grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

No More Good Christian Cream Cheese

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Everyone’s in a huff about yet another moronic sounding tv show – GCB, based on the book by the same name (although un-abbreviated).  It’s being touted by ABC as the replacement dramedy show for Desperate Housewives, which I quit watching many seasons ago when Susan turned out to be such an idiot. If not for Dallas Mavericks basketball, Top Chef and Modern Family, I could donate my television to the good Christians at First Baptist Church.

GCB was filmed three streets from our home on Swiss Avenue, although the setting is reportedly Highland Park. Film crews are likely not allowed within the Highland Park bubble, forcing them to shoot over in our hood. This is mildly interesting, but not enough to make me tune in and donate and hour of my life each week.  However, in the spirit of being a good Christian b!#@h myself on occasion, I offer a few brief observations.  

First of all, doesn’t Kraft Foods, which pulled its advertisement, realize those good Christian women comprise a major market segment of Philly cream cheese purchasers? Those WMU women deliver cherry cream cheese pies and spinach artichoke dip to the ill and survivors of the dearly departed all over the South on a daily basis. They thrive on it. They have funeral phone trees. Its part of their mission, taught in Sunday school classes at an early age. 

Secondly, did the ABC producers, bless their hearts, really think that abbreviating the show name would fool anyone? Or keep the title from offending anyone? 

Thirdly, even though I haven’t seen it, I’m sure botoxed lips and Big D bleached hair are plentiful in GCB. That tired ratty theme has been beat to a pulp. Can’t the creative heads come up with some new and exciting trainwreck? How about Fine Scientologist Ba$t@#d$? Now that’s a captivating title for a new hit show if ever there was one. All the good Christian bi#@h$ would watch it for sure. When pray tell does that premiere?

talya

Musical Pairings:

Crosby, Stills & Nash, “Teach Your Children Well”
Barenaked Ladies, “If I Had $1,000,000”

“I mean why would anybody in their right mind leave Dallas for Southern California? We’ve got the same weather without the liberals.” (Gigi in GCB)

Yet Another Insane Nail Salon Story

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80 degrees calls for a pedicure. Pulling into the parking lot early, I was happy to see no customers there yet. The five employees were practically in a receiving line, so thrilled to see my neglected toes stroll in. Was I the 5,000th customer on this Leap Day? Would there be balloons? Guess not. After carefully selecting my polish – I debated between “Suzi Loves Cowboys” and “I Don’t Give a Rotterdam!” – I settled into the massage chair with a copy of Bon Appetit, which of course made me hungry. About halfway through the routine, it was still quiet and peaceful, and I began to think this might just be my most uneventful experience at this place. Ever. Knock-on-wood. 

A girl walked in to get her legs waxed. Wow. Her whole legs? That must be painful and expensive. The ladies became a bit animated over this. There was chattering and pointing about who would take on this assignment. After a Vietnamese rock-paper-scissors game, the lady already doing my feet, disappeared into the back room with the leg wax girl, and my toes were shuffled off to a lesser technician. 

A few minutes later, an older lady came in for a nail fill. She sat near me and was attended to quickly. Still later, a well dressed businessman entered, with a rolled poster tucked underneath his arm. He spoke to the salon owner, explaining that he was selling ads for the Woodrow Wilson High School football calendar to be published next fall. Would the salon purchase a small ad for $100? The owner was suddenly struck mute. No one spoke. Everyone looked around in complete silence. The only sound was a Vietnamese instrumental rendition of Bridge Over Troubled Waters playing in the background. It was awkward.

Suddenly, the nail fill lady jumped in wholeheartedly with both feet and hands speaking to the businessman, as if the salon workers couldn’t hear her – “Yes, that is a good thing to do! A local business should support the local schools. Businesses only want us to support them. They should give back too!” She asked to see the calendar. “Oh that’s a very, very nice calendar. (Two verys with a s-l-o-w emphasis on the last very.) They should definitely buy an ad.” And on and on she went. I became suspicious. They had to be in cahoots! It really was a brilliant routine. The owner never spoke but looked a bit faint, as he wrote out the check. Woodrow Wilson High School can thank the well oiled tag team for that $100. 

After the excitement died down, it became quiet again. As my toes dried, I relaxed and listened to my Ipod. I could almost nap. As the technician finished and began putting my flip flops back on, I opened my eyes to see my perfectly polished “Suzi Loves Cowboys” toes perched in bizarro, hand-painted, flowered shoes! “No, those aren’t mine – my flip flops are right there”, I pointed. “No, for you. Gift for you.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, gift.” I sat there stunned with those odd wooden oriental shoes on my feet which so did not go with my blue Dallas Mavericks Western Conference Finals t-shirt and khaki cargo capris. I looked around for John Quinones and the hidden camera. 

Was I the 5,000th customer? This was the most peculiar thing. I tried to stand, but it was difficult on hard, 2-inch high, wooden flip flops – similar to those 1970s Dr. Scholls sandals I could never quite maneuver. Not only were they uncomfortable and NOT my style, they were huge on my feet. I clopped to the door like a freakin’ Clydesdale horse – CLOP CLOP CLOP. They watched me wobble to my car in those things – they stood at the window and smiled like they were so proud. Will they expect me to wear these next time? I really must find another salon or move back to Arkansas asap! I wonder if Woodrow Wilson needs a donation for the silent auction? 

talya

Musical Pairings:

Simon and Garfunkel, “Bridge Over Troubled Water”
Steve Karmen, “Here Comes the King” (Budweiser Clydesdale Horse jingle)



Don’t Mess with Texas

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Punxsutawney Phil may be all super important and reliable up North, but clearly, his power does not extend to Dallas. It’s high time we had our own prairie dog or badger. We need a critter more in touch with Texas extreme temperatures. With 80 degree temperatures this week, its Easter-like. I’ve resigned myself that we have been totally gypped out of even one bowl of yummy snow cream this winter. I may go ahead and break out the spring wreath, but I hate to jinx it.  

Lucy and Annabelle have been taking me on extra long walks this week. On Wednesday it was even warm enough for a short sleeve Dallas Mavericks t-shirt (of which I have a large collection), even at 8 a.m. We strolled along the neighborhood, with the dogs straining on their leashes, optimistically trying to catch those pesty birds. As a fun bonus, every house in this neighborhood comes with a cat on each wrap around porch, whether wanted or not. They loll about on the sidewalks in front of their respective homes, stretching and cleaning themselves, just teasing and taunting two little Schnauzers. Overhead the trees are already budding out. Those elusive squirrels who live high above seem to realize they have stored way too much inventory this season as pecans coincidentally fall near us like heat seeking missiles as we walk. There is no sign of winter hidden anywhere in the neighborhood. We did, although, get a double dose last year, so it evens out I suppose. In the distance I heard the unmistakeable screech of brakes – that terrible sound signaling someone ran a stop sign and then slammed on the brakes mid-intersection with their arm no doubt extended across the passenger’s side, whether or not there is a passenger or a phantom bag of groceries in that seat. I waited for the crash but thankfully, there was not one.


John was rear-ended last week sitting at a red light on Live Oak in our neighborhood. He was on his way to an early morning dentist appointment before work. I’m sure in his mind he was already at work when the driver smashed into his bumper, jolting him back to reality. Fortunately, the driver produced insurance information and provided his name. In East Dallas, this is a favorable sign. A few days later, of course, John was informed by our insurance agent that this person does not exist, there is no such insurance and all the information provided was fraudulent. According to the Dallas Morning News, of the 17 million licensed drivers in Dallas, 25% are uninsured, making our roads extra-hazardous. And I’m certain 50% of the 25% pass through our neighborhood daily on the way to the border. It’s more than slightly annoying. 

As we continued walking, I thought about doing some yard work later in the afternoon or maybe taking Lucy and Annabelle to the dog park… Just as we turned the corner, making our way back home,  Annabelle spied something nestled in the thick grass between the sidewalk and the street. She stopped in her tracks like a Pointer with her nose down hot on the trail of something. Her friend Dora must have taught her this trick… The item that caught her eye was partially hidden but glistening in the overgrown grass – almost sparkling. I bent down to see it more closely. Oh very nice. It was a condom. Obviously used and totally disgusting. Fortunately, I quickly identified it before Annabelle could claim it for herself, smuggle it home and hide it behind the sofa pillow for John to discover later. Lucy once hid an entire package of frozen corn behind the pillow on the love seat….That was interesting, but finding a nasty used condom one night while lying on the couch watching Modern Family might be a bit too interesting. We aren’t that modern.

Nastiness! On such a glorious Ash Wednesday. 

Who is having car sex in our neighborhood and being a litterbug at the same time? Now, I have nothing against a little something-something wherever/whenever, and kudos for wearing a raincoat, but I hate litterbugs. Maybe that non-existent person who smashed into John’s car was distracted because he had just had vehicular sex on the way to work, tossing the evidence out the window in our neighborhood. That could just be distracting enough to run a red light. On the bright side, at least someone in the hood was practicing safe sex which could potentially keep one future uninsured motorist off the Dallas streets in 16 years. But please, in the spirit of the boy scouts, leave no trace.


talya


Musical Pairings:


Eagles, “Victim of Love”
Bruce Springsteen, “Pink Cadillac”


Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!