Adopt a Duck...or Go Golfing With Bigfoot...

So, I just woke up from a nap...and from a very vivid dream.

My housemates needed to re-home their pet duck, and had some people over to meet the duck...but the duck only wanted to play with it's squeaky toy, and kept disappearing down a hallway. I was sent to retrieve the duck, but he wouldn't cooperate...unless I grabbed the toy from his bill and squeaked it to make it (the duck, not the toy) chase me.

I squeaked the toy, and the duck chased me back out into the dining room.

We were all very apologetic about the duck's misbehavior. I remember my housemate (I will refer to her here as Mary, mostly because her name is Mary) saying, "I'm so sorry...he never does this. He normally will come right to you when you call him."

This would have been a good place in the dream to have Mary pull out a duck call and start quacking in the kitchen...but THAT would have made sense.

What is SO TROUBLING about this dream (besides everything) is that we don't even own a duck.

My girlfriend made us dinner last night, and it included smoked tofu. I'm pretty sure that has something to do with it...well, either that, or the Chia seeds. I had some pretty vivid dreams last night, too. Then, I had the leftovers for lunch today.

Thank goodness he passed on the tofu

The meal was delicious...and at least I didn't have that one dream about the Bigfoot with really big teeth wearing golf shoes...I usually only get that one if I eat pepperoni.

Anyway, I just finished the last of the tofu dish...and I can't wait to go to sleep. I have to find out if our duck got adopted.

I hate cliffhangers.

Nutella...the Gateway Spreadable...

In my absolutley hilarious and (dare I say) geniusly inspired guitar blog (http://guitarfingerfreak.blogspot.com) I wrote about "Nutella and the Elvis Potato," which recounted the life altering 'Nutella incident of 1995.'

Looking back, I might be tempted to say that this was my first real experience with dangerous spreadables...but I think my problem may have started long before that.

Like most people, I think I got my first taste of the smooth and creamy side back when I was just a kid. It was Jif...I think...because my mom was choosy. Choosy moms choose it...it's a well known fact. This isn't just another "blame my mom" diversionary tactic to avoid responsibility.

I save that for my inability to follow through with anything, and my fear of intimacy...and spiders.

Anyway, I'm sure my mother meant no harm. Maybe she didn't understand the dangers of succumbing to the capitalist propoganda machine. Maybe it wasn't even Jif at all. Maybe it was Skippy. It was so long ago that I really can't remember the details now. Or, perhaps I have blocked it.

I do remember that at some point she tried to switch over to some crunchy, organic peanut butter. It was all oily on the top, and the bottom half of the jar was always hard and impossible to spread on bread without ripping gaping holes in it. I don't think it even qualified as a spreadable at all. It almost broke me of the habit...

But then I would go tomy friends' houses, and the dreaded peer pressure. "Do you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

One is too many. A thousand is never enough.

I did some experimenting in college with some alternative spreadables...walnut, and almond. Cashew butter was so good that it scared me...fortunately these exotic blends were cost prohibitive, and didn't go well with beer, or I might have lost my way.

Then, out of nowhere, 'the Nutella Incident of 1995.' It involved a dumpster, and I was pretty sure I had hit my low point. My bottom, if you will. It was a dark, dark year.

What I realize now is that Nutella itself is really just a gateway spreadable.

My girlfriend showed up with something the other day that is just wrong. It looked innocent enough, and she brought it from Trader Joe's...I mean, Trader Joe's! It HAD to be safe, right?

looks innocent...HA!

The name should have given it away. "Cookie Butter."

It's EVIL. Cookies and butter are two things I really don't need. At all. Combined together, it's just not even fair.

Crack in a jar.

Anyway, I've quit cold turkey after going through an entire jar by myself in two days.

Don't judge.

Rancho Cucamonga's dark side

In a recent post I had discussed the ever increasing social problem of tweaker golf cart escapes along highway 101. It has unfortunately come to my attention that this serious issue may have taken a turn for the worse, and broken free of coastal California.

Go ahead. Look for yourself: www'sbsun.com/general-news/20110415/rancho-cucamonga-man-leads-deputies-on-scooter-chase

As you can probably guess, this post is mostly an excuse for me to use the the name Cucamonga as many times as possible.

But, in addition to being able to say "Cucamonga" frequently and without impunity, I am also able to bring attention once again to dangerous criminals using tiny vehicles to elude law enforcement.

These hardened criminals have an obvious and reckless disregard for the safety and welfare of others...unlike those 'other' hardened criminals who care, and wouldn't dare resort to taking Wal-Mart motorized shopping carts out onto public roadways in an attempt to escape justice.

Of even greater concern, however, is why someone would name a municipality "Rancho Cucamonga"-which, roughly translated, means, "Ranch of the very large Cuca's."

I have no idea what a Cuca is, but I certainly wouldn't name my town after one. It sounds obscene.

So, you just keep all of this in mind if you decide to travel to the "Ranch of the very large Cuca's" area. There is some sh*t going down. Leave your hoverrounds at home if you must visit there. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem.

Rancho Cucamonga.

Bless you.