Five Hundred Thank Yous and a Raspberry Beret

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

It seems like a million lifetimes since I have last written.  There are two reasons for my lack of blogging - 1) I have been living life robustly with great vigor and enjoying every moment of it.  Instead of writing, I have been using Instagram (@LilyOnTheLam).  Picture is worth a thousand words, perhaps?  Lazy, I know! 

And 2) the second reason it has been MONTHS since I have written is because I had finished 499 blog posts and felt like the 500th blog post should be something "super colossal."  Like Elaine on "Seinfeld" determining if a prospective suitor was "sponge-worthy," I held up all my adventures under the magnifying glass of "Is this 500th blog post worthy?"  And it always seemed to be lacking ... but mostly that was probably procrastination and laziness talking.

But this afternoon, I was taking a break from work and I saw an article on PageSix.com speculating that the musician, actor, producer, artist Prince had died.  Growing up in Minnesota during Prince's rise to fame, meant that I hold a very special place in my heart for the talented musician.

The day before New Year's Eve 2015, I checked in to a Miami hotel.  I was on my way to ring in the New Year in Key West, Florida but I was exhausted from my drive and decided to spend New Year's Eve's Eve in Miami and make the rest of the drive down to the Keys in the morning.  I turned on the TV and "Purple Rain" was playing.  I texted a friend who is an ardent Prince fan and said "I can't think of a better way to close out 2015 than watching `Purple Rain.'"  And I meant it.  

My sister sent me a video of the crowd in front of First Avenue in Minneapolis this evening.  People mourning, slightly swaying as "Raspberry Beret" plays on speakers.  The song is bubbly and effervescent but the hearts of the people standing on the sidewalk seem to feel hollow and empty.  Hearing the song on the video reminded me of a long ago memory.  When my sister was seven years old, I took her to Sea World in San Diego, CA (no haters, please - this was a long time ago.  Yes, everyone should see "Blackfish.")  

Now if you know me well, you know that I love a good gift shop.  Sea World did not disappoint.  They had a literal wall of stuffed animals.  My sister went running toward a wall of stuffed seals.  I shouted "Just one!  You can only get one!"  My sister happily selected one seal from what seemed like hundreds.  In the car on the drive back to Los Angeles, we were listening to Prince's song "Raspberry Beret" and my 7 year old sister decided to name her new stuffed seal "Mary Beret" in tribute.  I can still picture her sitting in the back seat of a rental car making the stuffed seal dance to Prince's light-hearted song.

Thinking about this moment reminded me of another memory with a Prince soundtrack.  I was visiting a friend at Hamline University.  He was a major Prince fan, so of course Prince was playing non-stop in the background.  I was in college - although I don't remember what year.  I was very scared for my future.  I think I might not have picked my major yet.  I just remember thinking that life was this giant avalanche sweeping me along into a black abyss and I was helpless to stop it.  

Instead of being hopeful for all the potential opportunities that my future might bring me, I was absolutely scared.  My friend and I listened to so many Prince songs that day as we talked about our hopes for the future.  I remember when Prince first became mainstream famous, I was so proud.  Somebody from Minnesota was internationally famous!  If Prince could rise up from nothing, surely there was hope for the rest of young Minnesotans too.  

But on this particular day, with Prince songs hypnotically streaming; I was feeling more scared than hopeful.  I wish I could go back to that younger me and say "Don't worry so much!  Everything is going to be just fine.  Sit back and enjoy the journey - don't get so caught up about the destination."

I have so many memories that revolve around Prince songs.  Quentin Tarantino once opined that in your heart you are either a Beatles fan or an Elvis fan - you can appreciate both but one speaks to you more than the other.  I think the same can be said for Michael Jackson and Prince.  You may appreciate both, but in your heart you know which one you hold more dear.  When Michael Jackson died, I was sad for many reasons.  But when I learned Prince died, I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart.

Prince accomplished so much in 57 years, but I am greedy.  I want more years.  I want to wake up tomorrow and hear that this has been some elaborate hoax.  Denial is real.  However as Prince said: "Life is just a party and parties weren't meant to last."

So for this my 500th blog post, I wanted to give 500 thank you's to Prince - for being an inspiration on so many levels.  Growing up in Minnesota, Prince was like pure energy and pure magic to me.  Even in death, he has inspired me that I should be strong, enjoy the moment and not give in to fear.

I end with another Prince quote:

"There are no accidents. And if there are, it's up to us to look at them as something else. And that bravery is what creates new flowers."

Be brave.  Thank you, Prince Rogers Nelson ... for everything.

  

Gather Ye Rosebuds ...

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: 

My Monday was long and chaotic, which is pretty much my usual work mode in the new job.  I had some levity mid-day texting with a charming man I will refer to as "Mr. Gehegten," which brought a smile and a must needed respite from trying to calm down people lost in a sea of business process transformation.  

When finally my work day came to an end, I went to my personal laptop and pulled up CNN.com.  I saw news reports that alleged that actor/comedian Robin Williams had killed himself earlier in the day.  I sat staring at the screen.  Surely this was a mistake, right?

Whenever I hear of someone killing themselves - whether a local resident or celebrity, I always have the same reaction in the first few seconds.  The feeling that "we" as in some "universal we" fell asleep on the job.  

I picture all the world's human inhabitants as forming a safety net - to hold, to cradle and to protect each other.  When I hear that someone has killed themselves, I feel like somewhere there was a break in the net.  That we lost someone we were charged to protect.  That they fell through.  

On one hand, I can understand someone wanting to decide when to go - when to leave this world on their own terms.  But I can't help but think how many people regretted the decision too late.  I watched the horrifically mind-blowing documentary "The Bridge" which shows people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.  I remember watching one man talking on his cell phone, seemingly laughing - and then in the next instance he hurled himself off the bridge.  There are only a few survivors from a jump from that great height and many regretted jumping after they took the leap.

I know that during particular bad bouts of PMS when my body chemistry and hormones are raging that I cannot see anything past the current moment.  Everything seems bleak and annoying and awful.  But if I make it past that moment, it's like coming out of a fog.  Everything seems so much better.  So with suicide is it a calculated, well-informed decision or is it a hasty maneuver made at the lowest point?  Regardless of the root cause, it is very sad to me.

I grew up watching Robin Williams in a variety of roles.  I know many comedians have a tortured soul, so I was not surprised to hear of his addictions.  I still was in awe of many of his performances.

Monday night after hearing the news about Robin Williams, I went on iTunes and rented "Dead Poets Society."  I haven't watched it in years namely because it makes me very sad.  Even the ending, bittersweet, does not take away the sting.  Watching it while thinking of Robin Williams' last day on Earth, made it even more bittersweet.

I was graduating high school the first time I saw "Dead Poets Society."  The character played by Robert Sean Leonard feels he is trapped by his father's expectations of who he should be, career-wise.  He feels he has no out - either do what his father wants or else.  

Whereas I, personally, on the other hand was 2 months away from leaving for college in another state.  Suddenly I would have no parental supervision and could, within reason, really do anything I wanted.  For better or for worse, I was technically "an adult."  And I remember that this scared the crap out of me.  I was overwhelmed by it all.  It was hard to "seize the day" when the only thing I felt seizing was my heart in my chest, with panic.  

I know many people wish they were younger or could go back in time and redo moments of their lives.  Whereas for me, I am quite content to not be in that moment.  When I think back to this particular time in my life, I remember so much fear of the unknown.  I desperately wanted some sort of reassurance that all would work out OK and that my actions in the present wouldn't screw me completely over in the future.  

But there are no guarantees in life and sometimes even the worst situations brought weird rewards down the road.  As Mr. Gehegten told me, you cannot plan certain things - you just have to see what happens.

The one thing that made me smile when "Dead Poets Society" came out, despite it's bittersweet, sad ending is the heroic love of poetry.  I used to write poem after poem.  That stopped when I finished high school.  It wasn't a deliberate choice.  I just stopped.  I continued to write, but it was as if my poetry "phase" was over.  I might have had to write one for a college English class but my heart was no longer in it.

But every now and again, I still read poetry - some classics, some modern day.  I have William Carlos Williams' "This Is Just To Say" memorized (it's very short) from when I recited it in 11th grade English class.  My own personal life motto comes from Rainer Maria Rilke's  "There are no classes in life for beginners; right away you are always asked to deal with what is most difficult."  

And my first love, the French poet Arthur Rimbaud:

It is found again
What? Eternity.
It is the sea
Gone with the sun.     

Even through the melancholy sadness both old and present day, I enjoyed watching "Dead Poets Society" again.  It was like a trip to the past - which has both joy and sorrow. 

The film had its 25th anniversary in June.  I hate that this occasion of a great film is now marked by a sad end to a great life.  Forever a footnote in the history of the film.  But I suspect Robin Williams' life will far outshine the manner in which he chose to exit the stage.

I am glad for the life I have led, even though it may not be the one that I set out for myself or dreamed of all those many years ago.  I am glad to not be so scared of the future or making a mistake.  Whether time has created confidence or apathy, I am not exactly sure but I do know I am not the paralyzed scared soul.

I end this post with some more Rainer Maria Rilke ... I could read his words a million times and still feel the meaning pulsing through each syllable.

Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final

Saturday in the San Francisco of my Heart

Happy Saturday LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

If you're a longtime reader, you'll know that I have a deep love for the singer-songwriter Ani DiFranco.  (And if you're not a longtime reader, read this somewhat crass blog post about blow jobs, pieces of hay in all the wrong places and my stalkeresque devotion ...)  

(Side note:  I originally wrote "stalks of hay" but this seriously sexy Farmer/Sailor told me I was using the wrong term; that there are no "hay stalks."  He also said that those skilled in the art would recognize "stalks of hay" to be an incorrect term.  As we all know, 97% of my readers are skilled in the art of hay.  (Hey!)  I certainly did not want to offend 97% of you.  The last thing I ever want to be on this Earth is a "Hay Fraud."  So I acquiesce to the superior hay knowledge of a certain undeniably intensely sexy Farmer/Sailor and changed it to "pieces of hay."  Not to be confused with the album by Jewel "Pieces of You."  Please do not feed horses or cows Jewel's CD.) 

In Ani DiFranco's song "Half Assed," she has a lyric that goes: "down in the Texas of my heart" which I always thought was an interesting phrase.  

I think she means down in the Texas that she loves, but I prefer to think that the bottom borders of Texas are like the tip end of a Valentine heart ... as if there is a part of our own pulsating heart that rides around in pick-up trucks and sounds a little too much like George W. Bush by way of Yosemite Sam.

I don't know if there is a Texas in my heart, but there certainly is a San Francisco of my heart.  A section of my heart that smells a little too much of patchouli, eats ginger ice cream and wears tie-dye.  

I briefly lived in San Francisco when I was too young (early 20's) and too dumb (really too dumb) to appreciate it fully.  Now when I go to San Francisco, I get this wispy melancholy feel.  It's like all the promise I had for myself is still in the air, like electrical residue of emotions long past dead.  It's like visiting a museum of your younger self.  You can experience and touch, but you cannot resurrect and you cannot go back.

When I listen to San Francisco musicians like Matt Nathanson or the band Train, I feel that wispy crackle in every note.  Especially Matt Nathanson who paints such portraits of emotion with his words.  

When I listen to certain Matt Nathanson songs I am transported back to earlier times where I wish I would have known then what I know now.  But sometimes it's better to live in ignorance and step into the potholes, then to be bubble-wrapped safe and protective all your life.  

Sometimes you have to experience the low points to better and truly appreciate the high points.  And sometimes you have to get run over by an emotional truck, just to remember that you are strong enough to get back up again.

I recently ran into someone who is educated and very accomplished (Mr. Jackass).  He thought very highly of himself and he filled every cubic meter of air in his space with talk of how great he was.  Which is absolutely fine in my world.  Toot your own horn.  You've worked hard, toot away.  (Toot, toot!)  But he also felt the need to be very condescending, patronizing and downright rude.  As if attempting to make other people feel small, insignificant and/or stupid somehow made him smarter.  (Um, wrong and not so smart!)

Not to sound too terribly conceited, BUT ... I'm a pretty smart cookie. Pretty strong in book smarts, very strong in street smarts.  I've spent my entire career being paid for my advice and counsel, so I think it's a little better than average.  (Toot, toot!)  But whether I am in a room of dullards or Nobel Prize winners, I am still equally as smart as when I walked into the room.  I don't need to put down others to make myself feel intelligent and grand.  I already know I am a smartie!  My intelligence is not inversely connected to other people's intelligence or self-esteem.

Inbetween asking Farmer/Sailor (who has now earned the nickname "Mr. Land and Sea") about the correct terminology for HAY, I told him the story of a long ago former relationship with a man ("Mr. Springfield") who felt very threatened by my life experiences and opportunities.  

Mr. Springfield was very jealous because he wanted to be well traveled and yet even though he and money and time, he never seized the courage to do it.  Because he didn't have the cojones to do it, he didn't want to be reminded of my experiences and accomplishments.  He told me he preferred if I didn't share all my stories.  He told me that everything with me was "been there, done that" and that he would prefer if I would not talk about all the things I have done and places I have been in my life.  (What a douche, right?  I was young, stupid and thought I was in love ... or at least deep lust.)

(Side note:  I am a natural born storyteller, for Baby Jesus' sake!  To tell me not to tell my stories-- you might as well just gag me now, because I won't be able to do it any other way!)

When I look back at this terrible relationship, I am angry with myself for sticking with it for so long.  (Obviously the "no travel stories" prohibition was the mere tip of the iceberg of dysfunction).  When I listen to Matt Nathanson's song "Earthquake Weather," I feel the "San Francisco of my heart" crackle with disappointment.  There's a line in the song that says "It comes natural to be so cruel/To be an asshole to someone as good as you ..." - and that line definitely makes me think of Mr. Springfield and his sicko low self-esteem.  

Sometimes it's important to take in the sadness, experience it fully and deeply and then let it go.  To hold it too long in your heart is only asking for the death of your heart.  And hearts were meant to beat strong in one's lifetime, not to be lugged around like a box of broken glass and dreams.

As I talked with the educated, accomplished and yet very rude man (a.k.a. Mr. Jackass) recently, I said to him "I'd like to meet someone who is nice ... who treats me nicely."  But he didn't hear me because he was too busy blathering on about himself and how he is better than most people in this world.  He may have received a double order of brains, but he was short-changed in the nice department.

I cannot change the past, but I can make sure I don't repeat it!  I was definitely not going to be signing up for a relationship with someone who needs to drag others down to feel good about himself.  I've already been there and done that.

Happy Saturday LilyOnTheLam.Com readers!  I hope this weekend you are putting yourself first and making strong, healthy decisions for yourself.  

I hope I will be learning more farming vernacular ... because if I am going to work farmers' hours, I might as well talk like one too!

The Purple Green Girl, A Dragon and How It All Ends

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Happy July 24th LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

When I was a wee lass, I used to love the Disney animated film "Sleeping Beauty."  Not because I was a fan of spindles or sleeping chicks or royal guys with necrophiliac tendencies ... no I loved that crazy, batty, horned evil fairy chick with the great wardrobe, golden staff and raven ... Maleficent.

She was unapologetic in her fury.  She could turn herself into a dragon.  She had awesome makeup.  And all that purple and green ... Truly, what's not to love?  She was worlds more interesting than that sleeping blond with a spinning wheel fetish.

But as all fairy tales seem to do, the dorky Prince "saves" the day when he kills Maleficent in her dragon form.

I watched it a million times ... and I always rooted for the dragon.  Blah blah blah true love's kiss and all that, I wanted the evil fairy to win.

So when I heard Angelina Jolie was starring in the movie titled "Maleficent" (NOT Sleeping Beauty), I cheered because who else can make prosthetic cheekbones look amazing but Ms. Jolie-Pitt herself?  Sadly the movie went all "Hollywood" and gave the film "a message" and a "happy ending" (and not the kind from massage parlors).  I really just wanted to see Angelina Jolie rage and turn into a dragon.

But no such luck from Hollywood.

Stay tuned for a future LilyOnTheLam.com post when I wax on more about Angelina Jolie, but for now I turn our story to another time ...

When I was 24 years old, I was driving home from work at about 40 miles per hour when a car turned right in front of me.  You know how they say your life flashes in front of your eyes when you're about to die (or think you are about to die)?  Well for me, as I plowed my car into this (obviously crazy) woman's car; I had a serene sense of calm.  

I thought "Ohhh, so this is how it ends."  As one might when you finally figure out the final twist in an interesting movie.  

I take a lot of comfort in that perceived final moment.

Obviously I did not die - I was bruised and banged up, but still living!  

However I like what happened in what I thought might be the last moment on earth.

I wasn't scared.  I wasn't hopeless.  I wasn't remorseful or filled with regret.  

It was just as if I turned the final page in a great beach read ... "Ahhh, so that's how it ended!"  

I cannot fully articulate how peaceful this moment makes me.  I hope that when death does come for me that I will once again have this same reaction.  No fear.  No anger.  No remorse.  Just a gentle bit of surprise and an ah-ha moment!

I like to see psychics every now and again.  It's my way of wasting money ... I don't smoke.  I don't drink a lot.  I don't buy $1000 purses.  But every now and again I see a psychic for giggles.  

Almost every one says I am an old soul who has bounced around from lifetime to lifetime.  I don't know if that's true or not, but my reaction as I struck the other vehicle with massive force makes me think that maybe this hasn't been my first time in the cosmos.

"Ohhhhh, so this is how it ends."

When I die, I don't think I'll be in a dragon form with a Prince's sword in my chest ... but maybe in the next life.  Who knows?  But until I figure out "how it ends,"  I like to think of myself as that green horned girl in the black and purple cape ... and sometimes even as the dragon herself.

  
Happy July 24th, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers!

"I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" - Rest In Peace, Maya Angelou

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

Wednesday night, I was exhausted.  I had worked from 6:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. with the only break was five minutes to scarf down a Trader Joe's Baked Ziti microwave entree.  I briefly scanned the news and then my Twitter.com account.  

I don't know why, but I get more of my news faster from Twitter before all other sources.  Sure enough Twitter had scooped my regular news again - author and poet, Maya Angelou, died on Wednesday, May 28, 2014 at the age of 86.

Even though Maya Angelou had lived a long life, I was still surprised to hear she had passed away.  In my mind, she seemed not so much human as a force of nature.  A jolt of energy that could not be dissipated. My already weary shoulders drooped further with the news.

I first discovered Maya Angelou when I was in middle school. I had stumbled upon her gritty and "in your face" real autobiography "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings."  It was horrific and yet I clung to it.  So much of what she wrote about, I could sadly identify in myself.  But seeing the absolute horror of Maya Angelou's life through the hazy viewpoint of her child narrator's unworldly comprehension, made me look at my own horrors with a stronger viewpoint.  I was not alone.  If Maya could endure, so could I.  

Sometimes the greatest solace can be derived from knowing that one is not alone; that others have walked the same path and not only survived but thrived.  Maya Angelou's book both shocked and scared me, but also oddly comforted me.  I was not alone and I did not need to be ashamed about the horrors in my own life.

As the years went by, Maya Angelou would pop up in popular culture - talking with Oprah, talking with President Barack Obama.  Her star continued to rise.  Her wisdom and poetry spread to more audiences.  But I still hold Maya Angelou close to my heart for shining a pinpoint of light through my own personal childhood darkness so many years ago.  

I had never met Maya Angelou but her words helped change my life.  What a powerful gift she gave to me and many others.  She may have left the bonds of this Earth, but I hope people continue to read her works and breathe the spirit of her everlasting endurance and perseverance.

Rest in Peace, Maya Angelou … and thank you for everything. 

P.S.  Some of my favorite Maya Angelou quotes …

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

"Nothing will work unless you do."

"When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time."

"The truth is, no one of us can be free until everybody is free."        

Of Maturity and Meatballs - New Product Wednesday - Trader Joe's Turkey Meatballs

Happy New Product Wednesday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers!

In my continuing tribute to Trader Joe's grocery store finally arriving in South Tampa, I am dedicating this New Product Wednesday post to yet another Trader Joe's product.  "New Product Wednesday" are for new products or products that are "new to me."

Today's product review is … Trader Joe's Turkey Meatballs!

Now before I talk "meatballs" with you … let's talk maturity or lack thereof.  I will guarantee you that at least five times during the writing of this product review, I have said "balls" to myself and then given a Beavis and Butthead style laugh.  I may be 9000 years old, but I have the maturity level of an 8 year old boy … an immature 8 year old boy.

When I was a kid I thought that maturity was something that naturally increased with age - like getting taller each year, I thought it was something you just grew into.  In retrospect, for a smart little kid, I was also pretty naive.  Not really a good combination, but I have managed not to get into the cars of strangers offering candy (YET) … so I guess I grew up "OK."  

I think I was in junior high school … or maybe even high school, when I realized that there were fifty year olds walking around this Earth with the same level of maturity as my classmates.  I remember being quite literally stunned speechless.  I tried to fathom how someone could live decades upon this Earth and seemingly not mature.  

As I grew older, I met more and more people who seemed to stop maturing in their early youth.  I did not know how it happened, but I was determined to actually gather some wisdom and learning from the world around me.

I find that the events that have shaped my personality (and maturity level) the most are ones where I had to "rise to the occasion."  In college, when I was a dorm RA and I was woken up at 4 a.m. (with a test scheduled for 7:45 a.m.) by a student contemplating committing suicide - there was no time for "Can I deal with this later when I am older and hopefully wiser?"  

I feel like my life is an endless stream of people throwing down the gauntlet and I have to pick it up, rise to the occasion and make it work.  I don't regret this in my life.  It has shaped me in ways that I feel make me very strong.  But sometimes I wish things were just a little easier.

Perhaps this is why I also try to embrace some whimsy and do not chide myself for a Beavis and Butthead reaction to a post on meatballs (Heh heh - balls.)

So back to the purpose of this blog post: a product review of Trader Joe's Turkey Meatballs.

I like these meatballs because they are super easy.  They are fifty calories per meatball.  Keep them in the freezer.  Pop them in a pot of sauce or nuke them in the microwave - quick and easy.  On their own, they taste like a regular meatball to me.  They honestly could use a little more seasoning.  But in tomato sauce, they "come alive" and perk up.

These are not the best tasting meatballs in the world, but if you're looking for something quick, easy and lower calorie than a regular meatball - then check out Trader Joe's Turkey Meatballs.

Heh heh …. balls.  ;-) 

Banana Vs. Banana - An Epic Tale of Pie in Los Angeles

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

Sometimes you just need a piece of pie.  But sometimes your waistline really does not need a piece of pie!  

When I went to Los Angeles for a mini vacation, I decided I was going to lift the caloric restrictions and have a piece of banana cream pie.  I love pie in general.  I can't think of a pie flavor that I don't enjoy on at least some level.

I was near the La Brea tar pits when the pie craving hit.  Right next door is Marie Callender's (a.k.a. Callender's Grill) - which most people know only for the frozen food brand with the same name.  Growing up in the Midwest, we did not have Marie Callender's.  It reminds me of Perkins Restaurant & Bakery.  Callender's is known for their pies, so I decided this was fate telling me to take a break and have dessert.    

Bakery section of Callender's Grill

The restaurant was packed with happy families.  It's a homey, lovely place.  I ordered a slice of banana cream pie from a waiter who looked like actor Chris Evans' stand-in.  He brought me a slice of pie.  I looked down at it and said "Um, I think this is coconut cream not the banana cream pie I ordered."

The waiter looked at me like I was nuts and then said: "Why do you think that?"

"Um, because it is covered in coconut?"

He picked up the plate, held it eye level and stared at the pie like a cop interrogating school kids.  

"Hmmmm…. maybe?"  He said as he stared down the pie.  "Let me check."

After a few minutes, he came back with this piece of pie.  He said reassuringly "You were right.  That was coconut."

I, never doubting my pie sleuthing skills, just gave him a smile.

I didn't expect a high class piece of pie from Marie Callender's.  It is after all an inexpensive restaurant chain.  But I was disappointed because I remembered them having much better pies when I used to live in Los Angeles.  This piece of pie was just OK.  It was certainly not worth the calories though.  (However if you are craving really awesome "steak" wedge fries, do stop by Marie Callender's because they can't be beat!)

My pie craving was not satiated by this sad piece of pie.  Sigh.  More calories would need to be ingested before I could get this pie monkey off my back.

I had previously been to the "The Original Farmers' Market" complex on Fairfax.  This is one of my favorite places to go on a lazy weekend day.  It's especially good if you want to grab something to eat with a large group of people who all have different tastes.  You want donuts?  We got you covered.  You want Malaysian food?  Yep!  It's a lovely space with tables around food stands.  There are also several regular style restaurants around the "food court" like area.  

One of the restaurants is DuPar's Restaurant and Bakery.  It is an old-school style comfort food diner delight.  I knew that if I wanted a decent piece of pie, I needed to head back to the Farmers' Market.

So the next night, after attending the 10th Anniversary Lost TV Show Reunion at Paley Fest, I headed to Du-Par's.  I ordered the banana cream pie and was actually brought a piece of banana cream pie.  

This is what my stomach had been waiting for.  Light, custardy, filled with bananas and topped with an avalanche of whipped cream with a buttery flaky crust.  Banana Cream Pie craving officially satisfied!

The best banana cream pie I have ever had was at a wine store in Des Moines, Iowa.  On weekends the wine store opened up their back room and did a set meal with selected wines.  My friend was living in Des Moines at the time and I was in town for a visit.  I remember being served a pork chop as big as my head.  Hello Iowa!  

For dessert, we were served a banana cream pie tartlet with a chocolate chip cookie crust.  The cookie had been brushed with a rum glaze.  Layers of banana with the richest pastry cream ever were next.  Then a generous layer of sweetened whipped cream.  I have tried to duplicate this tart many times over the years and have failed miserably.  It seems so simple and yet I just can't get it right.

If I am craving a really decadent piece of pie, I will head to the Capital Grille.  They have a coconut cream pie tart that is to die for.  It is a vanilla cookie-like tart shell filled with incredibly rich coconut cream and whipped cream.  One of these days I am going to sneak a banana into the restaurant, slice it up and cover the Capital Grille's coconut cream tart with banana slices.  Then I would REALLY be in Heaven.

Ummm… perhaps I have said too much.  

I really like pie.  What can I say?    

The Seven Year Quest Satisfied

Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers:

In March, I went to Los Angeles, California to attend three of the events at Paley Fest.  Once upon a time, I lived in Hollywood, California.  For this trip, I rented a studio apartment through Airbnb.com that was three buildings down from my former apartment.  It was in the historic Nirvana building on Orange Drive, across the street from the Hollywood and Highland Shopping Complex and the home of the Oscars, the Dolby Theater.

While I have flown through LAX - Los Angeles airport several times in the last couple years on my way to Australia, Malaysia, Taiwan and Japan; I haven't been in the city itself in seven long years.  

The last time I visited Los Angeles, we booked a retired gentleman turned chauffeur named Jerry and his limo for the day.  He drove us from Hollywood to the Los Olivos wine country.  We "limo-ed" to like eight or more wineries (the day all blurs together after so much wine). We loaded up that limo with all sorts of mad, drunken purchases.  (Trust me, buying a coonskin cap for a wine bottle from the Fess Parker Winery sounds like a brilliant idea when you are inebriated!  Buy yours online by clicking this link!)

When we finally arrived back at our hotel after about 12 hours, we did a pratfall out of the limo like Edina and Patsy from "Absolutely Fabulous."  The bellman basically loaded us and all of our shopping bags (like 30!) onto a cart and wheeled us inside.  I am ever grateful to the kindness of strangers in uniforms.  

(Side Note:  Check out this hysterical YouTube clip video of many drunken antics scenes from "Absolutely Fabulous.")

  
When I moved from Los Angeles, my last meal was a spicy Polish dog with coleslaw from the iconic Pink's Hot Dogs on La Brea Avenue at Melrose Avenue.  One of my male friends must have turned me on to this particular flavor combination, because I definitely would not have picked it on my own.  Cole slaw on a hot dog?  I mean, seriously!

But trust me - it works.  The fiery heat of the spicy Polish sausage with the cool, creaminess of the coleslaw.  It is my FAVORITE menu item from Pink's.

When I returned to Los Angeles seven years ago, I dragged my friend to Pinks and forced her to eat a spicy Polish dog with coleslaw.  She was skeptical but she loved it just as much as I did.

Then a few years after that visit, I was in Las Vegas.  I became very excited to see that there was a Pink's Hot Dogs at Planet Hollywood.  I stood in a very long line.  It didn't have the same street-savvy feel as standing in the massive Los Angeles Pink's lines, but a line is still a line.  When I finally reached the register to order, I was very angry to find that Pink's only had hot dogs and not the Polish sausage.  I felt cheated!  A regular Hoffy's brand hot dog (that Pink's sells) with coleslaw is just not the same!

Side Note:  The Pink's Las Vegas menu now says it has "Polish sausage" but not "spicy Polish sausage."  I'll be headed to Vegas soon, so I may have to stop at Pink's to see what the story is.

Needless to say, since it had been seven years since I had a proper Pink's spicy sausage with coleslaw; I was definitely going to Pink's as soon as I arrived in Los Angeles.  I hate to admit this, but I have dreamed about this spicy dog!  (Hello, my name is Lily and I am a food addict!)

As soon as my plane landed at LAX, I grabbed my bags, rented a scarily shaky Ford Fiesta (hey, I'm not made of money!) and high-tailed it to Pink's.  OK actually I went to check-in and the sublet first.  Then I walked from the sublet to Pink's (3 miles roundtrip) because I knew I was going to be ingesting a lot of calories!

Even at 2:30 p.m. on a Friday, there was a big old long line.  I settled in, went to my "Happy Place" mentally and about 25 minutes later I was at the front of the line.

I was almost giddy as I placed my order - "Spicy Polish Dog with Coleslaw, por favor!"  To make things even calorically worse, I ordered French Fries (even though I hate seasoned French Fries) … with cosmic orange nacho cheese (to drown out the seasoned taste)!  Oh and a diet Coke … because I'm "eating healthy."

Pink's has indoor and outdoor seating.  It was unseasonably warm in Los Angeles while I was visiting, so I chose an open table indoors.  The walls are covered with head shots of famous actors, singers, athletes and local celebrities.  Next to my table was a picture of the singer P!nk, which I thought was pretty appropriate.

  
I grabbed 12,000 napkins and was ready to begin the meal that would end my seven year quest for spicy dog perfection.

It was everything I remembered and more!  It was so delicious!  But so much food!  I couldn't even finish the spicy Polish dog and barely made a dent in the French fries.  How did I used to be able to inhale these?  Oh youth!

I also had to come to terms with a sad fact, sitting under the picture of P!nk in front of my Pink's dog.  I think I have gotten too old for the spicy Polish dog.  It was blisteringly hot and spicy with a red inside speckled with peppers.  What happened to the iron clad stomach of my youth?  Was I too old for a spicy dog?  Would I have to (gasp!) start ordering regular Polish dogs with coleslaw?  Ohhh the bloom is off my rose!  I'm old!  What's next?  A walker with tennis balls on it?

About halfway through the dog, I was forcing myself to eat more.  I think I was trying to prove I could still handle it.  I finally gave up with about 1/4 left.  My stomach was gurgle-y the rest of the day wondering what the hell I had done to it!

I'm still glad Pink's Hot Dogs was my first stop.  It really is a Los Angeles icon that every stomach should visit at least once.  I don't know when I will be back to Los Angeles, but I can tell you that when I do I will be back at Pink's.  However I am not sure whether I will be getting the spicy or regular.  Growing old sucks!

Whether Ghosts Or Cats … You Can't Break Me!

Happy Friday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers!

Not only is it the start of the weekend, but it is also my Mother's birthday.  So I would like to start off by wishing my Mother a "Happy Birthday."  

My Mother is a Vampire - she is absolutely ageless.  Not a wrinkle on her Asian face.  When I was 18 years old, I went to have my picture taken with my Mother and my younger sister.  The female photographer said  "OK, you're the baby" (to my sister) and "You're the mother" (to our mother) "and you are the - uh - uh - Grandmother?"

I don't know how I am NOT in jail for manslaughter right now. I was EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!  Jesus Christ Lady, are you having a f*cking stroke?  NO, I AM NOT THE GRANDMOTHER!  

I can only imagine if I were to take a picture with my mother now, the photographer would probably ask if I were my mother's great, great grandmother.  "And you are the uh - uh - reanimated corpse she dug up out of the backyard?"

So Happy Birthday, Mom!  May you continue to live a long and healthy life where I continue to be seen as decades older than you by stupid people.

I have a confession - I actually wrote this blog post on Tuesday.  (Gasp!  No!)  Yes, Tuesday.  Sometimes I write my posts ahead of time because I am crazy busy (or crazy procrastinating) during the week.  Tuesday morning, my first work call was at 6:30 a.m.  And I have no one to blame but myself since I scheduled it at that time to make it somewhat more palatable (time zone-wise) to the Asia Pac attendees on the call.  I somehow managed to speak for 50 minutes without truly waking up.  

I hope I actually gave my presentation versus sleep-talking about how much I hated part 2 of Bravo TV's Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Reunion.  If my Italian colleague instant messages me later and says "Who is Kyle Richards and why does she annoy you so much?"  I will know that I failed in giving the correct presentation.

So at 7:30 a.m. when my call was over, I needed a break - to fully wake up, I guess.  I did a little stretch, walked around for a little bit and then went to weigh myself to make sure I was still on track losing weight.  Saturday and Sunday is the 200 Food Truck Rally in Tampa and I needed to drop some weight before attending that event.  Especially since I discovered one of the food trucks is The Twisted Iron, which not only has chicken and waffles but sweet potato waffle fries with caramel and marshmallow sauce!  Hello Fat and Calories - I am coming for YOU!  

I was extremely happy to see that I've continued to lose weight.  This may not be the case after this weekend, but I am holding on to my joy TODAY.      

I work from home (Thank God!), so after weighing myself I walked toward the kitchen to get a glass of water.  (I've been trying to cut down on the caffeine.  Sigh.)

While I was walking I kicked something small on the floor with my foot.  Now as the Guardian of 9000 cats, I am used to something always being on the floor.  Usually it is cat toys, sometimes cat vomit or a stray tumbleweed of cat hair rolling along the tile floors.  

I looked down and first thought what I kicked was a cat toy - as Chibby has a set of small metallic foil balls that make a crackly sound when he hits them.

The afore-mentioned Chibby

But upon second glance, I realized this was no foil ball cat toy.  Instead it was …

A tiny "Milky Way Midnight Mini" candy bar.

Now for the record, I do not keep candy in the house.  The reason because I will eat ALL of it - as soon as possible, until it is all gone, without stopping.  

There is no "moderation" here.  Even if my stomach is screaming in overstuffed pain, my brain will think "But there's four more pieces of chocolate left - you should just eat those NOW."  It's like my brain thinks its a Hazmat Crew doing the world a service by disposing of every trace of any junk food in the house immediately and completely.  And the only "medal" I get for this "service" is a fat roll around my mid-section.  

I stared at the little Milky Way Midnight Mini candy bar and thought "what the heck?"  At 7:30 a.m., my brain is not firing on all cylinders.  Had the cats pooled up their allowance, gone out and purchased candy from the 7-11?  

Wait, my cats don't get an allowance.  

Did I do this?  

I went to bed craving candy last night - did I sleep-walk, sleep-shop and then sleep-eat a bag of Milky Way Midnight candy bars, accidentally leaving one behind as evidence of my sleep-gluttony?

But I don't even like Milky Way candy bars!  

I thought and thought and thought … and then I remembered that I had had a friend over for the season premiere of "The Walking Dead."  Now the season finale for the TV show is this weekend, so this would have had to have been like 5 months ago, maybe?  (Google search confirms - October 13, 2013.)  

I had put together a candy bowl to accompany our mini viewing party.  (Seriously, I will use ANY excuse to buy candy.)  I remember there being little Milky Way Midnight candy bars (as well as other candy bars) in the mixed candy bag I had purchased.  Ah-ha!  

One of the cats, entranced by the shiny foil wrapper, must have stolen one from the bowl.  He then probably batted at it until it was stuck behind one of my book shelves or the couch, leaving it to be discovered at a later date for future play.  My cats love to play hockey with crinkly, foil objects.

Even though I figured out the appearance of a candy bar immediately after I got off a scale was probably caused by a cat versus a malicious ghost or Divine Intervention, I was still a little spooked by the experience.  After all, I had written a lengthy post about the Universe sending signs that we should listen to …  So what was the Universe trying to tell me here?  

I was really happy that not only had I lost the weight I gained from my binge-a-thon vacation weekend in Los Angeles, but that I was and continue to be lighter than I was before my vacation.  Then I step off the scale and almost immediately bump into a candy bar?  Am I Eve in the Garden of Good and Evil staring at the apple?  (Or probably more accurately, Honey Boo Boo in the Candy Aisle of 7-11 staring at the two pound variety mix bag?)  

What's the message here?  

"Congrats on continuing to lose weight, here's a tiny reward for you!"  

"Why are you trying to lose weight when candy is soooo delicious -- here's a little ball of saturated fat and sugar for you!"  

Or:  "Sure you're happy you lost weight, but can you continue to be strong?  Let's see how you fare with this CHOCOLATE BAR!"   

Because I am an over-dramatic person, I let out a gasping scream as I picked up the candy bar from the floor.  Demons!

I stared at the tiny little chocolate in my hand.  The 36 calorie, 1.4 g fat, 4.8 g sugar, bomb in my hand.  I had no idea why the Universe (or my cats) chose to bring this up to me immediately right after I stepped off a scale.  Punishment?  Reward?  Test?  Coincidence?  The Universe works in mysterious ways!

I threw the Milky Way Midnight Mini in the trash.  Whatever the reason the Universe chose to throw a five month old candy bar in my path after I weighed myself, I wasn't buying in by eating it.  You can't break me!

Of course if it had been a Snickers mini, pack of Hot Tamales candy or a Lindt dark truffle, I might have thought differently!  It's a lot easier to toss out candy you don't particularly care for than candy you love!  (Which by the way is also a rule true to my dating life, but that's a whole different story!)

I still have no clue why the Universe threw candy in my path - but I am going to wick away any grandiose themes about punishment and reward and simply go with this …

When you are happy about an accomplishment, don't mess it up by eating old candy off the floor.                   

I'm pretty sure that will NOT be the "feel good inspirational quote for 2014" on calendars and bumper stickers everywhere, but hey it works for me!

Happy Friday!  Happy Birthday Mom!  I hope you all have a great weekend filled with more accomplishments than tests/punishments!  Thanks for reading!