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October, 2013:

The Princess and the Cookie Jar: A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time (like the 1990s) in a land far far away (Texas) there lived a beautiful little princess named Megan. When she was born, her parents (the King and Queen of the far far away land called Texas) bought her an ugly cookie jar and placed it in her nursery where Megan had to sleep next to this thing every night of her childhood.

That is, until the King broke it. And his daughter’s heart — for the princess had fallen in love with the ugly cookie jar. Did I mention this nursery decoration was a multi-colored fish? The King and Queen even called Princess Megan’s nursery the “fishy room”. Here I’ll show you:

cookie jar face

I don’t know about you, but this thing would give me nightmares staring at me while lit by eerie blue moonlight, night after night. (shudder!)

Anyway, the King felt bad about the whole thing.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the world (California), there was a lovely couple who got married and they received many wedding gifts, and one of them was a hideous-looking kitchy cookie jar. Here, I’ll show you:

cookie jar face

One day, a few years later, the bride (named Margaret, so yes, we’re obviously talking about me here) and groom had a garage sale and they sold a lot of stuff, but nobody (NOBODY!) would buy the damn cookie jar. So the bride packed the poor lavender-lipped thing back into its box and stuffed it somewhere in the garage.

Several years later, the bride started a blog and she named it Nanny Goats in Panties, and it was hilarious and lauded by millions. One day, she hosted a blogger white elephant gift party where a bunch of bloggers all over the country mailed each other silly gifts.

Margaret got a hideous paper-mache fish that looked freakishly similar to that orange-faced monstrosity in the garage. Here, I’ll show you:

fish and jar

But now, after seeing this ugly white elephant gift, Margaret kind of thought the hideous cookie jar was cute. And she began to fall in love with it.

A couple of years later (we’re up to 2013 now, if you’re counting), back in the far far away land of Texas, the King asked his daughter, Princess Megan, who had all but grown up by now, what she wanted for her high school graduation in June next year and you know what she said? She said the only thing she wanted was the cookie jar she had as a baby. It was her earliest childhood memory.

That HE BROKE.

So the King sent the town crier and Googly knights to search the internets for “fish cookie jar” because by golly, what the Princess wants, the Princess shall have. It was a Royal Decree.

The King crusaded high and low and found two of those surviving doofus wide-eyed fishy cookie jars in the entire land. He tracked down the first owner who said she couldn’t part with it (she was a bit of a collector). Then he contacted the second one, whom he had discovered because the owner had put a picture of it on her blog (called Nanny Goats in Panties, if you recall) while talking about some white elephant gift exchange and blathering on and on about how awesome and award-winning her blog was.

The King emailed this self-absorbed blogger and told her the story of how he had given this same cookie jar to his daughter, the fair Princess Megan, and that he had broken it fifteen years prior, and when asked what she wanted for high school graduation she only wanted one thing and would this blogger be willing to part with it.

* * *

It’s funny … you own an item of questionable admirability and as soon as someone else wants it, you suddenly decide you like it more than you ever did before. Especially when you find out you have what might be a rare and valuable thing.

So would I be willing to part with it?

Are you kidding?

How could I not.

Of course, I sent it to him on one condition…

 

pescada cookie jar

that he take pictures so I could blog about it…

pescada cookie jar 2

Turns out, the cookie jar arrived in Texas the day before the fair Princess Megan’s birthday, and the King couldn’t wait until June.

pescada cookie jar 1

So the King (whom I am dubbing Father of the Year) sent me pics and her Facebook announcement…

megan fb post

Happy Birthday, fair Princess! May you and the ugly cookie jar live happily ever after.

The End.

ADDENDUM: In case you don’t read the comments, here is an extra from the King himself:

One last detail to the story… What is now INSIDE the cookie jar? A single ceramic fragment Princess Megan had saved from the original fish, now safely stored for eternity.

 

Do Re Mimi’s Cafe

Because I am sooooo alliterate.

But enough about you, let’s talk about me.

Whenever my family tries to arrange a plan to meet for something that celebrates my father (i.e. his birthday, Father’s Day, the anniversary of that time he shot down an enemy aircraft and saved countless lives including the President only to find out later it never happened at all and he wasn’t even in the military but we continue to celebrate it anyway …like Columbus Day), we invariably have to find a restaurant that serves as much food in one visit as possible. You know, because he’s diabetic.

And when the All-You-Can-Eat buffets turn us away because we descend looking like we are about to do some serious damage at the chocolate dessert fountain, we have to find alternative places that have menus and enforce some semblance of control for the out-of-control.

So we’d often go to Mimi’s Cafe. Because my Dad loves their liver and onions.

Except that Mimi’s has recently completely re-vamped their menu to be more French. (So no more Chinese Chicken Salad either.) In fact, they have brought in real French Culinary Chef type people to up the ante and the food. And then they brought in a few of us bloggers the other day to try the new food.

seafood crepe, mimis cafe

Seafood Crepe

And it was pretty darn good. And pretty darn French.

saint malo pasta, mimis cafe

Saint-Malo Pasta

Have you tried the new menu yet? They just rolled out the new lunch and dinner menu last week.

Au Gratin? Yes, please.

Au Gratin? Yes, please.

And we got a sneak preview of the desserts that aren’t coming out for a while, but OMG apple and bacon waffles????? And cream cheese-stuffed strawberry ones as well?

oo-la-lah (and other French exclamations)

oo-la-lah (and other French exclamations)

Crikey! How does one waddle out of a French Fest with dignity, exactly?

The real question is, what is my father going to order now that the liver and onions are no longer on the menu? And neither is the meatloaf, for you change-hating carnivores out there.

I guess we’ll have to see, because after this recent sampling (read: stuffing to the gills), I’m going to have to insist we all go there, liver and onions, or no liver and onions.

Maybe you should try the crazy ass “Le Burger de Madame” which is huge and includes a fried egg in it’s beautiful pile of awesome and did I mention that I tried the mussels and there was this baguette/apricot chutney/brie appetizer that rocked and the pumpkin bisque and this can’t be good for your diabetes, but we are talking French Cooking people!

Le Burger de Madame

Le Burger de Madame

There is no way (NO WAY!) I can come here all the time and respect myself in the morning.

So anyway, who wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow?

mimis booth

 

Movies that Make Me Sick

I wish I could walk out of a movie (or a book, for that matter), but somehow I can’t stop, no matter how bad it is. I keep thinking, maybe it will get better, or will have all been worth it, or gosh darn it, I paid 98 smackers for my ticket and these 12 boxes of Milk Duds and this 132 ounce bucket of Diet Lemon-Lime-Orange Pizazz (with free refills!), and I’m going to sit through it if it kills me.

There was one movie I walked out of (or ‘out of which I walked’, for you grammar militants), but that was because I get motion sick whenever sloppily handheld cameras are employed to give it that “authentic” look, which in my opinion is missing the whole point of hiring a professional cameraman.

I think the movie was called Italian for Beginners, and it was a foreign film, which meant subtitles, which meant I couldn’t look away from the screen and merely listen to the dialogue. And if I can’t read a book while riding in a car, why would I be able to read subtitles while the cameraman refuses to stand still?

So I just gave up and walked out.

I couldn’t watch Blair Witch for the same reason.

Also? That Paul Williams documentary, Still Alive, which he is, by the way, was a problem recently.

And as much as I’m loving binge-watching Derek on Netflix, I’m having a little trouble there, too.

Is this the wave of the future? This nauseating form of recording? If so, why doesn’t Broadway install mobile stages in their theatres so that the cast is constantly flailing around like a ship in a violent storm, and vomiting overboard into the sea of season ticket holders, I ask you?

willem van de velde, ships on a stormy seaimage via Wikimedia Commons

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