* * *
Ever had one of those days when you just can’t remember the name of anything? I was chatting with my sister last night, and I was trying to ask her what Bath and Body Works products she likes, and I could NOT for the life of me think of the words I wanted to say.
“What the hell is that stuff you put in the bath?” I asked Fred.
“Bath fizzies?” he offered.
“No, not fizzies, the stuff you pour in….”
“Water?”
“Har har. No, the liquid stuff you put in, and it makes bubbles…”
“Bubble bath!” he said.
“Oh yeah, that’s right.”
Duhr.
Then I was talking to my mother on the phone and I was trying to tell her about something new we’d tried the other night.
“You take these, um… beans… Oh, what the hell are they called?”
“Baked beans?” my mother suggested.
“No, not baked beans… Oh, what the hell… Fred! What are those beans?”
“Garbanzo beans!” he said immediately.
“Right, right, garbanzo beans…”
Duhr.
I’m telling you, it’s the early-onset Alzheimer’s…
* * *
The garbanzo bean recipe we tried the other night:
Open a can of garbanzo beans, drain and rinse. Toss with 2 T. olive oil and the spices of your choice (I used garlic salt and cayenne). Spread out on a cookie sheet. Cook for 30 – 45 minutes at 450�, stirring often (I stirred every 15 minutes) until beans are dark brown. (Ours were done at 30 minutes)
Fred bought a bag of dried garbanzo beans yesterday, since a bag is going to be cheaper than buying cans, soaked a small amount of the beans overnight, microwaved them for a little while, and then followed the above recipe. He said that they weren’t quite done at 30 minutes, but were burned at 40.
Anyway, they’re pretty damn good. The ones I made with garlic salt and cayenne were good, though a little more spicy than I would have liked. I’m going to make some more today, with different spices.
They’re suprisingly good AND good for you. Can’t beat that with a… thing. You know. That you beat things with?
* * *
A few nights ago I was laying in bed ready to fall asleep when the back of my arm started itching. With my eyes closed, I reached up with the hand of my opposite arm and began scratching the itch. Halfway through the scratching process, I opened my eyes, caught a glimpse of my hand, and almost had a heart attack because I thought someone else was in the room.
At least once every evening when I’m laying in bed reading, I catch sight of one of the posters of the bed and jump, thinking that someone’s standing there.
Yep. I’m a freak.
* * *
“TWELVE TWENTY-NINE AND ALL IS WELL!”
* * *]]>