The Weather is Here, I Wish You Were Beautiful.....

The other night found me sitting in Old San Juan sipping a mojito. A damn fine mojito, I might add. The occasion warranted a photo, and that was all good. Glasses up, smiles flashed, click! Aw, such a good shot. But before I knew it, that photo was posted and tagged on Facebook courtesy of “Mobile Uploads”. Over one thousand people (my 300+ friends, as well as the 300+ friends of each of my two companions) were suddenly given a window to my dinner in Old San Juan to watch me enjoy my mojito in real time. And I must admit, even through the heady haze of vacation euphoria, I was annoyed by this.

I love you all (well, most of you, anyway), but honestly, you weren’t invited.

Right now, I am away. I am on vacation, on a remote Caribbean island off the coast of Puerto Rico, sitting on a patio overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, sipping my morning coffee. The only sounds hitting my ears are the waves crashing on the beach and my fingertips clicking on my keyboard. I am in heaven, doing something that refreshes me in an environment that simply oozes endorphines. There are no conference calls to attend, no sales figures over which to fret, no parking spots to find. If you call my cell phone, the outgoing message is a somewhat politely worded way of saying “unless you are about to tap me on the shoulder, you are shit out of luck until I return.”

There is a rooster crowing in the background, reinforcing my point.

As one who pens a blog regularly featuring her dating life, who is an avid Facebooker, and aspires to Twitter more frequently (if only to quell the peer pressure from one Mr. O’Neill, but still), I am cognizant that writing a blog entry ranting about not wanting to appear on Facebook during my vacation, while that vacation is still taking place, seems highly hypocritical, even nonsensical. But there it is.

You ask a hundred different people about social networking, and you’ll get a hundred different opinions. As a consequence of where we have landed in time, every living, breathing human being in the Western world falls somewhere along this new continuum, from those who tweet, blog, Facebook, or Google buzz (or for God’s sake all four - seriously, We.Get.It.) every time they pick their noses to the total boycotters, who between firing up their VHS recorders to watch reruns of Mr. Belvedere, judgmentally take their own noses and throw ‘em way up in the air. They then look straight down those antisocial noses at us and all the perceived narcissism that comes with assuming that people to whom you haven’t spoken since high school graduation care to know that your kid peed like a big boy today, you got concert tickets to that thing you wanted to see, your fibromyalgia is acting up, or you just posted a new blog entry about Booty Call Shrimp.

We social networkers participate for versions of the same reason, to stay connected to someone or something. Although for many of us, our individual desire and quite frankly our need for it seems to cycle through peeks and valleys. I can site several examples where a friend has moved to a new city, is rendered firmly outside of his comfort zone, and a very noticeable spike occurs in activity. My news feed will light up like a Christmas Tree with updates on the his first day of work, a new sofa purchase, the discovery of a place that makes a mean Italian sub, just like the place back home. Perhaps to calm anxiety about the new place by solidifying connections to the old as if to say, “Please don’t forget me!”, perhaps to blow on the embers of a new local connections, probably both. Then, as time goes on, those embers become flames, and the spike of FaceSpacing goes back to the pre-move baseline.

I’m a shameless example of this myself. And a lot of you know this because you access this site through my Facebook page. Khop’s doing this, khop’s up to that, khop just commented on my status, khop just posted a highly inappropriate eCard on my wall. Woops, looks like khop might be drunk right now. At least, I hope she is.... And why not participate? It’s fun, and it keeps me engaged with so many people I can’t see on a regular basis. The downside, though, is that all that online living puts me at terrible risk for not fully living. Instead of being present, I’m distracted. Instead of entirely focusing on you, the person at whom I’m looking, I’m somewhat focused on them, the couple hundred people I’m so anxious to tell about what I’m doing, I’m not really gonna experience it myself. So this time, I’ve gone rouge. I’ve pared down the activity, instead turning my attention this iguana crossing the street (seriously, there’s an iguana crossing the street). And even though I know that the masses greet each new day in utter terror that today will be another khop-absent day, I have to think we’ll all survive.

Social networking tends to strike a nerve in folks, and I’m cognizant that the tone of this post may rub some the wrong way, as plenty (myself included) have documented their way through many a vacation without missing an online beat. We get off the plane - tweet! We have that first margarita - status update! Off to a massage - buzz! In fact, several of my friends are currently on vacation themselves. How do I know this? Facebook, of course. No judgement intended - who am I to say boo on this, anyhow? It’s not like I succeeded in going completely off the grid myself, nor did I want to. I checked my email everyday, caught up with a few people over gChat, took a peek at the ol’ news feed, even posted a buzz (albeit completely unintentionally) that my cousin rightly heckled. But what I did want was to practice the art of being completely immersed in the present moment, not only with all five senses, but also with my thoughts, something I so rarely do, but so keenly long to do more. And now, several days later, on the plane ride home, I’m happy to report success. How refreshing.

Besides, would you really want to have seen any of the following in real time anyway?

khop may have just found the most beautiful beach on the planet.

khop scratch that, *now* may have just found the most beautiful beach on the planet

khop if there is a downside to banging out a 2 mile open water swim in the Caribbean, it’s the tan line left by the damn swim cap across my forehead. Heavy emphasis on *if*.

khop just saw a guy riding on a horse through town, carrying a rooster. Can I move here?

khop thinks there’s no shame in taking a ride back to shore from pirates. In fact, there’s glory in it.

khop just glowed in the bio bay. w.o.w.

khop just finished her third 2+ mile open water swim in three days. This last one hurt. But I-ah beat-ah Steve-ah!

khop has some horrific tan lines, compliments of Speedo.

khop is zooming back to san juan in a taxi driven by a man drinking Johnny Walker Black out of a coconut.

khop just kissed Puerto Rico goodbye. :(

Postin’ the photos on MyFace,

khop

PS: Emphatic, eternal thanks go to Oscar and Kara for welcoming us onto their island and into their home.

Booty Call Shrimp with Tomato, Basil and White Wine over Pasta - Subtitle, “Hey buddy, I’m lofting a softball right over home plate.”

Note: Since I've been slacking a bit on the writing and am a bit desperate for content, I'm going to be selfish and post this here, instead of guesting over here.

We all have a repertoire of “go to” moves. Moves we whip out when we’re aiming to woo, impress, or make the sexy time. They might be smooth lines, a specific pair of booty-enhancing jeans, or just the raise of one eyebrow. Whatever they are, they’re there in our pockets, ready at a moment’s notice to stop the object of our affection in his or her tracks.

I am, I’m afraid, one of very few moves. In fact, historically speaking, the more I consciously try to impress the opposite sex, the less successful I am. My smooth lines will be awkward and mildly offensive. I can’t rock the jeans-in-boots trend, so I’m horribly out of fashion. And if I try to raise just one eyebrow at you, you’ll probably think I have some sort of neurological tic. I am bitter about this. I wish slow, embarrassing deaths on the women who can purposefully spin webs that men actually compete to dive into, because I just cannot do it. It is only when I’m not really trying at all that I have any luck with the menfolk. For someone who has spent a lifetime seeing her efforts in academic and professional arenas translate directly into positive results, this is frustrating, to put it mildly. But it is what it is.

One move I do feel I have is in the culinary arts. Simply put, I know my way round a stove. This comes into play when I’m trying to woo a man with my womanly vibes, swaggering around my kitchen with my gingham apron and my skull ‘n crossbones spatula. (kidding about the apron, not about the spatula). I send out evolutionary pheromones that make him go all cave man and subconsciously link me with warm, delicious food, my hope being that he will keep coming back for more.

Of the food. Of course.

The very fact that I need to keep pulling this move out as relationships end and new ones begin, indicates that there may be some flaw in my logic. But that’s really neither here nor there. Back to the kitchen!

Over time Booty Call Shrimp has become one of my signature dishes. To be clear, it is not reserved exclusively for romantic evenings (I have made this dish for my parents), but certainly it is one of the dishes I think of first when there is a man on my radar screen. It has come out as early as Date 2 (shockingly slutty, I know), and it has been held back until later in the game. But it almost always makes an appearance. In fact, I wonder how many Men I’ve Tried To Impress are reading this now, feeling slightly cheap and thinking, “Really? That was a move? I thought I was special.....” Of course you were are. But for all women everywhere who they themselves have fallen victim to a move (perhaps one of your own), consider this as one small drop in the bucket towards evening that shit out.

Booty Call Shrimp is terrific because it’s seafood, thereby slightly fancy, and almost fool proof. The original recipe came from an issue of Cooking Light, but I’ve long-since lost it, and now I just cook to taste.

One last programing note before forking over the recipe. I must give a shout out to my swoop, who had never seen this move show up on his plate until an impromptu dinner party for six last weekend and who also was not phased by the angle I planned to take with this post. I had bounced this idea around with Wise Cassie quite awhile ago, but I have not had a taste for Booty Call Shrimp until this past weekend. Way to roll with it.

And now, I give to you Booty Call Shrimp with Tomato, Basil and White Wine over Pasta

Subtitle, “I shaved my legs today.”

1/2 lbs uncooked shrimp per person. I’m persnickety about springing for larger, fresh water shrimp, but do whatever your budget will accommodate.

1/4 cup kosher salt

lots of tomatoes, I like a mixture of plum, vine ripened and cherry

green onions

lots of basil

a few cloves of garlic

salt

pepper

olive oil

a hunk of butter

white wine (cooking or drinking)

pasta

parma cheese

optional additions: spinach, lump crab meat (although i find this to be a low ROI addition)

• Peel and devein the shrimp. Make an ice bath with kosher salt and brine the shrimp for 30 minutes.

• Meanwhile, quarter and seed the big tomatoes. Discard the seeds and juice. Dice the flesh

• Chop the green onions, garlic and basil.

• In large saute pan, heat olive oil and butter to medium high. Saute garlic for a minute or so. Don’t let it burn! Add shrimp and green onions. Saute for 4 - 5 minutes, until you can see that the shrimp are fully cooked. If you don’t know what fully cooked shrimp look like, google it. Turn the heat down to medium. Add spinach here, if you’re doing it. Saute until it’s wilted and reduced. Add the diced tomatoes, basil and the white wine, about a quarter of a cup if you’re cooking for two, then splashes as needed. Not too runny! Add salt and pepper to taste. Add cherry tomatoes and cook until they are still intact but the skins look like they’re gonna break. At the last minute gently fold in lump crab meat (if doing), just enough to warm it, but not enough that it breaks up and is lost in the slush.

• Serve over cooked pasta. Top with parmesan cheese and crushed up roofies. Fluff your hair, touch up your make up, and enjoy!

Workin' it,

khop