Why You Should Never Eat Chinese Food While Watching A Nail Biting, Down To The Wire, Patriots Vs. Jets Game Later In The Evening

So this is really weird.

I wake up last night at 4 am from a sound sleep, and the word, "esoteric" is in my brain. I'm thinking about the word esoteric, yet I can't define it. Now it's 4 am and I'm thinking, "Is that even a word?" Then I realize that, yes, it's a word but I have no clue what it means. All I can think about is that when I get up, I have to find out what the definition of "esoteric" means.

First thing this morning I define the word esoteric, "Intended for or understood by only a particular group."
Ok, so why this word? Why me? This is getting weirder by the minute.

I dig a bit deeper and come up with esoteric a lot when related to dreams, but I can't really put my finger on why I am dreaming about this particular word. Then I come up with this from The Dream Dictionary:

"If the dreamer in a dream hear a word more than once, then meaning of it can be critical. Word is generally indicated as letter or name. It usually contains a message from the unconscious, which can be clearly heard or read."

Ok, so what's the message here?

Another site says "To see random words like that is a sign of clutter or confusion in your mind - basically random "noise." 

Now this makes more sense.

Random noise.

Understood by only me. Intended for us.

So esoteric....

Hmmmmm.

I think it best to lay off the Chinese late at night.

Fried Green Dreams

I had a dream about Fried Green Tomatoes last night.

Bizarre? Yes, I'm aware of the absurdity, but it still happened.

I think it was stuck in my subconscious because I was reading an article in one of my food magazines last week about Fried Green Tomato sandwiches. I was thinking about the fact that even though I have never had a fried green tomato, I crave them.

This is what I know about Fried Green Tomatoes:

• It was one of my favorite movies. It stars Mary Louise Parker and Mary Stuart Masterson, Kathy Bates and the late, great Jessica Tandy. It's one of those movies that when it comes on I have to stop what I'm doing and watch it. It was the first time I had ever heard of Fried Green Tomatoes and I have been curious about them ever since. 

• They are a southern thing. Who the hell came up with this recipe? Leave it to the Southerners to fry up a tomato that's not ripe and make it  delectable. I know only Frick and I would try them in my family, but I think I will make them sometime soon. I bet they are just as good cold as they are warm, too. 

So in honor of my fried green dreams, I searched the internet for a good recipe for Fried Green Tomatoes and came up with this one from AllRecipes.com:

Best Fried Green Tomatoes (how could I go wrong?)

Ingredients

• 4 large green tomatoes
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup cornmeal
• 1/2 cup bread crumbs
• 2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1 quart vegetable oil for frying

Directions

1. Slice tomatoes 1/2 inch thick. Discard the ends.
2. Whisk eggs and milk together in a medium-size bowl. Scoop flour onto a plate. Mix cornmeal, bread crumbs and salt and pepper on another plate. Dip tomatoes into flour to coat. Then dip the tomatoes into milk and egg mixture. Dredge in breadcrumbs to completely coat.
3. In a large skillet, pour vegetable oil (enough so that there is 1/2 inch of oil in the pan) and heat over a medium heat. Place tomatoes into the frying pan in batches of 4 or 5, depending on the size of your skillet. Do not crowd the tomatoes, they should not touch each other. When the tomatoes are browned, flip and fry them on the other side. Drain them on paper towels.

Separation Anxiety: A Re-Post

I had the most horrid dream last night.

Seriously, I'm kinda freaking out. In my subconscious.

The thing is I didn't know I was freaking out. I know I have been thinking about it. A lot. But I think I know exactly what the dream is about. My subconscious is doing all the tough work, while on the outside I appear cool as a cucumber.

Yeah, I think I know what I'm freaking out about. As a matter of fact I'm quite sure, I know what I'm freaking out about.

I dreamed that Frick was...abducted. Horrible. I don't even want to give it credence because it was a nightmare, but when I woke up, I realized why it happened. It's quite clear I'm having separation anxiety. And evidently, I'm having it bad, because in the dream I couldn't breathe; the pain was so palpable. I guess I'm grateful that my subconscious is working it out, because come August, I may be able to leave my baby girl in the middle of Manhattan, stress free. I won't say worry free, but by then I will have hoped to have come to terms with her leaving and made my peace with it.

Today I decided to do a re-post from a time when I was my kid's universe.... and while I'm glad they have grown into who they are today, I sure do miss those days.

This post debuted on Feb 26, 2009


Sometimes I miss the good old days, back when my kids were really little. Those were the days of innocence, before they both became TWM (Teens With Mouths) and I was their God. I was a stay at home mom and since Frick and Frack are only 19 months apart, we pretty much did everything together. My two amigos and I; they were then and will always be, the yin to my yang. We are still very close, me and my kids, the difference between then and now is that now they know everything and have all the answers. My bad for not seeing it their way. These days I get a lot of, “What-ever mom!”

Anyway, yesterday I was over at Vodka Mom’s blog, I Need a Martini Mom, and she had posted a wonderful, sincere note of gratitude to all of her 541 blog followers. (I stand in awe. The woman is a legend) In perfect Vodka Mom fashion she closed the post with a funny story about her kids which gave me the inspiration for today’s post! Many thanks to Vodka Mom and her wicked sense of humor! (here in Boston, wicked is a GREAT thing! like wicked pissa!)

So, as I told you, when the kids were babies, the three of us were like matching luggage. We traveled everywhere together. Where ever I went, they would follow, especially around the house. If I were cooking, my babies were on the kitchen floor, happily playing with wooden spoons, whisks and pots and pans. If I were watching TV with them, it was usually a Disney Sing Along Video, and we would play together as they sang along with the Disney classics. If I had to go to the bathroom, they would follow me right behind me into the bathroom and find something to get into while mom took care of business.

The only time this bathroom business got tricky was when AUNT FLO came to visit. To tell you the truth, I never really thought much about the manner in which I ushered them out of the bathroom during those times, but I knew I had somehow managed to do it. As I said, I never gave it a second thought until one day, when my baby girl was sitting on the bathroom floor opening and closing the doors under the bathroom sink while I applied my make-up. She came across a box of tampons and proceeded to open it up and take one out. She studied it intently for a few moments. It was almost like I could see her brilliant little mind working overtime to figure out what the strange item was. She held up the single, un-opened Tampax and said triumphantly, “Look mommy. This is your privacy!”

My little future brain surgeon had figured it all out. The strange item equated to mommy’s privacy. I soon realized that I must have consistently held the Tampax in my hand while ushering my babies out of the bathroom while explaining, “Mommy needs her privacy.”

A child’s mind is a wondrous thing. Oh how I miss those days!!

Too Real

I dreamt last night that Adrienne and Paul Nassif were overnight guest in my home. That's probably because I watched the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on Bravo before I went to bed. It's quite possible that I dreamt about them because I can most relate to the Nassif's, more than any of the other cast members on the show. They appear to be somewhat grounded, which is more than I can say for some of the other cast members.

Where do I start?

Let's start with Brandi Glanville. Bandi is the ex-wife of scumbag, cheater, actor Eddie Cibrian and the newest member of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills cast. Ever since Cibrian cheated on Brandi with country singer LeeAnn Rimes, his life is pretty much been the toilet. Save for the fact that his new wife LeeAnn's flush with cash, the guy would have no luck it weren't for bad luck. There's no denying that Brandi is smokin' hot! But on the end of "smoking hot" I feel I have to add "skank". I'm sorry, but the chick's a skank and there's really no better adjective to describe her. I also think she's using drugs more than frequently, a fact that she does not try to hide. But dang, I got a give her credit, I want to have her body when I come back in another life.

Then there's Kyle and Kim. Two sisters who are the blood related Aunts to Paris Hilton. At one time, in her youth, Kim was Disney royalty, but like most child stars, her fall from grace has been hard to say the least. Kim's a train wreck. She's so obviously abusing substances, that it's almost wrong to watch on television. The excuses, the lies, the lateness and the disappointment that her family endures is hardly tolerable. Knowing now that Kim has entered a rehab facility makes watching this take place even more poignant. Kyle keeps needling Kim and Kim keeps disappointing Kyle and everyone else. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what's going on here. Yet the entire cast only hints about the fact that something is wrong and they continue on with their scripted shooting schedule, so that everyone can make a paycheck.

The tragic figure of the entire cast is Taylor whose husband Russell committed suicide just days before September 5 Real Housewives of Beverly Hills television preview. That's too Real. These are real people dealing with real issues that are both serious and tragic. Last night we saw Taylor in the throes of the aftermath of the end of her marriage. Even her therapist told her to get out. He came right out and said, "You can't live like this any longer. It's time to make some tough decisions." We now know the result of that marital breakup; Russell suicide. There were allegations that some serious physical and mental abuse was taking place and there is a child involved.

The stuff is all too Real.

And we watch their lives play out in front of us on television for our personal entertainment. TV executives who exploit these characters and give them a vehicle to showcase their drama make millions and become celebrities themselves because they make Real their business.

I feed right into that business. I buy what they're selling hook, line, and sinker because we, as a whole, LOVE to watch. My dad always says," If you lived in a cul-de-sac and brought all of your problems into the center in a trash bag, then you put that trash bag into the middle with everyone else's problems; you'd sure as shit pick up your own problems and run." I think the Nassif family is benefiting from this way of thinking.

Because like the MTV show that trail blazed the way for all others always said, "to find out what happens... when people stop being polite... and start getting real"

Things Are Getting Weird Around Here

So I woke up at 4am this morning and I couldn't get back to sleep. Why? Cuz I'm thinking about Roman Polanski. So weird, I know.

I can't quite figure out why I'm thinking about this guy, but I am. It's not like his story of extradition has been headline news recently. That story has to be at least 2 or 3 weeks old, but there it is; keeping me awake. Weird.

Seems Roman, pled guilty in 1977 to having sex with a minor, a 13 year-old girl, who he allegedly drugged with quaaludes and Champagne then had sex with at a party at Jack's house (of all places) in LA. On the eve of his 1978 sentencing he fled the country because he was afraid of being put away for 50 years. He has been in France ever since. On Sept 26th, 2009, he was arrested, at the request of the United States, as he flew into Switzerland to receive a lifetime achievement award at a film festival.

What's even weirder is that I really have no opinion on this, yet I'm thinking about it in the dark and quiet of 4 am.

Well, maybe I do. I'm thinking that this Polanski guy is somewhat of a tragic figure and a bit of a coward to boot. I'm thinking that you can't run away from your demons without facing them and that eventually they will come back to haunt you. Even when you're in you're 70's and still directing Oscar winning movies and getting lifetime achievement awards. You know dude, don't do the crime if you can't do the time. And I'm thinking about the brutal murder of his beautiful, pregnant wife, Sharon Tate by a bunch of worthless, brainwashed, drug-crazed hippies. Maybe the rape wouldn't have happened if Sharon Tate had lived to give birth to the Polanski child. They say she was the love of his life and that he worshiped her. Maybe, but it doesn't mitigate his actions at Jack's house in '77.

There's a story in yesterday's LA Times that reports that Polanski's victim, Samantha Geimer, now 46 years old, and her attorney have asked the appellate court to drop the charges against Polaski because "the unceasing publicity has disrupted her family, job and health." Seems Samantha's boss in "understandably displeased" with her and there is a real possibility that she may loose her job.

Picture this: Rich director messes up, runs away, gets away with it, and keeps winning Oscars while living large in France for years and years. Yet the victim gets the shaft back home because the LA crime fighters, who let him slip away, decide to finally grab this brass ring, some thirty years later. Hollywood couldn't produce a better script. Maybe Polanski should direct it. He could possibly win another Oscar for his efforts, heck, he's doing whatever he wants anyway.

Or maybe we should just tack another life sentence onto Manson's sentence. It's his fault anyway.

Carny Knowledge

I had the worst dream last night about Carnies. It was pretty scary because I was lost, completely petrified by the freaks, and I couldn't find my kids. And make no mistake, there were tons of freaks! It seemed every where I turned there was one freak worse than the last one, laughing at me, tormenting me. I think I know how Alice felt when she fell down that rabbit hole.

Even stranger was throughout my dream, Thin Lizzy's, "The Boys Are Back In Town" was the running soundtrack and it seemed to be getting louder and louder, the more anxious I got. Somehow I lost my kids. We were all on go-karts, having a great time and when the ride was over my kids were nowhere to be found. Complete panic ensued, and I searched for what seemed like an eternity for them, confronted by one dirty, toothless, carnie freak after another and I knew I couldn't, and most certianly wouldn't leave without them. I woke before I found them, relieved to be safe at home.

Horrible.

What does this dream mean? This morning I did a little research on dreams about carnivals.

This is from the Predictions Dream Dictionary:

As settings for dreams, these are ambiguous places. It seems as though amusement parks often include elements that we consider to be the best and worst in life.

Carnivals also include a very wonderful or frightening collection of personalities. These personalities may intimidate us at times.

Sometimes the fright comes from a figure we love, such as a parent who doesn't really enjoy the carnival, but endures it for the children.

Eventually, the illusion of the idyllic family outing is transformed to an angry scene. Who are you with in the carnival and how do you experience the time there?

In what way are the rides metaphors for your life? In other words, how is your life like a rollercoaster, merry-go-round, or other central feature of the park?

The more I think about it the less I want to know.
Is it possible that this mom is having a hard time with the ducklings growing up?
Maybe I see the "carnies" as a metaphor for what is cruel in the world and my uncertianty about letting go. Who the hell knows why we dream what we dream, but I do know this:

This is one ride that I want to get the hell off of.

Dream Analysis

Last night I dreamed I was working with Donna Karan (the designer) at one of her fashion shows. While I was there, I think I was sitting at a table, and I couldn't find my shoes. They were, for strange some reason, mules, which I never wear. For those of you who don't know what mules are, they are like slippers, but not really slippers, slip on shoes. I woke up thinking that this dream must have some significance in some way. So, of course, I Googled it. There is so much crap about dreams out there and dreams about shoes that now I'm confused and don't know what to think.

The first thing I found was this:

In general, shoes represent your approach to life. It suggests that you are well-grounded or that you are down to earth. It also represents your convictions about your beliefs.

If you dream that you lose your shoes, then it suggests that you may be searching for your identity and finding/exploring who you are.

Hmmm...Unemployed, check. Unmarried, check. Could be.

Then I saw this:

To dream of losing your shoes indicates that you are wasting your efforts in unproductive activity.

OK but what's the unproductive activity here? Unemployment? Blogging?

Oh yeah and I love this one:

To lose your shoes is not a good omen as it foretells that your loved ones shall betray you when you need them most. So do not depend on them.

Been there, done that. No thanks.

And this:

Shoes are interpreted as wife or husband. Shoes may also mean 1- wife or husband 2- g/f 3- power 4- livelihood 5- a travel 6- Death if he was alone in the desert.

Huh??

This:

Losing your shoes indicates a waste of time on your part.

Now we have a theme. Wasting time... soul searching. Hmmm..

Should I believe all this jargon? If dreams are our subconscious working through problems or issues in our conscious, what does all this crap mean?

You guys got any suggestions??