Apparently, I don't know what's best for me, but my ex-girlfriend does.

Over the holidays, the ex called and asked me to meet her for a drink. I did, and for the first hour we caught up on each other's work, kids, family, etc. In the second hour, however, the dreaded topic of our erstwhile relationship reared its ugly head. Long story short, my ex boldly told me that I shouldn't be with Rosie because we get along and have lots of things in common. According to her, Rosie obviously lets me, "walk all over her." She went on to say that what I really need is a woman who's going to stand up to me, not agree with me and not give me what I want. In other words, what I "need" is someone like her.

Hard to believe the guys aren't lining up to date her, eh?

I think it's funny that someone else insists they know what's best for me. I always thought that relationships were supposed to be about two people loving each other, working together and compromising for each other's benefit; but I guess that makes me a dreamer. Apparently, at least according to my ex, a relationship is supposed to be two people stuck together living in perpetual unhappiness, fighting each other for control day after day. Now that sounds like a much better way to spend the rest of my life!

But maybe I'm not the one who's wrong here. In other words – it's not me, it's her. After all, if this person really knew what was in my best interests, she wouldn't exactly be my ex-girlfriend, now would she?

I'm just saying.

Penicillin, the Pacemaker, LSD – some of the greatest things in the world have been invented accidentally. Today, I'm following in those same footsteps of greatness. By misreading the soup of the day at a local eatery, I might have invented America's next top dish!

So it happened like this: Megan, Liz and me decided to have lunch at Valley Coney Island. (For my fellow Flintstones, it's on the corner of Miller and Linden roads.) I was reading the day's specials written in fluorescent colors on the lighted dry erase board and came across a dish I couldn't decipher. It was in the Soups du Jour, it was a dish called Turkey something – the second word was the one that I couldn't read.

But it wasn't my fault.

Whoever wrote down the mystery soup made with turkey had the word's worst cursive script. I'd call the penmanship "chicken scratch," but that would be an insult to chickens everywhere. After struggling with the second word for a few minutes, I asked Megan and Liz for their help. Sadly, they were equally stumped. Finally, I decided to take a stab at it.

"Turkey Bungaleu?" I said, pronouncing the second word "bun-guh-loo."

After laughing hard for a few minutes (it was definitely one of those "you-had-to-be-there" moments), one particularly sour-faced waitress came over and said, "It's Turkey Dumpling!"

After our laughter inspired by the "Turkey Bungaleu moment" subsided, it got my thinking. If there really were such a dish called Turkey Bungaleu, what would it be? And while the name was inspired by a misspelling on the soup menu, I think to make Turkey Bungaleu a soup would not be doing it justice. With a name like that, this is definitely a main course. So I go to thinking, what would Turkey Bungaleu be? I came up with this recipe: Caneloni noodles stuffed with ground turkey, onions and mushroom, smothered in a creamy lemon/garlic sauce and topped with a light dusting of Asiago cheese and pine nuts. Yeah .. that sure sounds like Turkey Bungaleu to me!

While I could pat myself on the back for creating this exciting new recipe, I'll be the first to admit that I'm no Bobby Flay. Instead, I would like to pose a challenge to readers of this blog around the word: I'm interested to see what your Turkey Bungaleu recipe would be. Whether you choose to make a soup, as the dish started out, or create a new main course, you're only limited by your imagination. The only requirement is that the recipe must use turkey or Torfurkey for our vegetarian readers. Simply post your recipes on this blog. I'm excited to see what you come up with.

Good luck!

Just because I broke up with my ex-girlfriend doesn't mean that my family has to "divorce" her. After all, in the five years we were together, my family also developed a close relationship with that person. You might even say it would be selfish of me to just expect my family to cut ties with her just because our relationship didn't work out.

If that's the way you feel, then there's a problem. And it's not me … it's you!

I got into it with a family member last night over this very subject. This person is a blood relative, not some distant cousin, twice-removed bullshit. She maintains a friendship with an ex-girlfriend of mine, the same ex-girlfriend who slapped me in the face, stole money from me, and cheated on me. But my relative sees no problem with being her friend, and she enjoys bringing this woman's name up in conversation. She did it again last night and I called her out on it.

Her reply was priceless. "Whatever happened between the two of you is between you two," she said. "Until she does something bad to me, I'm going to continue being her friend." With that, she grabbed a ham roll from the plate in front of her and popped it in her mouth, signaling to me, I suppose, that the issue was now closed for discussion.

How rich! During the five years I was with my ex-girlfriend, this relative was always in the middle of our arguments, usually taking the ex's side. So this "don't-put-me-in-the-middle-of-it" defense was a bullshit objection from a classic bullshitter. What I also found humorous (read: hypocritical) is that my relative will be the first person to call upon "family loyalty" when she feels someone has done her wrong. So I decided to share my opinions with her, as only I can.

"What kind of emptiness exists inside you that you feel the need to pad your ego by befriending my ex-girlfriend?" I said. "Why don't you just make your own friends instead of trying to swoop in on my relationships like some kind of vulture."

And that's when she went berserk. She started dancing around my parent's kitchen like some crazed bantam rooster in a West Virginia cockfight. Face beet-red and veins bulging in her neck, she had a maniacal look in her eye as she pointed her finger in my face and screamed at the top of her lungs. "You don't tell me how to live my life!" she said. "I'll be friends with whoever I want to."

This bizarre floorshow went on for about a half an hour, but I never lost my cool during its entirety . Finally my father had to ask her to leave. What else could he do?

I've often said that our family is the one who puts the "fun" in dysfunctional, and last night's events proved it yet again in chilling detail. My relative's actions show me, in no uncertain terms, exactly how much she values me as a relative and a friend, and her kind of "family" is one I don't need. Real family would show some loyalty in situations like this. They would be appalled that someone did their cousin/nephew/brother/son wrong, and they wouldn't want to have anything to do with the person that did it. These ideals should be so basic, so ingrained in anyone consciousness. Yet here I was last night having to argue about it with a family member who obviously thinks more of herself than anyone or anything else.

But I guess I shouldn't be surprised that this particular family member would be a friend with someone as self-absorbed and narcissistic as my ex-girlfriend. "Birds of a feather flock together," as my Uncle Glenn would say.

If any of you 30-somethings ever get the chance to go to the bar with people in their 20s, do so immediately. If nothing else, the experience should show you how ridiculous you once were.

I recently was asked to go bar-hopping with a group of people in their 20s, and I jumped at the opportunity to tag along on the periphery of their glamorous world and get a glimpse at its inner workings. And it was a world unlike any I ever remembered and the experience was priceless. It was an alcohol-fueled odyssey into the hearts, minds and egos of a generation whose hallmark is the sense of entitlement and short-attention spans that many of them possess. Considering all the happiness and heartache, the diversity and the drama, it sure beat the hell out of sitting at home, watching the episodes of Dexter recorded on DVR.

It's Thursday night and I could almost feel Madison's excitement. It as a very real and palpable thing, like static electricity hanging heavy in the air, ready to release its show of blue fireworks at a moment's notice. The weekend starts early for this 26-year-old, and she's spent the past hour in the bathroom preparing for it. She's focusing primarily on her makeup and hair since her clothes have already been taken care of – she and her friend Kennedy, 22, decided to go with the Forever 21 dress and Coach purse earlier that day.

So, after an hour of primping, she's ready to go, but not before she flips open her cellphone. Her fingers fly across the keypad as she text messages Kennedy and the rest of the gang, giving them the when and where they will be meeting. It's a bar, of course, and it won't be the only one they visit this evening. All of her friends respond, saying that they'll be there, save for one - Chastity - who says she can't make it this weekend. Madison comments that Chastity balked on the last few nights out, but, like much in her life, she decides not to give it any more thought. In a moment, she's out the door and on her way.

To get what bar-hopping is to the 20-something crowd, you have to understand the concept of "best friends forever" or BFFs (pronounced "biffs"). And any one of these ladies is not relegated to one or even two BFFs - it's common to have upwards of ten or fifteen girls whom they consider their "best friends forever." And these BFFs come before everything, including the men in their lives. It's like Madison said, "Boyfriends come and go. We can get them anytime; but your girlfriends are going to be your friends for life."

When they get to the bar, the BFFs get together at their own table while their boyfriends are left sitting at a table all their own. This allows the ladies to chat, talk and gossip. They usually critique the fashion and boyfriend choices of the other ladies in the bar - those who are not members of their social circle, of course.

"Look at her," Kennedy said. "She looks like such a slut in that ugly skirt."

"That's because she is," Madison said, and all the girls laugh.

And on and on it goes, until someone breaks out the camera. Then, all the ladies gather together to begin their digital "photo shoot." And when it comes to pictures, there's three main types these Generation Y hipsters take. The first is the standard friends shot where everyone is smiling and happy. After a few more drinks, the pictures get more risqué. There are the faux-lesbian shots of the girls kissing one another, and the more adventurous ones will have their picture taken putting their index and middle fingers to their mouths and sticking their tongues out between the fingers. These photo shoots are immensely important to the ladies, as the pictures taken are destined to adorn their Myspace and Facebook pages, usually in the form of a slideshow.

After an hour or so, Madison set her drink on the table and said, "I'm so over this place."

"Me too," Kennedy said. "Let's bounce."

And with that, the party is on the move. After a short drive, the BFFs - with their boyfriends and one, alcohol-fueled, 38-year-old writer in tow - arrive at another bar, this one much like the first. Drinks, conversation, pictures and dancing abound until Madison gets an important text message halfway through the evening. Apparently, someone has spotted the guy she likes over at yet another bar. Excited about the prospect of getting this young man's attention, Madison insists the party move there.

"Whatevs," Kennedy said, and once again the group is on the go. Fortunately for everyone involved, this means just a short drive across the street.

Madison hits the place like a bullet, making a beeline for the outer deck, where her potential love interest is. This leaves the rest of the group to talk amongst themselves. As it turns out, Madison's bid for attention didn't go as well as she had hoped – the BFF behind the text message failed to mention her "golden boy" was there with another young lady. To make matters worse, Madison also came face-to-face with her ex-boyfriend, who happened to be at the bar with Chastity, the one BFF who told her on the phone that she wasn't going out that night.

This is where the evening really gets interesting.

"You fucking bitch!" Madison said. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. What kind of friend dates her friend's ex?"

"Well maybe if you treated him better, he wouldn't be your ex!" Chastity said.

And with that, Madison pounces on her like a wildcat, and the two women begin a very drunken brawl, which was unique in both its swiftness and its brutality. Little damage is done before the bouncers separate the ladies and tell our group that it's time to leave.

Later, at yet another bar, Madison finally succumbs to her emotions. The inevitable meltdown provokes an immediate reaction from the women – they surrounded her at a table and tried to talk her down. After all, what are BFFs for? They form a circle around the now-crying woman and began to use soothing tones complimented with the occasional hug and smoothing out of her hair.

"You were too good for him, anyway," Kennedy said, and the others agree.

"Yeah," Brittney said. "He was a loser."

"I'm never talking to either of them again," Madison said, and the others quickly agree that Chastity has definitely lost her BFF status.

As the ladies continued with their impromptu therapy session, the situation also elicited a reaction from their boyfriends. Their groans indicated that the latest developments ruined whatever plans they might have had with their women that night. Sorry guys. Hey! How about another round?

Eventually, the two words that these 20-somethings seem to dread the most- "last call" - are shouted, and the reality that all good and bad things must come to an end set in. In pairs, ones and threes, the group slowly but surely began to splinter off. Some will head to the many all-night restaurants to grab an early breakfast (or late dinner), while others may try to rush straight home to get as much sleep as they can before work the following morning. Yet others might be going home with a stranger whom they hope will be that "special someone" they've been looking for all this time.

As everyone leaves, they promise to hook up again tomorrow night. And with the 20-somethings and the bar scene that's become the focal point of their lives, there will always be a next time.