing as my study habits currently consist mostly of eating really fattening foods and drinking excessively.  They say that the fear of failing the bar prompts you to study like you've never studied before, but for some reason right now the only thing I have going for me is the irresistible urge to go out and sear some ahi tuna or cover my face in the caramel sauce on the French toast at Logan Tavern.

I'm not sure what the last wish would be.  Most likely, it would involve money.  I know, it's incredibly tacky and generic, but hey, as you've clearly seen from the above discussion, a girl's gotta eat.  If I had some sort of system where I had a "minor" wish, like something I could just wish for without having to actually spend one of my two remaining wishes, it would be to have a week like I've just had.  Guys, I had no idea that when I moved here, there'd be some of the best people from Austin here, too.  It's like when the cast of "Friends" went to London.  Same great people, new location, and ample opportunity to mock the British.

For example, tonight I drank caprinhas on J's rooftop and ate Ethiopian food with WG and J.  Sidenote: combined with JH, having J here makes me feel like I have actual family here.  Of course, I had to refrain from making the obvious jokes ("Do they even have food in Ethiopia?"  "What am I getting there?  Beans and tepid water?").  I didn't want to go to hell any faster than I already am, you know.  It turns out that I'm a big fan of the cuisine.  I'm convinced that there's even better Ethiopian food to be had, so I'm going to go to trusty Google to figure that out in the next few days.  I like the concept of eating without silverware, off of one gi-mongous plate lined with spongy bread that everyone else shares with you.  I think I might start doing that all the time.  Except instead of one big plate for everyone, it will just be one big plate...for me.  And spongy bread is great for absorbing sauces, which makes it an excellent medium for me to be carrying around in my day bag.  You know, just in case I run into some mole, or curry, or, gosh, I don't know, some sauce I haven't even heard of yet.

In other news, the Iowa kids are turning out to be good fun, and it's been great hanging out with high school friends again in addition to the Texas people.  I saw a truly horrendous movie this week, "Keeping Up With The Steins."  If you really hate someone that you can't get rid of, buy them a ticket to the movie.  I promise you they'll get the point and leave you alone.  I mean, seriously, you know it's a bad movie when Neil Diamond shows up at the end to sing his rendition of "Hava Nagila," and you get excited.  Even the sight of Jeremy Piven's abs didn't do enough to save this movie, and he has surprisingly good abs. 

And lastly, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to pass the bar.  See above.