Let`s face it, I am a writer. I`ve written my entire life: journals, short stories and grocery lists. I think the latter is really what qualifies me. I mean, you have to know the layout of the store (to maximize efficiency), there is nothing more horrible than picking up bacon, seeing the decorative kale in the packaging picture and realizing you didn`t grab that squash - you know, the one that you`re going to bake and shred to make something that tastes absolutely NOTHING like pasta, LOOK like pasta so that you can trick your brain into thinking, "hey, I am doing something about those 80 pounds I`ve gained since high school." So, yeah - I make lists...like a boss.
You know what else qualifies me to be a writer? University. Talk to me about semantic shifts sometime. Fascinating. I wrote the paper, thinking to myself the entire time, why am I doing this?? You know?? Like in a, why does your grandma still have shag carpet and why does she still rake her carpet? - don't even go there, you cheeky monkey.
Admittedly, I am new to this entire blogging thing, well, not really. I tried to blog, but I was too concerned about what my readers were thinking about my style of writing and my content. I got bored. But, consider this my comeback tour - you know the one old bands do after they've broken up and reassembled into some geriatric nightmare, holding onto their instruments like walkers, stumbling around the stage all loaded up on Ambien and Celebrex? Yeah. That's me. The comeback kid.
I've done some minor scouting into the blogging world and I've realized the most beautiful thing about blogging - it can be about whatever you want...like, say, cottage cheese.
Honestly, I've got some serious beef with cottage cheese. It's not a cheese. It's a science experiment. Much like the accidental discovery of penicillin, I am reasonably certain that the birth of cottage cheese as food started with, "dude, I dare you to eat that." I mean, honestly, cheese is either soft or hard, but it's smooth, creamy and sharp. Cottage cheese looks like the paper mache made by the kid who wears turtlenecks and burns ants at recess with a magnifying glass - it lacks the care and attention of other cheeses. It's a failure as a cheese really.
If you imagine if cottage cheese tried to show up at a cheese party (literally here people, in my brain I am seeing a penthouse patio with modern furniture. A party hosted by a monocle-wearing sharp cheddar. On the balcony, Gouda and Cheddar's cousin, smoked cheddar, discuss...
"I just don't think it's right that you get to be smoked too, that's really all we have as Gouda. That is our party trick," Gouda says sadly, swirling his Zinfandel in a large brandy snifter, "cheddar is just so versatile. It can be marbled, yellow, white and mixed with herbs."
"Listen, Gouds. Don't be so hard on yourself. Gouda may only be smoked, but people really like it!" As he lays a reassuring hand firmly on Gouda's shoulder).
...got it?
So. Doorbell rings. Cheddar answers.
"I thought I told you you're not welcome here?" Cheddar hisses, "look, Havarti is here and I really don't need a scene."
"I told you Cheddar, I stopped letting my dog poop on his lawn like a month ago. And, his sister dumped ME, okay?" Cheddar paused long enough to stare at his old friend. Faded black jeans, torn at the knee, his stained t-shirt read 'Lumpy Lover'.
"No man, I am sorry."
Cottage shook his head in affirmation, before hoping back into his IROC and speeding away, bits of gravel left pinging onto the asphalt in his wake.
***
It's not that I am a stranger to cottage cheese. My sister loves it, my husband loves it too. The latter mixes it with a mashed avocado though, you ever seen the Exorcist? Pretty sure that's what Reagan threw up. I am also reasonably certain that I've seen that in a diaper somewhere.
I just don't get what's appealing about flavorless, lumpy dairy. I had lumpy dairy once. Milk. I was about eight or nine years old, back then I used to LOVE milk. My Nana kept sour milk to cook with, which makes about as much sense to me as avocado and cottage cheese. Anywho. There I was, mini-Ashley, in my onezie - that's probably an idealistic snapshot, in reality, I was probably naked. Vulnerable, really. I poured my glass, "splat, splat, splat"...I'll pause here to acknowledge that I had enough cognitive development at this age to have the ability to recognize sour milk...but I digress. I gulped that down and then, well, you ever seen the Exorcist?
Fast Forward 20 years and I don't drink milk, cannot deal with dairy if it is off in any way - even if it is a week within it's expiry date.
The other day, I am at my grandma's. I was trying to get my ring off to take to the jeweler to be sized. It was a hot day and my finger was swollen. She brought me butter. I put it on my finger, without first smelling it. Which is strange to me, I smell everything - a reflex I developed that night in that kitchen, in the rust- coloured shadow of a 1980's Frigidaire. I got a whiff of the butter and it was off. Wayyyyyy off. Like, she'd been away from it for the last 40 years. I ran to the kitchen sink, but by this time, the smell had already been absorbed into my pores. There I was, gagging in her kitchen, digging through her fridge for something with a powerful, pleasant flavour to overwhelm my senses, the cold glow of the energy saving light bulb lapping over me, but at least I had pants on.
