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I was weeding out in the front yard today.  We have woods in front, and we like the natural look.  But every now and again, I go all ‘Mommy Dearest’ on it and start yanking out weeds with a ferociousness worthy of any wire-hanger scene.

Yanking out weeds in the woods.

It’s a little anal, I admit.

It’s also too big a job to realistically complete, so I try to focus on the very edge by the street and the driveway.  I’ve got English ivy and hostas and fern growing there which are quite lovely, but there is also an extremely invasive asian crabgrass that chokes out everything.  I hate that stuff.  And none of the wildlife eat it…it has got no benefits I can see, except perhaps making O2, and I’m not even sure about that.

Now, if you recall, my right knee is in the crapper.  It’s worthless.  Arthritis has settled in fairly badly under my kneecap.  For those of you who have never had arthritis, please believe me when I say having it under your knee cap is like having glass shards rubbed up and down your leg when you attempt to bend it.

So when I’m weeding, I don’t bend from the knees.  I bend from the hip.  This, of course, makes my bum stick out.  I’m the classic bum-waving gardener.

And now that I’ve set the stage for you, here’s what happened today:  I was out by the road, weeding with my bum proudly waving in the air.  I was wearing Bermuda length jeans shorts that are loose enough in the rear end to be able to bend comfortably for long periods of time.  This means, unfortunately, that they are also prime wedgie makers.

I heard a car approaching, but didn’t straighten fast enough, so I was stuck with the choice of staying head down, with my bum saluting him, or straightening and having to either sport the mother of all wedgies or be seen ‘picking’ that mother of all wedgies out from the nether regions.

This, my friends, was a true no-win situation.

I won’t tell you what I chose…..

….but I will tell you that I got a honk out of it.

My Varmint has always been a Spice Girl.  Since she was a toddler, she’s loved spicy hot foods.  She adds ridiculous amounts of plain old black pepper to food that she finds bland, unless she has access to red-hot pepper seed flakes.  Then she piles those on.

Most kids eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in their packed lunches.  Not Varmint.  She likes Cheddar Cheese and jalapeno Slices with mustard on Whole Grain Bread.

Most people find jalapeno Cheddar Cheese to be more than flavorful.

Not Varmint.

She has to have Habanero Cheddar Cheese.  Thank goodness we can find it easily.

Critter, is the Apple of My Eye.   Varmint,  the Habanero.

My Spice Girl.

My Hot Petootie.

My Red Hot Chili Pepper.

And I sure do love that kid.

I have sunshades for my car.  You know, the kind that is rectangular, has a reflective silver side, and a cheesy Hawaiian flower side?  They really do work.  You put them up in your windshield before you leave your car parked in a 3000 degree Kelvin asphalt parking lot, and they keep your auto at a cool and breezy 2000 degree Kelvin.

I don’t use mine as often as I should.  And it isn’t because I enjoy having the epidermis of the back of my thighs seared to my leather seats.  It isn’t because I enjoy the scent of cooked flesh instead of my mango/tango car scent.  It’s because, even though I do actually understand the definition of Kelvin, I don’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of how in tarnation you refold a Sunshade.

I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

And it’s embarrassing, I tell you!

Have you ever ineffectively wrestled with something unwieldy like that in the compact front seat of an auto while children snicker in the seat behind you?  Have you ever gone to whack those kids upside the head with that sunshade as recompense, only to inadvertently smack yourself with it, sending your kids into a fresh peal of laughter?

Well, I’m not saying I HAVE, but if theoretically speaking, I HAD, it would be an injustice, I tell you.

What’s my point?

I’ll be wearing long pants the rest of the summer, thank you.

Isn’t that a ridiculous word?  It almost sounds dirty.  “Humdinger.”

“Hey, my Humdinger itches.”

“Well for gosh sake, if you scratch it, be sure to wash your hands!”

I was trying to think of a word to describe the thunderstorm we had last night, and ‘humdinger’ was the first word that sprang to mind.   Why ‘humdinger’ describes a large quantity of electrically charged particles during a storm is beyond me, but I am thoroughly enjoying using that word again and again and again.

Humdinger.

(and again.)

Last night My Captain took me to Alexanders for dinner since he didn’t get to take me for Rib Night on Wednesday. I tell you, he’s a keeper, that man is.

I just LOVE how they greet us with carbohydrates right off the bat at Alexanders.  And not just any carbohydrate.  Sweet Potato Buttermilk Biscuits.

And it was served alongside some kind of molasses sweetened whipped butter.

And you wonder why I’m fat.

(Then again, maybe you don’t.)

While we inappropriately gorged ourselves on those, Chef Smallwood fried up some good ol’ southern green tomaters for us.  But, being Chris Smallwood, he couldn’t just leave it at that.  Oh no…he had to top those puppies with Pickled Corn and Tomato Salad and Seasoned Shrimp.

And for an appetizer, it wasn’t exactly a small portion, either!

Seriously, this would have been enough for dinner.

But then, we took a bite from our plates (because, of course, we are gluttons and each ordered our own plate,)

…and there was no going back.  This picture doesn’t do the color justice.  The cherry tomatos were the brightest, happiest orange color I’d ever seen. The shrimp were so tender and flavorful.  The tomatoes were perfectly fried and crunchy.  And the salad dressing on the corn and tomato salad was tangy and salty and sweet all at the same time.

I sound like some kind of annoying, condescending PBS food aficionado when I say this, but Chris’ Fried Green Tomatos really truly are a masterpiece.

It was a lot of food…still, we smacked our lips, rubbed our bellies, and hunkered down for the main entrees.  My Captain, being the manly man he is, predictably chose the Barbecued Meat Platter.  It consisted of a slow smoked beef brisket and carolina style pork.

Mmmm.  Juicy.  Tender.  Gone in a plaque-encrusted-artery minute.  He chowed down.  Oh, and don’t forget the Southern Greens….smothered in a vinegary dressing…and yes, those are enormous chunks of bacon you see in amongst those Vitamin laden greens!  Wonderful!

I, on the other hand, went healthy.  (ahem. cough.)  I ordered the Crispy Tofu Country Captain.  It was so dang delicious, you’d never suspect it was healthy.  Fried tofu chunks, crazy flavorful veggies, and served over toasted almond rice…watching me eat it, you’d have thought I was from California and my true name was Bunny.

It was good.  It was dang-tootin’ good.

For my sides I also chose the Southern Greens, in addition to Overnight Slaw.

I figured I needed something to push those biscuits through.  (Really, Mama?)

We were full.  Uncomfortable-unbutton-your-top-button-Full.

We’re talking bust-a-gut full.

So I ordered desert.

Homemade White Peach and Ginger Ice Cream.

It’s appropriate that the photo is out of focus, because we were so gosh darn full we couldn’t focus either.

Here’s the thing.  All of this, plus a spiffy/Yuppy/microbrew beer for My Captain, and the bill was STILL under fifty bucks.  Explain how these guys stay in business?! I have been to restaurants a whole lot less delicious, or generous with their plates, and spent more.

I have to confess something else now, too.  I’ve bullied Chef Smallwood into considering competing in The Food Network’s show “Chopped.”  He hemmed and hawed.  But I think he would be fantastic.  Any man who puts ginger in White Peach Ice Cream on a whim could hold his own on “Chopped”.

So here, dear friends, is my request to you:  PLEASE, pretty pretty please, will you go to Alexanders and taste Chef Smallwood’s food, and if you agree with me, ask him to come to your table (he will…he’s an affable kind of guy!) and tell him to send in an entry for “Chopped.”  If enough of us urge him to, maybe he will!

We were going to go to Alexander’s Restaurant in Buckeystown tonight for Chef Chris’ smoked Rib night.   I was so stoked!  I even started salivating a good 24 hours in advance.

And then My Captain got the call for Overtime.

And my salivary glands dried up.

After they cried.

Because who ever heard about eating family style ribs alone, for heaven’s sake?

My Varmint and Critter are with their daddy tonight.  It was hard to say goodbye to them when he picked them up.

It’s very quiet in this house right now.

It’s a very sad night indeed.  No Ribs.  No Captain.  No munchkins.

….Did I mention No Ribs?