Licking Privileges

This weekend is PJ’s birthday weekend. I won’t disclose her age, especially since it is so close to mine.

Her birthday is actually on the 13^th but as is our rule we celebrate on the weekend closest to the birthday when it falls on a weekday. Since our daughter is still with us from her extended holiday visit PJ naturally chose this weekend.

This morning she asked if she could also include next weekend, and even though she is the family ATM, I held my ground and said “no.” I’ll keep you posted on how that turns out.

The birthday girl gets her pick for tonight’s menu plus lots of weekend bennies. In her case that doesn’t add up to much because I routinely handle most of the to-do lists. Remember that ATM part.

PJ chose avocado, smoked salmon, sprouts, and pesto on toasted wheat bread for the appetizer, filet-of-beef with béarnaise sauce for the main course, roasted vegetables (fingerlings, haricot verts, carrots, red onion) with pesto (in this case without the basil, and butter in addition to olive oil), and for the closer, Jack Daniels & chocolate pecan pie*. The Jack Daniels is in the pie, not the beverage you serve with it. But for you Jack lovers, got for it.

One of PJ’s regular bennies is bowl licking after I have poured or spooned out the dessert concoction just prior to baking. This pie filling includes: butter, unsweetened chocolate, eggs, sugar, corn syrup, vanilla extract, and Jack Daniels. So her first birthday treat was the bowl. Even though I made the mixture with my largest bowl she still could not put her face into the bowl. Lord knows she tried. This is one of the times when a tongue extender would come in handy**. As it was, after scooping out as much as she could with a spoon, she fell in love with her right index finger. I almost didn’t have to wash the bowl.

*If interested in any of these recipes, contact me via my website, www.domesticengineerguy.com

**I know what you’re thinking.

Houseguest Rules

Domestic Engineer Guys get to establish most of the houseguest rules (after attaining sign-off from their live-in ATM). So, if you ever pass our way, here are the houseguest rules* for the Frohreich Funhouse.

—Arrival gifts are always a nice touch. Here are several suggestions:
A really good bottle of Syrah
A really good bottle of red wine (not pinot noir)
Belgium chocolate, unopened
An R-rated cook’s apron—full length
—The first morning here, guests will have to sit through a TV operations class.
—Changing the channel while the cook is in the kitchen and the football game is in his line of sight makes the cook cranky.
—The recliner in the family (TV) room is off-limits—always—unless PJ is in it.
—Guests must pat the dog at least twice a day, and once a day play fetch with his spittle-soaked toys. Walking him once a day with the pooper-scooper earns future invites. Guests with allergies are not excused. Tyveks, gloves, and masks will be provided. Any guest Dutch does not approve of doesn’t get invited back.
—If the stay is longer than a couple of days, the washer and dryer are available, but Domestic Engineer Guy, aka Laundry Man, is not.
—Anything in the refrigerator or pantry is fair game, except for leftover filet-of-beef or rack-of-lamb. Open bar is a 24/7 policy, though 5 PM is the preferred start of social hour.
—Interrupting Domestic Engineer Guy in the morning with trivial pursuits while he is engrossed in the daily crossword puzzle makes him cranky.
—Special diet or food and beverage preferences must be emailed to Domestic Engineer Guy at least three days prior to arrival. If your face looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy (only blushing), after you consume salmon, it would be good for the cook to know.
—The cook is an adequate mixologist (except for Mai Tais and Cosmopolitans). Special requests will be stocked with advance notice.
—Guests staying a week or more are expected to toss some jack into the kitty. It is the gesture, not the amount that matters.
—Guests are not expected to participate in any of the household duties. Helping clear the dinner table and stacking the dishwasher is fine. Unloading the dishwasher is a no-no.
—Domestic Engineer Guy is not a barista. But his coffee is better than Starbucks.
—Guest don’t have to love everything the cook prepares, but if it wasn’t on your this-makes-me-vomit list, then you are expected to eat at least half a portion. Moans and accolades are permitted. Trust me, you will eat better than at most restaurants.
—Offers to help in the kitchen will be rebuffed. But it’s okay to ask. The cook has enough trouble organizing himself. The cook usually does not need a sous chef. Besides, he is more of a shoo chef—as in get out of his kitchen.
—Chauffeur duties are free and available, though not unlimited. But you have to humble yourself and be seen in a 12-year old, bottom-of-the-line Saturn.
—Sitting at the kitchen dinette with an adult beverage, regaling the cook with stories is expected.
—You don’t have to make your bed each morning, unless Domestic Engineer Guy has let you sleep in his office, but at least keep the door closed.
—The kitchen is open for lunch, but the cook is not on duty. Provisions will be provided.
—Showing up for dinner five minutes before it is served makes the cook cranky, and not a good way to begin an evening. The cook is flexible. He just needs advance notice about the day’s plans.
—Sleep in as long as you like, but Domestic Engineer Guy is not a cook-on-call in the morning.
—Departure gifts are not necessary but adding us to your will, will earn future invites, access to filet-of-beef and rack-of-lamb leftovers, and passes on doggie duty and wine gifts.
—The number one rule is to enjoy yourself. You are our guest.

Y’all come.

* None of these rules apply to PJ’s nephew. He keeps the computers humming and shoots and produces Domestic Engineer Guy’s YouTube videos. He can do any damn thing he pleases.

Job Titles

Over my previous-life-career my business cards listed many titles. When I left business I vowed to never ever be a card carrier again. Then I got these hair-brained book-writing ideas and once again it seemed I needed something for identification purposes. Flashing my driver’s license at conferences or informal gatherings isn’t in the cards. Besides, there is always that mug shot worthy of a police station line-up.

My current business card reads: Writer, Domestic Engineer, Kept Man. But I wear many titles in my Domestic Engineer Guy role. Just to list a few:

· Man of the House
· Don of the Domicile
· Dean of Dishes
· Executive Chef
· Manager of Toilet Maintenance
· Vice President of Marketing
· Lord of the Laundry
· House Stud
· Vice President of Finance
· Sommelier
· Baron of the Barbecue
· Zen master of the Iron

One title that warrants more time than I bargained for is Executive Assistant to my ATM. Those honey-do lists that used to be reserved for weekends, now stretch 24/7, and entail much more than traditional projects. PJ is constantly asking me to remind her to do such things as:

Check her email
Buy a sympathy or birthday card
Take her prescriptions
Call a friend (hers)
Schedule her hair appointment

The other time-consuming title is Social Secretary. Actually I’ve worn that hat most of our marriage. I am simply better organized. All friends and family social events, anniversaries, birthdays, vacation/weekend scheduling, planning, and executing are mine to remember.

We are timeshare owners and just returned from an exchange week in Carmel, CA. What helped sell us on timeshares were the kitchens. We pack in the food and rarely eat out. This past trip I not only made all of the arrangements but I selected a week’s worth of recipes, made two separate lists (1) stuff to bring that we already owned, and (2) stuff to buy. I think this is called advance planning. When it comes time to load the car I have filled four large boxes as well as a cooler on wheels.

PJ just has to be packed and primped by departure time. She begins the packing three days in advance. I pack in 15 minutes.

Seems like a fair distribution of duties to me.

Oh yes, another title: Chauffeur. The movie will called Driving Ms PJ.

Maintenance

I’m just easing into a Tom Robbins’ tome entitled Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates. This is my first Tom Robbins book, best known for Momma Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowgirls. Or maybe it was Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.

Recumbent biking at the gym the other day, I came across one of those passages worthy of a dog-ear. Robbins’ lead character, Switters, was lamenting about the daily drudgery of showering, shaving, and brushing, wondering why someone couldn’t invent self-cleaning teeth. This character must have channeled me. Switters then said, “There’s birth, there’s death, and in between there’s maintenance.” It reminded me of one of my favorite sayings, “Life is one long, endless, forced march into enemy territory.” I’m more upbeat than that – but there are days…

Minimally the Robbins’ truism is a perfect metaphor for houses. They’re built and everything after that is maintenance, or they will implode. Properly maintained, houses out-live us. What’s that other relevant saying? Oh yes, “Life is not fair.” – author unknown.

I hand over much of our household maintenance to men-with-cracks. It has something to do with competence, theirs versus mine. Even so, domestic engineer guys should protect their live-in ATMs from having to deal with such eyesores.

Last week, one of the companies who had done some prior maintenance called to tweak us about an annual checkup. Not the plumbing checkup, but heating and air. For free, of course. I almost said “No thanks”. Then I remembered – we’re hosting our daughter’s wedding reception at the end of September. A household audit might lessen the possibility of the house imploding that weekend.

But in this play you know the outcome before the first act. The serviceman spotted six things that needed maintenance before I finished saying, “There’s the heater, and the air conditioner is around back.”

He frowned a lot, frequently reminding me that he was just giving me the facts (and figures he referenced from his fees-for-services corporate-rate-bible). His estimate for the “necessary” maintenance was over $850. After he added the discount. Where is the equivalent of an HMO for households?

I thanked him for his cheery prognostication and said I’d be in touch. It’s not that his frowning had no merit – it did. The heater is original with the house, now 25 years young. The air conditioner is a babe comparatively – 18 years old, barely out of puberty.

I called a good friend who is a stickler for due diligence of such services. He had earlier recommended a plumber who charged 40-50% less than the branded boys. Sure enough, he had a referral. They showed up and did the identical maintenance for $95.00.

I’m wondering if they do weddings.

Master of the House

Domestic Engineer Guys wear several new titles: Man of the Mansion, Don of the Domicile, Dean of Domesticity, and Master of the House.

The Master of the House title comes with several new benefits:

1. Time for computer solitaire.
2. Time to calculate your carbon footprint.
3. Time to watch the World Darts and Miniature Golf Championships on ESPN.
4. Time to catch up on the latest celebrity news - Tom cruises in Timbuktu, Brad pits in Patagonia, Britney spears brats in Bavaria, and Paris does the Hilton.
5. Time to balance your home's yin and yang and infuse it with cosmic dragon's breath.
6. Time to perfect your air guitar skills.
7. When assembling products made in China, you will have the house to yourself and can expand your colorful vocabulary. Just make sure you keep the windows closed.
8. Time to prattle and pontificate on that blog you've fancied yourself launching.

Like President Bush, domestically you now become "The Decider." These and other major decisions fall to you:

1. Stacking the dishwaher your way.
2. Which way the paper towels and toilet paper unroll.
3. How many clothes to cram into the washer.
4. Whether to iron from the tapered end or the squared end of the ironing board.
5. Bartlett or Bosc pears.
6. Paper, plastic, or BYOB (Bring your own bag).
7. When the bananas have turned and need to be tossed.
8. When something needs repaired or serviced, and offered a service time, you decide, morning or afternoon.
9. During the day the toilet seat stays up, though you might want to set a timer.

Don't become too smug. Your ATM gets home at 6:00, and she may have had a bad day.

Battling the Bulge

Domestic engineering duty from time to time may require some physical re-engineering. Domestic guys might need to shape up or face a bride telling us to ship out. If she is your ATM, accommodations must be made. Even worse, if, after your last physical, your doctor sent you an email saying, "Lose weight or die - - strong letter to follow", you may need some intervention, or hippo surgery. (That's my name for bypass surgery. Anyone who looks like a hippo, needs their food channel rearranged.)

Five years ago, I launched a battle against my bulge. I had tipped (over) the scales at 220. At 5' 11' that didn't make me fat, or so I thought. My kids weren't calling me Puff Daddy. Airlines weren't charging me for two seats. I didn't have to lie down after lacing my shoes. I could touch my toes without bending my knees. I had never been asked to be a sun blocker at the beach. I have fat femurs, not thunder thighs.

Then some very evil person invented a new weight scale called the Body Mass Index (BMI). According to this new natural law, I was obese at 220 pounds. Further infuriating, this new scale scion fixed my frame's high end at 179 pounds, meaning I could lose 30 pounds and still be overweight. I can think of other meanings for BMI, but I'd settle for its creator's forced consorting with a pile of Pacific walruses.

The seriously obese, like those competitors on The Biggest Loser reality series have it made - sort of. Those initial pounds disappear faster than my son when asked to take out the garbage. I have taken my sweet time on my way to at least a 30-pound weight loss. Who wants to give up sweets? Losing weight is not a pile of giggles, and it is very hard on our scales. The first 10 pounds were relatively easy, as was the second, though a bit tougher with age 50 in my rear view mirror. The last ten have become very clingy. No doubt they are confused, having bonded with me for so long.

See if your experience compares to mine.
1. Look at pasta, or a potato - gain half a pound.
2. Eat two cups of pasta, or a potato - gain two pounds.
3. Drive by a McDonald's and think about eating a Big Mac and fries - gain a pound.
4. Eat a Big Mac and fries - gain three pounds.
5. Drink 8 glasses of water in a day - gain a pound.
6. Drink two martinis, or two glasses of wine in a day - gain two pounds.
7. Walk a mile - stay even.
8. Reduce daily calorie intake to 1200 - stay even.
9. Fast for a day - stay even.
10. Run a marathon - lose a pound.

The answer seems obvious. A week-long weight-loss program might look like this:
Monday - consume 1200 calories
Tuesday - consume 1200 calories
Wednesday - fast
Thursday - consume 1200 calories
Friday - consume 1200 calories
Saturday - run a marathon
Sunday - fast
For the next ten weeks - rinse, repeat.

Too bad we can't talk our HMOs into a monthly colonoscopy.

I'll get back to you on my progress. Meanwhile I hear a good Sears' scale costs around 50 bucks.