Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Damn laughing baby!

According to The Australian, a woman and her 13 month-old daughter were kicked off a public bus because the baby was laughing too loud. Toni Hay and her child were riding a Darwin Bus Service vehicle and the bus driver (clearly a peach) warned Toni that her giggling daughter would need to quiet down. She tried to distract Little Miss Laughing Diapers but to no avail and the female bus driver pulled over and gave them the boot.

WOW. This story initiates so many questions. Like:

1.  How much of a &$(@&^@ grump are you that you hate LAUGHING babies?
2.  How much of a &$%@*@( grump are you that you would kick a woman and a BABY off a bus? I don’t care if that baby is Rosemary’s, its head would need to be spinning before you kick a BABY off a bus.
3.  Toni Hay, we need to send you to either Jersey Shore or Real Housewives of Australia and toughen you up, doll. You do not get off the bus and walk home with your baby!
4.   How quickly can we hire the Darwin Bus Service to come and clean up some of the monstrosities of bullsh*t we have in the US? Because if no tolerance for laughing wee ones AND you have the balls to kick a baby off a bus, you can certainly do a little something about some common social ailments we have over here in which a small sampling would include:
·         Before mentioned Jersey Shore. All of them. They suck.
·         Real Housewives of, well, pick a city.
·         D-bags who talk loudly on their cell phones in confined spaces like elevators, trains, restaurant bathrooms, movie theaters.
·         Grown men who wear their jeans down below their arses.
·         Idiots who talk on their cell phones when driving and can’t drive well to begin with. And can’t spell ‘cell phone’ so how did they find their way to the cell phone store in the first place?
·         People who make sex tapes of themselves and pretend they have NO idea how the “secret tapes” got out (left out on counter with large sign pointing to “secret sex tape” or dropped in Blockbuster video drop “by accident”) but are certainly happy to ride their 15 minutes of horribly-induced fame.
·         The one person behind you in line at the airport loudly complaining about the line taking tooooo long, and why does he have to take his shoes off, and why does he have to get cavity searched? Listen, no one loves the new rules but guess what, if you want to fly, shut your trap. And stop being so loud because we don’t want the friendly people from TSA to think we are with you and get cuffed.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Take A Bite Of: Vanilla Bean Shortbread

How about something easy and delicious? Nothing is better than this crisp and delicate cookie unless of course, it is several of them. Since you may already be overdosing on chocolate via Easter candy that is already on shelves (whether you celebrate Easter or not) here is something a little more vanilla. And it is actually better for you because it comes from Cooking Light. From my kitchen to yours, enjoy every bite.

Vanilla Bean Shortbread


Ingredients
9 ounces all-purpose flour (about 2 cups)
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup sugar
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise


1. Preheat oven to 350°. Line bottom and sides of a 13 x 9–inch baking pan with foil; coat foil with cooking spray, and set aside.

2. Weigh or lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, cornstarch, and salt in a large bowl; stir with a whisk.

3. Place butter in a medium bowl; beat with a mixer at medium speed 2 minutes or until light and fluffy. Add oil; beat with a mixer at medium speed 3 minutes or until well blended. Gradually add sugar, beating well. Scrape seeds from vanilla bean, and add seeds to butter mixture; discard bean. 


4. Add flour mixture, beating at low speed just until blended. Spoon dough into prepared pan. Place a sheet of heavy-duty plastic wrap over dough; press to an even thickness. Discard plastic wrap. Bake at 350° for 30 minutes or until edges are lightly browned. Cool in pan 5 minutes on a wire rack; cut into 32 pieces. Carefully lift foil from pan; cool squares completely on a wire rack.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Strip, strip, strip to my lou

I have no issue with strippers or the entire billion dollar business enterprise of stripping. This is a sector of social culture that 1. will always exist and 2. will not change whether we like it or not. And once, after one or two tiny extra sips of martini did I hear “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith and in a moment of foolishness proceed to tell my then boyfriend that if I was a stripper, that would be my stripper song. Little did I know how cliché and trite my choice was given that apparently 1. it is played in every strip club in America including Bob's Dirty Birdy Barn in backwoods Missouri. 2. it is the selected theme song for many a Candy, Vixen, or Ginger, and 2. I was also ill-prepared for the sudden increase in opportunities for then boyfriend to play said song. Next time, I shall keep my little thoughts to myself. 

During high school, our group of girlfriends heard some of our guy friends went to a strip club in our city. So we, tipsy on wine coolers, decide to drive there. Except we can’t get in because we have no ID. And we look 14. And we reek of Bartles & James Passion Fruit Paradise. 

So instead, we ask the bouncer if he knows our friends J., R., or B. The bouncer barely acknowledges our questions. One girlfriend of ours lies and tells Surly McToughStuff that one of the mothers of one of these boys sent us. Right. Because Moms often call the Girl Power Crew all dolled up in their Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers to save the day. Charlie's Angels, we were not. What we think is a vision of sophistication and sexy acid wash jeans to this man is actually a cacophony of giggles and high pitched squeals peppered with "oh maaaah gaaaawwwwds" and too much Love's Baby Soft. 

One friend then tells the bouncer these particular boys are actually in high school. Minutes later they are rounded up and escorted out of the club. Were they surprised to see us? A little. Were they chagrined by our cleverness? We were cackling like we just pulled the fastest of the fast ones. If they could have punched us, they would have chosen that option. Idiot, idiot girls.

And once in grad school, during one of my Mom’s many visits, a group of us convince my Mom to let us take her to a pretty fun club in Westport. Clubs then were not full of techno and Ecstasy. We thought it was fun because it was full of 80s music and hot men. That particular night turned out to be some guy’s birthday. His buddies hired a stripper as a "surprise" for him.  Because no gift from one man to another at that age, delivered in a bar, rinsed down with about 20 shots of Cuervo could EVER be figured out the minute the fake siren blares and a scantily clad woman shows up to "arrest" you. Stripperella then took center-stage and performed a routine for all the club to see. Including my Mom. My Mom is no prude, but let me make a list of 1000 things she would like to do on a weekend visit and “Stripper Showcase” wouldn’t make the cut. 

And I am a very flexible girl but I will say I was in AWE of some of the moves this girl could do. Cirque du Dirt-tayyyyyyy.

And years later one balmy Sunday, I joined a friend for Brunch. It was summer, so it was hot. I had on a white tank top, white pants and a cowboy hat. There were many other woman out on the patio. Many of them dressed similar to me. These women, all wearing white tank tops and cowboy hats, turned out to be strippers from a big club in Atlanta called The Cheetah. They were out in full force promoting their “Catwalk Classes”. I am sure everyone enjoying a snack after Sunday Services liked this very little. My friend Luke absolutely loved our matching outfits. I went inside to get a water and the bartender asked me if I was a Cheetah Girl. Ummmm. No. To which he says, “Oh, that’s too bad.” 

Yes, life is momentarily dimmed when a bartender is saddened by the fact you are not a stripper. That's nice. Oh, and look at the chest sector dumbarse and answer your own question.

And life comes full circle. We took MiniMac to an upscale sports bar (kid-friendly, of course) to watch one of the NCAA games. The Bacardi promo girls were canvassing the place. Our son was quite enamored with the two that game to visit. As he stared at their ample chests, he said, "I really like your buttons." Of course, he meant their flashing red Bacardi buttons. RIGHT? Oh, and I am not implying promo girls are strippers. But if they are, I am sure they are ONLY doing it to work their way through med school. And next thing I know, our son will be 21 and getting "arrested." Oh, what a surprise. 

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Boo Boo Kitty

Sitting in a meeting, we had a discussion with a client. Client wanted us to share information with a third party which we can not do. Client complained. Client said in his previous line of work, he decided who had information or not. Client complained some more.

Years ago, and long before our current state of economic crisis for many people, I worked for a Fortune 15 Company. F15Co bought other companies like my Mom used to buy doughnuts for us at the bakery: O' Plenty.

These companies and employees would be absorbed, sometimes quickly, into our labyrinth. This absorption can be challenging, understood. Most people, happy to still be employed, make the transition smoothly. Some do not.

What I grew very quickly to enjoy very little is this:

Why do we have to do that? To which an explanation was given. And then, sometimes much too often, I would get this: When we worked at Company X (the purchased company) we didn't have to do that.

Listen, I get it. I really do. I think the F15Co I worked at tried very hard to make the transition easy for people. And I came to F15Co from a previous corporation bought in a hostile takeover the ugliness of which was covered in every major news and business chronicle. Because of this I personally attest to how difficult it is to work at a company and be bought and absorbed into another company where corporate missions, cultures, and protocols do not necessarily (or easily) mesh. And I get that sometimes the transition is rough. I worked at F15Co and moved offices three times in one year. Put up a fight about it? NO. It's an office. That I don't own. In a building. I don't own. In a corporation. I also don't own. Its not my living room. I don't care if I move offices ten times.

But, there is a small group of people convinced that "because I didn't have to before" is simple and feasible reply . Guess what? Is is not.  

And this is for whom I coined the phrase Boo Boo Kitty. And it is said sometimes while I pretend to whisk tears off my cheeks.

This is what I dealt with in the legal department:

Angry employee: Is that what we have to do now? At our "new company?" Well, I am NOT going to do that and "new company" can kiss my arse.

The first several times, I was empathetic. Again, many people do not like change or handle it well. But at what point do you simply need to adapt? Can you run around asking "who moved my cheese?" for the next 12 months? NO.

So after dozens of conversations like this I once provided a different response.

Me: Let me explain something about commerce to you. An analogy if you will. "Your company" is like the girl standing on the corner of 14th and Crescent at 2:30 am. "New company" is the man in the long black sedan who pulls up with a curious and healthy interest in your services. Guess who decides what is going to happen? The man with the cash.

Bottom line: the person who signs the check is the one who decides how things will be done. If you don't like it, and new company isn't for you, move along.

And after about the 100th time I heard We did not have to do this before I decided I no longer liked that response. So to the 101st person who said it to me, she got this response:

Listen, I get it. I know you didn't have to do this before (maybe Company X SHOULD HAVE done this and you would still have a Company X to drive to everyday). However, I did not have to pay my own bills or cook my own meals at one point in my life either. When I lived at my parents house. But that is not the day I am living in any more. So I need you to get on board.

I know you hate all the new policies. Do you like having a job though?
Awwwwwwwwww, Boo Boo Kitty.

So, sometimes Boo Boo Kitty is a handy expression. And I will admit, I have used it multiple times since there in a variety of ways, for a variety of people. Admittedly, I have even used it in self-reference when I might have allegedly been salty about something, with my lip out like a 2 year old, acting like, well, a perfect Boo Boo Kitty.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

This might help you get lucky all year....

I am sure several of you thoroughly enjoyed some St. Patrick's day shenanigans whether that included Irish Coffee or a full schedule of day drinking Guinness. We had an impromptu party with our neighbors which was very fun and reminded me I can't drink beer on a school night very often (or very well.) But, St. Patricks Day is not only about wetting your whistle..there are also some fabulous St. Patricks Day inspired treats including Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes. YUM. But, I found two great recipes inspired by St. Pats but perfect for any month so they ought to help you get lucky all year. From my kitchen to yours, enjoy every bite. 


Take A Bite Of: Guinness Milk Chocolate Ice Cream.
I found this recipe on Brown-eyed Baker.
I make ice cream most of the summer and since summer seems to be 9 months per year here, I love new recipes. And why not whip this up in the near term? Maybe today since it is going to be 80 here. 


Ingredients:
7 ounces milk chocolate, finely chopped
1 cup whole milk
½ cup granulated sugar
Pinch of salt
4 egg yolks
1 cup heavy cream
¾ cup Guinness Stout
1 teaspoon vanilla extract


Directions:
1. Put the chocolate pieces in a large bowl and set a mesh strainer over the top.
2. Warm the milk, sugar and salt in a medium saucepan. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warm mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.
3. Stir the mixture constantly over medium heat with a heatproof spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. Pour the custard through the strainer over the milk chocolate, then stir until the chocolate is melted. Once the mixture is smooth, whisk in the cream, then the Guinness and vanilla. Stir until cool over an ice bath.
4. Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator (at least 8 hours or overnight), then churn in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.
(Recipe adapted from The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz)




BUT, that is not all. Not everyone is a fan of ice cream, I realize. But can you resist a brownie? Why not mix up these wicked little treats:


Take A Bite Of: Irish Coffee Brownies 


Now, let's say up front you do NOT need to put alcohol in your baked goods to enhance them or your experience. But sometimes a well placed liqueur or spirit can really add another level of flavor. Try this and you will agree. 

Ingredients:

  • 1-1/4 cups granulated sugar
  • 3/4 cup butter or margarine, softened
  • 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
  • 3/4 cup milk
  • 1/4 cup Irish Whiskey
  • 2 tablespoons instant coffee crystals
  • 2-1/2 cups sifted powdered sugar
  • 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1 tablespoon Irish Whiskey
  • 1-1/4 teaspoon vanilla
  • 3 to 4 tablespoons brewed coffee
  • Chopped walnuts (optional)
Directions
1. Heat granulated sugar, butter or margarine, and 1/2 cup cocoa powder in a large saucepan over medium heat until butter or margarine melts, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Add eggs and 1 teaspoon vanilla; beat lightly just until combined,
2. Stir together flour, baking powder, and baking soda in a bowl; set aside. Stir together milk and 1/4 cup whiskey; stir in coffee crystals. Add flour mixture and milk mixture alternately to the chocolate mixture, beating by hand after each addition. Pour into a greased 15 × 10 x 1-inch baking pan.
3. Bake in a 350 degree F oven for 15 to 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool in pan on a wire rack.
4. Meanwhile, for the Irish Coffee Glaze, stir together sifted powdered sugar, 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder, 1 tablespoon Irish whiskey, and 1-1/4 teaspoons vanilla. Stir in 3 to 4 tablespoons brewed coffee until of drizzling consistency.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I kissed Jon Hamm

For those of you who know Jon Hamm, or his broadcast persona, Don Draper, you know that kissing Jon Hamm might be, well, rather fun. For those of you who don't know Jon Hamm, Don Draper or watch Mad Men...here is what we are dealing with:



And since this kiss was something I dreamed, in a very vivid dreamy state, I woke up thinking, how am I to explain to JohnnyMac that I kissed Jon Hamm? Although, with no disrespect to the sanctity of marriage or our vows, JohnnyMac is a big fan of Don Draper and might just provide a hall pass for any such kissing engagement.

The reality is, I had this unusual and vivid dream about Jon Hamm and then, like a celebutante, I developed a crush on him. Has this happened to you? Maybe not with Jon Hamm but for some of you it might have been those posters of Raquel Welch in your bedroom. Or Starsky. Or Fresh Prince. The fact is for me, this is not the first time the prelude to the crush came from a dream.

In undergrad, I dreamed I went out on a date with the Vice Chancellor of the University whom I knew well and respected a great deal. He was also brilliant and extremely attractive. But after my date dream (because I was such an innocent lamb in college my racy dreams were about a proper date) I developed a full blown adolescent style crush on him like I was trapped in an episode of Blossom. In law school, I had a hazy dream about one of our professors. Hazy dream = crush. And years ago, I had a dream about a guy we went to high school with whom I knew well. Then. But haven't seen since about 1989. It wasn't a dirty dream but we were definitely not sipping hot cocoa and talking about our feelings. Not sipping hot cocoa dream = crush. It is funny to me now that when we became friends on Facebook, I laughed to myself thinking he will never know I had a crush on him for about four years. Nor would you tell someone that because 1. you are married now. And 2. talking about crushes in real time sounds like tales of a 4th grade girl.

But since my most recent escapade took place entirely under the cover of deep REM, it was harmless. But I kissed Jon Hamm. And I liked it.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Why are you thinking about my sexual activity...

Out to lunch recently with a pregnant friend, a man leaving the table next to ours  smiled directly at her. And then said, "You're getting so big. You look like you swallowed a beach ball!" She pauses, smiles at him, and says in reply "So do you!" I LOVED it because it is totally out of character for her. And he had it coming.

She is currently a bit sensitive about weight. And experiencing a great emotional whirl pool. What many a mom has experienced when your life is weeks away from being permanently altered.  Long before I was pregnant, I heard a tale or two regarding the obsession some strangers have with pregnant tummies. I disregarded these tales at the time since 1: I was not remotely interested in pregnancy or things relative and 2: It would not sooner occur to me to rub a woman's stomach than it would be to make a bet against Donald Trump I could do a better comb-over.

However, as many of you know, these tales bear validity. And those tales along with a few other oddities are cogs in this wheel of something I like to call: 

Observing Pregnancy: Things Inappropriate (usually involving strangers.)

Let me explain. I loved being pregnant. I was very fortunate to have a easy pregnancy and believe me, I was wearing high heels until the day that baby came. I had no cravings, imbalanced hormones, stretch marks, nothing. I was not sleepy and I never took a nap. I felt like it was a great experience for me. Our active delivery was 45 minutes so I know I won the lottery. And listen, I know the universe is fair which is all the more incentive to delay Baby #2. Baby #2 will be a smart ass version of me (wait, is that an oxymoron?) who will toss her hair, dance on tables and sass me before I change the first diaper.

All this aside, I was under-prepared for several external aspects of pregnancy. Let me share.

Tummy Touching: Early on, I asked a girlfriend if she had the stranger touch when she was pregnant. She said absolutely not and in fact stated " I do not give off that kind of vibe." I considered this more deeply as I was getting the two-hand abdominal touchfest by this woman as I stood outside a restaurant in Seattle one day.

What kind of vibe is it exactly? I wanted to know so I could turn it off immediately. I got this stranger touch multiple times. Me, never short of a retort, literally could NOT lob a verbal comeback as I was being physically accosted. And you know why it qualifies as accosted? Because it is a STRANGER. Which means I am just a tiny touch uncomfortable as you grope my ever-growing abdomen. Its not a magic lamp granting wishes. I asked my mom once why people do that. "They are just excited," she replied. Mmm hmmm. I get excited about things as well but I do not automatically go for the rub a dub dub.

LESSON: If you did not put that baby in that uterus, you better ask somebody. OR what my friend MC Hammer said, "U Can't Touch This!" 

Aesthetics: Simply put, there are scads of gorgeous pregnant women. Some people get sick, some don't but most pregnant women reach a stage where its all about the glow. Dining out years ago, I saw this beautiful pregnant woman wearing a fitted leopard print dress and some fabulous heels. She looked smashing. This was before celebrities went out in tiny shirts with tummies out every day. I never wore maternity clothes because I never saw any I liked. I wore dresses everyday and heels. Every time I see a pregnant woman that looks great, I tell her, whether we are in the grocery store or Saks.

What is unnecessary during the pregnancy is to have unsolicited input from others. Example: I worked at a huge corporation during my pregnancy and one day, this woman I did not know, scolded me for wearing heels and being pregnant. It would not have irritated me quite so much had her soliloquy ended in a minute. Oh, no. It went on. And ON. I thought  Oh, Miss BusyBody, thanks for weighing in. Would you like to check my dilation soon? She followed me down the stairs and then lamented on how she could not believe I was wearing HEELS and going down STAIRS. How dangerous! How risky! I thought, hmmm, I am not carrying a wild turkey or pulling a cargo train filled with cattle. I was walking carefully, not doing pirouettes. And what did she think the hand rail was for? It is not for sliding down. It is for using extra caution.

And at a holiday party at about 8 months pregnant, all dolled up in Chanel, this woman looked at me with a pinched up face and said, "You look really tired." At 8 months, I had become wiser and knew better than to respond. Did I silence myself? Of course no.  I simply turned to her and said, "Awww, honey, no I don't."

If a pregnant person looks tired, guess what, she might be. But you know who will let her know? Her own eyes, when she looked at herself in the mirror that day.

LESSON: Do not tell pregnant women all your big thoughts and big pieces of advice on their attire, shoes, stair climbing, tiredness, growth. Include in this: NEVER ask a woman when she is due unless you know without fail that she is pregnant. Seriously. Unless you see a baby crowning, keep your questions to yourself.

This primarily applies to people you do not know. Your close friends will read you like a book. At 24 weeks, we spent the weekend with good friends. We were excited to tell them our news. Getting out of the car in their driveway, Wen asked me, "Are you F__ING PREGNANT?!?!" Read you like a book, I tell you. 

Oversharing: Oh, this one is my favorite. While pregnant, I went out with several girlfriends to lunch and one of them was also pregnant. One of the guests, a bit of a wild card, started by saying she hates kids. (Oversharing) She followed with several stories of her sister's horrible pregnancy. (Oversharing) She then said her friend was four months pregnant and drank wine, and sometimes Tequila! (Oversharing). She then said her sisters baby went on a plane, and got irreversible brain damage. (Oversharing.)

Listen, if you knew someone who had the horrible fate of taking an infant on a plane and having a medical emergency, my heart goes out to you. However, an infant does not get brain damage from simply being taken into an aircraft (which was the assertion.)

Lady Manhandler in Seattle also shared endless, unsolicited pieces of advice. I was not to give my child sugar, nonorganic milk, or let it grow up an only child. OH, and that I had to breastfeed or our baby would be constantly sick, intellectually deficient, and have no hope of social skills. Finally, I asked her how old her kids were. She told me she had none but she did have a five year old niece! Here is a recommendation: You can not pontificate on pregnancy advice if you have never been pregnant. Also known as: Shut Your Yap.

And from others I heard about cords around the necks, gestational diabetes, and my personal favorite: collapsed uterus. I feel for anyone who had a difficult time. Listen, I did not enjoy developing heartburn equivalent to that of a 75 year old man nor did I get a giggle out of going pee pee 100 times a day but you wont hear me talk about it. Not everyone is interested. My overall experience was great and I can't be the only woman on Earth who can make that statement.  

LESSON: If you have a story that involves details of unpleasantness around pregnancy, save them for your lineup of people asking you. I am sure that line is short. 

Duplicates: As I lay in the hospital bed, a day after delivering out little man into the world, I heard something I would have not anticipated. "When you are back next year with your second baby, all of this will be old hat to you." This was stated by Nurse Crazy as she checked my "stats" for the tenth time that hour. I thought I had misheard her. I said, "No, this is our first," thinking she was confused. "Oh I know," she said, "but it won't be long until your back." Hmmm.

My uterus can hear you, and to be honest, it wants you to dial down the volume. Little did I know that this was the beginning of what still goes occurs on a weekly basis. Our son is FOUR.  The frequency we are asked when we are adding to our brood can no longer be counted. Oh, and Lady at Starbucks, we are not best friends. I appreciate your earnest interest in my life because my son smiled at you while he sipped his Odwalla, but that ten minute debriefing you gave me on the drawbacks of growing up an only child, well, I just came in for a soymilk hot chocolate. I once decided the next time I was asked when I am having another baby, to respond, "We do not know, but we sure practiced this morning." I tucked that smart reply deep in my Jimmy Choo and yet have only had the moxie to use it, just once. But my uterus is not the Four Seasons. It doesn't need full occupancy at all times.

LESSON: Are other peoples birth plans that interesting? Why are you thinking about my sexual activity. And procreation. Stop it. 

Pregnancy impacts all women differently and while a pregnant person is busy building a human, inside her BODY, she might have other things on her mind than stories that only aid and abet angst. She has a trusted resource and that person's first name is "DOCTOR". There are so many great mothers we know and once asked, they were thrilled to share information. 

For the guy at the restaurant, try a simple smile next time and leave it at that.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I thought you said just a splash….

Several months ago I got a flat tire during the busiest time of day, at the busiest intersection in Atlanta. I needed tire TLC so I made an appointment to take the car to the dealership. The last time I was at the dealership, it was to drop off the loaner car which had been semi-coated in Monster.

Upon arriving at the dealership, a comedy of errors ensued. The dealership indicates it will take 90 minutes to fix so the car service took me home. Forgot my house key at the dealership? No problem. Keypad entry to the house always works. My service tech indicated I would be phoned around 11 to be picked up and returned to the dealership. Perfect. 

Hours pass and no call. As I am home with NO vehicle which thwarts my many plans, I call at 3 pm. They are almost finished but they have no drivers to pick me up. Hmmm. They put me on hold.  Back on the line, they tell me a service tech will come and get me but he is new and young so I should be prepared.

Me: Young like he is spunky with a vigor for life or young like he has just gotten his driver’s license?
Him: Hahahahahaha. Young just out of college but he has never driven in Atlanta.
Me: Hmmmmm. Ok. (Not remotely confident in his ability to transport me safely.)
The young man calls me to get directions. He could not be more nervous. He arrives and I enter the car.  He is still so nervous, he is literally driving about 20 mph below the speed limit.
We take 30 minutes to do a 10 minute drive. All fine. Despite the horn honks and a few New York City style finger waves, he could not be any nicer. Valet leaves to pull my car around so I wait outside. It is 22 degrees which makes 5 minutes feel like 50. I finally go inside because I am turning blue. Then I am told they can not find the car.

What?

I see a car that looks like ours and say “Is that it?” To which the young man who looks JUST like McLovin says, “No, your car is white.”
Me: Mmmm. My car is silver. Just like that car.
Him: Oh!
He goes outside again. No luck.
Upon his return, McLovin says he can’t find it. This has never happened I assure you. I tell him to hit the key fob because the car will beep. The admin says that only works within a certain distance. How about 15 feet since I am pretty sure that is my car visible from the front waiting area. 20 more minutes pass and finally my Service Manager comes and asks me WTF I am still doing there. I tell him. He calls McLovin, gets my key fob, walks right outside to the car I already think is mine, hits the sound and sure enough. BEEP BEEP and he hands me my keys. Thanks Jim Rockford.

I go on my way after a completely hijacked day, and a VERY long period of time waiting at the dealership during which I had to reroute my Hub to fetch our child. 

As I drive away, I swear I hear a karmic whisper from the underbelly of the dealership: Ahhh...we remember you...we thought you said it was just a "splash"

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Take A Bite Of: Homemade Twinkies

Oh my...because cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies just are not sufficient? Exactly! Those two baked delights are certainly good and a staple in my baking repertoire. BUT, I recently saw a recipe for homemade Twinkies. Since a regular Twinkie has a 25 year shelf life and 25 varieties of chemicals as ingredients, I can't eat them. But I freely admit, back in the day, I loved them. Especially frozen. So, I made one of my favorite yellow cake batter recipes, baked little canoes using a NorPro canoe pan (bought on Amazon) and let them cool completely. Then I  injected them with real whipped cream using a pastry injector. They were incredible. I clearly took them to work so I didn't have a homemade twinkie love fest. But man OH man, that does not mean I did not want to have a homemade twinkie love fest. A little extra manual labor required but worth every bite. They look exactly like the real thing but taste approximately 200 times better. Hope your Sunday is this delicious.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

I know what boys like

We promote open conversation in our house and from the beginning when teaching our son, we have called body parts by their actual names versus slang. And yes, I know the difference between vulva and vagina but once my son heard the word "VOLVO" in reference to a car and shouted, "VOLVO...that's like the VAGINA!" No, not really, so let's stick with vagina.  We encourage openness but also appropriateness and my son has already told me to get a penis so you can see it works for you, and against you. However, I have no problem talking to our child about bodies,  body parts, however, I was not prepared for the following conversation occurred in my house this week:

My son: Mom, can I see your vagina?
Me: (inner monologue..umm, what did he just ask me?)

Him: Mom, can I see your vagina? (Because toddlers LOVE to repeat things, especially questions.)


Me: Son, we have talked about our body parts and our private parts. When we are in the shower, we can see our parts but since I am fully dressed, I am not going to show you.

Him: Please?

Me: I am curious where this is coming from. Can you tell me why you want to see it?
Him: Well, I just really love vaginas.

Wow, boys like vaginas? At that age? He is FOUR!  NO, he does not really know what he is talking about because it is not like he has seen them frequently, or like we have Vagina Party Day. But yes, sooner than we know it he will (see them. NOT have Vagina Party Day, unless he is a rock star. And apparently, some boys just know they love vaginas. Even if they are only four. Let's hope it is a VERY long time before he starts asking females outside this house that question.