Fried Chicken & Lentils

Everyday Life with Jodie and Susan

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France, Our Second Best Friend

You know England is our best friend, but there was that one time we got in a huge fight because they were totally trying to be the boss of us, so we suddenly got a lot closer to our second best friend, who gave us a huge statue for our front yard of a lady holding an old-fashioned flashlight, but later on we settled our differences and went back to being best friends with our first best friend and all was right with the world…for a while.

Just a few years ago, a few of us around here got super mad at our second best friend because they wouldn’t “support” us when we were going through “a hard time,” and by hard time, I mean having a war with some other people who weren’t even on our friend list.  People wouldn’t drink anything from France or owned by a French company, but I was like “Great!  More for me!”

After yesterday’s post, I got to thinking what a little Francophile I was in sixth grade.  I developed a heavy crush on France during that summer because I was exposed to classes in French, which made me think I’d be parlez-vous-ing Francais in just a couple weeks, and I got to eat chocolate mousse, sealing my love of all things French forever, or until I learned  that mousse had raw egg whites in it.  There weren’t too many French citizens roaming around western Kentucky back in the 1980’s, so I was free to delight in the imaginary French experience I was having.  When I was 19, I got to fulfill my life’s dream by going to Paris, France, which I found ridiculously expensive, having just come from one of the cheapest places to live in America.  Yes, they had the Eiffel Tower and it was great, but I had to pay $4 for ice cream!

So, I was surprised to have a French experience in the American southwest a couple of years ago.  At every tourist destination, there were tons of international tourists, which was fine.  I mean, yay, come and spend your money here (see previous post).  But, at one hotel when I was eating breakfast, a French-speaking man, who could have been Canadian as my friend pointed out, told me to move out of my chair to another table “becauzzze you air one and we air four.”

As mentioned, I am from western Kentucky, which is the south, and you would no more inconvenience someone by asking them to move out of their chair than you would to ask them to hold your bomb so you could light the fuse.  In western Kentucky, ten people might hover around waiting for a single person to move from a table for ten, but they would never say something because that would be RUDE.  You can sit in front of the green light on your cel phone with a line of cars behind you all the way to the next town and no one will even so much as honk the horn to tell you to get a move on there because that would be RUDE.  So, I was taken aback by his demand that I get up in the middle of my breakfast and make way for his group.  I grumbled to myself, but I didn’t say anything to his face because that would be RUDE.  But I thought it.  And, that, my friends, is the real reason France is not our first best friend.  That and the language thing.



My Florida (European) Vacation

I guess I am jealous of Susan’s recent visit to Florida, so I am going to share my impressions of Florida on a trip I had a few years ago.  I was surprised because it was like we were in Europe, surrounded by tons of English people, a few French, and one older Italian-Canadian couple.  Once I adjusted to the idea, I had mixed feelings.  It’s good because we’ll never be able to afford a real vacation to England, so it was like getting a free one without the passports and culture shock, but bad, because America is becoming the low-rent place for Europeans to slum around in with their strong Euro while we’re limping along on our sad little dollar.  The crappy little hotel we could afford to stay in was owned by this cool guy, a former garage mechanic I believe, who was always telling our daughter to “be a good girl for mummy and daddy” in his low-class English garage mechanic accent.  We would sort of stand near him half the time at the broken shuffle board court, just so we could hear him talk.

The Italian man asked me if I supported war since it was during the Iraq invasion and I said no, kind of surprised at his directness.  Then he started crying and telling me how he had to run from bombs when he was a teenager during WWII.  He was so scared and had no shoes, so I felt pretty bad about everything, even though I didn’t support war, and so, to assuage my feelings and his, I started bringing him and his wife little presents of chocolate and other things every night because of what he had to suffer when he was younger, even though I wasn’t born then and couldn’t really make up for it.  I guess that was the poignant part of the trip.

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I Contemplate Getting One of Those Job-Creator Jobs

I guess I can get a job cleaning a job creator’s mansion.  Or maybe as a nanny or perhaps polishing their limo.  In any case, I am really looking forward to one of those job-creator created jobs.  In any case, I certainly don’t want to raise taxes on the superrich because they won’t have money to pay me for the job they created.


Car sales

We just returned from a visit to central Fl. We drove there in our little car, up and down interstate 75. As we travelled, our four year old son would exclaim “look at all those balloons, can we go there”?! The place that he repeatedly wanted to visit… a car lot. Which got me to thinking – do balloons really increase car sales exponentially? Has there been some marketing research that shows that balloons floating above a car increases sales? Who is their target market? Does this happen to everyone with a kid under 8? Lured into the lot, little Tommy or Sally begs for the orange balloon and you walk away with the Ford Fiesta and a balloon tied to the kid’s wrist?


The Time I Ate Lotion

I was at my friend’s apartment and she offered me something white and creamy-looking in a blue bowl, so, to be polite, I stuck my finger in it and took a big lick.  Then I had to spit a lot because it wasn’t some kind of soft cheese; it was lotion.  If you’ve never tasted lotion, let me assure you, you don’t want to.

She looked at me like I was crazy, and, it’s true there was no spoon or crackers or anything, so that should have been a hint, but still, the way she flourished it out with her hands all fancy Tibetan hostess-style, I thought she was wanting me to try some delicious cheese.

That was a bit embarrassing, but at least it wasn’t scented.  I hate perfume-y lotion.

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The Stuff of Nightmares

I usually dream that the world is ending and I have to survive somehow, which is sort of a tired old trope in American movies and literature these days, so, for a refreshing change, my brain decided to give me a break and just let me get cancer in my dream last night.  Well, that seems like it’s not so bad when I wake up and am just myself, not dying.  So I looked up why I keep having bad dreams.  Turns out having bad dreams causes anxiety in waking life.  Nice one, brain.

“The study, published in the journal Dreaming, did not bear out that hypothesis: not only did nightmares not stave off anxiety, but people who reported being distressed about their dreams were even more likely to suffer from general anxiety than those who experienced an upsetting event such as the divorce of their parents.”


But, I don’t have to worry because it could just be that something’s wrong with my brain (like I hadn’t already figured that out for myself).

“It is possible, however, that some-thing is going wrong in the brains of individuals who experience a lot of anxiety, so that normal emotional processing during dreaming fails, says Tore Nielsen, director of the Dream and Nightmare Laboratory at Sacred Heart Hospital in Montreal.”


Shopping and Smart Phones I Don’t Have in Two Great Separate But Related Stories I Have Condensed Into One Nice Post

There was this time Susan and that other friend who ditched me on Thanksgiving (J.J.M. in case you forgot) went Christmas shopping cause that’s just how we celebrate the birth of the savior of the world and I kept yelling “Susan! Susan!” really loud from a few aisles over in every store whenever I thought I spotted a great deal.  Then Susan was “acting” like she was embarrassed by it, but I could tell she really liked it.  I had spent a lot of time preparing by printing out tons of coupons, but that is so old-school because all you have to do is show your smart phone, only I don’t have any sort of phone, not even an-average-intelligence-and-that’s-ok-phone.

Well, that reminds me of the time I forgot to print the coupons because it was July and there was no way I was gonna leave without my freakin’ discount because there was something like $14 at stake, so I went a few doors down and borrowed the smart phone of the people who run my favorite Chinese restaurant that I have been patronizing for twenty years, so I practically paid for their smart phone, anyway, by eating there all the time.  I could tell they didn’t really want to loan me their phone to go to another store, but they were hardly in a position to say no, either, or risk losing my business.  I promptly brought the phone back and showed them the receipt so they could see what they’d helped me save.  Despite the fact that they are way richer than me, I could tell they appreciated my bargain-hunting skills.