This morning Amazon presented several “recommendations” to me. One was a zippered case for CDs, with reviews from at least a decade ago. C’mon, Amazon. Who do you think I am? Show me a portable carrier for 45s (like the one I’m showing here, which I had in 1975) or a small suitcase for 8-tracks, and then I’ll know you’re really paying attention.

Lady who lunches


Way back when I used to write here more often, when I was a lady who didn’t have to work and who spent a lot of time lunching, I used to take photos of my lunches and post them in my “Jodeats” gallery. That was before Instagram, back before the cool kidz were doing it, back when people used to look at me like I was a wacky eccentric who was stealing the soul of a plate of Thai noodles by photographing it. And now that everyone’s doing it, it’s not as much fun, and I look like any other dope snapping a shot of my food in the hopes of having hundreds of like-minded people (among them the dreaded “foodies”) express their appreciation by clicking on a little heart.

I would add this photo to “Jodeats”, but I don’t know how to do that yet, so …

Anyway, this is a lunch I had at Mexican Radio with my gay boyfriend I call “Hysteric Bore” (because that rhymes with his real name), which was the size of a regular dinner. I usually eschew special lunch offers because I’m nervous that the portions won’t be as big and I’ll be left feeling gypped and feel like hightailing it to another restaurant after I’m done and getting another lunch there, but ordering off of the BIG MENU like a rabid hungry adult raccoon. This was the vegan Carne Asadas Fries, described on the “Platos Gigantes” (!!!) section of the menu (in meat terms) as “Chunks of marinated grilled steak served on a hefty bed of homemade fries and topped with melted cheese, guacamole, crema and pico de gallo. Served with sides of tomato salsa and chipotle mayo.” All my dairy stuff was non-dairy and the steak was replaced with chunks of tender and delicious seitan. Not pictured is the guacamole and chips we shared before the “real” food arrived.

I should probably not order in any food for dinner tonight, as is my Friday night tradition. But who am I to dishonor tradition, right?

How do you say “Oink” in Spanish?

The B-Word

This afternoon I changed the tag line of this “blog” to reflect an adjustment in my attitude, in keeping with the advancement of my chronological age and the tenor of my posts. To wit, I changed it from “buttery bits of tender bitchiness” to “buttery bits of blatherskite”, because, quite frankly, I don’t think what I do is bitch. And I don’t really think what I have to say is blatherskite, either, but it’s a fun “B” word, so for now it stays. I must confess to a certain queasiness over the continued use of the word “buttery”, however, in light of my veganism, but for now it stays as well.

This is the sort of thing that, if you know me at all in this thing called real life, I will obsess over and fret over, but not to the point of losing sleep. This is not to say, however, that I won’t wake up at 2:52 a.m., trying to come up with a better word for butter, and perhaps choosing “batter-dipped”, but only if that batter is made with flaxseed instead of egg.

It’s all too much to bear.

Aren’t you glad I’m back?

Is this thing on?

Hello and hi and greetings and all other manner of effusive salutation!

I do not mean to get all Christian Slater in “Heathers” on you (or “J.D.”, his character’s name) with that greeting, but if it calls him to mind, so be it. There are worse things in the world than being semi-sorta forced into thinking about Christian Slater. For example, being forced to remember all of the names of the kids from “Eight is Enough”.

I have not posted with regularity for quite some time because my “blog” was, as the kidz are probably not saying anymore, if indeed they ever did, wonky. The stuff in the sidebar was messed up, and I had no idea how to fix it because my brain just does not compute “techy” stuff and it causes me so much anxiety that I want to pull a blanket over my head and/or blow up a high school like Christian Slater/J.D. did in “Heathers”. (NOTE TO FBI: Not really. I am a pacifist and literally cannot and will not even hurt a fly. This is just a figure of speech. Carry on.)

The wonderful and amazing Joni at Pixelita did a bang-up job of getting this place in order, switching my CMS (that’s “content management system”!) (that much I do know!) from Movable Type to WordPress and working her magic/wizardry on stuff (technical term), thus making me so happy I could just cry.

So I did. Because I am a baby. (Don’t tell anyone.)

And now it would be a crying shame to not post with regularity, what with all of Joni’s fine, fine work.

It’s nice to be “home” again.

Bobby Landry’s list of names for his new puppy, all rejected by his parents

Richard Roundtree
Mable McMurtry
FingerFinger Buttersnout
Pickles Snortfickle
Bobby Landry, Jr.
Robert Q. Landry, III
Tunnel Vision
Carpet Fresh
Trout Peter Scott
Mrs. Farkle
BunnyBunny Yoyo Topps
Plaster of Paris
XXyzzbbit8xMp Squirrel
McFister McFuster
Fluffy Pita Pan Pie
Moomoo Zipperclutch
Kaka Boombah
Pretzel Sneeze
Flippity Flopper the Bowling Ball Dropper
Sixteen and One-Quarter
Elephant Jack
Clint Westwood
Capri Sun
Cap’n Crunch
Gluten-Free Googler
Dicky DickDick Honk
Puppy Doggerman
Doggy Pupperman
Mr. Daddy and Mommy Are Jerks
Mr. Mommy and Daddy Suck
Never Mind
Wheezer Plop

PSA from the Prezzes

Greetings, Good People of New York City.
As of this writing it is 3 degrees, and the wind chill makes it feel like a witch-titty -16. Even Ms. Jodi Verse is not leaving the house to go to the gym. If you go outside and absolutely do not have to, you are not being brave, you are being foolish. Besides, with the advent of this marvelous thing called the Internet, we are told you can take advantage of mattress sales in our honor from the comfort of home with a few “clicks”, whatever that is.
Best regards,
Abe and George