Elvis Cake and NJ Cops

I. What a busy weekend that was, Lone Reader! I worked a lot - the gallery I work for had an opening, and lots of kids stuff, too. Sunday was our annual block party. I am in charge of the fishing pond -- you know, the thing where little kids cast over the top of a booth and catch some kind of small treat of prize that they then pull over the top. My sister "loaned" me the fish pond from her block party 2 years ago. She neglected to tell me that the user of the booth must store the booth...it is a beast. It's three full sheets of marine grade plywood hinged together. It is ridiculously over sized. And marine grade? Are we going to be having the block party during a hurricane? If so, at least 10 people could huddle behind the fishing pond and feel very safe.

II. This week my goal is to start working on my latest bacon creation. I'm either going to make bacon brittle or attempt an Elvis cake. The problem is that I'm not sure who would eat either. The Elvis cake has been in my head for quite sometime -- a peanut butter cake with banana frosting and crispy bacon filling. I make a wicked good caramel frosting and I think I'll use that as the binder for the bacon. You know, I don't think it'll taste bad, I just think it'll be sooo rich and sweet that two bites will put the taster into a diabetic coma.

And I just realized that I shouldn't say "this week my goal is" because of course I work, I'm a parent, a homeowner, etc. I don't just sit around dreaming of bacon and bon bons all day, Lone Reader - oh no! I work while I dream of bacon.

III. To conclude today's post, I thought I'd offer you another TRUE STORY:

One time when I was but a lass, I went to NYC with my dear friend. We had many adventures and misadventures, including me losing all my money, seeing INXS general admission at Madison Square Garden, me eating leftover fries from a stranger's plate in the shadow of Lady Liberty, and hearing a small tourist child ask his mother, "Mom, is that a real bag lady?" while I was sitting on a stoop in SoHo. The biggest adventure was when we somehow got on the wrong bus in Grand Central and ended up somewhere in Tiny Town, NJ being told by the bus driver to get off, this was the end of the line. We had no idea where we were, and we sat on the bench at the bus stop for quite awhile, trying to figure out how this had happened, blaming each other, the bus system, the damn driver and Reagan for this predicament. (It WAS the 80s.) Finally someone told us that although the bus to either the city or Tom's River (where my aunt lived) wouldn't come until morning,we might be able to catch one in the next burg over. So, after 12 hours hoofing it around the city, we started walking around the 'burbs.

It was pretty late at night and very dark. We were walking along, exhausted and defeated, but at least moving forward. We were staying at my aunt's house, but she was out of town or we would've called her for help. We really didn't have any idea where we were headed or what was in the next town that was so great, but hey, staying on the bench all night didn't sound so good either.

We were walking along a good-sized road, but no one was around. Eventually the businesses faded and we started to walk by a big dark baseball field. A car drove by, slowly. It was a car full of guys. They rolled down the window and asked us if we wanted a ride. "Nope! We're good, but thanks!" we cheerily responded, hoping that we sounded brave and like we were highly trained in the martial arts. They drove away and then appeared again, slowing down and yelling at us. We kept walking. The car pulled a bit ahead ahead of us and stopped. The passenger door opened and a guy started to get out of the car. My heart was pounding as I calculated which way to run - the baseball field seemed like a certain fate, but running down the road didn't seem to be a good idea either. Suddenly a short blast of a siren sounded behind us. The cavalry had arrived! (Well, okay, it was a small-town cop, but he was like Jesus and Superman combined to us.)

The guys scrambled back into their car as the cop yelled to us, "Are they bothering you girls?" I yelled yes, my friend yelled, "We're getting in!" (Smart girl.) The car of nasty guys peeled out and sped away. We climbed in the back of the squad car and took off in pursuit, but lost them eventually. Finally the policeman gave us a lecture about girls walking at night, and asked where we lived. "Kansas" was the reply. He was in hysterics. He told us he could drive us to the station at the edge of his district and we'd transfer to another squad car to take us back to my aunt's house. At each stop, every cop heard the story of the two teenaged girls from Kansas alone in the big city. Who cares? We were escorted safely home by some of New Jersey's finest.

We slept hard that night and boarded a bus for the adventures of the big city a few short hours later.

Don't let the haters bring you down, man. Wait a minute -- there's got to be a more elegant way to say that. Ah, who cares...for the most part, life is pretty good.