One year, back during my pre- JennyMac stage of life, my Mom flew into Atlanta for a week to visit. I planned a surprise weekend trip to Nashville. We grew up listening to Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash so I knew my Mom would truly love to visit. I was already a fan.
The road trip there was too much fun, the weather flawless, my Mom on Cloud 9 being there. After getting situated in our hotel, we decide to stop off and have a refresher. We perch at the bar at Tootsie's and order.
A large man seated next to us was growing impatient waiting for his drink, and waving his money at the bartender. I was enjoying my libation too much and told him I thought that trick ineffective anywhere but TV. He laughed in a scruffy, scrappy sort of way and told me he didn't think I could get a drink any faster.
Oh. Are you challenging me to a duel, sir?
Any woman can get a drink from a male bartender before a large man waving money can. I would like to think it was all charm and sophistication. No. Basic social economics.
He was so delighted that he bought us a round. And then he sort of gave me the hey little buddy punch in the arm. Except he was a giant. And his fist was larger than my quadricep. And he was wearing a huge Bowl ring from the U of Alabama, which incidentally looked neat indented into my arm. After I recovered, he kept buying. And kept buying. There was simply no way for us to keep up with him.
Eventually we surrendered. And then escaped. Oh, it was a hot time in the ol' town that night. As we cavorted around. Or, as I cavorted around town with my Mom, many an antic was introduced. My mom's least favorite is the following:
My mom is gorgeous. She looks like my sister in a smashing, classy way. She is also far less the extrovert. She has been divorced for years and while I am sure she has many a gentlemen caller, she keeps her business to herself. That evening, she met a handsome cat, long and lean in his Wranglers, topped with a giant Stetson. For my mom, the owner of several horses, Stetson is a favorite word.
Nearing the point of collapse from being overserved, I decide to walk the block to our hotel room. My mom declines to escort me. I am sure I quizzed her. I think I said things like "Are you sure? Is that safe? You two better be good!" Why did I do this? Who knows. She is after all, grown, in a huge public place, and not exactly having her first chitty chat with a suitor. And why would I be questioning her? Again, WHO KNOWS. The only thing shinier than my halo was the hypocrisy in which I shrouded it.
I return to the room. And apparently start making big, important decisions.
I called my Mom on her cell. About ten times. I told her I thought she needed to come home. I am CERTAIN this was entertaining to her. And Stetson too. She said she would be back to the room shortly. I graciously impatiently waited an appropriate and lengthy interval four minutes before dialing again.SAFETY FIRST I chortled. What further safety did she need? Proving children can serve as a buzzkill long past childhood.
My Mom finally returned. I believe I yammered on about chastity. I believe she told me she would get me back.
But she didn't need to. Because the tango between Mr. Giant-Alabama-Ring-Beer-Cartel and various other antics caused me to be in one of my all time most painful hangovers of my life the next day.
Who had the last laugh? My Mom. And why is that? Well, that will be saved for another post.
Sorry Mr. Hot Stetson that you couldn't spend more time making my Mom's acquaintance. She is an amazing person. I know you gave her your number. I think that piece of paper was a casualty of war. Yes, I do think it non too classy to be lit up like a Vegas casino when supposedly spending quality time with your parent. Thank you for pretending I was a joyful comedic delight.
Sorry Mom. If you were ever curious what is meant by Hot Mess; Example A: your daughter this night in Nashville.
And if you were never curious what is meant by c*ckblocking well, too late. DITTO on Example A
Breaking up is hard to do, right? That's why the lead word is an action verb which can mean annul but can also mean to smash, split, or divide into parts violently; reduce to pieces or fragments. Yes, breaking up is tough. That's why its calledbreaking up and not called Tickle Party. And a tricky category of break ups of which I was unaware until I was an adult was the platonic break up. Remember when you were kids you simply liked/didn't like/loved/hated friends sometimes on a cyclical spin.
My best friends stayed fairly consistent but don't think we were without our moments of:
I hate you Well I hate YOU I hate YOU MORE NOT POSSIBLE. All hate in the WORLD flows from me to YOU.
Oh, tweens...how did our parents endure us? Because the next minute, day, or week all was glossed over. But as adults? It is a bit more difficult. Well let me rephrase. Breaking up with friends is difficult for women.
I think men break up with friends like this: Hey Joe, don't be a d-bag. F you.
They run into each other days or weeks later and have a beer because they would never remember something like that in the first place. If they do remember, its more like this:
Hey Joe, remember that night you were a d-bag? F you. Time for more beer consumption.
I had my first and only break up with a female friend about five or six years ago. She was beautiful, brilliant, and successful. But unfortunately, also highly vain and terribly spoiled. Beneath her tough exterior though was the potential for a great person. But, like the Russians, how long are you going to hunt for Red October? I knew somewhere in the darkness was a gem, but it reached a point of futility. It was something I actually struggled with though. But in the end, it had to be done.
For example: A man hit on her one night we were out. She told him she wouldn't be "last in line" and he should just go back to the blond he had been working for an hour. He said, "That was actually my sister. And you need Anger Management."
Do you know people that need Anger Management? Here is how you find out, tell them they need Anger Management and watch what happens.
And then JohnnyMac and I had to break up with a couple. What started as easy reverie with this pair turned into playing hopscotch in a mine field. Every minute held explosive potential. My wish was can't you tell me you are like this one day one? Please don't bait and switch me. They were over for dinner one night for his birthday and she called him a dick as in "if my husband wasn't such a dick..."
In front of him. It was so uncomfortable. And then I realized when I would spend time with her, uh oh, this isn't all that atypical. There was something wrong with everyone. You all know someone bitter like this, no one deserves success, or accolades, or acknowledgement. It was a pissy fest when something good happened to any other person. Bitter people like this abound, don't they?
And listen, I know marriage is not always Giggle and Kisses Night but I don't think you call your husband a dick. Especially in front of him. And if you absolutely can not curb the rage and are so incensed that calling him a dick is the only toll you will accept, can you whisper? Better yet, wait until the next day. You don't call someone a dick on their birthday. Besides the obvious reasons, for the next thirty years it will be: oh yeah, I remember that birthday, the one when you called me a dick. Choose words and timing wisely.
And this is why some people believe a Marriage License should have a footer: Requires Alcohol.
And when it became too much, we began to dodge them. Every invite was graciously swept aside with excuses of family commitments, baby activities, or time to scrub the baseboards. Does it take Greg Behrendt to tell you we're just not that into you? And they have a baby now. I ran into her recently and asked how things were going. Her response started with "if my husband weren't so _______ clueless....". Uh huh. Breaking up was wise to do.
What a treat to discover that shenanigans abound from the East Coast to the West Coast. This little tidbit came from the Seattle news. The Director of County Planning and Development Services in one Washington County was fired recently after an independent investigation found that he had exposed himself to some women during a golf tournament in June. According to the police report, Mr. L drank two full glasses of Jack Daniel's after he arrived at the Golf Club at Redmond Ridge and continued to drink heavily throughout the day.
Nothing says PROFESSIONAL better than inhaling Jack Daniels all day at a golf tournament sponsored by a Corporation you are trying to get in bed with and attended by all of your colleagues.
Witnesses said two nearby golfers were discussing tee length and Mr. L sauntered over and said "I'll show you the size of my tee" before he whipped out his Johnson.
The following day, when questioned, Mr. L said he had no memory of the incident. Wise answer. Bless your heart and your whippersnapper, Mr. L.
At least he didn't talk about his shaft.
Or his ball washer.
County Council members were informed Mr. L had been terminated but weren't told the reason. Well, thankfully we have a NEWSPAPER that doesn't keep secrets well. Good job whomever made the decision NOT to tell the City Council members and instead let them read about it over morning coffee.
And what kind of "independent investigation" is needed? Aren't several EYEWITNESSES sufficient?
Men's FootJoys = $200.00
New TaylorMade Driver = $300.00
Whipping out your ding a ling at a tournament with your business associates? Priceless $149,000.00 or the equivalent to your annual salary.
A friend of mine, recently married, asked me how you know you are ready for kids.
Ummm, when the stick turns blue? That marks the moment I was encouraged to "get ready." She laughed and said, "But you always knew you wanted kids." Yes. But I also always knew I wanted a baby tiger but give me one, and well, I might seem a bit skittish.
Yes, I wanted to be a mom but really, what did I know about having or raising children? I received this one day and after laughing my arse off, I thought, uh oh. So now you too can review and determine your own "readiness."
The test for "Child" readiness.
Smear peanut butter on the brand new suede sofa you just special ordered. Oh, and hit those windows and gorgeous window swags too. Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there until next August.
PHYSICAL TEST (Women)
Obtain a large bean bag chair and shove it under the front of your dress. Leave it there for 9 months. Now remove 10 of the beans. And try not to notice your closet full of clothes. You won't be wearing them for a while.
PHYSICAL TEST (Men)
Go to the nearest drug store. Set your wallet on the counter. Ask the person behind the counter to help himself. Now proceed to the nearest grocery. Go to the head office and arrange for your paycheck to be directly deposited to the store. Purchase your favorite golf or fashion magazine. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.
Obtain a 55 gallon box of Legos (or you may substitute roofing tacks). Have a friend spread them all over the house. Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or kitchen. Do not scream because this would wake a child at night.
GROCERY STORE TEST
Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with you as you shop. Always keep them in sight and pay for anything they eat or damage. Try keeping your voice down when you repeat the same thing to them 50 times.
Obtain one large, unhappy, live octopus. Stuff into a small net bag making sure that all the arms stay inside. Keep a smile on your face as you do so.
Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water. Suspend from the ceiling with a cord. Start the jug swinging. Try to insert spoonfuls of soggy cereal into the mouth of the jug, while pretending to be an airplane. Now dump the contents of the jug on the floor.
Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8-12 pounds of sand. Soak it thoroughly in water. At 3:00p.m. begin to waltz and hum with the bag until 9:00p.m. Lay down your bag and set your alarm for 10:00p.m. Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have ever heard. Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00a.m. Set alarm for 5:00a.m. Get up and make breakfast. Keep this up for 5 years. Look cheerful.
Take an egg carton. Using a pair of scissors and pot of paint, turn it into an alligator. Now take a toilet paper tube and turn it into an attractive Christmas candle. Use only scotch tape and a piece of foil. Last, take a milk carton, a ping-pong ball, and an empty box of Cocoa Puffs. Make an exact replica of the Eiffel Tower.
Turn over the keys to your BMW and buy a mini-van. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there. Get a dime. Slide it into your DVD player. Take a family size package of chocolate chip cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car. There, perfect.
FINAL ASSIGNMENT: Find a couple who already have a small child. Lecture them on how they can improve their discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet training and child's table manners. Suggest many ways they can do a better job. Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run wild. Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the answers.
Because sometimes its just nice to look at stunning things...
How gorgeous is this? I crossed this bridge, daily, while attending Cambridge University in England. Besides being built roughly in 1209, and being the second oldest university in the English speaking world, it is simply beautiful.
So during my stint there, this bridge was my primary means to get on the main campus where I studied ancient legal structure and the formation of legal societies, laws, and the court system. Graduate study at Cambridge, while intense, was one of the utmost privileges.
And while attending, I watched the punters traveling down the river and even gave it go several times myself. And I sipped on many a pint after spending hours reading about Hammurabi's code (which of course, the former is a direct by-product of the doing the latter).
This is the Bridge of Sighs, named after the Bridge of Sighs in Venice although purportedly, not remotely similar. It was built in 1831 and Queen Victoria claimed it to be her favorite spot in the city. I have my own rationale behind the name but it involves a certain Italian Professor whispering terms of endearment in my ear one night on that bridge. Bridge of Sighs, indeed.
And of course, there were other charming blokes running around that impressive campus. Well, someone had to periodically captain that punting boat for me, yes?
To walk amongst the ghosts of former attendees was an awe-inspiring opportunity. And every time I crossed this arch, it felt like traveling back in time.
Cambridge is a lovely place including our many visits to the lone "nightclub" in Cambridge in which one could witness the masses dancing. I saw a lot quite a bit of dancing. Or actually, what looked more like people with dry heaves, which just proves that regardless of continent or country, it takes all kinds of dancers to fill the floor.
And watching everyone get "arse over tit" as we were told, which included us of course, well, that did make for big fun on more than one occasion.
I also had my first "shandy" there in which they mix beer with a splash of sprite or lemonade. Of course you haven't heard of such a thing. Most grown people have not. Go ahead and make fun for drinking sugar beer, you won't be the first. My little brother who historically prefers straight vodka asked you drank what?
However, not so fast if you are still pounding down the Miller Lites which contain as much kick as Sprite. But when you go somewhere and all they have on tap is Cambridge Amber and Charles River Porter which are as thick as mud and as powerful as moonshine, a little something to lighten the fare is never a bad idea. A girl had to study after all.
Something so inviting...a little chocolate sin never hurt anyone, now did it? Our friend Martha Stewart shares this incredible recipe which I will personally vouch for. When everyone else is bringing apple pie to the holiday bash, this little concoction will earn you rave reviews. The person who brings the apple pie will even be back for seconds. Buon Appetito!
Chocolate Bread Pudding Ingredients:
2 cups heavy cream
2 cups milk
1 whole vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise, seeds scraped
3 cinnamon sticks (optional)
1 loaf brioche (about 1 pound, or you may substitute white bread)
12 ounces roughly chopped Valrhona or other bittersweet chocolate, plus 1/2 ounce or 1/4 cup shavings for garnish
8 large egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
1 package (8 ounces) creme fraiche
Heat the oven to 325 degrees. Place the cream, milk, vanilla seeds and pod, and cinnamon sticks, if using, in a medium saucepan, and bring to a boil. Remove from heat, cover with plastic wrap, and let sit for 30 minutes to infuse flavors.
Cut the brioche into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Cut slices into quarters, setting aside the rounded top pieces. Fill a 9-by-12-inch gratin dish or a deep oval roasting dish with the quartered pieces.
Return the milk mixture to a boil, remove from heat, and discard vanilla pod and cinnamon sticks. Add chocolate, and whisk until smooth. Combine egg yolks and sugar in a large bowl, and whisk to combine. Pour chocolate mixture very slowly into egg-yolk mixture, whisking constantly, until fully combined.
Slowly pour half the chocolate custard over bread, making sure all the bread is soaked. Arrange the reserved bread on top in a decorative pattern, and press firmly so bottom layer of bread absorbs chocolate mixture. Spoon remaining custard over bread until completely covered and all cracks are filled. Place a piece of plastic wrap over the dish; press down to soak bread thoroughly. Remove plastic, wipe edges of the dish with a damp towel, and allow to sit for 30 minutes. Place gratin dish in a larger pan; fill outer pan with hot water halfway up the sides of the gratin dish. Bake until set, about 35 minutes. Cool on a rack for 15 minutes.
Whisk the creme fraiche until soft peaks form. Serve pudding warm, garnished with creme fraiche and chocolate shavings.
Warning: I am glad to know that I am a nice person, at least initially. Or that my first and instinctual proclivity is toward kindness. Yesterday morning during my commute, I was behind someone who was doing a lot of drive-stop-drive-stop maneuvers that had me concerned for the driver's safety. The roads were dry, the sun was out, not a squirrel or cat to be seen trying to cross the road. I could not instantly confirm what would cause someone to st-st-st-st-stutter drive this way. My initial thought was "Is that driver ok?" A tiny sense of alarm was included.
But then it went on and on.
The constant tapping of the brake pad looked like a red strobe light in a very ugly Discotheque I would NEVER visit. What could be the issue?
And then I saw it. As the driver turned his head ever so slightly. The cause.
I mean, the proximate cause since IDIOCY is the primary cause.
So I wanted to give something to this particular driver. And since I'm not the kind of girl who owns a grenade launcher (a blessing...for some) this will have to do:
A couple of my girlfriends were over and whilst enjoying sips of vino and catching up, some stories were shared. One friend told a story how that morning, she crawled into bed and woke up her sleeping husband. She used the utmost ninja like care in an attempt not to wake him but failed. And he was Grumplesaurus Rex over it too. He lamented her for waking him up to which she responded with the most feasible apology she could muster considering it was after 4 am and she literally just worked over 18 hours in one day. We know her Hub and he is a true gem of a man alas, we did get a laugh out of her mocking him. She works hard. And late. Fairly often. She said the whole creeping into bed thing is a big deal in her house. Oh how we laughed.
Another friend told us that a few weeks before upon waking up with their little one to start the day, her Hub asked her if she knew how many times she had gotten up during the night. She, being a smashingly good wise ass at times, said, "Well, let me consult the clipboard that I keep next to my side of the bed." His point: if you didn't get up so much, you wouldn't wake me up.
JohnnyMac happened to enter the room while story time was going on. He looked moderately apprehensive. Because he knows what is coming next.
I told him what Mt.St.Helen had said about her Hub. As we all laughed about the silliness of her Hub's statement. JohnnyMac said, "Uh oh" because either is it such huge coincidence that the three of us have Husbands who apparently highly dislike being woke up in the middle of the night, or this phenomenon goes on more than we know.
I drink a lot of water. A gallon or more a day. Sometimes this causes me to wake up before its even bright and early. JohnnyMac likes to ask me what time I got up. I laugh knowing he already knows exactly what time I got up. Why? Because I wake him up. Every time. He looks at the clock. Make a sour face. And goes back to sleep.
Mind you: I don't saunter to the bathroom with a 12 piece band in tow. Merely getting out of bed and padding across the carpet wakes him.
So going forward, on the occasions he would ask, I would make up a time like "noon" to which he would say, "It was 5:20 am" to which I would reply, "Oh...was it?"
And then I would laugh and his grumpy face would be forced to laugh too. (This only worked the first few times, I promise you.)
He one day said, "You know, if you stopped drinking water past say 7 pm, you wouldn't have to get up so early to go to the bathroom.
I said, "Where do I report for duty, Mussolini?"
I didn't realize that certain men were such dainty little sleepers but I surely laughed. Because do you know what lulls me to sleep every night? Not silence. Not darkness. A room lit up by a large television and SportsCenter highlights that my Hub simply must have as his own version of Valerian Root or he can't sleep. And I won't even go into further detail about what happens when you take the remote from a SLEEPING man's hand. Because you already know he bolts upright like Frankenstein with the I was watching that!!!
Somehow the noise from Chris Berman bellowing about the Patriots and the noise generated by my tiny toes on carpet don't equate.
One day while in Mexico, my Father and I perused the various wares on display by the gamut of vendors while shopping at an outdoor market.
Vendor in a rather sly fashion says to my Father: You should buy this watch for your beautiful wife.
My Father to Vendor: This is my daughter.
Vendor, with absolutely no pause and not remotely convivial, says to my Father: Ahhhhh...she obviously got her looks from her Mother.
My Father (with scowl) to Vendor: Perhaps. But she got all her brains from me.
Me: Well, out of fairness, Mom is rather smart too.
My Father immediately departs. Likely can't decide which of the two clowns in front of him he is finds the most irritating. An action can also speak a thousand words. In this case my Father's action only needed to speak nine: Kiss my arse and then watch it walk away.
First, my comment that my Father may potentially be but a mere 50% responsible for my smarts, well, that was just the salty icing on the already salty cake.
However, I am not trying to sell my Father anything, unlike Vendor. Oh Vendor, here is what I learned in Sales 101: Never give up control of the sales process. Ooops. Too late.
Ummmm, Mr. Vendor? Two ways to ensure you will NEVER sell my Father your shiny gold watch:. First, compliment what you believe is his child bride THEN tell him he is ugly.
Part I: Joy also known as: Would you please add another "to do" to your list?
Awesome Hyla at GreenEarthJourney sent me an email last week that she nominated me for a Dottie Award at MomDot.com. Let's have a cocktail made it into the category of Press Secretary. If you have a minute, pop over and cast your vote. Thank you again Hyla and thank you for taking a minute to visit the site.
Part II: Pain also known as: Now you can laugh at me.
Our little man has a new classmate. His classmate is why some parents drink. Take 200 gallons of piss and vinegar and pour it into a 26 pound beaker, and there you have it. For fun, let's call him Bonkers McNewKid.
Bonkers McNewKid is a whirling dervish. He is into everything. I am perplexed how our child's teachers could be around this level of irritation energy without Xanax. And he loves to kick, hit, bite, and scratch. All of the parents are aware. And the teachers aren't allowed to tell you which "friend" gave your son teeth marks/blackeye/scratch marks/bruise but all you have to do is simply ask your child.
Me: What happened to your eye, baby? Son: Bonkers McNewKid hit me.
Last week, I went to fetch MiniMac. Bonkers was being taken to task by one of the teachers for scratching another child. Yes, I know the tendency for 2 and 3 year old kids to express themselves this way. However, Bonkers immediately comes to me, latches onto my leg like he is in some log-climbing contest and starts to dig in.
I say to Bonkers in a I MEAN IT voice: Do NOT scratch me, Bonkers McNewKid. Bonkers runs away.
We get home and Daddy asked Munchkin what happened to his eye. Munchkin rats out Bonkers. Mommy says, "Bonkers is a maniac." Mommy does not say this in a sing-songy way. Mommy has tone. Daddy gives Mommy a look. Mommy realizes we don't call people names as that is NOT NICE. Mommy hopes Munchkin doesn't listen well right this minute. MiniMac: Daddy, Mommy said Bonkers is a maniac!
Daddy: Mommy meant Bonkers is a nice boy. Mommy needs to go to time out. Mommy looks at Daddy as in Whaaaaaaaaat? Daddy gives Mommy a really good look that conveyed multiple messages. Mommy returns that look with a look indicating our son doesnt think maniac is a bad word! Munchkin: I'm telling Miss Lottie (one of his teachers) Bonkers is a MANIAC!!!! Daddy: Have fun explaining yourself. Mommy parks it in Time Out.
Another reason Bonkers McNewKid is on Mommy's Poop List.
Over the last week I have had a minute or two to catch up with some non-critical articles. Unfortunately, I came across something that I found disturbing. Similar to seeing a car wreck, and then pointing it out to a friend, I am going to share this disturbia with you.
While reading last month's Vanity Fair, I read the article by Leslie Bennett about Ryan O'Neal. Including this excerpt from an incident at Farrah's funeral:
"I had just put the casket in the hearse and I was watching it drive away when a beautiful blonde woman comes up and embraces me," Ryan told me. "I said to her, 'You have a drink on you? You have a car?' "
Ummm....if you are attending a funeral and the funeral is for someone with whom you not only shared a lifelong relationship but also a child, perhaps it is in poor taste to even think of hitting on another woman.
And do you have something better in your repetoire than "you have a drink on you?" Sounds similar to what I have been asked by vagabonds while walking on the mean streets of New York at 2 am.
If you DO hit on someone, because Poor Taste is a close friend of yours, then perhaps you should exercise selectivity about the target of your affection.
She said, 'Daddy, it's me--Tatum!' I was just trying to be funny with a strange Swedish woman, and it's my daughter.
In this case, Poor Taste is not merely a friend but a soul mate. Being so intoxicated that you hit on someone at the funeral of the woman you were going to marry AND don't recognize the recipient of your amore is on your own child...well.
And yes, I know he has problems. CLEARLY. But I have been drunk before too (maybe once..maybe twice). Even thoroughly implanted in a Grey Goose haze, guess who never appeared to be a perfect suitor? ANY ONE SHARING MY DNA.
Ryan O'Neal, I think our old friends from Run DMC really pegged a recurring theme.
So maybe you should just give a quarter and your order: small fries, Big Mac.
The savory and sweet goodness that this delicious vittle can offer. Salt flecked toffee? Are you serious? Oh, yes. I am.
After some email inquiries about this divine treat after my Fleur de Hell post, I am sharing the recipe. I know some of you have commented that my recipes are a bit on the difficult side. This one looks (and tastes) much more difficult than it is. Thanks Martha Stewart. And this recipe got rave reviews at my office (since I dropped the Fleur de Sel AFTER I used what I needed for this recipe.) Buon Appetito!
Fleur de Sel Toffee
Vegetable oil cooking spray
1 pound (4 sticks) unsalted butter
2 2/3 cups sugar
1/3 cup water
1/4 cup light corn syrup
Fleur de sel, for sprinkling
Coat a rimmed baking sheet with cooking spray. Bring butter, sugar, water, and corn syrup to a boil in a large saucepan, whisking frequently until sugar dissolves and butter melts. Cook, undisturbed, until mixture registers 300 degrees on a candy thermometer, about 12 minutes. (You can easily use a meat thermometer too).
Whisk toffee mixture, then immediately pour onto prepared sheet, tilting pan to spread over entire surface. Let stand for 30 seconds, then sprinkle with fleur de sel. Let cool. (Do not move the pan for first 30 minutes.) Break toffee into pieces. Toffee will keep, covered, for up to 1 week.
My first real indication in the last few years that the union between scientific advancements and my expectations was not going to be completely harmonious was discovering I was pregnant despite being on birth control. And no, it wasn't "take it when you feel like it" birth control either. It was 99% effective birth control. Yes, I know it can still happen. Oh, do I know. My uterus was planning to stay as is, enjoy a fabulous trip in St. Maarten but instead, got down to work.
And when you are pregnant, you begin to appreciate other odd pregnancy stories in a completely different light.
First, there was our son's teacher who was six months pregnant and apparently did not know. I simply could not believe someone could be in this condition and be unaware. The only thing more baffling than this particular situation is that TLC has created a television show on this very subject. Hmmmmm. Someone at TLC clearly was enjoying some cocktails during "Programming Brainstorm Session."
I won't even elaborate on the 19.2 pound baby born or the youngest mother in medical history, Lina Medina, who was only five when she gave birth. Or the woman who gave birth to 69 children. Granted, this was in the 1800's. However, there is a certain TV show Mom well on her way with her 18 kids to date. The uterus wanted to share a piece of information: it is not the George Washington Bridge. The object is not to get as many people through there as possible.
And a piece of news from last week. About the woman who got pregnant when she was ALREADY pregnant. A woman in Alabama was 2.5 weeks pregnant when she got pregnant again. No, I am not making this up. No, you did not misread. The children have two separate due dates.
Makes my uterus glad we just had that one little surprise that turned into a beautiful and sparkling little man.
But some of the other uteri above? If they could boycott until further compensation can be negotiated, they might.
And then I saw this sign. At a school. And my uterus and I thought well, if men can be "expecting fathers" then oh yes, our job just got SO much easier, didn't it?
I made Fleur de Sel Toffee last week. It is tres delicioso! It is actually much easier to create than I thought and the trick to its fabulousness is really the Fleur de Sel (sea salt). The combination of salt and sweet is perfect in this recipe. I used French Grey Fleur de Sel that is actually imported from France. And worth every penny.
So while I was making this little vittle, I inadvertenly made something else. A huge mess of exploding fleur de sel when I failed to put the lid on properly and dropped it. After watching every perfect grey crumb go up and then down I had a thought cross my mind.
A fleeting thought. But also one that was rather unappealing. We don't live by the five second rule in this house but I will admit it did occur to me for a moment.....
Can I possibly scoop that back into the jar?
I hate to say I actually considered it for more than a quick minute.
I keep our house very clean and our kitchen floors are hardwood. Guess what? They are still dirty even if I cleaned them every 30 minutes.
I looked closely at the largest pile and saw how much pet hair is on the floor.
Never mind that it was a brand new jar. Never mind that I believe things can't possibly taste as good with out it.
Fleur de sel. More like Fleur de hell! Why do I like you so much anyway.
True Story. Names have been blurred to protect the not-quite-so innocent.
Man and Woman, about 30 years old at the time, have been dating for many months. They opt to go on a weekend getaway to Hilton Head, SC. Man and Woman spend one day at the beach during which a walk into the water turns amorous. Man and woman proceed to shoulder deep water in order to carry out their frolic.
Man and Woman's antics can not be noted from the beach or the lifeguards. Man and Woman appear only to be in a loving embrace while only eyes below the water level see their cavorting. All is fine and good, if you think murky water is a great place to have an escapade.
Until, Woman says in a shrilly, and atypical voice, OHWAITAMINUTE. OHFORTHELOVEOFALLTHATISHOLY.
Man's response: Awwwwwyeahhhhh
Woman: HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON
Man: Awwwwwwwww yeah baby (Man is apparently Marky Mark circa 1991. However, it is no longer nor has it been for a long time, 1991).
Woman: NO WAIT HOLD ON WAIT. Woman is bucking like TuffHedeman.
Man: Awwwwyeahhhhhhhhh baby.
Man's ego is inflated exponentially
Man: Is this the best you have ever had??????????
Woman: YOU HAVE TO STOP. SOMETHING IS ZAPPING ME.
Man: Awww yeah baby...THAT IS MY LOVE ZAPPING YOU.
Woman makes a horror stricken face. This horror stricken face is in part due to something unknown and partially due to the fact that a grown man just said that is my love zapping you. Continues horror stricken face and begins dislodging herself from around Man's hips.
Woman attempts to run to shore. Woman remembers running in water is not only impossible, it is very ugly to watch. Woman does not care. Woman is in severe pain.
Man is dumbstricken. Man stands alone in water as Woman attempts to flee but merely looks as if she is in slow motion. Woman gets on shore and runs to Life Guard stand. She points to the water and exclaims, "I WAS ATTACKED BY SOMETHING!!"
Red welts cover her legs. She wants 911. She wants EMT. She wants ambulance. She wants George Clooney from ER.
Life Guard asks her what attacked her. Woman, who has no idea, whispers shark?
LifeGuard laughs. LifeGuard hands woman a liquid remedy. A bottle likely filled with a combination of urine and topical ointment to spray on the affected areas. Woman is not one bit happy.
Man finally arrives on the beach. Man is deflated, literally and figuratively, because what he presumed was his sexual prowess was in fact the reaction to Woman being attacked by several jellyfish.
Man checks on Woman to ensure she is not having allergic reaction. And then asks, "But that was the best you ever had right?"
Woman sprays man with spray bottle filled with urine/ointment cocktail. And then stomps away.
Lesson 1: Yet another reason why water can work against you during a tryst.
I was working on a particular negotiation recently. With a third party who was supposed to be an asset but behaved more like the opposing side. A little too opposing if you will. Lots and lots of chatter about all they can accomplish. But not a great deal of actual accomplishment.
Here is a good example of when you should not be a dumbarse.
This group is holding a press conference regarding a certain topic that directly impacts us and our client. We want to know who from the media is being invited. I get this answer "Many important media representatives."
hmmmm. I would love to spend all afternoon McGyver-like with my lipstick case, a can of Pringles, and my Magic 8 Ball trying to extract meaning from that meaningless response but I lack the time.
This is what is called We don't have the information but will attempt to bluff. Or what I also like to call Misrepresenting leverage.
I email back: Can you provide the specific names of the "important media representatives?"
The reply I receive lists some real media entities but not the actual names of the people from those organizations. Like CNN. I am certain there are more than a thousand people working there and since you are the one inviting the media, we both know you need a name to do so. You would therefore have that name on a list. Also, this is information our team needs to have and is normally given quite promptly.
I follow up again.
I get this : We will try to find that information for you.
This irritates me in myriad ways.
1. You invited them and are telling the client about your grand experience in media coverage. Demonstrate your grand abilities by giving specifics. Why are you not giving specifics? Because you do not have actual names. You have pretend names and believe me John Cocktoasten does not sound credible on paper.
2. You will try to find this information? It's not a treasure hunt. A good place to look? ON YOUR COMPUTER. The same one you are emailing me from. At least if you have to stall do it the smart way and say " I am in meetings offsite the rest of the day and will get to you when I am back in the office" I don't know your schedule so I won't know your lying. Yet.
So I send a direct response indicating that we are happy to reach out to CNN directly since we have worked closely with them in the past.
I get an email back that was clearly NOT intended to go to me but to everyone else on their side of the table. Enjoy explaining that to your boss, who was also copied on the email. The email you accidentally copied me on. The one to which I replied TO ALL, "Are you sure you meant to copy me on this?"
Here is a tip: Your first day on the job learn the importance of the REPLY ALL function and that you should NEVER NEVER use it when you are about to talk some sh*t about someone ALSO COPIED ON THE EMAIL.
So now, d-bags are "turkeys", dumbasses are "sillies" and the bastardo that pulls in front of you on the roadway gets only an elongated honk with nothing more than a "Hi Friends!" instead of the more course thoughts that we might perhaps otherwise share.
In the process of teaching our son these valuable lessons, early on I have attempted to stress the importance of clear communication. This is most often required when things are not going his way. If our son is hurt or scared, I do not deter his tears. I do not shush him immediately or tell him he is fine. I let him mull a bit and then we talk about what is happening. However, when our son is salty with us because we committed one the dozens of secret infractions two year olds keep track of, different story. But, we stress the importance of clear communication even more so in this occasion.
One morning, I committed a federal offense minor mistake of giving the monkey spoon instead of the cowboy spoon. Our son displayed his staunch disapproval by crying his eyes out. I had no idea at the time what my egregious sin was so I inquired.
Me: What is it little man?
Him: Wahhhhhhhhh Waaaaaaahhhhhhhh (This is the ornery cry. I know it well. Quick visual assessment confirms he is not injured in any way.)
Me: Birdy, what is the matter?
Me: I need you to use your best voice and tell me what is wrong.
Him: More gibberish
Me: When I can't understand you I can't help you. I am going to leave now.
Momentarily silence as he gauges situation. Can not tell if I am bluffing. Will not achieve goal if in fact I am not bluffing. Calming process clicks in..in long intervals.
Me: This is not how we communicate.
Pause for consideration.
Me: What does Mommy tell you? Why don't we talk this way?
He looks at me. Intensity of fit at all time low.
Him:B-b-b-because its n-n-not effective.
Termination of any furthering crying. Fully restores himself. Says in a voice as clear as a bell "May I have my cowboy spoon?" Slightly smiles.
You had me at "effective."
SHAZAM! If for only for this time period....it's working...
Which then, in all my "LOOKATMESUCHANAWARDWINNINGMOTHER" gloat party, I soon put him in the car and head to school. While en route, we listen to music.
Once at school, our son says something to his teacher and I instantly realize I am doing something that completely undermines beforesaid lesson about using words properly and communicating effectively. What did he say?
THEM CHICKENS JACKIN MY STYLE!
His teacher (much, much older and clearly mature) asks "Oh, you got some chickens, baby?"
Why does MiniMac talk about chickens? Because I played this song in the car and sing along with my son:
I like that boom boom pow them chickens jacking my style they try to copy my swagger I'm on that next shift now (and yes, I realize shift sounds very much like something else but we say shift.)
Excellent work brilliant woman/mother/attorney. Teach your son the phrase Them chickens jackin' my style.
I will be the envy of all some very few of the other moms at the playground, I am sure.
Shall I reveal my fancy frock? You better believe it. I absolutely love Carolina Herrera. I did a fundraiser with her company last year that was spectacular. So in her honor, from her Spring Collection I selected this gorgeous couture for the party tonight.
and I had to have these oh so pretty treats from Yves St. Laurent......
and, I am excited to debut my new fabulous cuff. Elsa Perretti for Tiffany. YUMM.
and I am wearing this...Badgley Mischka Eau de Parfum. I bought my first bottle years ago and I still love it. It smells like a combination of Old Hollywood Glam and sex appeal to me.
So, dames and gents, please mix yourself a tasty elixir, and let's get down to business.
I am impressed by the award giving from one blogger to another. I think recognition of one another builds a cohesiveness amongst us. And I am completely flattered when you share them with me. Thank you for your ongoing support and interest in what is happening with my blog. It is an awesome community to participate in...
And the envelopes please.....
Thank you so much Lee from at Your Couture Kid for another the dazzling Splash award.
Big thanks to Tracie at StirFryAwesomeness, who is awesomeness, gave me another Honest Scrap. With this comes ten things you don't know about me.
The amazing Your Blog is Over the Top from Geez Louise, BuckarooMama, and ObladiOblada. Thank you all. With this comes a long list which requires one word answers only. Over the top? We are merely getting started, friends.
I am going to combine these awards. First, let's take a breath and pause for a quick sip.
Now, here are ten things you don't know about me:
1. One of the best vacations we have taken was to Cap Juluca in Anguilla. JohnnyMac suprised me. Incredible is an understatement.
2. I love Dane Cook. One of my favorite comedians.
3. One of the best books I read this year was The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. And it is
probably one of the Top 20 best books I have read of all time.
4. I have removed my manuscript from the dusty placeholder in the garage and have someone who will begin editing it in December.
5. I love breakfast. Favorite meal of day. And I make a crazy good brioche stuffed french toast.
6. I wish people would not use the word retard. I volunteer with disabled kids and I know how AWFUL it is for moms and dads to hear people use that word so flippantly.
7. I got hit by a car riding my bike once. What was merely an accident for me was a parents nightmare when that call was placed to my Mom. I am SO lucky. Only a broken leg.
8. I had a big crush on a Country Singer after I met him. MEOW. I may allegedly still have a tiny residual crush to this day.
9. I was nominated as one of the Top Ten College Seniors at my University.
10. I started playing soccer when I was barely old enough to go to school. I started snow skiing not long after.
Now that we are done getting to know one another a little better, let's refresh and keep moving.
Thank you so much to Little Ms. Blogger for the PEEPSHOW (I should have been a stripper) Award. Peeps on poles...how hysterical. Alexis at Running away? I'll help you pack for the Blah Blah Blah Your Comments ROCK! And the Savage for the uber hot Your Blog is HOT award. He did the artwork himself.
And the pretty Loyal Friend and Reader Award from Laura at Vodka Logic. She is a great and loyal reader to me too. Thanks Laura!
Whew....let's take another break to sip on our concoctions.
Now. I have some amazing readers, commenters, and overall interested parties. There are SO many blogs deserving of awards. SO: I made a list of everyone who has commented this week. You all have given me some big love.
I love what we can learn about other people from the Honest Scrap so I am passing it to: Lee, Amanda, Baloney, One Sassy, Dan, Mammy, Alexis, Jenn from You Know...that Blog, Pink Polka Dot, Aly, Hyla, Little Ms. Blogger, Savage, Vodka Logic, Geez Louise, Obladi Oblada, Leigh, StirFry, BuckarooMama, and Jamie.
I am also passing on the Pass the Sass Award to some sassy commenters from last week:
The rules for the I give good blog award: No one really likes rules, do they? I shall make mine simple. Make a cocktail, pick out some of your favorite bloggers. Send this award to 4 of them. Tell them why you think they give good blog. There are SO many fascinating, witty, and fantastic bloggers; let's invite them all to the party.
Or you can just put it on your mantle and watch it sparkle. And if you think it sassy that I created my own Award, just consider it a grown up and virtual version of a friendship bracelet.
I am giving the I Give Good Blog award to those on the list above that have not received it from me yet: Jenn from You Know..., Pink Polka Dot, Geez Louise, BuckarooMama, Hyla, Obladi Oblada, StirFry, Dan, Amanda, and Jamie.
And I am also giving the I give good blog award to some other great bloggers. And again, this is a short list and by no means covers all of the awesome bloggers I have "met".
First things first....a big congratulations to The Badass Geek who is my virtual lunch date. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and genuine excitement for me and the great news from last Monday. I will be sending Michael a $20 gift card for a dine out experience at a restaurant he picks. Michael, email me your pick and your address.
And for a little more blog love, this time to Tidy Mom for this recipe that made my mouth water.
Take A Bite of: White Bean Chicken Chili
The recipe and photo are from her site. I am making this tomorrow! A perfect soup for autumn and a great alternative to red chili. Mmmmmm. Buon Appetito! Have a great Saturday.
White Bean Chicken Chili Ingredients:
2 tablespoons veg oil
1 large onion,chopped (optional)
4 large garlic cloves, chopped (I use the minced in the jar)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon taragon
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper (if you don't want it as HOT use 1/4)
1 pound boneless skinless chicken breast, cut into 1-inch pieces
Directions Heat your oil in a dutch oven over medium heat, add onion, garlic, and spices. Saute for about 5 minutes. While that is sauteing, season cut chicken with salt and pepper and add to the pan. Saute for an additional 5 minutes.
Drain beans. Reserve 1/2 cup of bean liquid. Add beans, chicken broth, chilies, cream and reserved bean liquid to pot. Simmer for about 10 minutes, then cook on low for about 30 mins. Serve in bowl and top with cheese! (This can be prepared a day ahead - it's even better the second day!) You may want to double the recipe as the above makes five servings. Yummmmmm.
Eleanor Roosevelt led an interesting life. Not only a formidable character on her own accord, she was a trusted and valued advisor to her husband, President FDR. In addition to her many contributions, she advocated for civil rights a decade before The American Civil Rights Movement and its reforms started in 1945. She was a pioneer of equality when it was an unpopular thing to do. Good for you Eleanor Roosevelt.
When the Daughters of the American Revolution barred great African American singer Marian Anderson from performing at its Washington DC Constitutional Hall, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt sent DAR a letter immediately. This is the letter verbatim from Letters of the Century.
My Dear Mrs. Henry M. Robert Jr. (President General of the DAR):
I am afraid that I have never been a useful member of the DAR so I know it will make very little difference to you whether I resign or continue to be a member of your organization.
However, I am in complete disagreement with the attitude taken in refusing Constitution Hall to a great artist. You have set an example which seems me to unfortunate, and I feel obliged to send in to you my resignation. You had an opportunity to lead in an enlightened way and it seems to me your ogranization has failed.
I realize that many people will not agree with me, but feeling as I do this seems to be the only proper procedure to follow.
Very Sincerely Yours,
It was 1939. Applause to a woman who knew such treatment was offensive. And knew other people would not only resist openly criticizing her reaction to DAR's behavior but some of those same people would also approach FDR with a voice of admonition that he needed to keep his GD wife quiet. Yet she willingly proceed to call the DAR on the carpet anyway because they were wrong. In 2009, some people still opt to look the other way. You were decades ahead of us, Eleanor Roosevelt. Bravo for your convictions and fortitude.
Because summer slides on through October in the South, we are still able to access our pool. Love it. Our pool is private and within our gated community therefore, we know most of the other pool guests as neighbors and most of them are great. We are homeowners to this is not the decadent apartment dwelling from days gone past. However, we are certainly not free of a wayward soul or two.
Since we are still sneaking in a few pool days here and there, might I share a few suggestions regarding code of conduct with others who come calling on the pool.
First, I realize most of the people who need a little rule reminder don't live here. Even more reason that you better be an excellent guest. Oh, I will even go into detail regarding the LARGE SIGN covering the basic regulations, because it is just expected most of those are completely ignored. But just for fun, here are some tips gleaned from my summer experience at our pool.
And it is further proof that just a few people can make a BIG difference. Hey fellas. It is outstanding that you are snagging more tail than a mousetrap. You know who would like to kindly pass on details of your escapades? Me and EVERYONE ELSE AT THE POOL. Oh, I know the clown posse you are with loves it. Especially the one with has his hat on sideways. Hey, N'Sync, no one over 22 should wear their hat sideways. Welcome back from 2001. And while Vinnie Chase and crew openly talk about "banging" chicks, they are characters on television. And hot. Doesn't work for you. I am quite confident you can not live here unless you are also selling that GHB you are using to capture your victims so hopefully your older brother, sister, or parents will return from vacation soon and you will be on your way.
PS: Since there are many people in this neighborhood with kiddos, we get a big kick out of it when you say loudly "I just love hanging at the pool and getting sh*tty." Getting sh*tty has a whole new meaning to us. We are snickeringand it isn't with you.
Hey ladies. I wanted to be a stripper too once. Just kidding. But you are not. No one actually wears thong bikinis unless you are European, a SuperModel, or visiting South Beach. Seems just a touch out of place in a concrete jungle. Please use some restraint.
And to the girls in their bikinis sitting cross-legged on your chairs, use decorum ladies. In a short sentence: Not magazine cover worthy. I am quite confident you are just visiting so hopefully your older brother, sister, or parents will return from vacation soon and you will be on your way.
And perhaps you could wear what you liked if you were not also openly and loudly discussing all the men who want to "tap that".
PS: I heard the aforementioned clown posse treats women with great respect. Your future boyfriend you will cheat on knight in Ed Hardy armour could be just a few chaise lounges away right now.
Smokers: I am sure your cigarettes are tasty. What could possibly be more refreshing than a cigarette when its 99 degrees out. And I don't care if anyone smokes. However, maybe an ashtray would serve you well. The cement upon which many feet tread upon isn't even shaped like an ashtray. But for some reason, that is where all of your cigarette butts have made a home.
To everyone who loves to bring their music along. OH, I'm down. I am all about some great music at the pool. What constitutes great pool music? A healthy variety from Dave Matthews to Jimmy Buffett and 80's retro. What does NOT qualify as good pool music? Songs that talk about licking your lollypop, backing that arse up, or any song that has a title full of misspellings like Stick it WIT U. Baby Got Back? All for it. Songs that talk about your pencil and where you want to put it...ummmm, no.
Poolside Picnic-ers: I am all for a little al fresco dining. This is likely the genesis behind including a huge grill at the pool. Clean up after yourselves. The maids won't do it but the ants might. I don't like ants. And there is no stockboy here to call "Clean up on aisle two" for you either. Don't be a pig, pretty please.
Oh, and the people who wanted to eat chicken wings? In the pool? That's is an awesome idea. WHOOPSIE...one got left in there. As if the slick sheen floating on top of the pool wasn't enticing enough, I will take my "refreshing dip" without a side of Buffalo sauce.
And finally, I realize not everyone likes children. I get it, I really do. However, children live here too. Our son is awesome. He is not like the kids who were eating their (*)!@&^ doritos IN the pool with parental supervision no where in sight. Some people don't care what their kids do. Most of the other people here do. Therefore, keep your eye rolling to the minimum when you see children coming to the pool. Your at the pool because it is the furthest distance you could drag your lazy hungover arse without needing an IV. You just want peace and quiet I know. Kids expressing their jubilance at the pool irritates your delicate constitution. Mmmm hmmm.
It's going to be challenging to make the kids less excited since the pool is good time jamboree for them. Guess what? Your couch is the ideal spot for you to dry out your kidney. The sun won't help. And since our kiddos have not yet learned about "all night benders" perhaps resist breathing in their direction. Your breath alone could give alcohol poisoning.
One day during my youth, I came home to discover we had a new pet. A french mini-lop named Murphy. Hmmmm. Our pet range had never expanded beyond cats and dogs, but Murphy was adorable, so I was game. Why did we get a bunny? Who knows. Typically it is the children of the family advocating for such requisitions. Not this time. This decision was all Mom. My SD (StepDad) had to build a cage off our back patio. We were certainly not equipped for a bunny, but they are truly low maintenance so it wasn't difficult.
And then on another day, I came home to find we had acquired two additional new pets. Two pygmy goats. Ok...zookeeper...let's slow down here. Why did we have goats? Who the ______ knows.
Again, children are typically the family members requesting everything from a unicorn to a Sasquatch but these wishes are not always granted. In this case, again, the genesis of this purchase was at the hands of my Mom. My SD had to build a GOAT PEN in our back yard because 1. we didn't live on a farm 2. we were not equipped to accomodate goats, pygmy or otherwise. My Mom named them Knick Knack and Paddy Whack. And they too were quite cute so I was game. Initially. You know which animals are not low maintenance? GOATS.
While these diminutive domestic goats are certainly adorable, they are not shy. OR quiet. One day, I heard a wretched sound coming from the back yard. Racing to the goat pen, I couldn't decipher the sound but certainly saw the goats involved in some kind of fisticuffs.
I ran into the house to alert my parents. I shouted "Knick Knack is killing Paddy Whack!" in all my earnest exuberance. My parents ran outside with me.
Was Knick Knack killing Paddy Whack? Yes. If by killing you mean mounting and going to town as if his life depended upon having enthusiastic goat sex.
My parents laughed at me for about an hour. How was I supposed to know what goat sex looked like? I was mortified and mad at them both. I huffed right off and since my bedroom door would not slam because of the carpet. I shut it. HARD. And then kicked it for good measure.
*&^(!)(&! HUMPING GOATS!
But I got them back. Unintentionally, but sometimes intentions are not the point. Or the source of humor.
Because Knick Knack loved goat sex, before long Paddy Whack was pregnant. Oh guess what? Pygmy goats like to conjugate MUCH more than other goats. So then goat babies came. And more goat babies. They were so little (and adorable) but my parents had to help some of them eat. All kinds of goat feeding equipment begin to surface to keep the little ones healthy.
One night, my parents were having a dinner party. I was getting in the shower when people had already arrived. Upon opening the shower curtain I was disgusted to see goat paraphenalia in the shower. This clearly belong OUTSIDE in the shed. I redress and stomp right out to the collective of family and friends before asking in an oh-so-sassy fashion:
WHY IS THE GOAT FEEDER HANGING IN THE SHOWER!?!?!?!?!?!?
It was followed by complete silence. And a somewhat puzzled look on my Mom's face. And then my SD bursting out laughing. And then my Mom's face turning a hybrid shade of crimson and magenta. And then her jumping up..no poker face on this one...and escorting me down the hall by my arm. And then a room FULL of laughter. A goat feeder in the shower? Ummm. No.
My mom's feminine cleansing system? Absolutely.
Nothing creates a more appetizing pre-dinner conversation than the announcement to your house full of guests about the lady-parts washer of your Host. And pretty soon, the busy-breeding goats were no longer the funniest part of our memories of these pets.
PS: But the proclivity towards procreation gave my parents sound reason to give the goats to a local farmer. Bye bye humpy humps-a-lot.
Yesterday, I was behind you as we exited a parking lot onto a main thoroughfare. I appreciated the level of care and extreme caution you employed as you looked both ways. And then looked both ways again. And again. And again. But I also noticed there were NO cars coming in either direction. Are you watching tennis? Can you press the long pedal please? What are you doing?
You finally pull out moments before my resistance evaporated into a horn honking symphony.
I was none too delighted however to discover you seemed to be planning my same route, but there was no escaping it. As I followed you down the street, I noticed you were driving very attentively. Too attentively if there is such a thing. The speed limit on this road is 35 mph, but you wanted to drive 30. I designed a dozen reasons why you would do this. Maybe you don't feel well. Maybe you are having a bad day. Maybe your leg is in a cast making it difficult to press that gas pedal too long.
As we pulled up to a red light, I continued to rationalize your uber-cautious behavior. Until I noticed a peculiar scent. You were smoking a cigarette I noticed, but nothing RJ Reynolds manufactured. And then you casually dangled your arm out the window I observed two very interesting details. One, a cloud of smoke has just exited your car. And two, betwixt your fingers of your casually dangling arm is a little something that looks quite similar to marijuana contraband.
Let me review. You will drive for the past fifteen minutes like an 80 year old woman with an eye patch and a horrific driving record, yet, you will dangle your joint out of the window as clouds of exhaled cannabis waft into the open air.
You are dazed and confused. Here is a tip: You don't drive with such extreme caution in an effort to avoid drawing notice (which, by the way, draws notice) to then let billowing clouds of reefer out of your car at the stop light. The same stop light in which you are clearly inclined to put that doobie out the window. Not wise, Mr. Ford Probe Driver.
And then, two streets up, you pull into a driveway. A driveway, loaded with construction vehicles, equipment, and workers. As I was then stopped at a red light just adjacent to the driveway, I watch as you exit the vehicle in your construction vest, and don your hard hat.
Oh yes, please do protect your melon with that hard hat and don't think twice about the fact that not getting high before working at a construction site is a critical safety precaution. Nothing could prepare you more for that jackhammer than narcotics.
I wonder if you were the same construction worker who, in the building of my brand new home years ago, left a empty Cheetos bag on my unfinished bathroom floor and a surprise in the inoperable toilet. I would assert you could be. Only someone baked would know you can't flush a toiled when the plumbing is not hooked up yet. But, I bet those cheetos were just as good as Chester Cheetah claims. I am sure you enjoyed every cheesy crunch.
So smarten up, Chia Pot. Try not to drive a staple gun through your palm while you giggle uncontrobally and fantasize about Moon Pies. And please, don't let me get trapped driving behind you again.