Breakfast In The Afternoon On The Way To Being Charitable

February 2, 2016January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 26 Comments

While I’ve no doubt my readers know what a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin looks like, I present this image for future Historians who 200 years hence will need a visual to understand this post. Historians, you may thank me in the footnotes of your doctoral theses.

I had my first afternoon Egg McMuffin last week.

It was late Thursday afternoon, and Z-D & I were on our way to Habitat for Humanity to drop off our old, but still usable, outdoor light fixtures that have been in my way in the garage for months.

[We replaced them last autumn with new black ones that use LED bulbs, with clear beveled glass– and the value of our home doubled. Really. The improvement is amazing.]

I was feeling peckish as we drove along, and in a moment of inspiration I directed Zen-Den to stop at the next McDonald’s so that I could feast on the one item I like at McDonald’s.

[Also I wanted a cup of black coffee. They have good coffee, which I needed to wash down my formerly unavailable after 10:30 a.m. sandwich delight.]

Hello again future Historians. This logo, which we saw all over the Habitat for Humanity ReStore, was easy to recognize as we followed the signs on the streets through a working part of town. Once at the store a friendly employee helped us unload our donations to the store.

So he did.

And I got an Egg McMuffin, which might have been the best one I’ve ever eaten. A bit of an exaggeration, but it was good.

Especially at the “wrong” time of day.

Eaten in rush hour traffic while someone else chauffeured me around the city on our way to doing good.

Talk about your win-win situation. 😉

Revisiting The Intentional Sobriety Experience

October 20, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 27 Comments

Today will be 6 weeks since I stopped drinking alcohol. And “NO,” I didn’t join AA. But I did decide to stop drinking for three months to see what it’s like to be a sober adult in social situations.

So far I’m finding that it’s boring.

First of all, there’s nothing to look forward to on the weekends. [Oh Barkeep, I’ll have a cranberry juice, please.]
Plus there are no more sparks of creative thinking while inebriated. [What to write, what to write… why can’t I think of something??!]
And, not to put too fine a point on this, there’s no way to politely tune-out the dull peoples when you’re sober. [Dear lord, is that boring man still talking to me?]

• • •

My decision to be alcohol-free came about by accident. On Labor Day afternoon as Zen-Den and I sat outside, drinking the last alcoholic beverages in the house, it occurred to me that I was *duh* sipping the last beer.

We were out of our staples, beer + bourbon + wine.

Z-D was leaving that week for his annual Canada camping trip with his friends, then he was traveling for work most of the rest of the month.

I realized that I’d be on my own most of the time in September, and in that moment it dawned on me this would be a great time to revisit the intentional sobriety experience, something I dabbled in for a few years, a decade ago.

Back then it was difficult for me.

• • •

At this point I’d love to tell you that I’m a better person because of my decision to not drink. That I feel healthier and more alive. Filled with clear thoughts and a strong connection to those people around me.

But I’m too sincere to lie like that.

Despite taking in fewer alcohol calories, I weigh the same as before. So there’s no news of that front.

And despite being an introvert, I haven’t felt any social pressure to drink this time around, confirming that I don’t need alcohol to feel comfortable among the peoples of this world.

No, the only concrete change that I can see is financial. That is, reduced grocery bills and smaller restaurant checks. Nothing to sneeze at, but nothing of much spiritual significance either.

• • •

Obviously I have 6 more weeks to go with Project Intentional Sobriety. I don’t know how I’ll hold up under the upcoming plethora of social activities we’ve planned, but I’m thinking, based on what has unfolded so far, that I’ll do okay.

It might be that not drinking is no big deal for me.

Coming from the WASP-y family that I do, and begging their forgiveness here, I admit that the words above are about as close to an anathema as one can get.

But I said them and I mean them.

People change all the time, right? So maybe, for at least these few months, I am a new Ally Bean. Bored. With a bit more coin in my pocket. But happy that I’ve trusted my instincts to explore this way of living again.

For a while.

When Good Grapefruit Has Bad Marketing

September 24, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 35 Comments

To your left you will see a photo of half a grapefruit, on a pretty white bread & butter plate, plus the label off the sturdy red mesh bag it came in.

This grapefruit, purchased at the local K. Roger, is not as humongous as many of the grapefruits available, nor is it as intensely pink in color as most of the individually sold grapefruits.

It was tasty. Easy to section. Juicy, but not overly so. With just the right amount of sweetness.

# # #

But here’s the weird thing about this grapefruit. Just like Proust’s madeleines, this grapefruit stimulated long-lost memories from my childhood.

It reminded me of being an elementary school-age girl. Sitting at home in my parents’ warm kitchen while eating breakfast at the old, slightly wobbly, wooden drop-leaf table. Listening to the local AM radio “Quickie Quiz” show. Wondering what I’d be doing at recess later in the morning.

So considering the effect that this grapefruit had on me, I’m left wondering what marketing genius came up with the idea to name this product:

NOT your MOTHER’S Grapefruit.

# # #

Putting aside the stupid inconsistent capitalization of the letters of the product’s name, if there was ever a fruit whose essence reminded me positively of my past, it would be these grapefruits.

And considering that grapefruits are pretty much the same old fruit now that they were 40 years ago, I’m irritated with the somewhat passive aggressive marketing message that I’ll be an old fuddy duddy if I don’t buy these particular grapefruits.

I understand that times change, but I gotta wonder how it could be that bad-mouthing grapefruit is the key to more sales. Does that even make sense?

Lunching With A Friend At A Restaurant With A Confusing Name

July 16, 2015January 28, 2021 / Ally Bean / 24 Comments

… you gotta wonder who names these places?

A FRIEND WHO I’VE KNOWN FOR DECADES called me and wanted to meet me for lunch at a place she’d recently discovered. She thought the food and service were great– plus we needed an adventure, she said.

I asked what was the name of this fine establishment where we’d be lunching. And that’s when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

It’s called Again With The Eggs Cafe, she said.

… Or maybe it’s called All About Eggs Cafe?

She couldn’t remember.

• • •

I ASKED WHERE THIS NEW DELIGHTFUL RESTAURANT, whatever its name might be, was located. Come to find out it was about halfway between where we each live, so it made sense to go there.

It’s called Broken Eggs Again Cafe, she declared.

That’s it. That’s the name of the place.

… Or maybe it’s called Something About Broken Eggs Cafe.

I can’t remember the name, she said.

[No kidding, thought I.]

However, despite not knowing the precise name of this restaurant, located in a new “lifestyle center,” she could tell me exactly how to get there. And how to safely navigate the “lifestyle center” parking lot, designed by the makers of whack-a-mole.

• • •

AND THAT WAS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, a woman who started driving pre-Garmin. Who survives life in the big city sans smart phone.

Who’s been lost more times than found when it comes to going to lunch with friends.

So off I went to have lunch at this charming little restaurant, with the impossible-to-remember name, called: Another Broken Egg Cafe.

… you can understand her confusion, can’t ‘ya?

• • •