My gps on this phone is off a little. It says i am in a totally different town than where i actually am. If i am not in the right location it could at least give me a heads-up that i might need to be prepared to be wandering around wiping myself with leaves.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Stick Together
The Prof posted a poem on his Facebook wall about these people who were trapped in some frigid frozen tundra and each one possessed a single stick of wood, and then verse by verse the poet outlines the message how none of them would share it to build a fire because of bigotry, selfishness, blah blah blah, and then they all just did nothing and hypothermia-ed themselves to death like morons. I didn't want to spread my Ebenezerism all over his message of love and peace and shi+ so I decided I better leave my thoughts on my blog. Here is my critique of the poem.
1) Why would you go somewhere that cold with only a stick of wood?
2) Where's the verse about the bi+ch who uses her stick to beat the others in order to gain control off all the sticks of wood?
1) Why would you go somewhere that cold with only a stick of wood?
2) Where's the verse about the bi+ch who uses her stick to beat the others in order to gain control off all the sticks of wood?
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Kissin' Tale
So my prolonged illness and general feeling of malaise has continued on into the month of December.
This week it has manifested itself in my sinuses as some sort of stuffy annoying throat-irritating incarnation. I am still very run-down feeling and can't seem to shake one thing without catching the next great thing. I even missed the faculty Christmas party.
Yes. I was THAT sick.
Here is what I chose to imbibe upon that evening:
Sad.
Now that I have less definitive symptoms, the diagnoses have become more difficult. In fact, they have pretty much degenerated to flat-out speculation.
Duckit asked me if it could be mono.
This became the dinner conversation at home last night.
I announced Duckit's query and commented, "I don't know what mono would be like."
MyPoolBoy blurted out a surprised, "What?"
I said, "I never had mono, so I really don't know what mono would be like.".
And he said, "I got that. I just can't believe YOU got through high school without ever catching mono."
This week it has manifested itself in my sinuses as some sort of stuffy annoying throat-irritating incarnation. I am still very run-down feeling and can't seem to shake one thing without catching the next great thing. I even missed the faculty Christmas party.
Yes. I was THAT sick.
Here is what I chose to imbibe upon that evening:
Sad.
Now that I have less definitive symptoms, the diagnoses have become more difficult. In fact, they have pretty much degenerated to flat-out speculation.
Duckit asked me if it could be mono.
This became the dinner conversation at home last night.
I announced Duckit's query and commented, "I don't know what mono would be like."
MyPoolBoy blurted out a surprised, "What?"
I said, "I never had mono, so I really don't know what mono would be like.".
And he said, "I got that. I just can't believe YOU got through high school without ever catching mono."
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Old Lane's Eye
So Pepita posted a message about New Year's Eve on my Facebook wall. Now. While I appreciate her willingness to help with the plans, I am a bit apprehensive about turning the Larva loose on my last possible day of debauchery for the year. She suggested that we go to a nightclub and she would make arrangements for a hotel
Bless. Her. Heart.
I know how this will go:
*Meet at hotel to check in.
*Change into a nice outfit for the evening and go to a quiet dinner.
*Proceed to a respectable club with reserved seating and toast with the champagne that was included in the ticket price.
*Return to hotel.
YAWN.
Here is how "seasoned" women like QueenB and I have New Years Eve:
*First of all - keep planning minimal. Lack of planning allows "surprises" to occur that elicit strings of cursing from the men in our lives.
*Leave 30 minutes later than we originally planned because I had to buy some 2-for-1 cheap champagne on sale at the liquor store and then stopped by a thrift store to acquire a slightly-sluttier-than-usual blouse for the evening, complete with rhinestones AND sequins. Note to MyPoolBoy that Pepita would HATE this outfit and purchase it even if it won't fit in my suitcase with the 4 pairs of shoes and 2 pairs of jeans and 3 sweaters and miniskirt that I have already crammed in there for an overnight trip.
*Allow MyPoolBoy to chauffeur in excess of the speed limit in an attempt to make up time lost at the liquor store purchasing the champagne that I have elected to pour into an empty Sonic cup that was rolling around in the back floorboard and consume half the bottle en route to our destination.
*Arrive at the MOtel in a pelting freezing cold rain storm, making the miniskirt I have packed a ludicrous decision.
*Note the fortunate proximity of a KwikyMart catty-corner across the street from the MOtel. This will be important for procuring overpriced beef jerky, Twizzlers, and aspirin later.
*Make a mad dash through the rain into the MOtel lobby and dodge the plastic leaves of a dusty fake plant that commits bodily assault on all who pass through the front door.
*Acquire room key from Bette Davis's older blue-haired sister.
*Drive to the backside of the MOtel where a crime is most likely to go undetected and enter the room with my luggage that is now soaking wet because it was in the bed of the truck when the pelting freezing cold rain storm began.
*Carry the open half-consumed bottle of champagne in with me. Take a swig directly from the bottle as I stand at the door waiting for MyPoolBoy to get the key to work in the door.
*Inhale the aroma of Marlboros and mildew when we open the door. Think about asking MyPoolBoy to carry me over the threshold like a second honeymoon and then decide against it because I will need him intact for dancing.
*Place luggage on the bed that appears most likely to test positive for body-fluid-illumination under a CSI blacklight.
*While blow-drying clothes, answer cell phone call from QueenB saying that the toilet in their room just overflowed.
*Answer door when QueenB comes in to tell us that they are moving to another room and OldCoach went to change out keys with Bette Davis's older blue-haired sister. Offer her some champagne in one of the hermetically sealed plastic MOtel cups.
*Discover that there are no pantyhose in the rain-soaked overpacked luggage. Debate with MyPoolBoy about buying an overpriced pair across the street at the KwikyMart or stopping at a store on the way to dinner in town.
*Get dressed (with the exception of pantyhose) and get in car to go to dinner.
*Ride in the car that is being driven aimlessly by OldCoach due to the aforementioned lack of planning by QueenB and me. Discuss dinner plans as you pass each restaurant with exits on the other side of the road.
*Cause heart palpitations for the men in the vehicle by screaming STOP directly in front of a Walgreens so that you can get a pair of pantyhose. Laugh hysterically at the purple leopard print bras on display at the end of a row. Buy one, causing more hysterical laughter. Pay for items and leave Walgreen's before getting kicked out.
*Decide to eat at Applebee's since it is only one block down from Walgreen's. Put pantyhose on in car, hiking up dress to slide the nylon over hips at a red light next to a truck full of teenage boys.
*Laugh at the idiots in the booth behind you who couldn't find a babysitter and brought their KIDS with them to Applebee's on New Year's Eve and actually expected the little fu*k-trophies to sit patiently and wait for an hour for their chicken nuggets on what is one of the busiest nights of the year.
*Muse out loud how wonderful it is to have grown and near-grown kids that you can leave behind at home with $40 of Taco Bell money and the simple instructions to vacuum up all the stripper glitter and stay out of the good vodka.
*Go back to bar at the MOtel.
*Find table that you reserved in advance because you are classy.
*Send MyPoolBoy to procure 4 beers. I don't know what everyone else is drinking.
*Notice, laugh, and point at the Dolly Parton wannabe at the next table.
*Notice, laugh, and point at Almost-Dolly's date, a scrawny redneck with a raccoon penis in his hatband.
*Notice, laugh, and point at yuppies who came in, surveyed the crowd, and left without even having a drink.
*Send OldCoach for more beer.
*Set the table reservation card on fire with the candle on the table.
*Put out your personal bonfire with beer when Almost-Dolly taps her pack of Virginia Slims against the palm of her hand and starts to lean toward your table for a light.
*Scream "I love this song!" in MyPoolBoy's ear.
*Ask MyPoolBoy to dance.
*Ask QueenB to dance because MyPoolBoy either doesn't want to dance, is pretending not to know me, is partially deafened by my screaming "I love this song!" in his ear, or a combination of all three.
*Dance with QueenB.
*Dance some more with QueenB.
*Ask QueenB, while dancing, why we even brought the boys.
*Return to table. Drink. Go pee. Dance. Return to table. Drink. Go pee. Dance. Repeat this process an unknown number of times until someone says it's almost midnight. Chase your Bud Light with champagne.Sing Auld Lang Syne with the words "Old Lane's Eye."Continue the above procedure until someone says the bar is closing.
*Stumble to the back side of MOtel where your room is located. Crawl up the stairs to the MOTHER-EFFING SECOND FLOOR. Notice a tomato on the stairwell. Stop to take a fuzzy, out-of-focus picture. Decide that it might be a red Easter egg instead of a tomato. Look at the picture on cell phone camera. Ask QueenB if the picture is out of focus or are WE out of focus?
Bless. Her. Heart.
I know how this will go:
*Meet at hotel to check in.
*Change into a nice outfit for the evening and go to a quiet dinner.
*Proceed to a respectable club with reserved seating and toast with the champagne that was included in the ticket price.
*Return to hotel.
YAWN.
Here is how "seasoned" women like QueenB and I have New Years Eve:
*First of all - keep planning minimal. Lack of planning allows "surprises" to occur that elicit strings of cursing from the men in our lives.
*Leave 30 minutes later than we originally planned because I had to buy some 2-for-1 cheap champagne on sale at the liquor store and then stopped by a thrift store to acquire a slightly-sluttier-than-usual blouse for the evening, complete with rhinestones AND sequins. Note to MyPoolBoy that Pepita would HATE this outfit and purchase it even if it won't fit in my suitcase with the 4 pairs of shoes and 2 pairs of jeans and 3 sweaters and miniskirt that I have already crammed in there for an overnight trip.
*Allow MyPoolBoy to chauffeur in excess of the speed limit in an attempt to make up time lost at the liquor store purchasing the champagne that I have elected to pour into an empty Sonic cup that was rolling around in the back floorboard and consume half the bottle en route to our destination.
*Arrive at the MOtel in a pelting freezing cold rain storm, making the miniskirt I have packed a ludicrous decision.
*Note the fortunate proximity of a KwikyMart catty-corner across the street from the MOtel. This will be important for procuring overpriced beef jerky, Twizzlers, and aspirin later.
*Make a mad dash through the rain into the MOtel lobby and dodge the plastic leaves of a dusty fake plant that commits bodily assault on all who pass through the front door.
*Acquire room key from Bette Davis's older blue-haired sister.
*Drive to the backside of the MOtel where a crime is most likely to go undetected and enter the room with my luggage that is now soaking wet because it was in the bed of the truck when the pelting freezing cold rain storm began.
*Carry the open half-consumed bottle of champagne in with me. Take a swig directly from the bottle as I stand at the door waiting for MyPoolBoy to get the key to work in the door.
*Inhale the aroma of Marlboros and mildew when we open the door. Think about asking MyPoolBoy to carry me over the threshold like a second honeymoon and then decide against it because I will need him intact for dancing.
*Place luggage on the bed that appears most likely to test positive for body-fluid-illumination under a CSI blacklight.
*While blow-drying clothes, answer cell phone call from QueenB saying that the toilet in their room just overflowed.
*Answer door when QueenB comes in to tell us that they are moving to another room and OldCoach went to change out keys with Bette Davis's older blue-haired sister. Offer her some champagne in one of the hermetically sealed plastic MOtel cups.
*Discover that there are no pantyhose in the rain-soaked overpacked luggage. Debate with MyPoolBoy about buying an overpriced pair across the street at the KwikyMart or stopping at a store on the way to dinner in town.
*Get dressed (with the exception of pantyhose) and get in car to go to dinner.
*Ride in the car that is being driven aimlessly by OldCoach due to the aforementioned lack of planning by QueenB and me. Discuss dinner plans as you pass each restaurant with exits on the other side of the road.
*Cause heart palpitations for the men in the vehicle by screaming STOP directly in front of a Walgreens so that you can get a pair of pantyhose. Laugh hysterically at the purple leopard print bras on display at the end of a row. Buy one, causing more hysterical laughter. Pay for items and leave Walgreen's before getting kicked out.
*Decide to eat at Applebee's since it is only one block down from Walgreen's. Put pantyhose on in car, hiking up dress to slide the nylon over hips at a red light next to a truck full of teenage boys.
*Laugh at the idiots in the booth behind you who couldn't find a babysitter and brought their KIDS with them to Applebee's on New Year's Eve and actually expected the little fu*k-trophies to sit patiently and wait for an hour for their chicken nuggets on what is one of the busiest nights of the year.
*Muse out loud how wonderful it is to have grown and near-grown kids that you can leave behind at home with $40 of Taco Bell money and the simple instructions to vacuum up all the stripper glitter and stay out of the good vodka.
*Go back to bar at the MOtel.
*Find table that you reserved in advance because you are classy.
*Send MyPoolBoy to procure 4 beers. I don't know what everyone else is drinking.
*Notice, laugh, and point at the Dolly Parton wannabe at the next table.
*Notice, laugh, and point at Almost-Dolly's date, a scrawny redneck with a raccoon penis in his hatband.
*Notice, laugh, and point at yuppies who came in, surveyed the crowd, and left without even having a drink.
*Send OldCoach for more beer.
*Set the table reservation card on fire with the candle on the table.
*Put out your personal bonfire with beer when Almost-Dolly taps her pack of Virginia Slims against the palm of her hand and starts to lean toward your table for a light.
*Scream "I love this song!" in MyPoolBoy's ear.
*Ask MyPoolBoy to dance.
*Ask QueenB to dance because MyPoolBoy either doesn't want to dance, is pretending not to know me, is partially deafened by my screaming "I love this song!" in his ear, or a combination of all three.
*Dance with QueenB.
*Dance some more with QueenB.
*Ask QueenB, while dancing, why we even brought the boys.
*Return to table. Drink. Go pee. Dance. Return to table. Drink. Go pee. Dance. Repeat this process an unknown number of times until someone says it's almost midnight. Chase your Bud Light with champagne.Sing Auld Lang Syne with the words "Old Lane's Eye."Continue the above procedure until someone says the bar is closing.
*Stumble to the back side of MOtel where your room is located. Crawl up the stairs to the MOTHER-EFFING SECOND FLOOR. Notice a tomato on the stairwell. Stop to take a fuzzy, out-of-focus picture. Decide that it might be a red Easter egg instead of a tomato. Look at the picture on cell phone camera. Ask QueenB if the picture is out of focus or are WE out of focus?
*Fall into a time-warp-vortex-black-hole of inebriation and emerge around 10 a.m. the next morning. Meet OldCoach and QueenB for breakfast at Denny's. Don't mention anything when QueenB fails to take her shades off inside Denny's. High-five OldCoach for being able to order off the Senior Menu at a discount.
*Sleep in the truck the whole way home
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Grandma Lila's Fruitcake
Merry Christmas! This fruitcake recipe is the one our Grandma Lila used for years. It is famous/infamous enough to be mentioned in the eulogy at her funeral service. I have "embellished" it with my own observations and experiences.
1 lb. dates (I sometimes use less)
1 lb raisins (Again, sometimes I cut back on these)
1/2 lb candied citron (I usually use more)
1/2 to 1 cup brandy, rum, or other liquor (Grandmasometimes used more.)
1 cup/2 sticks REAL butter (none of that low fat healthy soy fake good-for-you crap -- Grandma was Paula Deen before Paula Deen was Paula Deen)
1 cup packed brown sugar
5 (4) eggs (the recipe calls for 4 - Use 4. You need 5 because by the time you are done with the brandy or rum you will drop one of the eggs and you'll only have 4 left anyway.)
1 Tbs milk (this is what makes the fruitcake healthy)
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking soda (the stuff you use with vinegar to make volcanoes)
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp ginger
Step 1 Procure the unmentionables. (The way Grandma did it) A good Christian woman will send a male relative to the liquor store to buy the brandy or rum while you sit and wait in the car in the parking lot, or better still, parked around the corner, so no one sees you buying it!
Step 2 Prepare the fruit. Soak fruit in half of the liquor overnight. This is to "plump it up." No other reason. Follow the recipe. Don't judge.
Step 3 Get ready. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. That is not a typo - you want these to bake slow so that they are moist on their own... but then we're fixin' to pour liquor all over them to moisten them, too, so - whatever. (I do like to think that this is roughly the temperature of an Easy-Bake Oven, thus taking me back to my childhood, when unsafe burning hazard toys like light-bulb powered cooking appliances were perfectly acceptable gifts to give to small children!) Grease and flour loaf pans or bundt pan. Or even a sawed off cleaned out Folger's can (The way Grandma did it.) Put on an apron now that you've spilled flour all over your black holiday sweater and stupidly wiped it trying to get it off, since you just weren't thinking clearly because you were "tasting" the soaked fruit.
Step 4 Make and bake. Cream butter and sugar in a big ol' Mixmaster. Beat in eggs and milk. Sift flour, soda, and spices and stir into fruit. Add fruit to creamed mixture. Pour into prepared pans and decorate the tops with candied cherries and pecan halves. Then bake 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours depending on size of pans and/or cans. This is enough time to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Miracle on 34th Street" AND "Wheel of Fortune."
Step 5 Liquid Decoration. (Optional, but it IS the way Grandma made it): Splash what might be left of the rum or brandy over fruitcake after baking and wrap in foil for a few days before serving. Store in a dark corner of the cupboard to aid in the "moistening" process. Hide one of them for yourself.
Step 6 Serve. Ignore the comments about the fumes when the foil is opened. The family members who are under 21 will eat it anyway because they can get inebriated and no one will bat an eye because it occurred under the guise of consuming fine holiday fare....the male family members over 21 will eat it anyway because it is the only way they are going to get any of that rum that they had to buy...the female family members over 21 will eat it because, let's face it, before the advent of Prozac, Grandma Lila's fruitcake was the only way you could manage to get through the holidays with even a shred of sanity intact!
1 lb. dates (I sometimes use less)
1 lb raisins (Again, sometimes I cut back on these)
1/2 lb candied citron (I usually use more)
1/2 to 1 cup brandy, rum, or other liquor (Grandma
1 cup/2 sticks REAL butter (none of that low fat healthy soy fake good-for-you crap -- Grandma was Paula Deen before Paula Deen was Paula Deen)
1 cup packed brown sugar
5 (4) eggs (the recipe calls for 4 - Use 4. You need 5 because by the time you are done with the brandy or rum you will drop one of the eggs and you'll only have 4 left anyway.)
1 Tbs milk (this is what makes the fruitcake healthy)
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking soda (the stuff you use with vinegar to make volcanoes)
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp ginger
Step 1 Procure the unmentionables. (The way Grandma did it) A good Christian woman will send a male relative to the liquor store to buy the brandy or rum while you sit and wait in the car in the parking lot, or better still, parked around the corner, so no one sees you buying it!
Step 2 Prepare the fruit. Soak fruit in half of the liquor overnight. This is to "plump it up." No other reason. Follow the recipe. Don't judge.
Step 3 Get ready. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. That is not a typo - you want these to bake slow so that they are moist on their own... but then we're fixin' to pour liquor all over them to moisten them, too, so - whatever. (I do like to think that this is roughly the temperature of an Easy-Bake Oven, thus taking me back to my childhood, when unsafe burning hazard toys like light-bulb powered cooking appliances were perfectly acceptable gifts to give to small children!) Grease and flour loaf pans or bundt pan. Or even a sawed off cleaned out Folger's can (The way Grandma did it.) Put on an apron now that you've spilled flour all over your black holiday sweater and stupidly wiped it trying to get it off, since you just weren't thinking clearly because you were "tasting" the soaked fruit.
Step 4 Make and bake. Cream butter and sugar in a big ol' Mixmaster. Beat in eggs and milk. Sift flour, soda, and spices and stir into fruit. Add fruit to creamed mixture. Pour into prepared pans and decorate the tops with candied cherries and pecan halves. Then bake 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours depending on size of pans and/or cans. This is enough time to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Miracle on 34th Street" AND "Wheel of Fortune."
Step 5 Liquid Decoration. (Optional, but it IS the way Grandma made it): Splash what might be left of the rum or brandy over fruitcake after baking and wrap in foil for a few days before serving. Store in a dark corner of the cupboard to aid in the "moistening" process. Hide one of them for yourself.
Step 6 Serve. Ignore the comments about the fumes when the foil is opened. The family members who are under 21 will eat it anyway because they can get inebriated and no one will bat an eye because it occurred under the guise of consuming fine holiday fare....the male family members over 21 will eat it anyway because it is the only way they are going to get any of that rum that they had to buy...the female family members over 21 will eat it because, let's face it, before the advent of Prozac, Grandma Lila's fruitcake was the only way you could manage to get through the holidays with even a shred of sanity intact!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)