The Tragedy of the Little Lost Pork Chop.

At this time, join me for a moment of silence in honor of Nat's pork chop, who he had high aspirations for but who he left unwittingly at the supermarket yesterday evening. After a long and arduous journey home, he could not bring himself to return for his beloved meaty one. All was lost. He settled for a meager helping of eggs and Triscuits, instead. Nat, we're all very sorry for your loss. Please allow me to deliver the eulogy!

Part of me wants to make flyers, with a sketch-artist mock-up and everything.

Lost: One delicious pork chop. If found, please contact Nat, via chroniclesofhildy.blogspot.com.

Ahem.

The Pork Chop of Woe

Woe is the pork chop
that got left behind
my plump, delicious one

Who’s eating you now?
I wonder as I drown my sorrows
in my cornflakes*

You would have been so juicy
but I wasn’t even man enough
to save you, there was still time

Now I languish
in my cold, dark apartment
all hope of your tender meatiness gone

I feel so empty inside
know that I’ll never forget you
my stomach will remember

Damn the curséd chop-monger who took you!
and enjoyed you for his very own
my beloved pork chop of woe


*[stale Triscuits] - The poem was already completed before I found out about the Triscuits. And, I think cornflakes just works well here for some reason. So I kept it. However, for historical accuracy, "stale Triscuits" should technically be noted.

ONLY the best thing ever.

My friends, I have had a revelation. I will never look at the world the same way again.

I have discovered chocolate vanilla soy milk.

Don't believe me? Fine---try it yourself, and you be the judge. It's like a delacious milkshake in non-milkshake form. ie, It's not as cold so you can drink it faster, with the added benefit of being buttock-friendly. Trust me, you will find yourself returning to the refrigerator multiple times per day in hot pursuit of it. Not that I do that, myself. Especially not in the middle of the night or anything, for a little "cold toddy" before heading to bed. No sirree Bob...

As for me, the marriage of Hershey's chocolate syrup and organic vanilla soy is the only form of matrimony I'll be needing for a good long time.

Oh, and you're welcome!!

The funniest thing I have EVER SEEN.

So last night, Stan came over and was horsing around with the beagle in the other room. I could hear scuffling and clapping and whatnot--the usual.

A minute later, it got really quiet. All of a sudden I hear, "Oh God, he's stuck inside my coat."

"What??" I said, and ran into the room.

Sure enough, in the midst of their collective running amok, Stan had taken off his coat and thrown it on top of the beagle. The beagle panicked, and bolted---straight up the coat sleeve!

He wedged himself in there SO TIGHT that the sleeve looked like a sausage casing, with only the tip of his snout and some whiskers sticking out the end-hole.

Oh my God, I literally fell on the floor, I was laughing so hard. Although there was no time to waste (ie, no time to run and get my camera), the poor little guy was frightened stiff and completely immobile inside the sleeve. (Any attempt we made to pull him back out the other end made him scramble farther in, until he literally could not move.)

What wound up happening was that Stan grabbed onto his tail, and I held onto the end of the sleeve, and on the count of three, we both pulled and the beagle popped out. I was laughing SO HARD at this point that he totally glared at me before running upstairs in humiliation.

I must have guffawed for a solid 10 minutes. O what I would have given for a picture! So, I drew myself a diagram instead. Which I can't post because I've never figured out how to. So sorry!!

At this time, I would like to answer any questions you might have about the incident.

Yes, my beagle is small enough to fit up a coat sleeve. He is runty, what can I say.

Yes, he is extremely long and coat-sleeve-shaped, so it was a perfect fit.

No, we don't intend to do it again so that I can get a picture (much as I'd like to). It frightened the poor thing out of his wits, so even I'm not cruel enough to put him through that again.

Any further questions? You know what to do.....

Weenie Jingles

Yo ho, everybody, and a bottle of rum. I just kicked the beagle off the bed for licking his butthole next to my head. DIsgusting!!

I had quite an afternoon today, discussing the imminent purchase of a weiner dog by my work colleague, the "elusive Mr. J." I'm told he has his eye on a T-shirt that says "I love my weiner." And he wants the dog to go with.

There are so many snide comments a-brewing, I don't even know what to do with myself. In an attempt to restrain myself, I will say only that you KNOW EVERY MAN ON THE PLANET WANTS THIS SHIRT. You KNOW it. I know it, you know it, WE ALL KNOW IT.

In any case, at this time I would like to direct you to the following site, provided by "Mr. J," entitled "Jingles for Meat and Cheese Products". (I am not making this up.) Here, you will find the time-tested Oscar Meyer jingle that has delighted children and adults alike for eons.

http://www.geocities.com/foodedge/jingles4.html

In addition to the sound clips, they have also helpfully spelled out the lyrics for you. This is quite a resource, I must say. The musical stylings are simply fantastic.

I give you the following, from the Armour HotDogs jingle:

"What kinds of kids love Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks,
tough kids, sissy kids, even kids with chicken pox love hotdogs."

Hmm, so basically, rock-climbers aside, you either need to have (a) a weight problem (b) emotional issues (c) contracted a disease or (d) been repeatedly beaten to a pulp on the playground to enjoy Armour brand HotDogs. Sign me up!

I also enjoyed this little diddy about tuna:

"Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna. I love Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna. Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna, I love a sandwich made with Bumblebee."

Does that make you want to snarf down a tuna-salad sammy, or WHAT?!

They've got a little something for everybody, whether it be pork, or cheese, or "Kraft," which happens to be neither but does offer a snazzy little jingle to put a spring in your step and a song in your heart.

So, love your little weiners. And your hot dogs, too. If you are a sickly little pipsqueak with ADHD, that is.

Erring on the side of caution

Hello, everyone.

There was a much more juicy entry here before, about a recent scandal that occurred at work, but I thought better of it and removed it, so sorry to disappoint. One never knows who reads these damn things. Even though I use a monicker and all, and am selective about who I give my url to at work, the nature of the scandal is such that I think it's better kept under my hat!

That said, I recommend not using your OWN NAME to post scandalous things on the internet. Case closed, end of story.

In other news, for those of you that remember Pumpkin, the unfortunate roasted-chicken-looking woman at my gym that suffered a mental breakdown on the premises awhile back and subsequently got the proverbial “boot”—well, she’s back. She’s put on about 30 pounds (she needed at LEAST 10 of those, by my estimations) and now has a nice layer of cellulite slathered over her entire body.

I would know, as I was treated to her strutting around the locker room buck-naked 2 days ago, whereupon I ran outside and looked directly at the sun until my retinas were so scorched the image was all but erased from my brain. Good times.

To work! To work!

Hildy B's Weekend Misadventures

Happy Monday, everybody! I hope everyone had as delightful a weekend as I did.

Excepting, of course, the parts where the beagle yakked/shat on my FRESHLY SHAMPOOED CARPET, after which I snorted hot tea out of my nose (although the two events were unrelated), and managed to chemically burn my hands with lemon juice, as I squoze approximately 18 lemons with my bare fingers in an attempt to make lemon bars. Whoo! Good times....good times.

But seriously, it was a great weekend in total. The items I listed above, I could have certainly done without. I definitely don’t recommend the hot-tea thing, it was not my plan. I always kind of slurp my hot tea as a means of cooling it before I take a big gulp and singe my tonsils. Stan thought it would be “funny” to start slurping loudly to mock me as I was right in the middle of a big slurp, and the *hot* tea managed to traverse its way UP my nose and then out, which was momentarily not funny but then it became funny again.

Don’t try this one at home, kids! Or if you do, at least get yourself some iced tea.

Ah yes, and then I spent the greater part of Saturday lugging a big heavy steam-cleaner around my house in an attempt to revive my carpeting, which has suffered great losses since the beagle was introduced, and as I’m right in the middle of straining my back to shuttle that damn thing across the house, I notice that the beagle has SHAT ON MY LIVING ROOM CARPET, AS I WAS BUSY CLEANING IN THE FAMILY ROOM. Well, I nearly came unglued. The whole REASON I had to RENT THE F---ING THING IN THE FIRST PLACE is because of HIM. That furry little brat!!!!!

Oh yes, and then first thing this morning he yakked all over my bedroom carpeting, which I had somehow managed to steam clean as fresh as the newfallen snow. I had the pleasure of getting down and dirty with a scrub brush and a bottle of carpet cleaner at approximately 6:25 AM today. It was a treat.

In other news, I finally saw “Meet the Fockers” and especially enjoyed the part where the little rat-dog gets ahold of the squeaky Albert Einstein hand-puppet and humps it. So all you see is this little rat-thing bouncing up and down, going “squeak! squeak! squeak! squeak! squeak!” in rapid succession. Ahahaha! Comedic genius, I tell you!!

And that....is that.

HB out-y!!

Bing Bong---The Witch is Dead!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hallelujah and praise the Lord! One of my colleagues, who is consequently one of the most vile and evil creatures to ever roam this earth, has turned in her resignation! Eureka!! Free at last! FREE AT LAST!!

I have endured almost six long years of her taught, puckered expression and her repugnant disposition, sour as rancid milk. I have spent the better part of my time avoiding her at all costs. She has been a cancerous tumor on the face of my department for as long as I can remember. And now she’s been removed! Like a troublesome wart frozen off an otherwise lovely finger! Our office has been exorcised! Goodness and light can return to our people!!

I feel like the end of Lord of the Rings, where the big evil eye has been punctured (or whatever) and the sun comes out and all the little hobbits start dancing around. It is a joyous occasion, indeed!!!!

This calls for a celebration. I don’t know how or when, but perhaps it may presently have something to do with those delacious doughnut holes that are calling to me from a nearby table and that I have, as of yet, been avoiding. Come to me, my lovelies, and let us kick up our heels in a raucous display of unbridled giddiness and careless festivity!!

Ahhh yes, I intend to savor this moment. The witch is dead!! THE WITCH IS DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!

Smashing!

Bonjour! Cheers, mate! Hildy's back! After a rip-roaring, SMASHING time on the continent. I turned that place inside OUT! And loved every last minute of it!!!

Not only did I consume approximately 64 pastries in 16 days (I think that in itself may be some kind of record), but I knocked back somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 cappucinos, as well. And came away with a shoe-box-sized haul of delectable Belgian/Swiss/French/Genoan chocolate. Oh YEAH!!!!

And, I somehow managed to retain my girlish figure (praise the Lord), thanks to the 12-hour marathons we embarked upon each and every day. I was so tired at the end of a full day in Paris, that I fell asleep SITTING UP (sort of) at the dinner table all slouched over with my head between my knees. I'm not EVEN joking!!

I had the time of my life, and the Europeans are absolutely lovely people. And their pastries are to DIE FOR!!! If you have never experienced an authentic European pastry, get your butt on a plane and for the love of GOD get yourself a brioche suisse or a croissant almonde in Paris. You will thank me later!!

Here are some of the fun British words I learned from the cheerful English types:

"prezzies" = presents
"tatties" = potatoes (not boobs, get your minds out of the gutter.)
"lorrie" = truck
"tog roll" = toilet paper roll (I think.)
"Bob's your uncle" = "No problem"
"toastie" = grilled cheese sandwich

There are many more where this came from, but too many to post here. I wrote down lots so as not to forget them. Brilliant!

I have never seen more enormous old churches in my life, or more pastry---but I digress (Hmm, I somehow seem to keep veering back to the pastry...).

Scotland was absolutely beautiful, with lots of fluffy/hungry sheeps running around everywhere (from what I could tell, all the sheeps do all day is EAT. Not that I have room to talk...). The Scots were very hard to understand but patient with me.

Friendly Scottish waiter: "Woo ya lae coostar or ice creem wi da?"
Me: "Huh??"

Translation: "Would you like custard or ice cream with that?"
Me: "Did somebody say 'pastry?'"

The French were also quite personable and seemed to enjoy staring at me (not sure if it was because of the blonde hair floating around in a sea of brunettes or possibly the sheer quantities of pastry I was consuming) and swapping jokes at my expense. I saw the Mona Lisa at the Louvre and marveled at the Tour d'Eiffel. And ate a few pastries. Oh, did I mention that already?

England was very welcoming and had excellent chocolate selections everywhere we went (I have the credit card bills to prove it). I love the way they talk (they call everybody "mate" or "love") and drive (FAST!). They also eat a lot of "biscuits" (tea cookies) there and get piss-drunk on a regular basis. And they have billboards everywhere with advertisements bearing slogans such as the following (for some brand of alcohol, if memory serves): "[alcohol brand name]: It's better than a kick in the baubles."

I'm sold!

So, I had a great time with some great folks and I can't WAIT to go back. Perhaps to a non-French-speaking country next time, where they won't look at me like I must be retarded while attempting to regurgitate broken bits of high-school French. Here's a free tip: Just point at what you want and nod. They're used to it! And most of the time if you just hold out your hand with all your money in it, they'll take what they need because otherwise it will take you an hour to pick out the right coins to complete the transaction.

So, pip pip! Cheerio! Bon soir! Au revoir! I'll regale you with more stories next time, when I am not falling asleep at my computer from lingering jetlag.

Ta!!