I met NPH, bitches

Well security didn't me, the flight was manageable but LA really kicked me in the ass. As we speak, er, read, I am curled up in the fetal position nursing a bottle of Dayquil with my new silly straw. I have only visited LA twice before, both for very short stints, and have always left with a bad taste in my mouth and I have to say, this time was no different although a couple days in West Hollywood very nearly changed my mind.

Let me preface this with the reason I was in LA: to do a gifting suite. So I had to give away my product, and yes, give, as in, I don't get anything in return, to people who could buy me five times over. Alas, the backwards ways of LA. Now let's get to the goods. I ate well, I accosted some generally cooperative celebrities, and I got some free stuff too. Despite my own bitching and moaning about being in LA, I did venture out of the hotel when I was released from said gifting suite hell (which ran about 12 hours a day). I ate three meals out of the hotel, the most memorable being at Taste. In a city known for anorexia, I was pleasantly surprised to find some delectable food. But i'll go more into that later.

The real reason I'm up here, boasting about my jaunt across the country is that I got to meet celebrities. I'm not much of a start fucker but when you've got NPH and Jane Lynch at your fingertips...life is pretty good.

The Dilettante's Guide to Airport Security

I am currently sitting on a large plan, being hurtled across the country to LA. I am still grumpy form having to wake up at 3am to catch my 7am flight but let me just say, I am even grumpier that I had to stand in line at security while an abundance of dithering idiots looked on as their liquids, lighters, keys, jewelry and anything else they could possibly think of set off all of the alarms and stopped the little conveyor belt thingy. Who's with me?

Listen to me people, I know some of you haven't traveled that much (and for that, I'm either sorry or eternally grateful) but come on, we all know what it takes to go through security. Don't be an idiot, don't be an ass, just learn how to do it so the rest of us grumpy passengers can get onto our plane and go back to sleep. And those of you with children? I'm sorry. But if you must have them, empty their teeny tiny pockets, remove their little shoes BEFORE you get to the front of the line. If they must be in a stroller, make it a small one, not the Hummer of all baby carts with 5,000 pieces that all need to be scanned. Is that necessary? Also, tape their mouths shut, hold onto them tight and shove them through the scanner. Come on, it's not that hard.

Here's the Dilettante's Guide to Airport Security:

1.) Please wear shoes that will come off easily. I lay in bed last night, contemplating my 3 am wakeup call and realized that I had planned to wear my Frye boots-oh no! what was I thinking?-so like the reasonable and seasoned traveler that I am, I wore some sporty little sneakers instead. Adorable and they came off with one swift jimmy of my heel.

2.) Drink all of your water. Better yet? Don't fricking bring water, buy some inside security, fill up you're eco friendly bottle in the airport sink. I don't care. Just do it after you go through security.

And you're shampoos and lotions and creams and all that other crap? Make it small and put it in a ziploc.

3.) Traveling with a computer? Take it out of its case, here it is again, BEFORE you get to the front of the line. Put it in one of those little plastic trays and that's it. Wasn't so hard, was it?

4.) Empty your pockets, make sure you left your machete at home and don't bring any fire into the airport.

Bottom line: be prepared to go through security BEFORE you get to the head of the line. Leave your children at home or train them. My children are coming out of the womb prepared to go through security.

I'm going to scowl at crying children and spill a drink on the guy behind me who keeps kicking my seat. See you in LalaLand.

Chocobacon

I know, I know, I've abandoned all of my many many (five) readers-and so sorry to diasppoint-but here I am, coming back with a bang. And to kick off my new New Year's resolution to write more about my thrilling life (because, I really really promise I will)? Chocobacon. Invented in a kitchen in Brookline with the help of my lovely and loving, I might add, partner in crime. Oh who am I kidding, we all know it was his idea. But it was me who did the frying and let me just say, this was one hell of a way to kick off 2011.

So here it is world, I introduce you to chocolate dipped bacon. It sounds pretty vile, I agree. But it wasn't. I promise. Rich, yes. Vile? No. Meaty, salty, chocolaty, creamy, and chewy. Bursts of rich fruity flavors from the dark chocolate coated my mouth as salty pork cut through the deep, dark taste sending waves of sweet and salty through my taste buds. And let me just follow this up with the fact that Chocobacon was the cherry on the sundae of a meal of cheese fondue (galavants of a glutton, indeed!). I'm salivating. Yes, we are indeed, fat kids extraordinaire.

So I may not be ringing in the New Year with fabulous travel plans (although there are always several of those on the horizon, organized or not) or a glamorous new job (who needs that when there's a big world out there?) but hey, at least I've got Chocobacon and an adoring audience to tell all about it. Watch out 2011.

Mmmm, turkey. And bacon. And scrapple.

And so turkey time commences, err, rather commenced but I have been in too much of a food coma to write otherwise. It's been a blustery day out here on the island, warmed only by the ubiquitous smell of roasting turkey. To say that this holiday of all holidays is exhausting is an understatement. First of all, there's all of preparation for the eating: the list making, the pondering on new side dishes (new side dishes? ha! we're traditionalists), the actual grocery shopping which involves battling some very grocery store savvy mommies who are on a mission-and I swear being a soccer mom also entitles you to at least three lines of coke a day, these days, those bitches are lethal, the cooking, and then the most exhausting part of all: the consuming. Phew, am I tired. I ate, I drank, I ate, I drank and now I am ready for bed. But let me just say, as a true dilettante, I do believe I fulfilled my role to the fullest. I appreciated the culinary arts, I tasted that wine with a discerning palette (as in, it had to taste like wine), I gave each pie a willing nibble (ok, let's be honest, a nibble is an understatement) and now I am heading to bed with a belly full of happiness. That's right, I said happiness.

There better be bacon for breakfast. And scrapple (scrapple you ask? that's right, left overs from the sausage factory deep fried in bacon fat. Yes, you should be jealous). And sausage. And you know what? The good thing is I can go to bed in this house of gluttony knowing that there will be all of these things fried up for me in the morning. I'm thankful for Thanksgiving. (And my body is thankful that it's only once a year)

NEW pages!

Hello all! New pages are being added as we speak...I wants thoughts, ideas, input, criticism, a friendly greeting...ANYTHING you can think of!

Rum, golf carts, and bingo.

Well this dilettante has really had one hell of a ride the past few weeks--let's see, where did I leave off? Somewhere in Virgina? Great Bridge was it? Ah yes, a lovely little town with, well, a great bridge.

When I left you my dear little readers, I was bobbing around in the Inter Coastal Waterway, begrudgingly motoring along at a very slow pace and giving the nasty weather the evilest stink eye I could come up with. Two days later, a quick re provision at the Piggly Wiggly (in a 1991 Buick Roadmaster, no less-that's right, I provision in high style) in Beaufort, NC and off we set for the high seas. And high they were. Well high-ish, but enough to have my crew doing a group boot over the side as I sympathetically (ok, that's a lie, I was gloating) watched on, my dear little stomach standing up to whatever Poseidon wanted to throw at me. Thank you Bonine Gods. Another two days and we had calm sees, a happy little Island Piglet and only a couple hundred miles to go. After many meals of pop tarts, chef boyardee and gold fish, a whale siting, a near run in with a rogue floating washing machine and we were THERE. Ahhh, the Abaco. We made it in time for Halloween (as per my very stubborn request), checked in with customs, and spent three glorious days lost in a rum fueled daze, getting as sun burnt as we possibly could and eating as many conch fritters as our bellys would hold. Highlights include: An aging, and yes I say aging, cougar in a pink play boy bunny costume, a golf cart, five gallons of rum, two hundred Kaliks, and a victorious game of bingo. The cougar had a penchant for young girls (me) and dancing, the golf cart, rum, and Kaliks are, er, one way to see an island and as for the bingo, well we had to pay for it all somehow. Success, no?

Ah yes, I may be broke but life as a dilettante is a pretty happy one and I'm just going to go ahead and say that I do it pretty damn well.

When the weather gets cold: GO SOUTH

And go South we did indeed. We went down to the Keys for a hot minute, boiled in the heat, took a quick swim, and then boarded a flight back to DC where we spent one glorious night among friends and then headed to Annapolis where the next adventure began. After acquiring some last minute crew, we flung out bags on our new home for the next couple of weeks ("Island Retreat", a 40 foot Island Packet, or the Piglet as she is more, er, endearingly called for reasons to be explained later) and began the "leaving" process. I use the term "leaving" lightly as it is quite an involved process: full boat check to make sure we don't sink (good, very good), provisions for four people for two weeks (and yes, I made the mistake of promising to feed everyone well), and a list that seems to go on and on. So, after many hours of "leaving," a quick night's sleep, a last minute coffee run, we actually left. For 21 hours we pounded down the Chesapeake, motor at full speed, sails tightly rolled up, the boat barely moving (a total bonus for cooking dinner though, have to admit, am a culinary goddess in the galley, I even have pictures to prove it), ahhh, what a way to start. The Piglet, to explain, is a very sturdy boat, full keel, wide ass, the works. She pounds through the waves, steady as she goes, a little too steady in fact: she stops in the waves. Alas, movement was slow. We arrived in Norfolk to a disheartening weather report, ie, it was bad and we are now trudging down the Inter Coastal Waterway or ICW to all of you pros out there. So here we are, in Battle Bridge VA and the trudge begins...The bonus? This is some gooooood bacon fryin "sailing," mmmmm, the galley goddess strikes again!!