The Bad Girls Dinner

What happens when you take food and a case of wine then combine it with a bunch of naughty minded women?

Bread in cleavage.

Of course, you know these aren't my breasts.  We have already established the fact I do not have any.  This fabulous cleavage shot is Dollface.  We grabbed her bodacious TaTa's and jammed a baguette between them.  Aren't they beautiful!  Don't you just want to jammed your face in there and give her a quick motorboat.  But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

This past Saturday, the girls and I gathered at the Casa de Fabulous Artist to wine and dine ourselves silly.  Everyone brings a dish, everyone brings their choice of adult beverage.  I brought a dynamite bottle of Pinor Noir.  I don't remember the label, I just remember it being very tasty.  Next time I'll pay more attention for you.

Here is the table:

Here's the spread:

We had angel hair pasta with pesto, shrimp and chicken lo mein and I made a huge antipasto that had bresaola (dried cured meat), fresh mozzarella, roasted herbed tomatoes, roasted shallots, grilled zucchini and summer squash, roasted red peppers, articokes with roasted garlic cloves, portabello mushrooms and asparagus.

And we had bread:

Glorious bread from a local baker.  But, do you see what I see?

Yup.  It's penis bread.  From that point on, it was all down hill from there.

We did everything with that bread.  That phallic piece of dough became the centerpiece of all our pictures.  We even have a video of Dollface and myself doing the full intro to Sir-Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back", complete with the bread penis.  After a few glasses of wine, we became 12 year old boys.  I'm hoping that Simone does not put that video on YouTube.  Talent scouts from Hollywood will be calling me night and day. I am that good at Valley Girl speak.

On a more mature note, we were celebrating Dollface's birthday.  Being a bit of a closet pastry chef, I whipped out a delicious recipe for "That Chocolate Cake" from The Essence of Chocolate by Robert Steinberg and John Scharffenberge. (see below for recipe)

I think I did pretty well.  The cake was inhaled by all and Dollface brought decadent chocolate covered strawberries.  It was chocolate overload and it was good.

To all my Bad Girls, we rocked that night!  Stay tuned, lovers.  Bad Girl Dinner is becoming a monthly event. 

That Chocolate Cake

For the Cake

INGREDIENTS

Unsalted butter and flour for pans

2 cups granulated sugar

1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour

¾ cup unsweetened natural cocoa powder

1 teaspoon salt

1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

½ cup canola oil

1 cup whole milk

1 cup boiling water

For the Frosting

INGREDIENTS

1-1/4 cups granulated sugar

1 cup heavy cream

5 ounces 99% Cacao Unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped

8 tablespoons (4 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

PREPARATION:

For the Cake:

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly butter the bottom of two 9-inch round cake pans. Line the bottom with parchment paper, then butter and flour the parchment and the sides of the pans.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the sugar, flour, cocoa, salt, baking powder, and baking soda, mixing on low speed. Min in the eggs, oil, and milk.

Increase the speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes. Reduce the speed to low and mix in the water. The batter will be soupy.

Divide the batter evenly between the cake pans. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

Remove from the oven and cool on a cooling rack for 5 minutes, then turn the layers out onto the rack and cool completely.

When the cakes have cooled, check the frosting. It should have the consistency of mayonnaise. If it is still too thin, allow it to cool longer.

For the Frosting:

In a small saucepan, combine the sugar and cream and bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and simmer for 6 minutes. Add the chocolate and butter and stir until melted. Pour into a bowl and stir in the vanilla.

To Frost the Cake:

Place one cake layer on a serving plate. Spread the frosting with a hot palette knife or icing spatula to give the frosting a beautiful shine. Run the knife under hot tap water and dry with a towel. Spread about ¾ cup of the frosting over the top of the first layer. Top with the second layer. Spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides of the cake, heating the knife again as necessary.

Serves 8 to 10

Shopping For Knocker Holders

I don't believe there is a woman out there who enjoys bra shopping. Big, little, small, ginormous....no matter the size of the TaTa's, bra shopping is one step up from a trip to the gynecologist. That form of humiliation only lasts 5 minutes. Bra shopping can last for hours - sweating in a dressing room as you twist yourself into impossible positions trying to fit a 1/2 inch hook into a 1/2 eyelet. Did I mention we have to do this behind our backs. Sure, we can get the front clasp version. I don't know about you, but those things pinch.

Unlike the women with beautiful, bouncing breasts who can sashay into any lingerie store and find the perfect bra, I was given a perky set of A cups and a 38 inch rib cage with lat muscles. I have a better chance of scoring with Bradley Cooper (FYI - he's my fantasy man this week. YUM!) than finding a bra in my size. The only reason I wear a bra - other than the embarrassing "high beam" issue - is to create the illusion of boobs. That's right, bras give me boobs. You heard it here first.

Because Victoria's Secret only caters to the beautiful people, I have to shop at Lady Grace. That's right, I shop at the old lady lingerie store. The store where the bras are unsexy and the nightgowns are floor-length and flannel. Every time I set foot in the store, I am the youngest person by 30 years - that includes the sales ladies.

Two weekends ago, I decided I really needed new bras. I had been switching between two - a gray (formerly cream) Miracle Bra with one strap held together by a safety clip and a black lace demi cup that was missing a gel pack from the left cup. Thankfully, I am married and the only time he sees me in a bra is in the morning before he's put his contacts in. I may cry over a water speck on a suede pump, but I'll wear a bra with no elastic. Yup. That's my little slice of white trash.

I walked into Lady Grace, shuffled by a 400 year old woman looking at slips (does anyone really wear a slip anymore) and walked up to the counter. The sales lady - who I swear could have been my 1st grade teacher - looked up at me and cocked her head in surprise. I'm guessing I didn't look like her usual customer. I was dressed in Uggs, ripped jeans and a down vest. I had on a NFL Hockey baseball cap and was just finishing up a text on my Blackberry. The dinosaur looking at the slips was glaring at me through her cataracts.

I'm a real sweetheart when it comes to retail folks. People love to wait on me. I'm quick, I get to the point and I tell them exactly what I need. This is what I told the confused sales lady:

"I need a 38A bra that will give me some boobs but doesn't look like an Ace bandage."

No sooner than you could utter "Boobs" this fabulous woman - who I have now dubbed "The Bra Fairy" - whisked me to the back of the store, tossed me in a dressing room and said, "Take off your top. I'll be right back".

I stood naked from the waist up, not quite sure what to expect. All of a sudden, I heard a bit of rustling and the Bra Fairy chirped, "Try these" as a waterfall of brassieres rained down from the top of the dressing room door. Every 15 seconds or so, she would toss another over the top. I could barely get my arms in the straps before more would cascade down. I was admiring myself in a beautiful violet satin push up when she came up to the door and said, "What about this?" I looked up and oogled as she popped a black lace bustier over the top. Where the hell was she finding this stuff? I didn't see anything like this when I came in and I'm sure Ole T-Rex out front wouldn't approve. I smiled and told her it was adorable, but not what I was looking for. The rain of bras continued until I was able to find five that fit perfectly. Um....Bradley....I'm waiting.

As the Bra Fairy was checking me out, I said "I have to ask you. Where did all these bras come from? I've been in here numerous times and all I can ever find is stuff that looks like it comes from the 1950's"

She smiled and nodded, "You just need to know where to look, dear"

Oh please. This woman has a stash out back. I'm sure if I'd asked her for the latest Rocco movie and a case of lube, she'd get it for me. I bet she's got some crotchless panties and some leather S&M masks hiding in a drawer, just waiting for the right customers.

To the Bra Fairies at Lady Grace, I applaud you! It takes amazing skill to look like a kindergarten teacher and peddle panties! My boobs and I thank you from the top of the nipple to the bottom of the breast.

And Here's Another Thing About My Boobs

I'm gonna talk about gross medical stuff. So if you're at all queasy when it comes to needles, puss or blood, I suggest you wait until tomorrow when I talk about golden showers.

I know y'all get it. I hate my boobs. I want some new ta ta's....yada yada yada. You'd heard it all before. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll......here's just one more thing for ya. If you ever thought having small boobs got me out of the boob problems category, guess again. In the last 3 months, I have been felt up more than Madonna at an NBA game, MLB game and all her concerts put together.

It all started when I was at the doctor getting felt up by my physician after hearing (yet again) how fabulously healthy I am. His freezing cold hands were kneading me like bread dough when he said, "I feel a small lump right here. I'm scheduling you for a mammogram." I wasn't alarmed. I had been through the boob squishing machine before. This wasn't my first lump and it wouldn't be my last. I nodded in compliance and took the scheduled appointment.

Boob Squishing Day: I arrived at the doctors office and donned the beautiful cotton johnny that you have to wear as the move you from room to room. As I sat in the waiting room with all the of the patients, I could feel them looking at me from under their lashes as they were reading the latest People Magazine. It was the look of pity. They were all twice my age and in for a routine check up. I was the 32 year old who could have breast cancer.

When my number came up, I pranced into the screening room and smiled at the grim faced technical. She looked like she hated her job. I didn't blame her. I wouldn't want to look at boobs all day either. She tried to fit me up to the machine, but it's not that easy when you're working with someone who basically has only nipples. She pulled, poked and pushed. Finally, she seemed to be happy with the fit. Then she clamped that sucker down so hard that I felt the skin from my face pull. After lots of beeps, clicks and buzzes she finally unleashed me. We both stared down at the plastic tray and the splotch of clear liquid on it.

"Does that ever happen at home?" she said.

"Well" I said. "To tell you the truth, I've never squeezed it that hard."

Her face went blank for a second. Then she started laughing so hard she bent over to catch her breath.

"That was the funniest thing I've ever heard in here" she said as she wiped tears from her eyes. "You are my favorite patient today"

That's me. Comic relief for medical technicians.

Long story short, they were unhappy with the results and scheduled me for a little biopsy. No biggie. Just stick a needle in there and take out a sample for testing. That thrilled me to no end as I'm deathly afraid of needles, blood and all things that probe and poke. I managed to pass out when I got a TB test. (for those of you who don't know how that's done. They slide a tiny needle under the skin in your arm and shoot some sorta fluid in there and wait to see how you react to the poke.) I fainted as soon as the needle touched my skin.

Poking Day: So this past Monday, I was strapped to a gurney and ready to have my boob poked. I told the sweet faced nurse who checked me in that I was really 5 years old and would lost all bodily functions if I saw blood or a needle. She told me not to worry. She was the "official hand holder" and would be by my side if I needed anything. Great, not only was I worried about icky medical stuff, now I had to worry about my personal space being violated. I did not want to cozy with her. I just wanted to have my boob poked and get outta there.

I didn't get my wish. As soon as the procedure started, she swooped into the room with an excited "I'm here!" slapped a cold compress on my forehead and grabbed my hand. Eager to make me comfortable, she started asking me all sorts of questions, "Was I married? Did I have kids? Where did I work? What were my bosses names? Did I like my job". I was being interrogated while the surgeon was practically kneeling on my chest trying to get the needle in. All of a sudden, he exclaimed "Holy shit".

Now, that is not something you really want to hear while some dude has a needle in your boob. Those utterances should be reserved for times when the patient is unconscious, not while she is totally awake and struggling not to puke while a nurse is molesting her hand and draining all the information from her brain.

He must have saw my eyes pop open and stare at him bug eyed in amazement. So he said, "I didn't think it would be this hard to do. It's just that you have alot of muscle in there."

Gee.....no kidding. Even I can see on the ultra sound, you dumbass. Guess those years of medical school are working well for you, huh? I'm so happy you have a enormous needle inches from my lungs and heart. Makes me feel all warm inside.

He finally finished after what seemed like an hour of leaning on my chest and jabbing me with some big thing that made loud clicking noises. There were also a few more "Holy Shits" and "Lordy Lordy's" thrown in there for good measure. The hand holder was chirping away in the background as I gave what I'd hoped were pleading looks to the ultra sound technician to end this quickly.

After promising 4 times not to lift anything heavy for two days and to abstain from strenuous exercise for three days, I left the office with a gigantic piece of sticky saran wrap over my boob. I would have the joyous task of peeling that off on Friday. Unfortunately this "simple procedure" had turned into something more complicated, but I still had to go back to the office. For the next 4 hours, I sat as my desk with ice packs in my bra. Every time someone came near my office I would hunch forward, trying to hide the fact that I had gained 2 cup sizes in my right breast. Of course, this trick fooled no one and Surfer Dude slid up to my door way and said "Um, do you have an ice pack in your bra?"

I glanced up from my hunched position and said, "Yeah. So what."

He smiled and said, "You getting some new ones?"

Dontcha love the concern?

I keep trying to show TH the incision, but he wants nothing to do with it. I plan to ambush him tonight. What's a gnarly scab if you don't have anyone to share it with?

On a serious note, the results should come back negative. This was only a precautionary boob poke. Thank God. I was beginning to feel like a slut! I've been felt up by half the medical staff on Cape Cod!