Unemployment and Surprises

I hate surprises. Even more then unemployment.

Secondly, I hate it when people show up at my house uninvited. I ALWAYS look like hell, the place is ALWAYS a wreck and sometimes there is evidence of ....er...little habits I am not ready to disclose. (Nothing illegal folks, I'm an upstanding American)

So, of course, Surfer Dude shows up on my doorstep this AM. I had not answered the phone earlier when he'd called. I was still in bed. (It's an unemployment thing.)

When he arrived I was in the shower and he scared the heck out of me. This set the stage for the next hour. Ladies and Gentlemen, it's not pretty. Perhaps get a tissue?

I sent Surfer Dude my resume yesterday. He arrived today having re-written the entire thing.

He dove immediately into how my resume was terrible, had sentence fragments and redundancies galore. He read one line out loud and said that if he had received this resume he would have said, "OTL loser". He was frankly disgusted by it and it showed on his face. (Have I ever mentioned that I don't like to be criticized? I don't) So I'm trying to clean up the place in my bathrobe, no make up on, red face....I'm not even listening to him. Still...

This makes me MAD. I told him to go to hell. Remember, I'm sexy like that.

At one point he asked why I hadn't answered the phone and was it because I hadn't come home last night? Further, he detected dishes in the sink which made it appear that I had cooked breakfast for two.

(Yes, two of ME). Inappropriate jealousy reared it's ugly head. (Did I mention that his father abused his mother?) I've been waiting for Surfer Dude to display similar behavior. I think I saw it once before and...ignored it. That's what you do when you're innocent.

Irrational jealousy and all that it insinuates is an out and out insult. I told him to "stop insulting me" to which he replied, "if you can't take the heat get out of the kitchen". I cleverly retorted, "dude, you're in MY kitchen".

Then it got ugly. I told him I didn't need him to re-write my resume because I've obtained every job I ever applied for. (slight lie) He told me I was the most ungrateful woman he had ever met. (slightly true) He took his painting ladder (the symbol of our relationship) and left. One minute it's there, the next it's not.

All I can say is that the apple pie's powers were not enough. I meant to go to his place yesterday to make the lasagna (in which case everything would be fine) but chose to work on my resume instead.

Unemployment is messing up my life. I've been unemployed for 15 days.

Oh and...after he left I decided to actually read the resume he re-wrote. He was totally correct. It was MUCH better. So I made the changes and sent one out today.

Surfer Dude is, I think, gone. But I may have dodged a bullet.

Chicken Enchiladas and Unemployment

You wouldn't think these two things had anything to do with each other, would ya?

They do if your strategy is to feed Surfer Dude so that he'll just rescue you from the madness and you'll never have to work again.

But I don't want to marry Surfer Dude. And those days, the days of our mothers, are long gone. Plus, I'd go crazy. Or...get crazier.

He came over yesterday after his interview with Allergan. Yep, we're both a couple of out of work losers. I made simple Green Chicken Enchiladas for lunch. They have tons of oozy sharp chedder melted over the top, with little crisp bits of cheese. No wonder I have high cholesterol.

GREEN CHICKEN ENCHILADAS
4 chicken breasts (throw in crock pot w/ water for 4 hrs on high, or 8 on low, or just boil and drain and shred)
1 1/2 c green salsa - hot
1 small container sour cream
chopped green onions, a few. Optional: some cilantro if you're in the mood, green chilis or a chopped up jalapeno if you feel spicy. I always feel spicy...well lately.
2 cups of sharp cheddar

Mix all of that together in a bowl.

Heat corn tortillas in some oil in a frying pan to soften and fill/roll tortillas with above mixture and line them up in a lasagna pan. Pack em in.

Pour 28 oz of green enchilada sauce over the enchiladas. I like "Las Palmas" and cover with MORE grated sharp cheddar. Lots. At least another two cups. Maybe put a row of sliced olives or sliced jalapenos across the top. Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes. Thats it. It's comfort food.


Surfer Dude asked me to live with him after lunch. These enchiladas, are that good.

So stay tuned.

Apple Pie

Here is the recipe for the apple pie Surfer Dude will NOT stop talking about.

Seriously, he won't stop.

a

Frankly, this apple pie is the only thing holding our relationship together. I can build on that.

Crunch Top Apple Pie
Dough for a double crust 9-inch pie (homemade, frozen, or refrigerated)

3/4 cup sugar

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Dash salt

3 1/2 cups peeled, chopped cooking apples

1 (16-ounce) jar applesauce - cinnamon flavor

1 tablespoon lemon juice

2 tablespoons butter,

chopped into small pieces

Crunch Topping:
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

Dash salt

1 tablespoon butter, at room temperature

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Line a 9-inch pie pan with half of dough. Combine sugar, flour, cinnamon, and salt in a bowl. Stir in apples, applesauce, and lemon juice. Spoon apple mixture into pie pan and dot with butter. Cut remaining crust into strips; arrange in a lattice design over top of pie. For crunch topping, combine flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Using a fork, cut in butter until mixture is crumbly. Sprinkle over top of crust. Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 350 degrees and continue to bake for about 45 minutes, or until crust and topping are golden brown.

Tomorrow's Lasagna. Oh baby.

Menopausal Sex in the City

Because I had a really big week which included getting laid off and, er, getting... (I want to say it.)

I can't say it. You say it.

I can say that it's a slippery slope, Ladies and Gentleman, from Middle-Aged-Born-Again-Virgin to...Menopausal Hussy. It was a monumental event for me. It deserves special attention.

The details are gory. This is no place for the squeamish. Run. It's your last chance.

After 3 months of dating, and a devastating introduction to unemployment. I was weak. I was pressured. The fight had gone out of me.

I had already decided to kick Surfer Dude to the curb because of some weird things he'd done:

1. Refusing to take me to my favorite restaurant.
2. Turning every conversation into "how it was about him"
3. Bringing me flowers only twice.
4. Clearing out a drawer in his dresser for...who knows what? How presumptuous!

I was in the process of packing up my things and storming out the door (I was at his house). It was late, he grabbed me and in so doing, threw out his back and fell to the floor. This made me laugh.

I laugh at other peoples' pain.

Then I decided...what the heck. I'll just leave in the morning. I'd stayed over before and had avoided "it" like the plague. I had a plethora of excuses, 3 months worth. (Who am I kidding, I had excuses sufficient to last years.) Then it dawned on me. I wonder if I CAN do it? Maybe some anatomical transformation has occurred and...OMG, maybe I've become a... mutant!

Did I mention that I majored in Biology? So um...the mutant crack is, uh...a lie.

Surfer Dude said, "When are you going to jump in the deep end of the pool, Charmaine"

I've heard more romantic phrases. I guess a swimming pool reference was what I was waiting for.

Surfer Dude is, shall we say, a small man. He is not tall. He has small feet. Um, he drives an SUV. You get the picture. But I liked that about him. It was less scarey.

Things were going along fine, after we got past the whole "What the hell is that? Is that a panty liner? "Yes. Um no, not really, it's just my hormone patch" . It was the first time I had said this out loud. Then he said, "I can do this for hours".

"Ahhhh" I screamed. "You'd better NOT". Then I gave him a biology lesson right there on the spot. Yes, I did. I said, "The act (I used the biological definition) is not how most women achieve ...bla bla bla.

I'm sexy like that.

Then he said, "I'm very good at this. The bedroom is my Laboratory (he's a scientist/chemist). But...I mean really?? It was too much. I laughed out loud and aborted the experiment being conducted in Surfer Dudes "love lab".

He's coming over tomorrow to paint my bedroom.

Not the most romantic re-introduction to "it" and not what I would consider the foundation for a long and successful marriage but....

It's all I've got.

Oh and...I'm not a mutant.

Favorite thing Surfer Dude said to me today:

"Tard, please don't forget to do your workout today so that we can continue to add girth and muscle mass to your legs." (He thinks he's my trainer)

Favorite thing Surfer Dude said to me yesterday:

"That apple pie you made is the best freaking thing I have ever eaten in my life". Given the topic of this post and the fact that some of you are vulgar vulgar people....(you know I love ya) I must clarify that I did indeed make the worlds best apple pie. I'm gonna post the recipe with a special shout out to Briana and Amanda to please make it. Do it for the children.

Surfer Dude

Background (re-post I) on Evil Surfer Dude so you can comprehend the gravity of the possible upcoming booty call.

Perhaps it was the peer pressure of my former colleagues that convinced me re-think my "rules". I have rules when it comes to dating. I used to have the three (3) month rule.

Seven years ago I adopted: The No-hanky-panky-until-the-wedding-night rule.

I know. I KNOW! I slipped up before. But not in seven (7) years. Not once. That means ... you know what it means. Seven (7) years is a LONG time.


See, when I turned 40 I just decided to stop being a "performance artists." I held a press conference where I announced with solemnity, "The next man I am with WILL be my husband. Thank you. I will now accept questions." (reporters rush in with microphones)


My "rules" led me to many long term relationships (longer then many marriages). I slipped up, of course, but not until obtaining certain "assurances". There were always a marriage proposals, which I deflected.

This time, I didn't wait.

Along came surfer dude. (This is a re-post. He had not yet earned the title "Evil Surfer Dude".)

He's weird, unnattractive, attentive, educated, financially secure and never married. After a couple of months he began bandying about the love/marriage combo punch in addition to the "I've never felt this way before" maneuver followed by the "how do you feel about spending the rest of your life with me" upper cut. (I've always been immune to this manipulation).


Then, I got laid off from my job. Suddenly, I was vulnerable.

Throw in the early onset of menopause and yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I heard blasting sirens. Whir whir. "Warning, middle aged woman's expiration date approaching. Abandon ship/rules.

With morbid thoughts of a future eating cat food from my curbside home on 73rd and La Cienega (under a cozy bridge) I lept to the conclusion; maybe he's the one? It won't be so bad, I mean it's better then living under a bridge.

Public Service Announcement: Fear of living under a bridge is not the proper foundation for marriage.

Quote from our last date:

Surfer Dude: "What's this stuck on the bottom of my flip flop?
Charmaine: "I dunno".
Surfer Dude: "It looks like your hormone patch". Oh my God, it IS your hormone patch!
Charmaine: Failes to respond.

Apologies

I would like to apologize to my loyal fans, both of you, for the conspicuous lack of entries of late. Following the date with Mr. Produce, I met him again and basically hated him.

Then I met a surfer dude on plenty of fish.com. He's slight of build, girly actually, talks like a 19 year old surf rat uttering things like, "I'm totally stoked and honored that you are going out with me, Hun". He is a molecular chemist (scientist). So he's multi-dimensional, ya know, like yours truly.

I don't know what it is....but somethings cooking.

:-)

As a booby prize here is a picture of me in Fiji last week.