I'm Glowing..

((whispering)) Iwonanaward


What? 


((louder hushed whisper)) I. won. an. award.


Huh?


I WON AN AWARD! I WON AN AWARD! You love me, you really, really LURRRRVE me....

Double stick tape, anyone?

OK ((smoothing shirt)) ..well, my Mom and one OTHER person like my blog. My new lovely Midwestern neighbor Hannah from 

Erratic Questions About A Simple Life (check it!)

was kind enough to list me as an award winner on her blog. Here is the award (I think)

Not to BRAG, but I was listed first on the list..just sayin'.

Since this is my first award (wiping tear), and so unexpected... I do not have an acceptance speech ready. 


Really, no bullshit.. I got nothin'.  


Just thanks to "THE ACADAMAY...." (just kidding).  Seriously, thank you to Hannah and the rest of you crazy cats who read my weird ideas, embarrassing stories and other generalized nonsense. I am cracked.

The responsibilities of this award are that I share 7 things about myself that will surprise and delight you. Hmmm. Or maybe disgust you. We'll see. I am listing them quick, before I come off of the high of my win. And, because I have to pick up the apes in about 15 minutes. 

 1.  I have a twin sister who looks nothing like me. She used to hide her head under the covers so if a murderer came in, he would get me first. I confess, I slept closest to the door for the very same reason. 


What were our parents letting us watch on TV?

A not very flattering picture, but who
can resist a skull bowling ball shot?

Sister and her sweet Baboos
Next time, she won't share her
 Shutterfly password..
Photo Credit to the talented Scott Mooney

2. I suspect I have a repetitive motion injury in my wrist known as "blackberry syndrome" (STOP LAUGHING - I'm serious), which is from my crack-a-lackin' addiction to the berry.  When folks about town hear this, there will be a rousing chorus of "no sh*t!"  ..Rude. 

3.  Although I am a Wyoming native, I am not homophobic or racist. Neither are most of us. I do tend to discriminate against idiots, but I feel badly about it.

4.  I have not completed my college degree (the horror!) I am within spitting distance, but suddenly it just became less important. It will always be there. I have always had good jobs, so no complaints.

5. I wanted to be a writer when I was young. I imagined myself in Mary Tyler Moore boots, living in a city, writing for a magazine like Sassy, and later, Jane. I idolized Jane Pratt.

6. I don't like ketchup. On anything. Don't judge.

Blech.

7. When I eat foods that there are a quantity of (like M&M's, etc), I have to eat them "evenly". As in, two on one side of my mouth, chew, swallow. Then, two on the other side. It is my own little dash of OCD. It's a layer.

Now, I am supposed to list 10 blogs I feel are award-worthy. I am a new blogger, so I come across new things I like everyday, and may not even have 10?  However, these are my go-to's, in the order they were in on my follow list (I am on a TIME LIMIT people!) 

• 
  
• Hyperbole and a Half - Me (and 10 zillion others) love Hyperbole's zany humor and accompanying illustrations. It looks like kid stuff, but then slaps you on the ass with the writing. Don't read this in a business meeting. You won't be able to keep from snorting. 
• 
  
• Dangerous Leanings - I am a little new to this one, but it has that thing: that quirky thing that I dig. 
• 
  
• Erratic Questions About A Simple Life - My new homegirl. We have these weird musings running around in our heads and those suckers just have to get out. 
• 
  
• Helen of Wichita - A great concept and great photos of a friend from high school's baby - taken EVERY DAY of the first year of her life. This is so smart. Quick and Fun to check in and see what's shaking with Helen today. 
• 
  
• Jumble Mash - She's smart and funny, and obviously knows what she is doing as a blogger. I also think she is a lot younger than me. She could teach this old dog a few new tricks. 
• 
  
• Monday Night Manners - A friend of a friend writes this blog and I love it! I need more etiquette in my life and MNM gives you a weekly dose of something to teach your youngsters, whether it is setting the table, or that you MUST always pass the salt and pepper TOGETHER (they are married). I am learning a lot!
• 
  
• Nerdy Apple Bottom - Another wife of a cop, like moi. She wrote a famous entry about her son's love of Scooby Doo, and his corresponding Daphne Halloween costume. Many judged, but NAB said "shut it", and is still saying it on behalf of her sweet baboo and all persons who are being their genuine selves. 
• 
  
• Reptiles in the Ice Cream - This girl is nuts and I love her guts! She scares me a little, tiny bit. And I hope I get invited to one of dinner parties one of these days. They seem epic.
• 
  
• Simple Dude in a Complex World - More random musings, my favorite thing. Simple Guy is getting hosed on the description, because I have GOT TO GO! 

The Long Road to Roundish and the Battle Back to Hopelessly Average

I used to be a skinny kid.

Growing up, I was a picky eater. My mother laid awake nights, worried about how little I would eat. She tried tough love, and made me sit in the kitchen until my dinner was finished. I sat. And sat some more. Missing Lawrence Welk.  Missing Hee Haw (If I strained from my seat, I could hear the last of the lyrics "you met another and pffft..you was GONE.."). My Mom tried MAKING me eat my dinner, but I wouldn't and the results of making me eat goulash were unsightly. So I subsisted on bread. Which is why I have such issues with carbs to this very day (I love you bread!)  My mom fretted that I was going to get Rickets. She pointed at my then-skinny bruised kid legs as evidence. I had no idea what Rickets were, so I hid my bony legs under the tablecloth and hoped that the jelly I put on the bread would combat whatever they were.

Meatloaf...gross.

Meatloaf...gross.

I lived to fight another few years and my skinny became average. I got married much too young and still ate whatever i wanted, which included a lot of bread and soda. My new Mother in Law (MIL) told me that i wouldn't be any good at being picky as I grew up and she was right. My husband's plate always looked more interesting than mine. Soon, i tried some of his dinner. Then, more food items were opened up to me. It was glorious -  and a curse. Gravy? I don't like gravy... or peanut butter AND syrup on my pancakes. Dang! I do...

The walls crashed in after I got pregnant with my first child. NEVER in my life have I been so hungry. I would get up in the night to eat. I would call and screech in the phone at my sister to hurry up and meet me for lunch at 10:45 am. This ravenous hunger was unheard of for me, and was a dead giveaway to people I hadn't yet told I had an alien on board. Our daughter"s DNA is probably made of cheeseburgers.

If the dots were cheeseburgers,
this would be accurate

I slimmed back down relatively quickly after she was born, but I noticed my portion selection seemed to increase. It didn't get any better with our son. I swam and walked a lot, and I had healthy pregnancies. It was the post-partum of the second pregnancy that took a knife and murdered my metabolism.

I tried the South Beach diet, which is just what a new mother needs. No energy giving carbs, just a lot of meat and eggs. One cracker or a handful of cereal felt like a shot of heroin. I made spaghetti squash and tried to tell myself it was pasta. That was the low point. I celebrated by eating a sleeve of saltines. Ok, two. With a Coke.

Processed, white-flour goodness...

Now, years later, I am just...meh. Not terrible, but never where I want to be. I like to cook and I like to eat. I like to eat after 8 pm, and I like bread and Starbucks Chai Tea. I try to eat whole grains. With butter.

Problem #1:
I have a serious problem with butter (and starch, but who's counting?).  Being home more has expanded my desire to cook and well, it is starting to show.

Problem #2:
I dislike exercise. Special Agent says I have a chip on my shoulder about it, and he may have a point. See My Running Program for exhibit A. Exhibit B is my physique, and please don't look. I camouflage as best i can. I wish I had a dress like Mrs. Roper's. That would solve a lot of problems for me, and leg shaving would be optional.

Come and knock on our door...

Did I mention i don't like exercise? Among my my similarities to a jackass is my ability to walk 20 miles.... but can't run one. It just isn't in my brontosaurus makeup. I like to move slowly and chomp the leaves (or dinner rolls) as I go. I do not like to chase around, getting my heart rate up and such. This makes cardio a difficult concept for me.

But...I have to. I JUST HAVE TO.  Fate and my increasing age and waistline demand it. My children see a sedentary mother with a workout superstar for a father. I am losing the race at cool. And...i am terrified of summer clothes and winter weight.

In My Running Program, I talk about the Couch to 5k Program, a walk/run program designed for couch potatoes. I did it for a bit, but mostly perfected the couch portion of the program. I really excelled in that area.

But I am back again and I have gone 6 whole times. It hasn't been too bad, except for when I let my 10 year old daughter join me. I would have died from embarrassment if I werent' bursting with pride at how badly she kicked ass on her decrepit ol' mother. She is not considered to be a fast runner on her sports teams, but compared to me she looked like a gazelle. She yelled "C'mon Mom" over her shoulder as her ponytail bounced. If I could have caught her, I might have hugged her. And then, pushed her down.

When I am alone, I run on a treadmill and adjust the speed up and down. I try to read the lips of the Kardashians on the elevated row of TVs and it helps pass the time. Some days, I am lucky enough to get the treadmill next to a Kelly Ripa look-alike in a tiny sports bra and shorty running shorts. I've considered suicide. I was trying to act cool at first, but accidentally stepped off of the side of the treadmill belt, making it squeal loud enough to illicit stares from the rest of the normal looking people in the room, including Kelly Ripa2. I yelled "is everybody awake now??" to break the tension.  Kelly2 smiled at me sadly. Harrumph.

This looks a lot like her, but this
Kelly is wearing a larger top 

It is obvious to she and the rest of the group that I am a newbie. I don't have my own water bottle and I almost killed myself on the treadmill belt. I can't be trusted. I probably won't last. Instead of looking fit and tan in my sports bra and running shorts, I am wearing mismatched gear and I keep having to pull my running pants up. My Ipod headphones won't stay on my ears. I am hot (hot and sweaty, that is). No one wants to be me. Even me. I want to be someone laying on the couch, eating bread and butter and watching Regis and Kelly - not huffing and puffing next to her twin.

But I am doing it people. Now, get off my back.  Or get me the number for Mrs. Roper's stylist. And pass the saltines.

I Was Tagged! (Well, Sort Of...)

 I was tagged in a round-about way by the very clever Dangerous Leanings, who was tagged by Jumble Mash to answer: What 5 things do you not leave home without? I will follow DL's lead and not tag anyone since A) I don't know how exactly; and B) only my Mom reads my blog. If you want to list your items in the comments (Mom), I'd love to read 'em. 

I am somewhat scattered, so there are times when I leave whatever I needed behind, which sucks. However, I NEVER (OK, rarely) leave the house without the following.

He might. You don't know...

1) The Crackberry -  I am no longer important to ANYONE, yet I am still carrying that thing like my third child. On the rare occasion that I don't, someone always asks me to look something up, or tries to call to tell me I have won something grand (OK, not that last part). The same people who enjoy making fun of my crackberry addiction are always the same ones who are sad and blue when my addiction is not available to help them. 

Supercalifragilistic bag, Mary!

 2) The Mary Poppins Purse - This item feels like the flirting with the UPS man kind of cheating. It is really a catch all for 10,000 random items so it doesn't seem right to list it as one item. But, I am going to list it anyway, big boy.. (coy wink). The MPP is so vast that to find most items, one has to literally stick their arm in up to the bicep and fish in a counter-clockwise pattern until they feel what seems like it might be the item they are looking for. I have tried to write many times with the travel hand sanitizer, and no matter how many times I feel the cold hard steel of the business card holder (gotcha), I think it is the mirror compact.  TSA loves the MPP and uses it as a training aid. The MPP has no real shape, so at times it is hanging half open like a gutted dinosaur. It isn't elegant. My elegant and sleek bag is just too damn small.  It won't hold a coat rack.

See that little baby purse laying down?
That's it! Shh, you'll scare it away...

3) The Purselet - Those who know me know that within the realm of the MPP resides the purselet. A 6 x 6 inch wonder that holds credit cards, punch cards for the unknown, change, business cards (mine and those I am supposed to call), random things I don't want to lose, etc.  The purselet can go out without the MPP, but the MPP does not travel without the purselet, since it holds all of the legal tender. The most beautiful and functional aspect of the purselet is the short shoulder strap. It allows me to wear this tiny little wallet where i can hold it close to me and will not lay it down while I am digging through the half-off Christmas candy bin. It's beautiful. It's wonderful. It's magical. It's the PURSELET.

Hint: Solo cups make great arm bands.

4)  A Notebook - Not THE NOTEBOOK, Ryan Gosling fans. My Notebook. Not chock full of details of a life forgotten, but moreso, details I better not forget. Anyone who finds it will think a schizophrenic wrote the notes, since it includes everything from random food item lists to website concepts to tic tac toe games, X'ed out by my children. There are phone numbers scribbled in the margins, some upside down. There are papers hanging out of the notebook that I am certain should have been attended to by now. The current notebook has Wonder Woman on it, and its my favorite. It's nicer looking replacement is a lovely patterned portfolio with a magnetic clasp. It's fancy with no guts hanging out, but its not Wonder Woman.

The top pair are the ones I wear, me and Jenny. Bend them up
a little...toss them across the parking lot a few times...
Yes, it's them!!

5) My J-Lo's - Since I hit 30, I have been addicted to sunglasses. Although it is not helping me in my anti aging process one bit, I seem to be turning into a vampire that can't stand the light (Too bad I am team Jacob). No matter how late I am, or how many times I have screeched like a howler monkey at the kids to hurry up, I will go back in for the glasses. The J-Lo's were born from losing my other glasses while on a long road to trip to nowhere, MT. I left before the sun came up, so by the time I realized the glasses were MIA, so was I...and the sun was like FIRE as I headed down the road. I happened to find a Walmart that had an Optical center, and hence the J-Lo line of sunglasses. They are sort of purple, which is not me, but options were limited. I liked them so well that when I lost THAT pair, I went right back to the Walmarket for another. I will forever think of sunglasses as J-Lo's from this point on. 

Ok folks, nothing exciting or scandalous....that I know of anyway. I feel nervous when i dig too deep. Even the purse has a lot of layers.  

The Social Awkwardness of Social Networking

Below are some excerpts from the oddest conversations I have had on Facebook recently. The ROI on my profile pic is questionable, since these are all from goofballs and not well spoken millionaires, but anyway...answer me: does this approach really work for those who are willing?  Do people really have these conversations and say "Why yes, I would love to meet up with your weird ass for a drink and possibly to be bound and gagged in the trunk of your car later.."? Discuss.

Forcible rape?? In my country we call that "seduction"

Friend request and accompanying message from a fellow from Europe who lists my high school as his, and shares several friends:


Latin Lover: 
I am liking how you are look to me. You are having boyfriend?
(I would like to add you to my collection of heads)


Me: 
Thank you. I'm married. Did you go to my high school?
(Why in the hell do you of the broken English know so many of my classmates?)


Latin Lover: 
Unintelligible explanation about high school connection... I know many peoples from you live.
(I changed my high school to yours after I saw a pretty girl who went there LAST YEAR. I can't even find Wyoming on a map)


Me: 
I am not sure I understand. Did you live in my town?
( I think you are full of shit)


Latin Lover:
I like very much your manners. Do you have a lover?
(Let's change the subject - would you like to get naked with me? )


Me:  
I am married.
(Oh sure. I will hop on a plane as soon as I am done here..NOT)


Latin Lover:
 I like to talk with lots of women I meet online. Do you want to talk with me often? 
(I want to have online chat sex and I am too cheap to pay for it. Wanna?)


Me: 
Sorry, I don't think you are reading me. I am married, so I don't think so. 
(Nope.)


Latin Lover:
You are feisty! Perhaps we could meet? 
(I would like to chain you in my basement.A few hard slaps and you would realize my passion for you.)


Me:
Um..no, I do not think we can meet. 
(Thank God for Internet Privacy controls)


((BLOCK)) 


I asked our "mutual friend" about this yahoo, and she said she didn't know who he was either, but "he sure was weird". Ya think? 
*************************************************************************************


Message from guy with no profile pic and the same last name as our town  - very creative, no?

Lurker: 
"Attractive. married?"
(I want to have chat sex)


Me:
Thank you. Yes, married. 
(This guy wants to have chat sex)


Lurker:
Sorry to bother you.
(You're a prude)


Me: 
No bother, just a friend request
(Yes, I am a prude, but I am polite, nonetheless.)


Lurker:
Looking for friends?
(I could be wrong...Still fishing...)


Me:
Beats looking for enemies...
(sarcasm, perhaps?)


Lurker:
How about friends with benefits?
(Why not just go for it?)


Me:
Dude, you are still barking up the wrong tree. 
(Not really a hint guy, this one. Perhaps less subtle.)


Lurker:
Sorry, I am married too. Just looking for some excitement. 
(She IS a prude..but maybe she will feel sorry for me)


Me: 
You're going to find nothing but trouble methinks. Good luck. 
(I AM a prude.  I am sort of sorry for your wife. I hope she is having better luck than you are finding a suitable replacement.)
 **********************************************************************************
Accepted Friend Request from guy with a somewhat familiar name. Immediately, a chat window opens:

I feel so free. At the Loaf and Jug, I have to hide my rockin' tats. 

Band Guy: 
You are hot. 
(Your profile pic is sort of slutty looking)


Me: 
Um..why, thanks. Do we know each other already? Your name is familiar. 
(I now think I made a mistake with the profile pic AND thinking this person is someone I know)


Band Guy: 
No, but you are hot. 
(So, are you slutty, or what?)


Me: 
Again, thanks. Sorry, I thought when I got the request that we knew each other. 
(I made a mistake and I am not slutty. In fact, i am so lame I am wearing a name tag in the photo taken with our State Senator.)


Band Guy: 
I just moved here. I work at the Loaf and Jug. 
(What is a State Senator? I do not have the level of embarrassment I should have about  my part time employment)


Me: 
Welcome to our town. What brings you to our town?
(Holy shit. You are here on parole to the halfway house...)


Band Guy: 
My Band. We are opening for blah blah and blah  blah in ((nearby town)).
(I am regretting the Loaf and Jug employment announcement and am trying to seem cooler than I feel right now. I should probably take that off of my profile info) 


Me: 
You don't say. I'm sorry, I don't know either of those bands 
(because I am one hundred years older than you). 


Band Guy: 
You want to hook up? 
(May as well go for it - she DID have a slutty profile pic. Maybe she has a "bad boy thing")


Me:
No thanks, I don't think so.  
(A bad boy who works at the Loaf and Jug? Um...no. Also, i am married and one hundred years older than you.)


Band Guy:
That's cool. If you change your mind, I work at the Loaf and Jug.
(I still don't get why that turns girls off? I can get free icee's all day long!)


Me:
Thanks, you mentioned. 
(Seriously dude, stop telling girls where you work - unemployment would be more bad ass than the visual of you in the Loaf and Jug smock.)

The Feline Bourne Identity

Happy mid-January.  I am writing about my cat, furthering the rumors that I am having some manner of crazy-cat-lady nervous breakdown. But I am really quite sane, promise.

In other winter news, I bought the cheapest model of space heater for under my desk, so wish me luck that I don't burn the house down or die of some kind of poisoning from the lead paint. At least my feet will be warm when I go. In fact, my socks are smoldering at this moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hey gang! Get the Mystery Machine rolling! We have a Caper to solve!


Our new cat doesn't know who she is.....and neither do we (cue music). We considered calling her Janell Bourne, but my sweet baboo insisted her name should be Minnie. I have no idea why, she sure isn't "mini"; she is more "Maxi". However, Minnie it is.



Hi, I'm Minnie. Please leave me alone. I am undercover.

  The intrigue started when we went shopping for ONE cat for my kids. It was to be an early Christmas present combined with my apparent loss of reason, since we already have 2 dogs. At the shelter, the kids wanted a black wiley kitten that swiped at them from the cages, but I had set eyes on a nice, calm older cat who seemed content to let anyone hold her. So, the nice pound ladies fleeced me for what I thought would be a relatively 'free' adoption of TWO cats. 

pet tags for my two "illegal" pets already at home:  $$
pet tags for TWO cats:  $$
pre-payment for feline rabies shots:  $$$
Partial payment for spaying of TWO cats, one of which is probably already spayed:  $$$$

Kids faces when I said "Why don't we adopt BOTH?":  Priceless

 

This is the photo we sent their Dad when he asked if found A cat, singular.

Merry Christmas City Animal Shelter; to say there is no such thing as a free pet has never rang truer. 

Amidst my flurry of check writing and grousing about pet tags, the woman started feeling bad, so she started mentioning the benefits of my new cats like a used car salesman kicking the tires of a Mazda Miata. This included a final comment that the big girl had a microchip in her.

Wait. A. Second.

A MICROCHIP??  EMBEDDED IN HER CAT SKIN??? WOW! (see also, creepy.) The kids and I were suddenly looking at lazy Minnie in a brand new light. What mystery!!.... What intrigue...!

Minnie yawned. 



I think she is scanning for double agents, but I can't be sure.

What kind of info must be on such a thing? Details from the cold war? The truth behind the Kennedy assassination? The ladies from the pound eyed me warily and each other and then explained how the chip would be used to track Minnie should she become lost. Ok....so not as intriguing as we were imagining, and apparently, not very EFFECTIVE since she was now at the pound, slated for death. ??? "So, scan her up!" I yelled. The woman explained that while Minnie possessed the chip, it had not been registered by her previous owners. For the love....what a waste! No one could be bothered to register an already placed chip and now, poor Minnie was stuck in a metal box at the pound with other non-trackable unsavories like the other cat we were bringing home.

The unsavory Jazzy, looking at her Facebook.

I vowed to have Minnie registered and redeem her back to primo pet status. I also hoped that underneath all of that fur, she had a scar indicating she had already been spayed, so I wouldn't have to shell out more dough for that too. I took the note with the tracking number on it and raced home, intent on getting my high-speed, low-drag feline back on track in the spy game. Yeah......that was in November...It's now January.

I keep telling myself I am helping Minnie stay "off of the grid".
"Lay low".
"Flying under the radar".

I also had a few nightmare's about her true owners coming to get her, like orphan Annie with the locket. So, now it is (gulp) mid-January and still not registered. Oh, the failure.

but TODAY, I took Minne and the unsavory Jazzy to the vet to be spayed (the pre-pay at the pound made paying hurt a little less, for me anyway).  Minnie was pissed about having to have her belly shaved, but lo and behold, she had already been through the spaying process, so she dodged the knife and I will be headed to the Animal Shelter to cash in my pre-payment. (I hope to hell they don't have anything else in there we can't live without. I am becoming the crazy pet lady.)

I also registered Minnie with relative ease and a payment of $20 bucks. Now, she may travel to Berlin, Milan, or Uzbekistan. She won't call, she won't write....I will just have to track her by chip. I better get some of these for the sweet baboos before they go to college. And then remember to register them.

The Post-Christmas Christmas Rant (Wow, what a Grinch!)

**DISCLAIMER**  I was so busy grinching it up about the holidays that i somehow forgot to post this. Like my holiday cards, this too is better late than never. I blame the chocolate.
********************************************************************************

I have a love/hate relationship with the holiday season. I am a little like chocolate with sea salt about it. I love chocolate with sea salt, and have been stuck on it for about a week, although it gives me a stomachache. Christmas is the same way.


I am typing this as I eat yet another broken chunk of a Ghirardelli Sea Salt Soiree (racy, no?) bar laying on the kitchen counter.  I keep walking past it and partaking, as if somehow eating the whole thing in pieces as I continually walk by it is somehow different than eating the whole thing.  I WAS eating some lovely chocolate truffles with sea salt (made from a recipe on PW) but I finally froze them so they might have a chance to make it to some holiday plates for others, and I might have a chance to maintain a size XXX. Then, I spotted the chocolate and salt already together in a Ghirardelli bar and it jumped into my cart. It's warfare up here in my psyche, I tell you.

((I am also eating on the tablecloth after yelling at my family about the same thing this week, so don't tell them.))


My feelings about Christmas are like the tiny nuggets of sea salt that I sprinkled on the truffles and this stowaway candy bar, salty and sweet. My negative feelings have a strong bite to them and they are  kind of bitter, but tempered by the rich goodness of the truffle. Things like shopping, gifts and gifts are the grainiest pebbles under my saddle.  Did I say "gifts" twice and mean it? You bet I did.


The gift giving of Christmas just wears me out entirely. People will literally knock each other down to get the last manger scene, will have a verbal altercation with stranger over a Sesame Street toy and will practically cut a man for the latest flat screen TV.  I find the whole charade ridiculous and will wax philosophical about consumerism and Unplugging the Christmas Machine to anyone who will listen. Yet, here I am this year all a-frenzy on Black Friday...electronics in hand (I shoved no one and there was no spitting or name calling, but you get the idea). Why do I still get the pit in my stomach that my indulged children will somehow feel shorted on Christmas if there isn't "enough" under the tree? Ugh. I hate me. And I wish the gift giving portion of Christmas would go the way of the Dodo, and leave more room for the other elements..like food.


Adults are the worst. After complaining about how expensive the holidays are, and our dwindling budgets, we will still all INSIST on getting each other some kind of trinket to show that we care for one another, even though we need NOTHING and can't even think of something to ask for legitimately. At least kids are going with the magic theory. We know the reality, and still....ch-ching!


Wise friends will eventually see the light and just have a nice lunch together, but families KNOW that they must get each other "some little something" or surely, the world will crash in on Christmas Day. Even after making sworn agreements NOT to do an adult gift exchange, some well-meaning asshole cheats by giving a scarf or some stationary, just because.

STOP THE INSANITY!
I can buy my own socks!

Ask yourself: what did I receive last year? What did I give my Sister/Grandma/Brother/Father/? Chances are you don't remember. So let's stop already, people. Really. Please?...Fine, then. Thank you for the set of ice cream bowls. (A shout out to my own Granny who asked me to PLEASE stop sending her the cookie of the month, they are sick of them. Love ya Mae!)


The chocolate side of my Christmas season duality includes a few things that I really think are special, and give me a feeling of joy among my negative feelings. One is ringing the Salvation Army bell with my sweet baboos. We help the more needful population of our community by begging strangers to put money in our kettle, but I don't really do it for the "giving back" mentality. I do it twice a season because we have a great time singing Christmas carols badly (in acoustic store entryway) and having one legged standing contests. Good fun. People stop to chat with us, and to see who will win the one legged standing contest in progress (Hint: I will).  It makes me feel happy to be there doing good work and having fun with my peeps.  I hope that people rushing through their holiday season, annoyed by having to find something that Uncle Jim, who doesn't like anything, will possibly like. I hope that seeing us on a hot chocolate and sugar cane high, standing on one booted leg with candy canes hanging off of our ears will make them laugh as they grumble and lug their bags of hams and chocolate chips home. Not to brag, but my little darlings can do that to a person...especially me.


I have been unfair to my family of gift lovers above, so I will temper my criticism by saying that I love hanging with the fam at the holidays. I like all of the food and sitting around talking with everyone from my husband's hilarious Grandparents to the girlfriend and friend of my nephew who happened by. The Community of Christmas allows that all of us will smile at each other a little more and share some laughs, and maybe a raucous game of 'spoons" now that the shopping frenzy is over and we can't possibly buy or wrap one more thing. The kids are zooming all over the house, and ONLY they care about the presents (Why can't we get a clue?). And, there is the smell of warm food cooking...and wine. Ahh, wine. Bring on the holidays.


I like Christmas cards too. I like getting non bill material in the mail, with great photos and even the occasional "what we did this year" letter, even the ones that are a little barfy. I particularly enjoy cards that look like they will someday be featured on "Awkward Family Photos".  They make me laugh.

Thank God they are overfed...
(the cats, not the people)

I even like walking to the car after my children's Christmas program at a church I am not a subscriber to, bellies full of cookies and seeing the snow fall slow and lightly on our eyelashes as we walk to the car. 


Another bit of chocolaty goodness for me is Christmas Carols. You heard me. Not a new fangled rock and roll remix, or Carrie Underwood's fresh take on Christmas miracles, but the GENUINE ARTICLE. Silent Night, I'll Be Home For Christmas, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire and all of that jazz. Ooh, I will burst out in song in the grocery if the mood so strikes me. And God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman is just such a song to do that, in K-mart or not. Religious or not. I will continue to hum them as I traipse through the parking lot, past people who in the spirit of the season, are giving other shoppers the finger over the parking space they felt was rightly theirs. See me? I am not even noticing, as I am humming along ..hmm, go the bells, hmmm, Christmas Cheer, hmmm, blah, blah, blah....Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!...Christmas is heeeeeeeeere. 


Got to go lie down. My chocolate Sea Salt Soiree is giving me a stomachache.

Where There's Smoke, There's Chicken...

Over the post Christmas break, our family rarely consumed a meal that did not come from a concession stand or a bag. We had been attending a community basketball tournament and going to practices, so a well balanced meal routinely meant it included chips and a drink.

We attended so many games that our children became referees, below. Just kidding, but they did get to be referee ASSISTANTS, and everyone knows that is how you get to the top.

They look mean, right?

We had big plans to attend a rodeo rough stock event for New Year's Eve, so yet another meal was going to be eaten on our laps in bleachers. Ugh. I eyed the whole chicken that was languishing in the refrigerator and fretted that I was going to have to throw it away. It was a lovely Amish chicken my Mother in Law had brought us.




Not really, but you get the idea...

 
I am not sure I want to admit that we have gotten so old that we cancelled our New Year's Eve plans so we could eat dinner, but...we did.

Well, and so we could lay on the couch, America's favorite past time.

I had read a recipe for a baked chicken that was cooked for a relatively short amount of time on HIGH heat. I dragged Jebediah out of the refrigerator and got to work. He was a big fella, must have been doing a lot of barn raisings prior to his demise.

The recipe is here, and is pretty basic. Chop fresh herbs (or jarred, if it is -20 and you are NOT going to the store) and canola oil and give your chicken a relaxing massage. Then, throw him in the oven at 450 degrees. Done, and done! I felt very accomplished. Instead of the chicken languishing, I would.

A few minutes into my languishing and the chicken searing, my less-than-gourmet cookie sheet made a strange noise at that level of heat and promptly warped upward on one side. My face kind of did the same thing in annoyance. (Got a visual of this face?) I chided myself for being too cheap to use my nicer sheets, lest they be smudged by greasy chicken scorch. Although annoying, this caused no problem initially, so i went back to patting myself on the back.

There was a lot of popping and sizzling going on in the oven, and I was delighted to think of the crispy chicken skin we would unhealthily enjoy. Skinless chicken - Well, I never.

A bit of smoke was eeking out of the top burners of the stove, and I attributed it to the high heat and grease. An excellent summation in my opinion. I turned on the fan and was only slightly annoyed by the noise. However, the fan couldn't really keep up with the smoke and so the house started looking a little hazy. I blinked. The kids coughed politely. The cat sneezed. Special Agent continued at his post in the man room, unawares.

I checked on Jeb a few times and he was looking tasty, albeit a little smoke inhaled. The warp in the pan had caused his herbed canola massage oil to run into one corner where is was making a lot of racket. I cautiously pulled the pan out and emptied the sizzling grease out of the pan, holding on to Jeb for dear life. This helped immensely, or so I thought. The oil continued to collect until the haze was well, hazier. Although it was ludicrously cold, I opened the kitchen window. And the back door. And turned on the fan. Special Agent finally emerged when he sensed I might be burning the house down upstairs.

I explained the process to the whole complaining crew, including the pets who didn't really care. The dogs just wanted the chicken to eventually fall off of the pan to the floor and my family coughed and sputtered and made jokes at my expense. Sadly, this is not the first time I have created a smoke filled house during dinner prep. We were having a New Year's Eve board game tournament, so my Sweet Baboo decided she would sport some goggles during play since her eyes were burning.

Wise-acre..

NO ONE APPRECIATES ME AROUND HERE...!!   ((Cough))...((blink-blink)).


After a lot of grousing and pouring off of the oil  several times, we finally dragged Jeb out of the oven and he was a beautiful specimen.

I had to show you this side, since we had already eaten some
of the crispy skin off of the other side, giving Jeb a mangy look. Whoops! 

Except he wasn't done. All of that barn raising had created a meatier chicken than I had anticipated. The house looked like we should evacuate and even though it was frigid, I had windows and doors thrown open, fans blazing. It was freezing, and we were starving. We sighed and threw Jeb back in and tapped our feet outside the oven door. We had sampled the crispy skin, which gave us promise for a decent dinner to ring in the New Year. And hopefully not salmonella.

20 minutes later, Jeb was carved and joined the rolls, salad and whatnot. The chicken was really very good once we slowed down enough to taste it. I was so busy with the smoked filled house, i didn't even have a chance to brag about the dinner rolls I made to go with the chicken. Or the significant wine I consumed during this debacle.

We rang in the New Year (HNY to you!) with no food poisoning, Special Agent sleeping on the couch, and my eye lids at half mast. The kids were still up watching a baseball movie, and were delighted to see fireworks perfectly from our window as the New Year rang in. We were in bed by 12:10.

I will make this chicken again in the grill when the weather cooperates, and may even try to the high-heat oven method again during cold snaps. However, I am not certain how we should combat the smoke in the future and I am open to suggestions. Grace suggests adding the nose clip to the goggles.

I am showing this photo to each and every date who comes
to the house to pick her up. Oh yes, I am.

No one appreciates me.