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fantasizing…

I’m waiting for my pizza.

There is a restaurant here in my town that serves the most divine pizza.  Granted, it’s not the old world pizza that is flat, and has a small amount of fresh, delicious ingredients, like fresh tomatoes, basil and olive oil from the region.  This is straight up American, with thick, carbohydrate-rich crust, and about seven pounds of cheese.   Slices so heavy you have to have a rub down after dinner.

The atmosphere at the restaurant is almost as surprising as the low prices.  Located next to a scrap metal dump, this restaurant sits unassumingly, pulled back from the street, almost daring passersby to notice it.  Not that you could miss the delicious aroma.   Wafting through the streets, traveling the airspace to your nostrils, you would HAVE to stop and ask yourself, “am I starving to death all of a sudden?  I believe I’m going to pass out if I don’t get some delicious Italian food right this instant!”  Don’t worry.  It happens all the time.   Finding a parking space on a Friday is a rarity, though, so if the sudden hunger hits you on the weekend, best get there early or the wait is astronomical.  Coming into the restaurant you will notice that the dimly lit ambiance isn’t as much romantic as it is homey.  This is a local favorite, and families come together for laughter, the breaking of bread, maybe a little booze.  Adding to the flavor of the familial atmosphere is the ghost in the bathroom, who runs in and out of stalls, waving the doors.  Maybe no one else has noticed but me.  It’s like a customer loved the food so much, they never wanted to leave.  And who could blame her?  Perfectly proportioned toppings, with that homemade crust, so hot and delicious, and melting like perfection on your taste buds.

I’m anticipating the ranch dressing.  A trick I learned working at a pizza bar, when you have decent ranch, dip that thing in and it’s like heaven in your mouth.  I don’t always do this, because of course the pizza is perfect enough as is.  But the ranch dressing here is so good people come in just to pick up a tub.  It’s good enough to eat by itself.  By the spoonful.  My mouth is watering.  I want my pizza now.  I want my mouth full of ecstasy now, please.  NOW.

Of course, the pizza that I’m waiting for isn’t coming until Friday.  Or Saturday.  And here it’s only Thursday.  And I’m not getting DeLuca’s this weekend.  I have a frozen pizza in the freezer, waiting to ‘self-rise’ in my oven. 

Sigh.

Hey, I can still anticipate.

accidental happiness – cute beans

I got cute beans.

Back-story:  One of my cats – I have four – is ridiculously adorable.  I mean, they all are, of course.  One is neurotic, needy and affectionate.  One is shy, nervous and spends most of the day hiding from carpet lint.  One is adventurous, athletic and bossy.  And then there is Siris. 

            Siris is … well, adorable.  Soft little belly, big pouty eyes, dark markings on his mouth that make you wonder if he found some kitty-sized lipstick somewhere and is looking into cross-dressing.  He does have a shoe fetish.  We’ve never determined exactly what it is about this cat that makes him so adorable.  True, he is physically cuter than many a cat.  We frequently remind him that there are a score of dreadfully ugly felines out in the world because he stole all the cute.  He just says “meow”.  Is it his cute ‘fun-sized’ stature that makes him so adorable?  He’s never really sprouted into a cat size; still walks around sporting a kitten suit.  Is it this petite frame that makes him so endearing?  Or the fact that he snores when he’s asleep?  I mean, serious snoring, like your old favorite grandparent on the Lazy Boy Sunday afternoon.  Or could it be all the funny adventures Siris has gotten himself into, and we just automatically believe he is charming because of his hilarious past?  The burrito eating contest.  The spontaneous cast he made for his arm.  His random art projects.  Regardless of the reason, he is just freakishly delightful. 

            And he knows this.  In the ten years that we have had Siris, the only days he hasn’t been told he’s cute are days that we were off with family for the holidays; or traveling through Bellinzona, Italy; or landed in jail for indecent exposure in a public place.  Hey come on.  I thought there was something called Freedom of Religion?  Cult rites should be included in that, especially if they involve nudity, honey and shocked onlookers.  But back to the topic at hand; me.

            Reality is, no matter what the reason, this cat is damn cute.  It can’t be denied, ignored, or refuted.  And according to my sister, I’m cute too.

            It’s a frequent occurrence in my house, the mentioning of “cute”.  And it often is attached to me somehow.  Throughout the course of the day, I apparently do things that are funny, endearing, stupid, silly or bizarre.  I say things that are equally goofy, ridiculous or hilarious, and apparently these silly things create a feeling of affection on the end of others.  Or at least this is true with my sister because she is constantly saying how cute I am.  Forever now I’ve been responding back to this comment with “why?”  or “what did I do?”  I want to understand what thing I did that was weird or silly or particularly funny.  It’s not like I’ve done anything interesting or humorous in my eyes.  I’m just being me.  So what on earth is making her smile and shake her head?  What did I do?

            The other day – after mentioning my cuteness and appropriately being drilled as to the reason of said cuteness – my sister simply said “It’s just in your being”. 

            “My beans?”  I said, jokingly, an old family tradition of purposely mishearing someone’s comments. “I got cute beans?” 

            She smiled, shaking her head. 

            And finally it made sense to me.  I’m like my cat.  And now I no longer need to question the authority or accuracy of my sister’s statements.  Because some of us are just innately created to be wacky, weird, wonderful creatures that make others pick on you, laugh at you, and shake their head in wonder.  So why fight it?  Why question it?  I got cute beans.