Last night, I decided to cook a real, honest-to-blog (I'm sorry) dinner. I used the recipe that Andrea talked about a while ago, because it sounded delicious and she SAID it was delicious, so I thought, "hmm, I wonder if this is delicious?" And so I had to make it, if only to kill my own wonder.
Anyway, the recipe called for prosciutto, and I'll be honest with you, I didn't really know what that was. I mean, I've heard it before, OBVIOUSLY, from stuff like . . . I don't know, Mama DiSalvo's and Top Chef. And so I called Joe, who would, in fact, be partaking in this delicious meal. Oh, right, Joe is new. Everyone say hi to Joe. OK. So. He didn't answer, and so I was all, "blah blah blah, I'm stupid, can you tell me what a prosciutto is?" into his voicemail. And then I thought about calling Heidi, but I remembered she was at spinning and I doubted she'd answer the phone while almost dying on a bike. And SO, I then put out an APB via text message:
Me: What is prosciutto and where in the grocery is it?
Heather Anne: I think it's like a giant sausage.
Me: I am in the wrong aisle then.
Heather Anne: Let me know if it's a huge sausage.
It is not a huge sausage. Not that I knew that at the grocery. I wandered around the meat (heh), looking at all the giant sausages (heh), but none of the sausages looked right (heh). And by looked right, of course I mean none of them said, "HEY JENNIE THIS IS PROSCIUTTO AND YOU SHOULD USE IT TO MAKE PASTA ALLA VODKA TONIGHT." And so I left the grocery without prosciutto, because I was afraid to ask anyone what it was. I almost stopped this little old lady to ask her, but she kept GETTING IN MY WAY WITH HER STUPID CART so instead I just glared at her a lot, which was not so much helpful, but it made me feel better.
As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Joe called me back.
Joe: Are you still at the grocery?
Me: No, I just left.
Joe: Damn.
Me: Do you know what prosciutto is?
Joe: . . . no. Hold on, I'll Google it.
Me: OK.
Joe: Here it is. Ha! It's HAM.
Me: Ham?
Joe: Ham. Dry cured ham that has not been cooked.
Me: Why don't they just call it ham? I know what ham is!
Joe: I don't know.
Me: Anyway, that sounds gross. Are you OK with not putting ham in the pasta?
Joe: Yeah, I don't really like ham that much either.
Me: Excellent.
That is essentially, exactly the way it happened*.
*except for the part about the buck teeth . . . oh my god, Jennie, shut up.
Showing posts with label wonder killer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wonder killer. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
wonder suicide
You guys know how I'm a Wonder Killer, right? If not, look above this post and FEAST YOUR EYES on the banner (thanks, Kat). For, LO, that banner, it dost speaketh the truth.
You probably have your own Wonder Killer. You ask a simple question, like, "I wonder if George Clooney misses his pig?" and Wonder Killer is all, "Yes, he misses his pig quite a bit, actually. Sometimes he writes his pig letters and sends them to Heaven." Or you say, "I wonder if zombies will one day inherit the earth," and Wonder Killer pipes in with, "duh, it hath been foretold for a great many years."
Before any of us could start volunteering with grieving children, we were trained very, very carefully not to tell these kids what to do or ask them outright questions. Instead we use "I Wonder" statements. Like, if the kid is hanging from the ceiling fan, instead of screaming, "GET THE HELL DOWN, DO YOU WANT TO BREAK YOUR NECK?" you'd calmly say, "I wonder if hanging from the ceiling fan is a good idea?" You'd be surprised at how effective this is. It's like you can see the kid's thought process. I imagine it goes something like this: Hmm, I wonder it IS a good idea to hang from the ceiling fan? It sure is fun. I love hanging from stuff. Trees. Monkey bars. And definitely hanging from this ceiling fan. Why isn't she yelling at me? My mom would yell at me. If she's not gonna yell, what's the point? This isn't fun anymore, I'm getting down.
Similarly, it's not like we're going to start asking the kids stuff like, "So, were you angry when your dad died?" Because DAMN, what kid isn't going to completely clam up when faced with a question like that? Instead, we're supposed to pose it like this: "I wonder if anyone was angry when so-and-so died?" It sounds completely ridiculous, I know, but it works. Usually, we're all sitting around coloring or whatever, so if no one says anything, it's not a big deal, and if they DO want to say something . . . it's not an intimidating situation, and usually they keep talking with minimal encouragement.
The problem with these "I Wonder" statements is they're getting into my head. Not only have I become a bit of a Wonderer OUT LOUD, but my every thought is, "I wonder if I should go running tonight?" or "I wonder if I keep talking to this person, my head will explode?" I CAN'T STOP. I have to wonder kill my own wonder EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY and you know what? I'm exhausted.
You probably have your own Wonder Killer. You ask a simple question, like, "I wonder if George Clooney misses his pig?" and Wonder Killer is all, "Yes, he misses his pig quite a bit, actually. Sometimes he writes his pig letters and sends them to Heaven." Or you say, "I wonder if zombies will one day inherit the earth," and Wonder Killer pipes in with, "duh, it hath been foretold for a great many years."
Before any of us could start volunteering with grieving children, we were trained very, very carefully not to tell these kids what to do or ask them outright questions. Instead we use "I Wonder" statements. Like, if the kid is hanging from the ceiling fan, instead of screaming, "GET THE HELL DOWN, DO YOU WANT TO BREAK YOUR NECK?" you'd calmly say, "I wonder if hanging from the ceiling fan is a good idea?" You'd be surprised at how effective this is. It's like you can see the kid's thought process. I imagine it goes something like this: Hmm, I wonder it IS a good idea to hang from the ceiling fan? It sure is fun. I love hanging from stuff. Trees. Monkey bars. And definitely hanging from this ceiling fan. Why isn't she yelling at me? My mom would yell at me. If she's not gonna yell, what's the point? This isn't fun anymore, I'm getting down.
Similarly, it's not like we're going to start asking the kids stuff like, "So, were you angry when your dad died?" Because DAMN, what kid isn't going to completely clam up when faced with a question like that? Instead, we're supposed to pose it like this: "I wonder if anyone was angry when so-and-so died?" It sounds completely ridiculous, I know, but it works. Usually, we're all sitting around coloring or whatever, so if no one says anything, it's not a big deal, and if they DO want to say something . . . it's not an intimidating situation, and usually they keep talking with minimal encouragement.
The problem with these "I Wonder" statements is they're getting into my head. Not only have I become a bit of a Wonderer OUT LOUD, but my every thought is, "I wonder if I should go running tonight?" or "I wonder if I keep talking to this person, my head will explode?" I CAN'T STOP. I have to wonder kill my own wonder EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY and you know what? I'm exhausted.
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