Explorations of mind, paths, and life

Bowl of WHAT?

Posted on August 16, 2008 - Filed Under self reflect

The entire strangeness of what is brought into a dream just blows my mind. Now let me first say that I have been wanting to blog this for several days now, along with a few other tid-bits, but I have hesitated for several reasons.

  1. I am beginning to realize that some of my students, clients, family, friends, etc are following my blog and now it all turns back to the faces I wear and what I am willing to reveal. The face I wear as a professional is WAY different from the face I don’t have to wear with my sister or my son. Thus, my wonderful blog is now feeling the constriction, like rubber bands, winding themselves around its openness and ability for extracting all kinds of creative energy out of me.
  2. Being honest here – sometimes what I want to say is not what I am GOING to say. If you could just HEAR MY HEAD in all it’s animated glory… well, I can’t begin to think what you, dear reader, would think… so I leave it at that.
  3. What, for heaven’s sake, would happen if I spilled the beans that shake around in my head out on the table and someone found it distasteful? I’m terrified that possibly I may not hold up to the level of expectation or that I might challenge the beliefs that others have about my pristine little goody-goody personality. Sometimes these things keep us employed… But, if Dooce can do it, I feel encouraged. I just apologize now, and if you don’t like absurdly crude dream details, skip what falls between the lines.

Anyhow, my dear hubby and I were fiddling around in the kitchen on date night, laughing and chatting about whatever, when he – in the middle of some story I don’t remember the details of – said that Kev (old band mate) dropped the line “Bowl of Dicks” in reference to him being hungry. Something like, “Go get yourself a bowl of dicks.” Now, mind you, I have no clue about the masculine chatter and the purging of insults or derogatory comments that seem to flitter out of men’s mouths the moment there are more than one of them, but I guess this is how guys talk. So I said, “A bowl of what? A bowl of licks? What did he mean by that?” and of course my metal-head Adonis just laughed his guttural laugh and smacked my ass. We carried on with the rest of the night, and eventually I took my drowzy head to bed and innocently took to sleeping.

The next morning, as I move through that state of sleep-consciousness, I dreamed that Gary and I were eating at a place similar to Kobe (Japanese Steakhouse) where they cook up all kinds of things punctuated with flamboyant gestures and flaming knives. The man behind the iron skillet hands me a porcelin bowl of what I first percieve as mushrooms, but upon deeper consideration (I guess I was deciding if I wanted some) I realize that I am staring into a bowl of, YES, that’s right… Dicks. Little ones, big ones, skinny ones, fat ones, shrimpy ones… you name it, it was likely in there. I couldn’t take my eyes off the mass of sauteed penises, all plump and steaming. A flicker of a thought – as I eventually passed it over to Gary (who didn’t look suprised at all) – “My GOD, please tell me those aren’t baby dicks in there too? How the hell did they get those?” Everything else in that dream, as you can imagine, is a wash.
OK – It is safe to return
So – while I am feeling ornery and verbose – I have to also share a story about giving the “stink- eye” this last week, only because it is SO unlike me – and because my students, after weeks of me talking about tolerance, and perception checking, and improved communication, made it clear to me that I was not following the order of things so heavily noted in my lectures! Regardless, SOMETIMES you just have to get rid of the energy that is in your gut because life isn’t fair and it isn’t hurting anyone but ME to keep it in. [and Mami, I know I promised pictures of JP and his man-do and birthday, but I will have to post that later! If you REALLY need a fix – click HERE!]

As the story goes, I am at Costco, waiting in the infamous gotta-get-my-gas-as-low-as-it-can-go line when the woman in front of me decides to start backing up so she can swing into another opening. I look in my rear mirrors to check that, YES, no one behind me. I am officially the END of the line. I put my car in reverse, but simply idle there for a few seconds, JUST IN CASE this lady decides to try and plunk her trunk on my new beautiful Honda. She doesn’t [yeay], but in those few moments, an old man in a blue sedan-like of an “old-fart” car, in an effort to decide which lane is shortest, decides that he doesn’t know WHY my brake and backup-lights are all on, so he pulls behind me and start slamming his horn. Meanwhile, I am still sitting there and two full lanes open up to the right of me, but I JUST WAIT, like the patient little soul I am. He then, pulls back (in the same manner that he was pissed at me for “POSSIBLY” doing) and pulls up along the next lane, mouthing all kinds of obscentities at me, flailing his arms, pointing fingers, while his quiet granny wife sits wide-eyed amidst the storm of “bitches” and “idiots” flying from his lips. At that moment, as I looked over and smiled at him, TRYING to wrap my mind around what I possibly did to light a fire under HIS ass, I read his lips – almost in slow motion – “f-uuuuck-ing bi-otch.” It was RIGHT THEN that my little flame shot out like a Florida Fire Ant. OOOooooooo, what an a-hole!

Now, if you want to push my buttons, the way under my skin is to peg me for something that I AM NOT [or that is not in the Evelyn Schema of self beliefs]. To me that is a daggar of injustice that somehow just won’t let go in my mind. Of all my almost 39 years in existence, when anyone tells me what they think I am, I am doing, or what they believe my intention to be, without checking it out with me, I am a raging bull in sheeps clothes. Somewhere late-20’s I decided I was not worthless, I was not unlovable, and I was not selfish, and I took a little piece of me back. I bring out those blades of fury if you toss something my way that is unjustified, because I am my inner child’s greatest protector, and by golly, I am going to protect that little piece of me that once felt so wounded, misunderstood, unworthy, and lonely. She is not going to feel that again.

Retracting back to the story… this old fart gets out of his car pretending he DID NOT just hurl obscentities and gestures my way just 20 seconds earlier, and starts to pump his gas. In the safety of his little car-bubble he could say what he wanted, but once outside it was another day with the Beavers. Somewhere inside of me I just could NOT let it rest at that. It immediately brought me back to being a 12 year old American-Colombian in an all girl Colombian Catholic school for several months, and a memory of the geography teacher shaming me in front of 40 girls with a hateful comment about “ALL American girls are NOT virgins” which caused me weeks of adolescent trauma and confusion [another story]. That was the first, and until this event, LAST time I ever used the stink- eye on anybody. Well, that little stink started to creep right up from my gut and writhed its angry little tenticles to the tips of my optic nerves. I gave that old man the stinkiest, angriest, piss-faced evil eye that I could muster. Between shakes of fear (because I don’t know what got into me, officer) and little beads of nervous sweat on my forehead, I kept that stink-eye going through his entire 10+ gallons of gas, the return to his car, the buckling of the seat belt, and his nervous and almost fearful glances between each step as he realized that my gaze was not about to break. “HELL-to-the-NO” [as Whit would say] that SOB was not going to win. I’d rather prove him right and stink him right down to skid-marked skivies. Better yet, stink him down to his very dreams! As he pulled away, he passed me one more glance to see if I was STILL stink-eyeing him [and I was until his car was out of sight] and this time, when he mouthed, “what a bitch” from behind his protected car-bubble glass window, I felt GOOD!! Power to all the woman I am! At least he was finally accurate, I was giving him ALL BITCH so at least his comment could be justified. And I hope and pray that his poor wife has the guts to stand up to his brute, irrational, chauvinistic banter.

Better yet, although I am NOT a man hater, overtly angry, or a full-fledged feminist – I don’t apologize for this final stream of letting go…. I imagine that his shrivled little pecker may have made a showing in the bowl of dicks I would be served later that night. 🙂


4 Responses to “Bowl of WHAT?”

  1. PiTo on August 17th, 2008 3:18 pm

    The correct term is “a bowl of SPOTTED dick”

    And here is the recipe:

    *Spotted Dick*
    Serves 8

    This is great simply cut into slices and served hot with butter, drizzled with some double cream, or with a bit of demerara sugar sprinkled on top, but for the true British experience one really must have it served with lashings of warm custard poured over.

    25g soft butter for greasing
    350g plain flour
    2 TBS baking powder
    15o g shredded suet
    75g caster sugar
    15og currants
    2 TBS brandy
    25g butter, melted
    the finely grated zest and juice from 2 un-waxed lemons
    1 egg
    150ml whole milk
    150ml double cream

    Warm the brandy until it is just simmering and throw in the currants. Remove from the heat and allow to infuse for at least 3o minutes.

    Butter a piece of greaseproof paper, or wax paper, measuring about 60 cm square with the soft butter.

    Whisk the flour, baking powder and caster sugar together in a bowl. Stir in the currants (drain any liquid off and reserve) and suet. Add the melted butter. Stir in the lemon juice and zest and egg. Stir the reserved juice from the currants, milk and cream together and then add slowly, stirring, until you reach a dropping consistency. You may not need to use it all.

    Spoon the mixture into the paper and rollit up into a sausage shape about 6 cm in diameter. Be careful not to roll it up too tightly, otherwise the mixture will not be able to rise sufficiently and will be heavy rather than light when cooked.

    Tie at the ends with some string and place the pudding in a hot steamer fitted with a lid, over steaming water. Cover and steam for 1 1/4 hours until cooked. Check the bottom of the steamer from time to time and make sure you keep it topped up with hot water.

    Remove the pudding from the steamer and unwrap. Cut into slices and place in bowls. Serve with lashings of warm custard for the whole spotted dick experience!


    Makes about 3 cups

    This is also known as creme anglaise. Be sure not to let the mixture boil once the eggs are added, or you wil end up with a curdled mess. You only need to heat it up enough to cook the eggs. The custard is ready when it coats the back of a wooden spoon.

    8 egg yolks
    75g caster sugar
    300ml whole milk
    300ml double cream
    1 vanilla pod, split

    Beat the egg yolks and sugar together in a bowl until well blended. Place the milk and cream in a saucepan with the vanilla. Scrape the insides of the vanilla pod into the mixture before you add it. Bring the mixture just to the boil.

    Pour a little of this mixture into the eggs to temper them, and beat it together well. Pour this back into the pan and whisk together. Return to the heat and using a whisk, lightly stir until it begins to thicken. DO NOT BOIL.

    As the egg yolks warm, the cream will get thicker and create a custard. Keep stirring until it coats the back of a wooden spoon. Remove from the heat and pass through a fine sieve. Leave to cool a bit before using. Serve warm or allow to cool completely,stirring occasionally.


  2. Evelyn on August 17th, 2008 3:28 pm

    Thanks to Pito for pointing out the reality of the situation – and to Marie Cooks Britain for her inspirational recipe & image. May not be a Japanese Steakhouse meal, but it looks a bit yummy!

  3. Brian on August 19th, 2008 9:28 pm


  4. Gary (aka metal-head Adonis) on September 4th, 2008 10:43 am

    at band practice for the DNS Reunion recently Kevin was pissed at something someone had said to me, and he replied, “tell that guy to eat a bowl of dicks!”

    I hadn’t heard that saying since last time I jammed with Kevin in 1999!!!!