While Moonlight Dares to Interfere

In keeping with tradition, here is the 4th of July guest post from my favourite Canadian...

"while moonlight dares to interfere"

as i traced
our history
with my finger
running
from her chin
down
to her navel
i appreciated the curves
inviting

as i placed
my lips on her hip
i thought
about
all the times
i wondered
with muted desire
if we'd get here
ever

as her hair -
curly tonight
despite
(or due to?)
her best efforts -
spilled excitedly
over her
smooth shoulders
i remembered how
she fought me
always

as one tanned leg
gently lifted
straightened
and found a home
on my shoulder
i remembered
with tiny eddies of resentment
all she put me through

and as she sighed with contentment...
i smiled

That's What You Get For Waking Up In Vegas...

A couple weeks ago, I was at the opening of a show at an art gallery. My friend's daughter was showing some of her photography as part of the show, so we were there for awhile. When I walked outside, I noticed a new text message:

"We r going to Vegas fo sho! early morn." (Ignore the text speak. I'll allow it.)

It was my friend PP. I had spoken to him earlier in the day, and he had asked me if I wanted to ride along with him for a trip to Vegas to go to the Hair & Beauty show that weekend. Despite the fact that I wasn't working at Le New Salon anymore at that point, I am ALWAYS down for a trip to Vegas... especially an impromptu trip to Vegas... especially especially when I didn't already have something planned for a Sunday and Monday. (Puppy Z was having a slumber party at First String's house with three other dogs, and he said he would keep her for the weekend.)

It was, as they say, ON!

I called PP back, and we decided to just get up ridiculously early and get out of town. I told him I would meet him at 4:45, hung up, then IMMEDIATELY told my friend and her daughter that OF COURSE I would love to meet them for late-night munchies! For some reason, I couldn't wrap my mind around eating at 12:30/waking up at 4:00 = no bueno. We had fun anyway.

I made it home around 1:30, took a nap, woke up and threw some clothes in an overnight bag, and I was off! After a 7/11 coffee run (even Starbucks isn't open that early!), PP and I rented a convertible and settled in for the 5- to 6-hour drive.

After PP missed the turn-off for the freeway (seriously, you change freeways ONCE to get to Vegas, and he missed it!) because he was yawning, and I was practically levitating from all that caffeine-y goodness, I told him to pull over so I could take over the wheel.

As he curled up in his seat and fell asleep, I blasted oldies, flirted and winked with another driver who was playing lane tag with me, and drove up the mountains and through the desert. It went from rain to sun, from low-60s to high-70s, from early morning dark and cloudy to full-on daytime in VEGAS, BABY! I got us there in 4 1/2 hours and one tank of gas.

After cruising the Strip, we pulled into a gas station to refuel before making our way over to the Convention Center. Tia called at that point, asking (standard) "What doing?"

Ummmm... oh yeah. We hadn't really mentioned to anyone that we were going to Vegas for sure, let alone that we were already there.

"Ummm... I'm in Vegas. With PP." In that background, he started singing "Gooooooooooooing to the chapel and we're gonna get maaaaaaarried!" I told him to hush, as I sensed Tia was going to have something to say.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you-- I'm in Vegas, baby! Vegas!"

"I heard that. What are you doing?"

"I'm... in Vegas?"

"Do you remember Funny Man???"

"Oh yeah. Him."

"Uh huh-- HIM! Your BOYFRIEND?!?!?" Tia was not happy.

"Of course I remember him," I attempted to placate. "He's not here. What does he have to do with anything?" (I may have neglected to mention-- at that particular moment-- the fight we had the afternoon before, in which Funny Man yelled at me that I am not his mother and not his wife, and he doesn't have to check in with me! NO SHIT!!! How's a last-minute trip to Vegas for not checking in??? I decided not to tell him until he called me. He didn't want to know what I was doing? Fine, then I could do what I wanted!!! At least, that's how I felt when I said yes. I realized I knew I wasn't going to do anything, but I'm [relatively] young and not married and, dammit, I was going to live a little!)

"Do not sleep with PP."

"I have no intention of sleeping with PP!"

"Do NOT sleep with PP!"

"I'm NOT!!!"

"How sure are you?" she asked. Damn her.

"Honestly? I'm 90-98% sure I absolutely will NOT have sex with him."

She paused. I could tell she felt better.

"Keep it in the 98% range."

"Welllllllllll," I replied. "You know that 2-10% chance is directly related to how many drinks I have-- 2 drinks? 2% chance of secks-shu-all relations. 10 drinks? Ummm, it might be on."

"Don't have sex with PP."

"I WON'T!"

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight," she skepticalled. "You're in Vegas, where there is DRINKING, with a guy who is not your boyfriend! Where are you staying??"

I told her. "It's a suite! There are 2 beds!" Probably. I kept that thought to myself.

"What are you doing?" she asked one more time.

"Going to the Hair Show!" I trilled. La la la, so much fun!

"Alright dude, you're going to do whatever you're going to do." She knows me so well. "Have fun."

"Thanks!"

"Don't sleep with PP. Don't even hold his hand-- holding hands is a gateway drug!"

I laughed, blew her kisses, and climbed back in the car, shaking my head. PP laughed and wondered aloud why she was warning me against him so strongly. I told him that I was pretty sure she was warning me against myself more than anything.

We decided we were hungry, so we made our way to the Hard Rock Hotel, where Rehab was just getting started at the pool. After laughing at all the boys in their funny hats for a bit, we went to the cafe for breakfast. And who was standing right in front of us in line? Sr. Carlos Santana himself! He's the resident musician for the summer, and his show was just opening that night. Awesome! He seemed very down to earth and chill... until some jackass started getting right in his face, insisting on taking a picture, even after being told no. After that, his guard was up and he went straight to his seat at a booth in the back.

We ate and decided it was time to get on over to our reason for being there-- the International Beauty Show (or IBS which, frankly, I thought stood for something else...). We drove to the Convention Center, finally found parking, and then realized... we needed to change. Did we do it at the gas station, where at least there would be a mirror? No. Did we do it at the Hard Rock, where there are nice bathrooms and plenty of room? Nope. Did we deck-change right then and there, complete with undergarment changes and a lady sitting (watching?) in the parked car next to us? Yes, yes we did. And we looked GOOD!

We did the hair show. I mean, we did the hair show-- we saw all the booths (twice); went to a class on Brazilian waxing techniques (complete with live female AND male models! mrrrowr...oooooooowwwwwwwwwwww!); went to another (HORRIBLE) class on airbrushing makeup; walked through all the booths again to see if there was anything PP hadn't purchased the first time; went to the skincare portion of the convention and walked through THOSE booths; and collected pamphlets, freebies, and samples everywhere we went. Awesome.

At one point, we passed a booth selling sparkly things. PP just walked by it the first time, but stopped when he noticed I had been distracted. He took one look at the rings, got a gleam in his eye, and we both had the same idea at the same time-- what if we got married?!? PP started handing me rings to try on, saying "No, that one's too funky"; "That one's too big" (what???); "There! That one's just right!" And it fit perfectly! Sold. He slipped it on my finger, and we both giggled as all the ladies around us cheered. Whooo!

We were loaded up with goodies, I was distracted by the weight of the new ring on my left hand, and we'd been go-go-going all day, so we decided to go check in at the hotel and relax for a bit before going out for the evening. PP offered to carry me over the threshold, but I went for a piggy-back instead. We reminisced for a bit about past Vegas trips and then curled up for a nap. In the one (king-sized!) bed. (No "whooooooooo"ing! Just sleeping.)

I jumped up after an hour, refreshed and ready to go back out. I had been wearing a dress all day, so I think PP was a little surprised when I decided to change, but I thought an all-black ensemble with sexy red heels and red lips was better for night. I could have worn a little schoolgirl skirt to get in at Sunday School (I brought it with me!), but I decided to wait and see how the night turned out.

We went over to Mandalay Bay and ate, shopped, and looked around for a bit. We ended up wandering around The Hotel and the Luxor before making our way back to the Hard Rock. PP hadn't really been drinking much, but he had a couple beers with dinner and as we walked around, so I felt fine knocking back the rum and diets. Really, though, for a trip to Vegas I was very restrained. We walked, we talked, we played "Slutty or Professional?" with the scantily clad women who strutted by.

As 24 hours of being awake approached, we decided to head back to our room. It was easy and never awkward as we both got ready for bed. And it was all giggles as PP took his shirt off and I pulled down the straps on my tanktop and we posed under the covers, making it look like we were naked. We took a couple of pictures and laughed our (sober!) asses off as we sent one to Tia, imagining her freak-out as all her worst fears were confirmed! Then we settled in, watched some TV, kissed goodnight, and drifted off to sleep.

For four hours.

At which point we had to get up, splash water on our faces, and check out and get back on the road. We stopped for breakfast (and coffee! lots of coffee!) and texted Tia again.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Holy shit," I replied. "I don't know-- I got WASTED, don't remember most of the night, but woke up this morning with PP sprawled across me, a ring on my finger, and papers from the Elvis chapel all over the place!"

"Shut up. If you're lying, we aren't friends anymore!" I knew she didn't mean it.

PP and I giggled the whole way home. (During which I may have inadvertently flashed a trucker!) We came up with increasingly more elaborate stories to tell people about our trip, and we agreed that we would stop when it stopped being funny. (For us!)

We parted ways, as PP dropped me off at my house, with promises to meet up later. I went over to Tia's to show her my new ring and "try to piece together" what had happened the night before. (Hee hee hee!) She was less than thrilled.

Even less so when I showed up at Le New Salon the next day to "pick up" PP, kissing him hello and both of us flaunting our rings. (His was just a ring he already had, turned around backwards. We weren't really fooling anyone with the "married" thing, but Tia was convinced we had gotten drunk and made some bad decisions!) He asked her to double-date with us (she turned us down), and to come over to my parents' house where "we" would be spending Father's Day. (She gagged a little.) (And turned us down.)

No one could ever accuse her of being Funny Man's biggest fan, but Tia was REALLY not a fan of my alleged cheating on him! The next day, as I was getting ready to go to the fair with my mom, Tia called and REALLY laid into me-- she was pissed! I tried to pat her down, but I could tell that we had hit the breaking point where she was just disgusted with both of us for going along with this whole cheating thing so easily. OK, it wasn't funny anymore.

I called PP and told him that it was time to come clean. He laughed and we both agreed that waiting a few weeks and then telling her my period was late might be pushing it a bit. He told me to come into the salon later and we would tell her, in person, together. When I texted her to tell her we wanted to talk, she replied, "What? We don't need to talk. This is me and you, BFFs. Not you and PP." It was over. I texted her and told her she'd been punked!

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Yes, but I'm FUNNY! Hee hee hee!"

"You're still a pain. Plus, aren't you mad at me for completely believing your Slutty McSlutterson antics?"

"Oh yeah... Bitch! I told my mom and she said you believed it because evidently you believe it's within the realm of the possible."

"Haha, I think you're a slut!"

Bitch, this is why we didn't invite YOU to Vegas!

Happy Birthday, Jonny Angel

Today would have been my Jonny Angel's 30th birthday.

We made a promise, back when we were younger and idealistic and at least one of us was still in high school, that we would marry each other if we were both unmarried when we hit 30. I don't know whose 30th birthday we were talking about-- mine is still 2 years off-- but I know that, despite it being a cliched promise, we absolutely would have been a part of each others' lives forever. There are some people that, despite the time or distance between you, are a part of you no matter what. He was one of those people.

He is one of those people.

I love you, Jonny.

When I first heard this song by P¡nk, I thought it must be about an ex-lover. Then I heard it again and listened more closely to the lyrics, and I realized it could also be about a loved one who is just no longer with us...

And now I'll borrow her words because, after more than three years, this is still how I feel...

Happy Day, Dad!!!

You all know that today is Father's Day, but it was also my dad's birthday recently.

When we were discussing what he wants on all his upcoming special days, he kept mentioning this special dessert that his best friend back in Reno used to make for his birthday. After the third or fourth mention, I knew I had to obtain the recipe and make it for my dad. So I emailed:

From: Jen Bun
Sent: Sunday, June 07, 2009 6:00 PM
To: A. P.
Subject: Hi!!!

Hi Big A!!! (We had another friend with the same name growing up, so we called her "little A" and our honorary aunt "Big A," even though she's TINY!)

How are you? Hope all is going well! Is it hot out there yet? How is work? (yes, it is just THAT fascinating to get an email from me!)

[blahblah, updates about family stuff]

I am writing because my dad's birthday is coming up soon, and he has mentioned a few times that you used to make him a grasshopper pie for his birthday. My mom says it's the best grasshopper pie ever! I was wondering if you could send me the recipe, so I could make it for him for his birthday this year...

I know he'd really appreciate it! (And I love to get to try it!)

THANK YOU!!!

Hope to hear from you soon!

Love,
Jenny

***

She emailed me right back:

From: AP
Sent: Sunday, June 07, 2009 6:20 PM
To: Jen Bun
Subject: RE: Hi!!!

[Childhood nickname for JenBun]!!!! Hi!!!

I miss you guys!! Wow, it has been so long since I have made that. Like a lifetime ago!

I will see if I have the recipe. I think it involves cool whip, crème de mint and graham cracker crust and something else(?). Man, it is a distant memory . . . It had to be a very simple recipe because I have never enjoyed cooking --- which also means I must have really liked your Dad to have made him a pie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In spite of him giving me a dead bird on one of my birthdays!!!!! Yes, what are big brothers for . . .

Hey, never grow up. It just gives you grey hair.

Love you, kiddo!!!
A

***

Umm... what?!? My dad gave her a dead bird for her birthday??? I asked him about it, and he (allegedly) didn't remember why exactly he would have done such a thing. So I asked her about it, but I have yet to get a satisfactory answer. I did however, get the recipe for Grasshopper Pie (super simple), and... here it is!

Grasshopper Pie

Ingredients:

1 Oreo pie crust (you can make it yourself-- crush Oreos to crumbs in the food processor, drizzle about 5 Tablespoons melted butter over the crumbs until they stick, press into a pie pan and bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes-- but it's super easy and the same price to just buy one that's already made)
1 7-oz. jar of marshmallow fluff
1/4 cup creme de menthe
2 Tablespoons creme de cacao
2 cups whipping cream (I used heavy whipping cream. Yum yum!)
1 ounce semisweet chocolate, shaved for decoration

Chill pie crust for at least 30 minutes in the refrigerator.

In a mixing bowl, combine marshmallow fluff, creme de menthe, and creme de cacao. Beat until smooth.

In a separate bowl, whip cream until soft peaks form (about 10 minutes on high speed). Fold whipped cream into marshmallow mixture. Spoon filling into pie crust.

Freeze for at least 5 hours. Garnish with chocolate curls and extra whipped cream if desired.

YUM!

To my dad-- my protector, my provider, my inspiration, my lawyer, my coach, my fan, my admirer, my friend, my guide through life and love-- happy birthday and an extra-special Father's Day! I love you.

In Motion.

In Motion

I could write a poem
about the way his arm stretches above his head

the curve of his bicep,
dark against the white pillowcase

tan giving way to the delicate underside,
like the pale underbelly of a sinewy serpent
a boa constrictor threatening to curve around my waist

coarse hair and a thousand nerve endings
strong creases, the weathered plane of
tawny, tough skin
thick

it should feel rough
beneath my fingertrips

but I only feel smoothness
               softness
               tenderness

I could write a poem
about the movement,
     the grace,
     the strength

I could write a poem
but there is an arm to hold me
          lips to kiss,
          warm breath fluttering against my neck

I could write a poem...

Big D.

I've been a negligent blogger again, and I'm sorry, I had written. Promises for more, half-written posts, I still wanted to post them but some were relevant to a particular date, so I was going to make that date the title--

< insert record-scratching-to-a-stop noise here >

Sometimes life interrupts.

I found out earlier this week that my cousin died. He was 45 years old, and he went to sleep one night and never woke up the next morning.

Daniel and Maureen. My cousin and his wife. My cousin and her husband. We never bother with "this one's my cousin and this one's his wife," "this is my second cousin and this is her kid," "this is my 97th-cousin, twice removed, on my mother's brother's side of the family"... they are just family.

Daniel and Maureen. They had been together as long as I could remember. But we never called them that.

Danny and Mo. The biggest Cubs fans imaginable-- not just home games, but following the team on the road, to show their support. Endlessly proud of their city-- tours of all the most fun places, always ending up back at the bar. Even offers of help with a job, if I decided to move out there.

Danny. Wide smiles, huge hugs, and the biggest heart. Always bought the first round. One of my cousins remembers that, when he was a kid, he didn't have a net for his basketball hoop, and Danny bought him one as soon as he found out.

Forty-five years old.

I can't help but think about how many times I've gone to sleep with something left undone, or unsaid, or having said too much... Forgiveness not yet given, "I love you" not yet uttered, peace not yet attained in my heart.

A reminder that, sometimes, there isn't time to fix things later. Sometimes "I'll do it tomorrow" never happens. Sometimes you go to sleep together and wake up alone.

Mo. Warm embraces, big laughs, big love. Danny was her true love, and she was absolutely in love with him every day that they had together. I don't think I've ever said her name alone-- it was always one word: DannyandMo.

Alone.

I read the obituary this morning. I scrolled through the guest book and read every entry. Every one mentioned the Cubbies, and asked for Danny to pull some strings this year. Everyone remembered his smile, his love, his fun, and his exuberance and excitement to be alive.

And every single one is filled with gratitude for having known such a big but gentle personality, for being part of his circle of love that expanded effortlessly and embraced us all.

And they all express their love, care, and support for Mo.

This week, we have all been in touch, all calling and emailing and writing, connected with each other despite the busy, despite the complications, despite the distance.

Tonight, my cousins who couldn't be in Chicago and I, my family, will gather around and call each other, have a drink, and remember the good times.

And today I will turn on the TV, don the T-shirt Danny and Mo bought me (trying to sway my loyalty to my beloved Red Sox!), and cheer on the Cubbies.

Because Danny and Mo were at every game, and I know he'll be watching...

More to come...

I know, I know-- I disappeared again. Well, I've been around, but I've been pretty quiet. Apologies and love-- just know that more is coming soon! I have updates piling up, so while I sort through what is still worth mentioning, here is the recipe for my famously festive black-bean chili! (I've had several requests for the recipe lately, and I've made two HUGE pots of it in the past week, so this just seems timely!)

Enjoy, and I'll see you tomorrow!

JenBun's FAMOUS Black-Bean Chili

2 onions, chopped
4 garlic cloves, pressed
½ cup water
3 Tablespoons ground cumin, divided
3 Tablespoons ground coriander, divided
1 cup prepared (cooked, not fresh) salsa (I like roasted-garlic salsa or one with lime)
1 green bell pepper, chopped (You can use more than one, if you like-- try one orange and one green, for color!)
3 cups cooked black beans (two 15-oz. cans, drained and rinsed)
3 cups canned tomatoes, with juice (28-oz. can) (I dump out most of the juice, for a thicker chili, and also use a knife to roughly chop up the tomatoes)
2 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels (11-oz. package) (or 2 cans)
salt to taste
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro, or to taste

In a large soup pot, cook the onions and garlic in the water on high heat, stirring frequently, for about 5 minutes.

Add 1 Tablespoon each of the cumin and coriander, and stir in the salsa and bell pepper. Lower the heat, cover, and simmer for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add the black beans and tomatoes; simmer for 10 minutes.

Add the corn and continue to cook for 10 minutes. Add salt and the rest of the cumin and coriander to taste. Stir in the cilantro.

Serves 4 to 6.

Per serving: 223 calories, 12 g protein, 2 g fat, 44 g carbohydrates, 7 g sugar, 13 g total dietary fiber.

Try serving with any or all of the following: grated cheddar cheese (try low-fat!), sour cream (try fat-free!), finely chopped red onion, diced fresh tomatoes, sliced avocado, extra cilantro, tortilla strips, or crackers such as Toppers.

Yum!

P.S. Funny story: I was making this chili for Funny Man the other day. I didn't have the recipe in front of me, and I was trying to make it from memory. I did pretty well, and got to the second to last step, where I was adding the rest of the cumin and coriander. I decided to add some black pepper as well and, as I was shaking it into the pot, the lid to the shaker fell off and half the container of pepper dumped into the chili! I tried to scoop out all I could, but it was still pretty spicy! We even added 3 more cans of beans, a can of corn, another big can of tomatoes, and 2 cups of water, but the second Funny Man took a bite, steam rose from his head and he had to go gulp some water! Poor Midwestern boy can't handle the spicy. More for me!

Oh yeah-- moral of this story? Make sure the lid to your pepper shaker is on tightly! (Or just don't add it at all. Up to you!)

Twitter-pated.

Alright, alright... some of you know this, but I caved to the gentle pressure from some adorably convincing friends, and...

I joined Twitter.

I know. I can't believe it either.

And I really don't know why.

But now you all can follow me! (@Jen_Bun, of course!)

I'll tell you when I feel like punching somebody... when I smell like puppies... and when I have a "Sound of Music" sing-along all by myself...

Really, it's priceless.

Anyway, let me know if you are on it, AND (while I am still figuring it all out) let me know what you think is the best thing about Twitter!

OK, I have to go try to fit how I'm feeling into 140 characters... challenge!

Lovely Mother's Day

I hope all you mother's out there had a great day yesterday!

I woke up early to bake a pie crust, buy fresh flowers, and put together a French strawberry pie (recipe to follow). The night before, one of my darling friends from Le New Salon had gone shopping with me, and we picked up some gifties for my mom and beautiful strawberries for the pie (and he took me out to dinner-- bonus!), so I wrapped everything up, arranged the flowers, and took my time writing a card.

Funny Man's mom (the Funny Mom! Remember? From this and this and THIS!) called to thank me for the gifts I had sent her, so I got to chat with my "other" family for a bit...

When we got off the phone, I picked up a picnic lunch from this great little Thai restaurant by my house, and then my family and I went and saw Body Worlds 2. (We may have been the ones joking around, making silly comments...) ("The foot bone's connected to the ankle bone!") ("It puts the lotion on its skin.") ("I see dead people!") (Among others...)

After that, we ate our picnic and listened to a concert and wandered around the park, enjoying the lovely day. We went back to my parents' house and all made dinner and pie together. (And, haha, now I know the recipe for my brother's "secret" barbecue sauce!)

My brother and I haven't been getting along well lately, but part of our gift to our mom was a truce, so we were civil to each other. And, even with that, it was still a lovely day that reminded me (once again!) how blessed I am to have such a loving and wonderful family...

And now for the French Strawberry Pie recipe! (It was originally my grandmother's, and she was a GREAT mother too!)

GrandmaBun's French Strawberry Pie

In a food processor, combine 1 1/2 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and a sprinkle of sugar. Over this, cut 1 stick of butter or margarine into 1" chunks. Pulse until the mixture looks like crumbs. With the processor running, slowly pour 1/4 cup cold water into the bowl until dough forms into a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate.

When ready to bake, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees. Roll the dough on a floured surface into a 10" circle. Place in pie pan, flute the crust, and bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it is a light golden brown.

Let the crust cool. Soften 4 ounces of cream cheese and add a splash of milk. Mash the mixture together and, when the crust has cooled some but is still a little warm, spread the cream cheese mixture all over the bottom of the crust.

Hull 1 pint of strawberries and place them, pointy-side up, in the cream cheese in the crust.

In a saucepan, mash another pint of strawberries with 1 cup sugar and 3 Tablespoons corn starch. Cook over medium heat, and stir until mixture thickens. Let cool, then pour over strawberries in crust.

Place pie in refrigerator until cooled and set.

Enjoy! Yumm-o! :)

Word to your mutha!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all you beautiful moms out there!!!

In keeping with tradition, here is another Thing I Learned From My Mom...

28. ALWAYS go on a roadtrip with your mom! You may be in love with someone; your dad and your brother may be annoying you; you may not know what you're doing in your life... but you will ALWAYS enjoy that time away, talking it out with the one person who knows you best.

(And, of course, she's right!)

I hope you ALL have lovely days... and pie! :)

(I'm making French Strawberry, how about you??)