THIS will be interesting...

They think it's my gallbladder.

HA!

Just wait 'til they get in there and see my LIVER!!!!

Weekend Drink Special

Country Girl has a helluva story brewing, but it might take a bit to get it posted seeing as how it involves medical emergencies, sex (well, almost), knowing somebody who knows somebody and a child doing what she ought not.

In honor of the trials and near-miss homicides she experienced this week, I am offering up a slap-your-momma-good recipe for a bucket-size cocktail.

Lift a glass in her honor and pray to God you never cross her.

Tampa Sangria

1 Orange, sliced
1 Lemon, sliced
1/4 cup Powdered Sugar
1 bottle Spanish Red Wine
1/2 cup Cognac
1/2 cup Grand Mariner
1/4 cup Orange Juice, fresh-squeezed
1 cup Club Soda

Ice

In a punch bowl/mixing bowl, combine the fruit with the sugar and muddle. Add wine through juice. Chill.

Before serving, add Club Soda. Ladle Sangria into glasses half-filled with ice and garnish with a...oh, who the hell wants to bother with a garnish? Drink. Repeat.

Post Script: The Ladies, who my mother insisted wouldn't drink, guzzled this stuff at her party last weekend. Either they are all closet alcoholics or this shit is goo-ood.

Thursday Placeholder

Because I am actually in the office today. You know...working and shit, yo.

Courtesy of Dory's Hunky.

Francis Xavier

Everyone, this is Francis.

Francis, this is everyone.

Francis is also known as Frankie, Frankie Monster, Frankenkitten and FX.

We weren't supposed to keep Francis. He was supposed to be Chief Rodent Control Officer at our business, since that's where Hubster found him.

Backstory.

So one day Hub was working outside his office/warehouse when he hears a little, "mew-mew-mew." Walks over to a ditch and spys a little, tiny - TINY - black and white fuzzball.

He speaks to the fuzzball. Fuzzball speaks back. Fuzzball climbs out of ditch and follows Hub up - what must have appeared to him to be - a giant set of concrete steps and into the warehouse.

Fuzzball hides in warehouse. Fuzzball is quick...no one can catch him. Hubster sets out food and water...fuzzball eludes capture for two days.

Enter the Cat Whisperer. By the end of day three, fuzzball lets me get close enough to him so that when he drops into a dead kitten sleep, I'm able to nab him and take him to the vet.

Picked him up the next day, a Friday, and brought him home. We decided it wasn't a good idea to leave him alone in the warehouse over the weekend, and that we needed to socialize him.

That was two weeks ago. He hasn't left yet. Hub decided last night that FX would be miserable all alone in the warehouse - even though a half dozen people are there all day long - without other cats to play with, and that he needs to stay right here. ("Here," at the moment, is sleeping on my shoulder).

I've resisted for years taking in another rescue. But Frankie has been great for the older cats. Lucy and Kitty have rediscovered their inner kitten and are acting 10 years younger, which is good for them. They run, they bounce, they climb...instead of napping all day.

So little Frankenkitten has been a fuzzy blessing. I've actually been worried lately because all our animals - cats and dogs - are around the same age: 9-11 years old. They're all showing signs of old age and I've been afraid that they're all going to go meet St. Francis at the same time.

Hopefully FX will outlive them and keep us company for the better part of the next two decades.

It's good to have a baby in the house. :o)

Reasons to be thankful...

...because it CAN get worse.

Bugs don't bite me. As the parent of three girls I can tell you...technically from The Rules According to Country Girl...that bugs prefer blue-eyed people. Don't ask me why, but they do. So as a brown-eyed brunette I've never had to much worry about it. Fourth of July this year? Something happened. I have over 100 bites on my left ankle alone; that many more over the rest of my body. This Sunday I had to have a steroid shot before I ended up with ptomaine or something. (In case the bugs ate some bad fish.)

The house phone has been out since July 17. July. Seventeenth. They're laying new phone lines along the main road and...I'm not a priority. The repair guy came last night, clipped something, announced the phone repaired and left. It still doesn't work and guess what? TODAY'S HIS OFF DAY!! He'll be here tomorrow.

The Beasty Child next door, who has always been violent, beat the HELL out of The Not Nice Kid's face Sunday night. Their PIT BULL (who has already attacked the neighbor across the street while he was on his motorcycle and my kids in the backseat of MY car) was in MY yard with MY cat in HIS mouth, and when he wouldn't put it down TNNK sprayed the dog with wasp spray. Maybe not the best method but...MY YARD. At which point The Beasty Child, a boy who outweighs her by 40 pounds, started yelling at her and when she threw his tennis racket at him and told him to take it and go home (two stories here as to whether it HIT him) he knocked her to the ground and held her down while he beat her face with his fist.

Beat her face with his fist. Repeatedly.

There were TWO shouting matches out in their yard where I gave Joy, the blonde from My Cousin Earl, a run for her money. Beasty Boy's dad weighs well over 300 pounds and at one point asked me, as I stepped into his girth, "What? You're gonna take a swing at me?" I kept encouraging him to call the authorities. (Gum, damnit, I didn't have a wad of gum to smack on as I made my dire predictions.)

There WILL be a legal letter and HA! I showed them! I was the last person on the block SPEAKING TO THEM!!!

I rented a dumpster eight days ago. Spent two days furiously pulling stuff out of the garages and burning/chunking/stacking. Then I quit. It's all still out there in the driveway. Do I care?

No. And every SECOND it's out there PISSES OFF the mean dad next door who MADE his kid violent. I hate to back down.

Today is The Big Boy's 50th birthday. I have not lifted a finger. About the first year we were together, something came up about something and I made a birthday remark to be informed, "I don't put much stock in birthdays."

What?

I persevered for several years, and in spite of his complaining, he thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. His 40th birthday we all went to an historical beer garden a few miles up the road and I bought him a lovely piece of blues-themed art. (Later on, he asked if I still had the receipt so that I could return it and put the money in the bank. If you point this out, he will look offended and insist he was joking but after a while...see if I care.) So today's his birthday and I'm not a salmon willing to keep struggling upstream so I guess I'll make homemade fettucine and bread and a good salad and That Damn Cake and the kids can come. Unless of course...The Big Kid gets here early enough and we have a celebratory drink in which case...

...I could end up at the Mexican restaurant. Again. I've seen it happen ;)

Linner

Well, kids, I thought this trip home would create SO much blog fodder, I'd be posting twice a day.

I was beyond wrong.

Everyone here at Asylum North is on their best behavior. After four days, most eggshells are still completely in-tact. Toes are being tippied on.

You know, a trip home to see the fam...my fam... is very scary, very stressful. I work very, very hard to remain on best behavior: walls up, mouth shut, multiple meds ingested, etc. I love, Love, LOVE my sister, and my mini-me niece. The BIL is...challenging...can be...difficult. And my mother lives with them - she and I have been at odds since I exited the womb.

So, anyway, I got here on Thursday, and on Friday afternoon my Mother announced that she and I were going out to dinner that night. Alone.

"We are?"

"We are. My treat."

"Okaaaayyy." What I really wanted to ask was "What's the catch?" But...best behavior, remember.

So I'm out in the yard with my sister, we're in the pool, we're chasing kids, we're having a good time, when she tells me I'd better get ready to go out with Mother.

"What time is it? Is it that late already?" asks stupid me, looking up at the sky, trying to divine the time by the position of the sun.

"It isn't late, you'd just better go in."

It was 4:00.

I go in, shower off, get dressed, and at exactly 4:30 my Mother appears, purse in hand.

"I'm ready."

I look at the clock again. Surely it's later than I thought.

Nope. It is FOUR THIRTY. In the afternoon. Daylight Savings Time.

"Ma, it's 4:30."

Silence.

Best Behavior says to me, "I'm outta here - you're on your own, Kid."

"We're going to dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon. You're serious? Is there an early bird special someplace? Because we can pay full price. I can afford it. You don't have to treat."

"I'm hungry. This is what time I eat. When I go out with The Ladies, Pat picks me up at 4:15."

"Does she go to bed at 6:30?" Slip. Slip. Slip.

"No, 8:30."

Ah. Well, that explains it.

Needless to say, we sat at the only occupied table in the little Italian restaurant around the corner (I had to talk her out of going to Applebee's). The waiters looked at me like I was crazy, but were very nice.

Being the perpetual 10-year-old that I am, I ate octopus just to gross her out.

Paging Passive-Aggressive! Passive-Aggressive to table 15, please!"

When we finished it was 5:40. So I asked, "Do you want to go Christmas shopping?" In July, mind you.

"Sure," she said. "Carson's is having a big sale. We can knock out a few gifts."

Aaaahhhhh, like mother, like daughter.

Oh By the Way

I'm in Chicago.

I may have forgotten to mention that...even to CountryGirl.

My bad.

So here I sit, by the pool, watching niece (7) and nephew (5) flopping around like catfish, and eyeballing the new little squib nephew (3 weeks)...of whom I am deathly afraid. But he doesn't scream when I hold him - he's the first, so that automatically makes him my favorite.

Mommas aren't supposed to have favorites, but Aunties can.

More apologies

It is entirely possible that if cleaning out your garages involves renting a dumpster and filling a hose-end sprayer with Clorox...you waited too long.

Two Green Dewclaws

My dog. the Master Gardener.

Take a look at that image. The plant is exceedingly healthy and pest-free and blooming like mad.

The squash - which I've only recently identified as a Jack-Be-Little pumpkin - is perfect.

I've never successfully grown common crookneck squash, let alone an attractive little decorative variety.

Oh, but my dog did.

See, that plant appeared in the middle of the back lawn after a good, soaking rain. It sprang from a pile of dog poop.

Hub thought it was a weed. I thought I recognized the leaves as a squash. So I put a cage around it and let it go. Now I'll have cute little pumpkins for Halloween.

It seems that Mimi was foraging in the compost pile and consumed something laying beside a decomposed pumpkin from last autumn. She...er...processed the seeds, um...eliminated them and here we have a lovely little plant.

I think this sounds like a cable television series in the making. I just can't decide if it should run on HGTV or Animal Planet....

I can't even post a picture...

...because it would interfere.

I had a dumpster delivered this morning. To my house. I am cleaning.

Two years ago, I got really sick. Lost my housekeeper at the same time. I am a slow recoverer, obviously, because I TOTALLY lost control of my life, my house, my kids and my future.

That shit is over.

We found the chicken who's been missing for 18 months. Actually, he's been DEAD for 18 months. Old furniture burns really fast and I WILL go to hell for this one. Most antique stores are closed on Mondays so if you dump a load of really good furniture by the front door? Wish I could be a fly on the wall tomorrow morning. Rotten eggs EXPLODE. I mean, they EXPLODE. Brown Recluse are more afraid of you than you are of them.

All three of my kids are here and we're going to let someone else cook us dinner and then go listen to music and then get up tomorrow and do it again.

So there.

Friday Funny

Keeping in mind I failed Math 100 THREE times...

...at this point in time, it's working for me.

Took my kids to the beach a couple of weeks ago and they were all three there. Nicest vacation in I can't remember. When we made our grocery store run when we got there...they had these inner tubes. Floats. BIG round brightly colored circles...for $6.99. Cool beans! We'll float on them a day or so, they'll get holes and we'll throw them away! I LOVE me some vacation!

Problem is, The Big Kid is of drinking age. Which means, every day we rented those loungers with the umbrellas and after we'd had a seafood lunch with lots of cold beer, we'd go to the beach and she and I would sit there under the umbrella and watch The Little Kids swim. And drink more cold beer. For some reason, at the beach? Cold beer goes down faster. So long about the fourth day, sometime in the afternoon, I decided I could ride that float in. I mean...how hard can it be? You go out a ways, climb up on the float, a wave comes in and you gently surge to shore. Right?

I don't do sun. I don't do sand. I don't do heat. Obviously, I shouldn't do BEER at the beach.

The first day? I nearly killed myself. Not ONE time did I come gracefully wafting in to the sand...I rolled in hindend over tea kettle every time. The Not Nice Kid was wonderful...she upended me every time. Fished me out, cleaned the sand out of my ears and pointed me seaward again. The Big Kid and The Nice Kid shared the other float. We had a BLAST. We laughed ourselves silly.

The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. I found my arthritis medicine and took it with my coffee. With a shot of bourbon. Thirty minutes later I hobbled to the shower and stood my aching bones under the water and eventually the water and the bourbon (first time water helped WITHOUT being mixed in the bourbon) eased things up a bit and we piddled around and then...went out to lunch. Fresh seafood. Cold beer. Cool waiter. All my kids. Seems to be a pattern here.

And then I went out to the beach again. With a cooler.

As of today...here's the total on those cheap floaties that got me into the ocean (with all my belongings in my pockets) for the first time in 15 years:

Floaties...$13

EnV2 replacement...$280

Activating an old phone to get us home...$25

Cheap sunglasses...$12

Cool flipflops with dangles...$30

Activating the new phone...$25

That vacation with my kids? PRICELESS.

I hope you realize what it took for me to post that picture. At least all the strangers on the beach will never SEE me again! And those damn floats? We deflated them and brought them home. Hopefully, my friend's POOL won't prove as dangerous.

More Unhelpful Idioms

Yesterday's post was "Feast or Famine."

Today I bring you the fable of, "When it Rains it Fucking Pours."

Here in The Fiefdom (which is what we call our street, since we own four of the ten houses, and counting, on our block) yesterday began bright and sunny, with a lovely breeze and a choir of songbirds.

Then the telephone rang. Lord Hubster answered. The tenant next door (in a house twice the size and value of our own, mind you) had a roof leak. Oh, dear. That's okay, things happen.

The phone rang again. Tenant up the street had a roof leak (it came down a biblical flood the night before). Well, pooh. What are the chances? Ah, well, we knew we'd have to replace that roof soon. No time like the present. Still, life is good...things could be worse....

Several hours later they got worse when the A/C here at the castle crapped the bed. Big time. His Lordship went outside to look at the unit where he found sizzling wires and cute little puffs of smoke, like those from a baby dragon.

He curse. He cursed again. He cursed a pox upon the mechanical beast - and then it died.

So here I sit. Sans air. Sans humour. Sans, if I had to guess, a trip to the beach this year.

What is it I always say about karma?

Damn Dragon.

Can You Hummus a Few Bars

Okay, Kids, I feel so guilty over the incredibly lame post with which I polluted this space this morning, I'm going to share a recipe.

So I was desperate for lunch a few minutes ago and had nothing lunchy laying around. Leftover blueberry crumble does not count as 'lunch' ...especially if you already had it for breakfast.

Leftover hummus...leftover grilled vegetables...too bad there's no couscous...or even a slice of bread.

But wait! Whole wheat tortillas!

:: SCREECH::

Why in the HELL do I have whole wheat tortillas? Oh, right, because you can't buy, and I don't make, naan.

Anyway, slather tortilla with hummus. Wrap around grilled eggplant and onion. Consume. Repeat. Consume. Repeat. Consume.

Do not roll your eyes at me. (I see you, there, in the back). I know perfectly well that middle eastern folks have been smearing hummus on flat bread and stuffing it with veggies for 4,000 years. I'm not claiming to have found the cure for the common cold. I'm just reminding you of how most excellent this particular combination of otherwise mismatched leftovers can be.

So here, finally, after 10 people have asked for it, is my famous in certain circles hummus recipe...Which really isn't mine at all. I stole it from Epicurious, omitted the cumin, and viola!

Better post? Fogiven? Hey, at least I provided useful information this time around!

Feast or Famine

Hubster and I used to be reasonably popular.

By "popular" I mean that a wide variety of people occasionally invited us over for dinner or out to dinner and to parties.

Then I got a job 65 miles from home, started commuting 3 hours a day, Hub changed jobs, life got really, really tiring aaaaand...we basically fell off the map. Disappeared from everyone's social radar. Which, actually, was okay with us because we were chronically exhausted and barely able to maintain intelligent conversation with each other and the cats, let alone anyone else.

Three insanely quick years later I'm back in town (mostly) and Hub is settled into the new enterprise (no, we don't call him Kirk). For a long while - like 90 days - after The Return of Us, we couldn't BUY a dinner date. Conflicting calendars, misaligned stars, I don't know what the hell was going on, but we'd call folks and they were never able to get together.

I, frankly, got a complex. See, I'm the odd duck out around here. Hubster is from here and he's handsome, and sweet and the day I drop dead he will have a PORCH FULL of casseroles and single women offering to iron his socks.

The other half of handsome and charming is Yankee and nonconforming. You get the picture.

Luckily, my paranoia seems to be only half on-target because suddenly, July 4th weekend, we had things to do and places to go and people to see.

It was great! We were back in the saddle. On the 4th we volunteered to call bingo at the church pic-a-nic. Met loads of people I recognized but did not actually know - and got a little bit closer to people we sort-of knew, and knew we liked. Now we know them all. Had to, unfortunately, miss CG1's Branch Party (again) due to this obligation, but if any of y'all are Catholic, and have witnessed Catholic Cutthroat Bingo, you know what a serious endeavour that was.

Wednesday after that was dinner out with wonderful and nearly long-lost friends. Tuesday was Hub's half-year-birthday (that's another post...we celebrate our half-year birthdays because we don't have kids so we spoil each other as much as possible without getting completely ridiculous) and we had dinner out with a lovely friend. This past Saturday was the HYBD cookout and last night was monthly supper club - which we were unfortunately unable to attend due to my being struck down with a serious case of intestinal Oonga Galoonga. It was Bad and best left undescribed...let me just say this: Master Cleanse. Ugh. They LAW.

Suddenly, tonight we're meeting another nearly long-lost friend from B'ham for dinner, and fortunately I'm feeling mostly better. Tomorrow night is a professional association dinner, Thursday is a little pot-luck party thrown by the loveliest girl child we've met in a long time, Friday is the group trip to see Harry Potter and Saturday is an engagement party.

HOLY CRAP! Can somebody tell me what the hell happened? We went, in less than 30 days, from not being able to coerce dinner out of someone, to a damn-near full dance card.

Crrrrap. I just realized I'm going to have to wear makeup every night this week.

And it's love-ly. :o) SO glad to be back in the swing of things. Thank God for friends, old and new. Cross your fingers for me that the Oonga Galoonga does not rear (ha-ha) its ugly head again this week. That just might turn the tide back against us....

Weekend Food Filler

We have these parties at the farm...they're called Branch Parties. (A branch is a body of water bigger than a creek and smaller than a river.) We generally cook the meat and beans, and people come with packed coolers and a side dish. We've had a lot of good food that way.

The packed coolers thing? The first time the family attorney was at a Branch Party, he took one look at the stacked cases of beer and said..."You're not buying the beer, are you?" At which point, we had everyone bring his own beverages. Lord knows WE'RE not going to invite you to the country and get you drunk.

So for the Fourth, we had a crowd. Keeping in mind it's a come-and-go type thing, there were 100 people there at any given time. Lots of kids. More kids. Mud. Four wheelers. Waterfalls. Kids.

And REALLY good food.

We did the beer butt chicken thing, which we have down to an art. I buy the chickens by the case, 16 whole chickens to a box. They're in a plastic bag in a waterproof cardboard box. We take them into the yard and empty them into a (clean) clothes hamper. Rinse out the plastic bag, rinse out the heavy box the bag was in, and then rinse each chicken. In the bag goes a bottle of olive oil, two bottles lemon/pepper seasoning and a bottle of garlic salt. You squush all that together and then put the chickens back in the bag. Tie it off with a rubber band and mush it around to get the seasoning oil all into the chickens. Put it back in the box and refrigerate it overnight.

When it's time to cook, we have one of those big-ass grills you pull behind a car but you don't need it. Fill a beer can with 1/3 can beer, a sprig of fresh rosemary and a smashed clove of fresh garlic. Let the chicken sit on the can, and grill/smoke it until it's happy.
When you're doing this for a crowd? If you have really good friends, they'll do you a favor and drink 11 cans of beer in ten minutes so that you'll have the empties you need. I love my friends.

The TRICK to this? Is in the sauce. Duh. White sauce. Used for dipping but when that chicken comes off the grill? Cut it in half and dunk it, steaming hot, into the white sauce. Wrap it in aluminum foil and let everyone make best friends and...this is as good as it gets. I promise.

White Sauce for Chicken

1 cup mayo (WalMart brand, go figure)

1 cup sour cream

1 cup white vinegar

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

2 tablespoons lemon pepper

2 tablespoons black pepper

1 teaspoon celery seed.

Whisk mayo and vinegar until there are no lumps; whisk in remaining ingredients. Pour into a jar and refrigerate. SHAKE WELL before each use.

I quadrupled this recipe for the Fourth and had enough for 32 chickens.

THEN.

I have NO IDEA what the hell is about this. Except that FOUR separate people...not knowing the others had asked...asked for this recipe. My cousin-by-marriage, Kim, brought it...turns out it's a great recipe to make with your kids. But I had people from all over the Southeast asking for the recipe for this and while I didn't taste it? (I'm not a sweet fan.) Everyone who did swore it was fantastic. So, here. Go figure.

Cracker Candy

In a 9x13 baking dish, layer saltines. Melt two sticks butter. Add one cup brown sugar and boil for three minutes. Pour over crackers. Bake at 400 degrees for four minutes. Sprinkle with two cups semi-sweet chocolate chips and spread. Sprinkle with chopped nuts. Chill in the freezer until hard and break into pieces.

No lie.

Friday Funny

It's been ONE of those days!!


Her Funnyness must be busy today. Here...and this is NOT my family!

Mama Karma Ain't Happy

Can I just say one word about Steve McNair? If I PROMISE to let it go after that?

KARMA.

When you leave your wife and two kids? Not to mention the other two sons. For a 20-year-old waitress? A Trunk Full of Junk who can't even DRINK? Momma Karma is NOT going to let that go.

She may not get YOUR ass as spectacularly as she got Air McNair's Death-By-Murder/Suicide, but she WILL get you.

It may be a car wreck. It may be a lost promotion. It may be that your kids put you in the worst nursing home in town someday.

Or if Mama is feeling par-tik-u-larly sassy? She may, immediately after your divorce from the gently worn woman who loved, fed and supported you for 15 years, throw Miss Junk Trunk a younger, wealthier, more handsome-r Boy Toy of her own, WITHOUT the ex-wife and kids baggage and WITH the ability to keep it up without pharmaceutical enhancement.

So bear THAT in mind, boys. The sisterhood is a powerful thing. And between Mother Nature and Mama Karma? You don't stand a chance, so keep it in your pants.

I'm just sayin'.

Image Credit: NBC

Wednesday Placeholder

About this Facebook thing...

Let me say right off...I love me some Facebook. Took a while; I didn't see the point at first but then The Nice Kid (who turned 14 Sunday!) got into it and if there's one thing I've learned the hard way as a parent it's that...you better be where your kids are. So TNK set me up an account and I was in. (I learned a lot of things the hard way as a parent and you've probably heard me say it before...don't listen to me because I'm such a genuis. Listen to me because, whatever it is? I'VE ALREADY FUCKED IT UP AT LEAST ONCE.)

I was going to be a lurker. Had the trench coat and fedora dusted off (although at this age, I left the fishnets and FMP's in the closet.) I don't really have TIME for another computer distraction, but I figured I'd be able to head off the pervert from Montana posing as a 16-year-old quarterback before he crossed Arkansas.

Never say never.

Lots of my best buds started "friending" me. I've never asked anyone to be my friend because for some reason I feel like I'm imposing, but over the course of a couple of weeks THERE THEY WERE! And it was great! My ex-neighbors from Texas with the nearly grown kids. The best friend I never see who lives three miles down the road. A couple of parent friends I adore and only see in the pick-up line. The online couple City Girl met who are like...cool. Goodness...the best of everyone and I didn't even have to shave my legs.

There were some uncomfortable moments. Apparently, there are people who are just going for the numbers, and they "friend" every friend of every friend they have. TNK showed me how to ignore them. Problem solved. I learned how to look at mutual friends, so a couple of people I wasn't sure of ended up being great entertainment when I took them on just on the basis of friends we have in common. Sort of like the prize in Cracker Jacks.

I love seeing vacation pictures. I love seeing family pictures, especially of people I just don't get to see that often. I got SO carried away with all this happiness and coolness that I fixed that link so that this blog fed into my Facebook. We were cooking.

THEN, every now and then I'd fire off a post with the F-word in the first paragraph and that's what would show on the blog. Well, I figured, fuck it. YOU asked ME to be a friend and if you did, then you already KNOW about my unfortunate mouth. Except...nice people kept asking me to be their friend. I let it slide for a couple of weeks but...nevermind. Probably not a good idea. So I unhooked the link so that the blog didn't show.

Now? I have all these friend requests from TNK's friends. I am NOT the cool mom. I WILL take you to eat at the Mexican restaurant while I have a margarita, or to the splash pad while I sit on the balcony and drink cold beer, but I've been raising small children for 29 years and my fuse is REAL short. I do NOT do crafts. I am NOT into the Children's Museum. I did the library every Thursday for nine years and no, we won't be there today. At least until The Coffee Shop gets a liquor license.

But what to do? So now I have these six or so kid friends and then last night...the preacher friended me. Now, I don't GO to church but I was christened in this church when it was a white frame building where the elementary school stands now (is this the spot where I throw in walking to school in the snow uphill both ways?) and I was there every time the doors opened for 20 years. My mother teaches Sunday school, TNK is a Sunday school assistant and The Not Nice Kid is...present. The preacher grew up with The Big Boy and my dad was his teacher for a lot of years. We have connections.

THE PREACHER? Good Lord. Literally. The preacher is my friend? Just how much housecleaning do I need to do? I thought about it and then decided...a disclaimer. I need a disclaimer. You know...like Michael Jackson had in the $22M lawsuit settlement where he did no wrong.

"I am not responsible for the content thereof." In hindisight, I've decided this is a great life motto. It should co-exist with the "55 and fuck it" post that I'll link to if I can find it. Just...chill. Please, I'm busy and tired and this house is a mess and I would really appreciate it if everyone would just...chill. It's Facebook. And it doesn't have a "delete" button.

Image Credit: TechCrunch

It's ALL About the Food

It's about time for a food post, dontcha think?

I have been cooking up a freaking storm the last few weeks...I thought I'd lose a little weight when I left the office environment to work at home: No more daily Starbucks, no more drive-through lunches, fewer dinners in restaurants when The Chief Cook and Bottle Washer (moi) has had a bitch of a day.

Aaaahhhh. No. Not so much. Didn't turn out that way...Not at all.

That plan WOULD have worked out if I didn't love to cook. Unfortunately (not really) NOW I knock off at 5:00 every day, look around and - oh! - I'm already at home. So off to the kitchen I skip - literally - to whip up something tasty...comforting...okay, heavy.

Hubster claims to have gained a few pounds - I don't see...or feel...it - because I pack a 3-course lunch every day. Well, YEAH - that's my job. If you tell me I'm responsible for the care and well-being of someone, I'm going to by-God feed him. End of story. Hell, it's STILL better for him than McDontyoudareeatthatshit.

So here's the rundown. Last week's menu included:

Roast Chicken with Squash Casserole, Sweet Potatoes and Garden Green Beans
Minute Rib Eye Steaks with Onions and Peppers (think Steak Pizzaiola, without the sauce)
Zucchini Ribbon Pasta
Spinach Salad with Grilled Eggplant, Feta and Pine Nuts
Doctored Leftovers

I also baked an amazing Blackberry Buttermilk Cake and Midnight Crisps, which are my chocolate/cinnamon/pepper Christmas cookies. I had to retest the recipe before I sent it to a local magazine editor for inclusion in the Holiday Issue.

This week we're having:

Peach-Lacquered Turkey Wings on the grill
My Famous Hummus (part of the daily Lunch-in-Three Parts)
Shrimp, Celery and White Bean Salad
Grilled Zucchini Pasta with Pecroino-Walnut Crumble (and steak)
Chicken and Rice Salad (in lunches)
Roast Italian Sausage (properly pronounced "Saws-EECH") with Potatoes and Peppers

[A little organic poultry, a little beef, a little pork...three of the four food groups, no?]

In today's lunch, Hub got a Red, White and Bleu Salad with Crab Cakes, Lavash crackers and a plum. After all the BBQ and Chicken Stew we consumed over the weekend, I decided it was best to go light today (especially after the fried egg-and-brie sandwich he had for breakfast....)

Now, there is no excuse for you not to cook - from scratch - at least one night this week. I linked to all the recipes I've stolen from Food & Wine and Gourmet. And wherever I could, like with the zucchini ribbons and Pizzaiola, I hunted around until I found something close - I don't really have recipes for these things.

Seriously, the shrimp salad takes 20 minutes - and that's if you're drinking as you cook. Sober? 10 minutes tops.

If you'd like a recipe for one of the "unlinkables," just leave the request in the Comments and I'll put something together for you.

Now get cooking!

Happy Independence Day

Great video of our troops - most of the images are of their downtime....very cool.

I can PICK me some BFFs!

Went to the mailbox when we got home last night, and there was this COOL mailing tube. Addressed to Moi! From Knob Creek! Remember last week I told you they had emailed me that...there is no more Knob Creek to bottle until November? Well, here, people, is how you turn a negative into a positive.


It's a t-shirt!! Celebrating "Thanks for nothing!"

No wonder that stuff costs so much. And I am now firmly convinced that these people should be put in charge of our economy. Right now.

This vacation stuff is KILLING me...

I've got to go home and go to bed.

Went swimming in the ocean with my phone in my shirt. I haven't voluntarily been in a large body of water in 15 years (thanks to my friend, George, I've been in INvoluntarily twice) and the one time I did it, I had my phone. It washed up two minutes later and while it keeps struggling mightedly to function it...doesn't.

For some reason, this family has the habit of drinking all day, every day, while on vacation. I've eaten and drunk more in the last five days than I have in the last six months. I'm afraid to take a last excursion to the beach lest I be mistaken for a...beached whale!

There are psycho people everywhere. We had an interaction with (he said) a security person at an outdoor restaurant that resulted in us being handed the prime seat in the house, ahead of the hour and 45 minute wait. I STILL don't know what happened with that one, but a grown child who waited tables when she was 15 comes in handy every now and then.

The Big Boy slipped at the pool and...he could be hurt. His left leg and foot is swollen (are swollen? It's one entity) and we're going to have an interesting time getting him home. He tried to be pitiful but after we left him in the hotel by himself for an entire day, he got a little more functional. We'll see when we get hold of the doctor.

I sure do miss my phone. Bet this means I lost the paid-for games, too.