The Good...the bad...the Sheriff

Not the actual badge. 

Most of guys I date could humbly be described as “nerdy cute.”  They usually collect things like antique swords or American roots music and have multiple graduate degrees because they couldn’t decide on just one.  The Sheriff, though, he was different. He, obviously, worked in law enforcement. He carried a badge and a gun.  He collected...I don’t know what he collected but it sure as hell wasn’t antique swords.   He reminded why dating could be fun!  And he arrived just in the nick of time. 

I had begun to believe that dating would never be fun again--that it would only ever be a couple of hours over coffee where I would have to pretend to be impressed that you were an accomplished floor salesman.   After a few truly fun dates with the Sheriff, he served as a last minute wedding escort and was a most fantastic date. Completely personable and willing to fetch me cake from across the ballroom, my friends dug him.  I dug him. So yes, he seemed to be pretty cool and things were going well. Did I mention that he was totally hot?  The kind of hot that also happens to be a very good kisser?  The kind of good kisser that makes one lose their inhibitions?  You get the idea. I had not really had a good time  with a guy since the long and miserable demise of my relationship. The Sheriff offered fun on a variety of levels and my usually uptight self made the decision to just see where the fun would take me.  

As it turns out, fun took me to Crazytown. Let’s be honest.  Those who know me know that many of my interactions that go beyond three dates end in Crazytown.  But this was an especially looong sojourn to the ole CT.  If dating makes me crazy, texting while dating is the icing on the crazy cake served at the Crazytown centennial celebration.  

The really crazy part is I prefer pie. 

Now, The Sheriff would text me everyday.  In the beginning, it’s part of what made seem like a good prospect.  I like a man who pays attention.  He would text me funny and insightful comments, or just see how I was doing. But towards the end of our time together, I would ask how he was doing and sometimes I would get just two words.  “At work.” Ok, but see, that’s not really an answer to the question. A girl with a cooler head might think “He’s at work, he can’t talk.  Hey I’m at work.  Maybe I should work.”  I think “Oh my GOD! What does this mean? Maybe I should ask everyone within earshot?!?”  He became a puzzle I needed to figure out.  Things stopped being fun and I became a full time resident of Crazytown.  

The crazy really hit the fan when after about a month I asked the Sheriff where he thought we might be going. I called him up and asked him what he thought.  He said he was tired and could not have this conversation at the moment because he was exhausted but he would call me the next day.   I wasn’t trying to put pressure on him.  I was just trying to figure out which mental box to put him him: boyfriend, possible boyfriend, undecided.  Really any answer would have been acceptable.  No answer was not.  As it turns out, I put him in the cowardly jerkface box as he FELL OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET, practically never to be heard from again.  He never did call me back.  Five days later I received the lamest text message ever saying “Um, I haven’t gotten back.  Been busy has hell.” Dude, go to hell.  It hurt my feelings but it’s really fine. 

As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and as I write this entry, it is clear that we wanted different things.  He wanted something casual.  I’m still not sure what I wanted. Part of the reason I began this blog was to take a step back and examine where I’ve been, maybe to help me figure out where I’m going.  To that end, we can cross “cowardly law enforcement”off the list.  There is no recipe from my repertoire that truly captures this experience, so today I'll link you to one from the mighty Alton Brown. I hope you enjoy!

I really do LOVE NY

I came home to Buffalo in October of 2009, as Autumn was in full swing and it was, for me, the perfect season to return home. Going apple picking with my sister Rachelle, baking pumpkin goodies with my dear friend Cat and other Fall related activities helped me take a break from bawling me eyes out.

Also, in my humble opinion, Fall is when Western New York really shines.  What’s more,  you really have no idea just how beautiful Western New York Autumn can be until you have spent an Autumn in the Southwest.  Fall in the Southwest is a complete waste of a season.  Now, I mean no disrespect to this fine area of our country, but it just ain’t a Buffalo Fall.  Way back in 2006, waaaay before my my great, big heartbreak, I moved to Phoenix, AZ for graduate school and spent nearly two VERY hot years there. I learned a lot of cool stuff,  made some wonderful friends, ate some delicious food and that was about it. It’s a nice enough place, it’s just not for me.  Me and the desert, we didn’t get along so well.   It kept insisting on being 115 degrees.  I kept insisting on talking about Buffalo ALL THE TIME.   

Perhaps I should offer some explanation...as you may have guessed, I wasn’t so jazzed about my move to Phoenix.  Graduate school yes, but the actual place, no.  My love had just moved to  DC, my family and friends were in Buffalo and I wanted to be anywhere but the “stupid desert,” as I had begun to affectionately call it. So yeah, I spent a lot of time talking about home.  I was “that girl.”  You know what though, most of my wonderful friends actually wanted to visit Buffalo by the time I left.  That’s right, I talked up Buffalo into a cultural tourism dreamscape!    Maybe they were just being polite, maybe I had just beat them into submission. Who can tell. But I digress.

Sooo yes, Phoenix is hot.  I mean really hot.  And please, for the love of all things holy, do not tell me “It’s a dry heat.” Do you know what’s a dry heat?  Your oven.  Your oven is a dry heat. Do you want to walk around in your oven?  I thought not.  

Anywhoo, when you have grown up in the crisp, cool, autumnal wonderland that is Buffalo, NY, spending September-November the desert feels like a complete waste.  There is no apple picking, no wearing of favorite woolen sweaters (you would surely die right there on the sidewalk),no leaf peeping.  Let’s face it, it’s the desert, leaves are minimal.  The weather just continues to be blazing hot and sunny, just like it was during July and August.  Where is the fun in that?  


That’s not actually the worst of it though. The worst of it comes when December rolls around and all of the stores start playing Christmas music and you are wearing shorts because it is 85 degrees outside and you almost burst into tears in a grocery store foyer at the sound of Bing Crosby’s voice and a Christmas baking display because it is absolutely  NOT beginning to LOOK A LOT like Christmas.  

This should be a Federal crime.

At this point, you are so shaken by the fact that these people don’t know that Christmas=snow you want to scream like a child.  You don’t know what holiday these Phoenicians think they have been celebrating all of their lives but it definitely isn’t Christmas. (How geographically educated and open minded this whole entry makes me sound!)  And, because you are pretty jolted by the fact that you just about cried in a grocery store, you leave said store and call your mother.  Your mother then, jokingly, makes the following the statement that continues live in infamy, “Janelle, maybe it really does look a lot  like Christmas.  Jesus was born in the desert.”  True story.  


So as we move closer and closer to first day of Autumn, I leave you with this recipe, a Squash and Pear Soup.  Each year that I am back in Buffalo, I stand at the stove, whirring pear into squash, thankful for the bounty of fall, for the chill in the air and that when December rolls around, it will actually look like Christmas.  


Squash and Pear Soup
Adapted from a Wegmans recipe found here :


1TB Olive Oil
1 med onion chopped
20oz winter squash, peeled and diced.  I usually use Butternut but have also used Acorn
2-3 med. pears, cored, peeled, diced
1 carton low sodium chicken broth
pinch dried thyme
salt and pepper to taste


In large stock pot, heat oil over med heat.  When hot, add onions and squash, cook 10, stirring occasionally.  
Add pears and chicken stock, bring to a mild bubble, turn temp to low and let simmer for about 25 minutes or until pears are tender.  
Using a stick blender or conventional blender, puree soup until smooth, Season with salt, pepper and thyme.  Ladle into warmed bowls and enjoy!