At the House of LadyLee... We like to keep it smurfy!
Thursday, October 04, 2012
Of Presidential Debates and Seafood Debate Parties
I told ya'll.
Ol' Mitt... He was gonna come out swanging...
Somebody gave Mitt a few cans of Red Bull before that debate. And you know how we get when we all amped up on Red bull. We run our mouths, man. The moderator couldn't even muzzle him. I know the moderator's blood pressure was SKY HIGH after that debate.
And these things happen when you try to stop folks from achieving their goals. Presidency is a bucket list line item for Mitt. He going for it... by any means necessary.
Had me sitting there last night listening to him thinking "Geez, is this guy making up stuff on the fly? How much red bull did he drink?" O_o
Our beloved president seem to notice this, too. And what scares me is that he was taking notes. Uh, if he was writing down all those doggone flip-flop antics... uh, Romney might be in a little trouble.
Come on, now... practice with me... say it with me, now...
President Mitt Romney.
Say it! Sang it like Luther Vandross would say it!
President Mmm-,Mmm-,Mmm-,Mmm-,Mmm-,M-,Mmmmitt Romney!!!
(CowgirlCre is pleasantly livid about that. "That is funny. I refuse to say that, even if it is for play-play!)
Ya'll know ya'll still listen to Luther. I'm listening to Luther right now, honey. "Anyone who has a Heart".
That's what Obama was singing to the USA when he left last night. He better come out and verbally shank Mitt in the next debate.
Anyway... last night I left work and made a trip to the east side to the farmers market for my beloved fruits and vegetables. It was a nice outing, as it wasn't too crowded and I could take my time. On the weekend, it's packed butt-to-butt up in there like we in the club or something.
When I left, I got some gas for Lucy at a gas station near there that has REALLY cheaped gas. I think it's fenced. Hot stolen gas. But that's just my personal opinion. I never go in. I get my gas and go, just in case the police roll up.
While on that side of town, I needed to deliver a couple dozen of triple chocolate chip cookies to Nikki's auntie. She really likes my cookies, and for some odd reason was trying to save cookies I took over there 2 weeks ago so that she could take them home.
Ugh... those would be stale by now.
Anyway, why on earth did I roll up to their house... something was strange. There were a LOT of cars out front. It looked like a house party was going on.
I knocked on the door and someone opened the door chanting quite loudly... "Obama! Obama! Obama!"
"Yeah!" I hollered. I stared at the lady who opened the door. Never met her before. Maybe I had, though. Nikki had A LOT of people. "What's up?!"
"Come on in," she said. "I'm Wanda!"
"And I'm Lee! I came to drop cookies off!"
Nikki's mama came around the corner. She gave me a hug.
"What's going on?" I said.
"We having a debate party," she said. "The debate is tonight!"
I laughed so hard.
People in the kitchen looked around the corner. All of them had a straight face.
"Ya'll having a debate party for real!?"
Everyone nodded. Then went back to what they were doing, i.e, jocking for position to fill up their plates of food.
A debate party.
Let me correct that.
"We having a seafood debate party, Lee!!" Nikki's mama hollered.
LOL. I laughed louder.
They were all peering at me like I was some odd bird that had just flown through the window.
"Ya'll are really serious!"
Mama Nikki pointed to her Obama t-shirt. Then stretched her arms wide so I could take a picture.
"Yes. You are welcome to join us."
"No. I'm going home." It was already 8:30. I lived 25 minutes away in downtown ATL. "I'm going home and watching the debate."
"Well grab a plate. Plenty of seafood."
"No, Mama Nikki. I'm going home and eating a salad."
I was hungry. And I'd been thinking about the huge container of salad I make and store in the fridge. I'd even shaved some red cabbage and thrown it in there. I was going to cut up some strawberries over it. And pour a little vidalia onion dressing over it.
Yes, I'd been fantasizing hard about that salad!
"Fix a plate, Lee."
"No, Mama Nikki."
"You eat seafood, don't you?"
"Yes sometimes. But I'm having a salad when I get home."
That didn't go over well AT ALL.
Let's just say she drug me in the kitchen and made me watch her fix a to-go plate.
"We have crabs, Lee. You like crabs?"
"Yes," I said, as I brought out my phone and found the camera app. "Yes I do."
Boy oh boy did they have crabs! 2 pots of crabs!
"We have some shrimp fried rice. I'm gonna give you some of that, too, okay?"
My eyes glazed over. I haven't had shrimp fried rice over there since Nikki was here with us. It was GREAT. I told Mama Nikki way back then...
"This here shrimp fried rice taste like you got some chinese in you.... like you learned to cook it while living over in the back country in China, where you had to go outside and cook it in a wok made from clay open an open fire in the ground."
Yes. It was that good way back then. Best I've ever had. "Yes, I'll take some of that," I said quietly.
There was a pot of broccoli on the stove. "Lee, I KNOW you like broccoli."
"Yes, i'll take a LOT of that." LOL.
There was a big casserole dish on the kitchen table.
"We have crab salad, Lee!" she said.
"I don't want any of that."
"But it's good." She uncovered it. "Real good."
I peered down at the crab salad. It wasn't that old fake crab salad. This was that real crab meat. Lump crab salad.
"Whoa, that's the real stuff. Hey, gimme some of that."
My pictures are blurry because there were so many people and everybody was getting their food in the tight kitchen. And looking at me crazy for trying to take pictures.
But I took a picture of my plate when I got home.
That is a fine plate of food. That is another crew of people who know they can sho nuff cook!
I 'm saving that for the weekend!
I ate some of my crab salad over my huge veggie salad when I got home....
That is all.
I'm glad I didn't stay for the debate party. They would've beat me down before it was over.
"See, I told ya'll, Mitt not playing games with ya'll. Bump ya'll 47 percenters! He ain't worried OR thinking about ya'll. Mitt wanna be president!"
*lee gets smacked, jacked up, and thrown out on the front porch*
Mitt's not playing with ya'll.
President Obama, you better hit him with the FLEX next time. A verbal smackdown is in order. You know how we do, Sir.