Tag Archives: tossed salad

Mastering the Art of Tossing Salad ;)

My friend had a dinner party last weekend and one of the guests was a woman whose family used to run a very popular restaurant in their hometown. One of the specialties was that they made Caesar salad at the tables and the dressing was made from scratch, and not that creamy white stuff like Renée’s in a jar. Don’t get me wrong, I love that shit and would drown my romaine in it any day of the week. But the made from scratch one was so much fresher tasting and most of all, captivating to watch her make it. Like everything had to be “just so” in a particular order or something would congeal or combust or some other chemical disaster. Also it had to be made in a seasoned wooden bowl that had never been washed with soap. Like cast iron pans you’re supposed to only wipe clean. You know what? Bacteria is good, people, I don’t know why y’all worry so much. You have to eat a little dirt before you die is my motto.

Amongst the ingredients were garlic, parmesan, lemon juice, Dijon mustard, oil (vegetable is better than olive oil!), raw egg yolks (salmonella shmalmonella, tits to the wind!), and anchovies, which is a small hairy fish that only pussies hate…”Oh, I hate anchovies!” People say this all the time, drives me mental. Oh really now? Do you hate salt also? Anchovies are just another form of salt in a living organism. Salt keeps the goiter away! Chop them finely so the hairiness is a smooth paste! Yum! Anchovies are life. Your mother’s mother’s mother times a million generations ago was an anchovy! Also the anchovy an important ingredient in Worcestershire sauce, which is yet another thing dumped into the Caesar salad dressing. Anyway this amazing woman had to use a lot of brute strength and trick wrist work stirring up the eggs and stuff so everything was amalgamated to the proper texture. I won’t lie to you, watching that fork pounding through those yolks did something in my loins because I’m libidinous lady and I developed a confusing girl crush. This was food porn at its finest because I actually got to eat it at the end, unlike when I watch my lady-love Martha on tv whip and fold with her spatula and only get to imagine what her meringue tastes like. I’m guessing lemon-zesty with a hint of mint.

Anyhoo, before we move on to the next salad, I just wanted to point out some fun facts about the history of the Caesar salad: The original Caesar salad was probably made with limes, not lemons! Holy shit! It was a lost in translation thing. Caesar Cardini was an Italian immigrant who opened a restaurant in Tijuana where he was avoiding the restriction of Prohibition in the 1920s. Oh! And he coddled the eggs! Oy! I don’t even know what that means! Sounds sexy. For the true Caesar salad story, read here maybe or stick with me and we’ll talk about eating ass cuz that’s the tossed salad I’m talking about.

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Okay, yeah, so if you’ve not followed the blog thus far, here is me, a 53 year-old lady on the dating circuit, via the trusty internet. I’m bored as fuck of the actual dating part however and I just cut to the chase and go to the end game, Bone Town. I’ve recently learned from someone’s Facebook post that “life is too short and unpredictable not to live exactly how you please” and if so, I don’t have time for coffee and finding out where some hapless dude got his degree and wondering why he tucks in his polo shirt with hips like that. I’ve also narrowed my focus on 25-29, which I’ve explained why in my last post, with an allowance for randoms in either direction because I like to break my own rules.

Anyway, the whole ride to B-Town is getting easier and easier, I don’t even need a drink to loosen up. Yes, my nervous level is slightly more than opening up this month’s heatwave hydro bill but considerably less than parallel parking on a hill with a standard transmission. My screening process needs honing however! I treat my “dates” as therapeutic appointments, which is how I rationalize afternoon delights, or as my Moroccan friend calls it “sieste crapuleuse” which sounds more romantic than it is. I’ve had a good run so far and my intuition has been right in that I’ve met no serial killers yet (knock on wood) and everyone has been so nice and gentlemanly but! There was one dude who texted like a Neanderthal would if he had a phone, all one word answers and everything misspelled. I let that red flag slide because my friend Bob, who texts equally boneheadedly, is one of the funniest people I know and I shouldn’t let bad writing skills be a bone barrier, right? His profile pic seemed cute. He had a baby face (with a chin bum!) that I love when I’m not drooling over dark beards. When I talked to him on the phone he was far more chatty which was a relief but when he came over, he was giant and awkward and I really wasn’t feeling it but! I sieste crapuleused with him anyway because he really was a sweet teddy bear I had to see what a 6’8 dick was like. Good boy. I do need smarts and wit though. However, he got my cues when it was time to leave and toddled off into the world, another cougar down, I’m sure he does this all the time. Which probably makes him clever. Oh well, for a mercy bone, I don’t feel bad about it, I didn’t even mess up my mascara that day. Onward.

Okay so there is this one bone of contention I have about young dudes and that is they are always up in your ass, like literally. I have not even been two sentences deep in a text conversation when I get: “Do you do anal?”As if I’m car detailing service, providing satisfied customers with rim jobs and anal for over 30 years. I don’t even know their names yet and they want to know if they can go up my butt? This was not ever on the table when I was a young hot chick. I mean I know it’s not a new thing, it’s in the the bible filed under sodomy and in old timey literature, ie. Madame Bovary was an inspirational hoe on the Hershey Highway, but why are the millennials so obsessed with it? I’m blaming all that main stream porn people watch because they’re bored. We are all so de-sensitized now. It’s simply not enough that a lady has two other viable holes and an ample cleavage to squish together to form a makeshift dick trench because that’s not awkward at all, But at least it doesn’t hurt.

For me it’s no. I don’t want to. Nope, I will tell these boys, once I find out what their name are: Ryan, Connor, Tyler, those ubiquitous names from my days as a young mom at the playground are of age now! By the way, I have made it a personal rule that once I come across a Jayden, I’m quitting this practise and its Steves, Mikes, and Daves only. So yeah, Liam, it’s a hard fast rule that I will break IF I like you and it’s my birthday and it’s a full moon and I’m drunk and you gave me a puppy as a present.

But! I have learned to like a new thing butt-rific on the menu. Yes, I *will* have the tossed salad and young man, if you are good at it, I will toss yours like a boss. Tuchis-lingus, they discussed this on “Sex and the City” in the late 90s and like if Charlotte is doing it, why aren’t we all? Don’t get me wrong, I was totally skeeved out by the thought when I saw that episode back in the day. But then a couple of seasons ago, on “Girls” they actually showed Marnie having it done to her!

Holy shit. I am in the slow sexual group. Anyway, I filed the salad toss in the “I’m too old for this probably” folder and didn’t even let myself wonder what it was like but then! One of those anally obsessed young dudes surprised me with his delightfully rogue tongue game. This was one of those rare dudes that I was so floored with his hotness I would have let him a) do anything b) do anything back and c) sell all my stuff and buy a Volkswagen camper van and go on a two month summer road trip with just so I could watch his beard grow even longer. SIGH.

Anyway he did his thing down there and when he finally came up for air he looked up and said it tasted good! What? My butthole tasted good. Like what I wondered but didn’t ask. Also it felt so good I didn’t even care. And that was like the nicest thing any man has said to me in forever. These are the people you want in your life at all times. Also, who does this on a hook up? A fearless soul who deserves several endorsements on his sexual LinkedIn profile, which is what I think I’m going to be using mine for in the future because I’m really poor at Microsoft. But very good at titty fucking.

Anyway, I tossed that salad back without any problems. This was also a dude who was hairy and marinating in his own musk for some hours. I am an animal, I really am, because I hate the smell of cologne and weird deodorant but go crazy over sweat and body odour that hasn’t quite turned rank yet but is getting there. It’s a fine line between ripe and rank. SIGH. Anyway, the tuchis-lingus salad was all good, tasted like chicken! With a couple of dumplings on the side. Yum.

Posted by Kristin Peterson. Categories: This Charming Man. Tags: sieste crapuleuse, tossed salad. 4 Comments

Jul. ’16

Mastering the Art of Laying Pipe: Tinder for Cougars Edition

Happy middle of the summer, my webfolk! Yes, outside it is hot and oppressive as Trump’s steamy turd breath and the world is spiralling down to a fiery hell but we have to remember to stay cool. And try and spread love any way we can, it’s the only way to deal with this mess.

Me, I’m upping my Tinder game which sounds like my usual self-serving hedonism but isn’t really. There’s a sense of female empowerment I have gotten from channeling my inner Samantha that I would like to share with all my single lady friends. Let me be your sherpa before I succumb to another Netflix coma where it’s just me and Betty licking the Pringle crumbs from my cleavage while I balance a glass of wine on top of her head.

So after all these awkward years, I finally hit my stride on this dating thing, better late than never I suppose, and 2016 has been the Summer of Bone! I finally found a magical worm hole for all you ladies of a certain age who have been feeling dismayed over what slim pickins there is out there in the boning fields, especially when your criteria is men over 40. Actuarial science will tell us that most of them are married and if they’re not, my grunt work in the fields of wilting dick will tell you that they are a feckless lot, mooning over some lost love they had when they didn’t have to resort to Cialis. This post is more for the ladies to get guidance from but you old men can read and maybe learn something to upgrade your game. Sorry if this is harsh but it’s our time now.

Ladies, forget about them. Immediately. They forgot about you. Dismissed all your alluring messages and ignored that origami punani you painstakingly handcrafted with a prize inside that you sent him by the mail, actually going to the post office and getting stamps for express postage! I mean seriously, no one is that busy they can’t acknowledge your efforts by texting an eggplant emoticon with a smiley face and then a licky face after a pie. You need to change focus, m’lady, cast your net in a different lagoon. Fuck that old guy.

I thank heaven for little boys, they grow up in the most delightful way of becoming hot dudes of the demographic age of 25-29. THIS is the magical wormhole, my sisters, the 5 year age range that will change your life. Of course there’s some wiggle room but for moi, I’m sticking to this particular target because so far, so fucking good and I do not want to jinx it. You can go under 25 but I just can’t do it. Or maybe under 23, that seems like a good cut off. I think that at 25, they have their man bodies and some of them even have experienced their metabolic shift where you can see what their dad bods are going to look like. And no one loves a dad bod more than me.

Also by the time they are 25, they’ve probably had their hearts broken at least once so they have some feels and they know how to drown them out by going on a Tinder tear. Their nets are cast far and wide and they got the courage to love the cougars. Not my favourite term for the older women/younger man scenario because it implies a crusty bleached blond who shops in the junior seducing junior firemen at that bar Crocodile Rock on Wednesday nights. But whatevs, I’ll own it for the sake of the post. 25 year-olds are still sweet and malleable if you are a boss lady (a lil bit sometimes) and at the same time, cocky and self-assured if you are a sub (hello!).

In the years before they hit 30, they age so beautifully!! At 26, they are adept at conversation and wear nice underwear. At 27, they have grown a beard of biblical proportions and 28 and 29 is full throttle throw down. You will want to cast these dudes in the movie of your life directed by Cecile B. de Mille. And then you’re going to want to replay it over in your mind when you’re in spin class because that’s where you feel it the most.

What happens at 30 you ask? I don’t know if it’s pressure from society or their moms, but they become more discriminating! It’s like they have a biological clock like we do. They suddenly have no time for random swipes. They are looking specifically for breeders! Even if it’s just in the back of their minds, they have an agenda that they may haven’t reckoned with yet. Sure, they have boners for Stifler’s mom, but it’s more tentative now, like maybe they should be wasting precious spunk on an old bat’s facial. Yes, they will still message our spent MILF asses but it will go something like this disheartening pick up line:

Hey, wanna meet up sometime for a coffee and see if we have chemistry?

ARE YOU KIDDING? This is Tinder. Chemistry is for the defeated from Match.com who pretend to enjoy shopping farmers’ markets and buying kale for salads they will never, ever toss. This is pure unadulterated motherfucking biology and maybe some physics if you want to get acrobatic after you finish eating my pussy. Can you lay pipe, son? Yes? You’re hired! The last thing I ever want to do is sit in a Starbucks and find out what your hopes and dreams are for the future. Holy shit, sometimes I don’t know what people are thinking. So yeah, best stay away from over thirties UNLESS there is a rule that rule that must be broken. I’m open to that.

I know what you’re thinking: Who has time for this? Right? I hear you. It’s like chasing Pokémon, a giant time suck and you barely know what you’re doing because you’re too old for this shit. I will say the Tinder is both addictive and frustrating most of the time, but when it happens, it should be easy and feel natural. And exciting as fuck! My pro tips are:

Do NOT let your profile hover longer than 48 hours. Like probiotic yogurt, we all have a shelf life. If in the 48 hours, you haven’t caught a proverbial Pokémon then delete your profile wait a week and go back on.
Learn your right from your left. Sometimes I accidentally “super-like” someone by swiping upper right but most often, I swipe left when I mean right which makes my game tragic and comedic at the same time. Haha, old people are so stupid.
If you match with someone, don’t freak out. Breathe. Wait awhile. Maybe let him message you first? Go off the app. Play your turn on Words with Friends. Tend to your garden. Check back.
If your match messages you, you can be wuss and ignore it or just answer back because why not. Definitely do the latter even if it was an accidental swipe. Sometimes that is serendipity at work but probably not, you can always “unmatch” with them. I dopn’t know where they disappear to but there is a lid for every pot so don’t even think twice about it.
If your match that you think is hot (and didn’t swipe by accident) doesn’t message you first in a timely manner and you likey a lot, a lot, take the initiative and say something like “You! Yes!”
When match answers your call of the wild, get your flirt on. This is where I want to say the communicators of the world will rule the future, they will be the procreators because they know how to charm in text. The next generation will be eloquent in emoticons and hashtags.
When you and match are comfortable and banter is good you feel like you might want to take it to another level, give him your phone number. Clutch your pearls.
Match will take about 2 seconds to text you. Trust.
Send him a photo from your camera roll, the one where you can judge by his reaction whether or not he worthy or a dud.
If he says something like “oh nice, but I’m more of an ass guy, like prolly 60% ass and 40% boobs,” then you can just shut it down and pull a Casper #byefelipe Attraction is 100% poetry, not math equations. Fuck that guy.
But if he gets your pic and it takes him a few seconds to respond and when he does, he texts OMG with the heart eyed emoticon, and you can practically feel the pipeline being ploughed to punani town from wherever his location is, 20 something kilometres away, then strike while the iron is hot, ho! You can’t get all scared and be like, oh, maybe tomorrow, it’s now or never! Pin him your locay!
When match gets in his car to come over, run to the neighbours to make sure they are out on the porch when he arrives for safety purposes.
When match arrives, introduce him to the neighbours. It won’t be awkward at all.
Offer match a non-alcoholic beverage.
When match tells you that you are hot and sexy, believe him.
If match is cute and nice, relax.
Be spontaneous.
If match forgets to take his shoes off, now is the time to take them off.
Keep match hydrated the whole time.
Make sure match leaves by midnight otherwise he’ll get a parking ticket.

I know some of you ladies are thinking what about love and companionship, isn’t that the end game? Yes, that’s a very nice goal to have and if by a miraculous swipe right on Tinder that happens to you, then I will follow your thicket happy hashtags on Instagram and I promise to heart every #blessed post. But! Life is about the journey, not the destination! And since we are all in imminent danger of an orange hued apocalypse, why not chase the entire rainbow right now. And lick it. Don’t be scared.