Contentment

My mom loves buying toys for our dogs (seeing as how I've neglected to ever produce any HUMAN grandchildren for her... oops!). She found the brilliant solution of buying toys from the Goodwill -- they're WAYYY cheaper than buying them at the pet store, she's supporting a good cause, and in the end my dogs just destroy them anyway, so who cares if it's a smiley bunny or sparkly unicorn or strawberry shortcake or what?

The other night I stopped at mom's and she sent home this really creepy looking bunny thing. I wish I'd taken a picture of it "before." But while we gleefully relaxed watching TV, our manic yellow lab went to town. She apparently found great satisfaction in disemboweling the poor bunny-monster.

Ah, to be so happy after a kill.

My Christmas Miracle

Our 14th annual Holiday Hullabaloo was different and, in many ways, better this year.

Absent were several long-time good friends who never miss the party.
Present was a forecast for a killer snowstorm.
These two things were NOT what made the party better.

However, what these two things managed to produce was about a 30% reduction in attendance. Even more unexpected was the happy result from this reduction - the party was MUCH more fun.

I hadn't realized how large the party had grown, until last Saturday night. Gone was my constant running like a headless chicken, refilling punch bowls and snack trays, answering the door and greeting the constant flood of guests, taking coats, giving hugs, explaining endlessly where to find everything... And, there was much more elbow room for people to mingle. I actually got to spend time talking with guests!

The gift exchange was more spirited as well. We could eliminate the "three steal limit" since there just weren't as many gifts. This year's finale was our dear Deborah using the LAST draw of the night to steal... drum roll... THE GIFT THAT SHE BROUGHT TO THE PARTY! The hooting and hollering didn't die down for a good five minutes after this faux pas was revealed!

The best revelation from this year's party was that we've decided to pare down the gathering for next year. I'm really looking hard at only inviting people that invite US to do things throughout the year. Some of these party attendees have been coming to our party for years and HAVE NEVER invited us to do ANYTHING with them. EVER. Take, for example, people from my work. Why in the HELL do I keep inviting them?? I'm not going to any longer, and what that means is I WILL NO LONGER FEEL OBLIGATED TO INVITE DALE AND DORLENE.

I am giddy with excitement, and those of you who don't know Dale and Dorlene will just have envision the fact that the once-ominous SHROUD that enveloped the party during their presence will now be forever lifted.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

I'm already looking forward to next year!

Gone in a Minute

WTF!!! Where did the last 12 months go??

I just glanced at my blog from last January, full of hope and promise about increasing my exercise in the new year, eating better and losing some weight. Shit, I think I am fatter than ever. Nice going.

This morning is cold, bleak and rainy (it's an ice storm, even better. Right.). I'm in a pissy mood because of the weather, so this day is already off to a wonderful start, and then I read the blog from 11 months ago and realized what a loser I am.

This past year flew by, and I have no idea what happened to it. I didn't see friends as often as I would have liked. I didn't get my basement cleaned-out. I didn't remodel my bathroom. I didn't take steps to get my fat ass in better shape. What the hell was I doing for the past 12 months???

People say time goes fast as you get older. Great. I am SOOO looking forward to not accomplishing a bunch of other goals in 2008.

Lesson Learned

So, last year my oldest step-daughter and I had an incredibly successful adventure during the 4:00 a.m. pre-dawn-post-Thanksgiving blitzkrieg that is known as black Friday. We descended on Walmart, resplendent in our bed-head hair and barely out of our pajamas, with a plan of attack and eyes firmly on the prize.

Not only did we score the several objects of our desire, but we struck like ninjas and were in and out of there inside of 30 minutes. In fact, we had a leisurely saunter next door to the Sam's Club where we scored free breakfast and played Guitar Hero. It was actually quite exhilarating and satisfying. Last year's outing was my first foray into this ridiculous shopping debacle, and now I know how incredibly fortunate we were.

With the 2006 success still in mind, Carlos and I made our plans to attack the local Target this year at 6:00 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving, to score several large-dollar items that were priced ridiculously low for the day.

Step one of the failure: I set my alarm but forget to turn it on. Incredibly, I awake up at 5:50 a.m. I wake up Carlos, "SHIT - we're late! Pull on some pants and let's get rolling!" We're up and out the door in 10 minutes.

Step two of the failure: We hit the Target parking lot at 6:08. Parking lot is already so full that we have to park in the north 40. It's witch's-tit-in-a-brass-bra cold outside, and we're walking in from bumblefuck Egypt.

Step three of the failure: Walk into the store and it's mass pandemonium as far as the eye can see. I try to steer my cart through the teeming throng towards the electronics department and abandon it about halfway there. "Here, you stay here with the cart - I'll signal you." I say to Carlos. I push my way back to the televisions, only to find the shelves bare, and no salespeople as far as the eye can see. It's now about 6:15. I ask a fellow shopper if they have any clue. "Oh, the TVs that were on sale? They had those back by the fitting rooms, and those were all gone by about 6:02."

FUCK ME. Back by the fitting rooms? And gone already??? It's 15 fricking minutes after the store opened! By this time I am so pissed with people pushing and shoving that by the time I find my way back to Carlos I have had enough. "This mission is aborted," I say, shaking my head. "What a giant cluster-fuck" he commiserates.

Even though we have about 7 other items on our list, I already know that the blank CDs that are on sale are NOT with the blank CDs, since I stood and watched a woman wanking at a sales clerk about why the hell they weren't over here with the rest of the CDs and he only had some lame excuse about there being an endcap display in the baby clothes isle, or some dispshit excuse like that.

Like I want to wander all over the store in search of a digital photo frame that's hidden between the cat litter and mop-and-glo? Whose fucking brilliant idea is that?

We walked out empty-handed and went home and went back to sleep. I just figure maybe that was God's way of saving me a shit-load of money, but I was still mad. How can Target advertise this as a "TWO-DAY EVENT" when everything that is on sale is gone in the first 10 minutes of day one? AAARGHHHHH!! Damn retailers.

Irreplaceable

Recently my good friend and blogger extraordinaire (Trelvix) posted a story as he was remembering the anniversary of the death of his father. It inspired me to post something as well.

My Dad was one of the most amazing human beings I've ever known. He was always the most wonderful father to me, and even after three years of missing him I still get a little bleary-eyed sometimes when something reminds me particularly of him.

He was well spoken, much loved, much admired and had the most amazing gift for making people laugh. He was large in stature (picture in your mind John Wayne), but he never made those around him feel small. He was a good lawyer for many years, generous with both his time and his money, active in his church and the community... but I think it was his friends and family that brought him the most joy.

He taught me to play tennis and golf, how to properly hand wash and wax your car, the importance of saving money and how to balance your checkbook, but most importantly he gave me a love for life. I still miss him.

So, below, I give to you the eulogy I read at his funeral. I can't tell you how many times I had to rehearse this before I could even make it to the end without completely losing it. It still chokes me up a little just in the re-reading, but I'd love for people outside of our family to know what an amazing man he was.

- - - - - - - - - -

John Milton Peters' funeral, June 2004

Here we all are gathered, friends and family, to say a last goodbye to my Dad, John Peters. Some of us have been saying goodbye to him for several years now, so in many ways his death, while it brings great sadness and tears, also brings a real sense of relief. Dad suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, and the last few years, especially, have been hard on all of us. The John we knew for so long as a vibrant, active, loving man was replaced by a hollow shell. Gratefully, he’s no longer chained to that shell, but has moved on to a much better place; or as President Reagan once said, he’s “slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God.”

This is also a time to say hello to Dad. Now that he’s no longer confined by his physical body, he’s able to be with us everywhere, and at all times; we’ll see his smiling face hidden among the garden flowers, or hear the echo of his laughter in the clink of ice cubes at the bottom of a cool glass of whiskey. This should be a time of celebration, a time to be thankful for each other, and to be happy in the knowledge that we, as Christians, have a better life waiting for all of us. Dad’s in a wonderful place now, doing all the things he loved to do, and enjoying life with the friends and family that got there before he did.

I’m continually surprised by what other people tell me about Dad – how he touched their lives in a memorable way. He had that effect on everyone. I don’t think I ever met anyone that didn’t like my dad, but just as important, I never remember hearing my Dad say an unkind word about someone else. He was a very special person, and taught all of us kids the importance of tolerance and forgiveness, but also how laughter can heal any wound and bridge all gaps.

So, I’d like to share with you just five of the many things that I will always remember about Dad. Things that made him so special to me, and special to all of us.

1) Dad LOVED a cold beer. But he was not picky when it came to brands. As a matter of fact, if it was on sale, it was his favorite. I especially remember “Schmidt” brand, because each of the cans had a different wildlife scene on it, and I thought that was pretty cool. But I also remember on multiple occasions we had that horrible black & white “generic” beer in the fridge. Which makes me pretty glad that I wasn’t old enough to drink beer back then… And of course the freezer was always full of frosty glass mugs – that’s a tradition ALL of us kids carry on today. I can always picture a “just-mowed-the-lawn” sweaty dad sitting at the kitchen table, and how his face would light up after a long, cold gulp.

2) Dad LOVED ice cream. It was always a treat when just the two of us would stop into Evans Ice Cream parlor... I remember sitting in the booth, and my feet didn’t touch the floor. Dad would always get a turtle sundae. Like with ANY food he loved, Dad would emit lots of “MMMMmmmmms” while he was enjoying every bite. You could also find Dad on many a late night, sitting at the kitchen table with an open carton of ice cream and a spoon. This is a bad habit I still carry with me. But if we had chocolate or caramel sauce or strawberry preserves in the fridge, you can bet his ice cream was drowned in it.

3) Dad told the world’s longest jokes. ANYone who ever new Dad remembers that he was a classic story teller and loved to entertain people with his joke telling. He would pour every ounce of energy into facial expressions and body language to aid in his joke telling… Who can forget such classics as “Big Mouth Frog” and “Moose Turd Pie”? Told by anyone else, they really weren’t all that funny. But when Dad told them, you couldn’t stop laughing. Making people laugh brought him a lot of joy.

4) Dad was a great dancer. When my folks still lived up at 214 5th Ave. – that large foyer with the black and white checkered flooring frequently hosted the dancing feet of late-night party revelers. The females of the group would often remark to me “I just love dancing with your Dad - he is such a good dancer!” But I have two distinctly different memories of dancing with Dad – one as an adult, when we shared the “Daddy-daughter dance” at my wedding… I remember how thankful I was that he was still healthy enough back then to shuffle me around the floor, and I clung to him, knowing that his dancing days were numbered. But I love most the memories of dancing with him as a little girl. When I was very small, he’d cinch me up on his waist with one arm, and hold my hand with the other. I’d throw my arm around his neck and hang on for dear life, because once he started do to the Lindy Shuffle (or whatever you call that bouncy shuffle dance he used to do) my legs would flop around wildly from side to side, and I giggled and giggled and so did he, with his cheek pressed against mine as he intentionally made my legs flop even more wildly. When I got a little bigger, he’d have me stand on the top of his feet when we danced. It was almost like a game – me, with my arms stretched around as far as they would go, hanging on tightly and trying not to get bucked-off while he shuffled and dodged and sang along to the music in his classic “boo-dee-doo-dumm-dumm” sing-song. He really loved dancing, and really loved a good tune.

Which brings me to number 5
5) Dad really LOVED music. ALL kinds of music. He’d often sit at the piano late into the night, plunking out tunes and singing along. And he really enjoyed singing Christmas Carols. But the sound of barbershop songs in our house is a gift that ALL of us kids will carry with them their entire lives. None of us can put all the parts together like our parents did – our harmonies are horrible. But the image of Dad with his finger in his ear, eyes squeezed shut with concentration, belting out one of his favorites… is an image that is permanently burned on my brain. Bill Grogan’s Goat, The Old Songs, Silver Dollar, Old Green River, Goodbye My Coney Island Baby… it still brings me such joy to sing these songs with the rest of my family. And now I know the next time we sing them, Dad will be there, crooning right along.


I love you Dad.

Bandaid

In what isle of the Walgreens does one find the Bandaid for sorrow? There's Scooby Doo, Spider Man, flesh colored, all shapes and sizes, but nothing I can find says "heals the hurt from an emotional wound". Dang.

My oldest squab is going through a tough time right now. Mid-twenties, and her world is all confusing and full of tough decisions. I don't miss that shit. Not that being in my 40's is so great (sore knees, chin hair, fat ass, saggy boobs and SOOO looking forward to menopause down the road), but it sure beats the crap out of being 25.

Do you remember how SHITTY being single and dating was? OH MY GOD - I SOOOO do not miss that. Sometimes I do miss the initial thrill of new love, but not often. My poor squab is lonely and single, and she's missing a lost love from years past.

How do I tell her that she's looking back with rose-colored glasses? How do I tell her that if things HAD worked out, she'd likely be divorced by now? (jr. high/high school romances SO RARELY work out). How do I tell her that she's not doing herself any favors by not moving on? I guess these are things one has to work out for one's self. I've been there, done that. I just wish she didn't have to re-invent the wheel, but, unfortunately, that's what growing up is all about.

Learning to deal with sadness, healing your heart, then getting stronger from it. If I could figure out how to manufacture THAT Bandaid, I'd be a friggin' millionaire.

Smart Asses R Us

I've always known that I come from a family full of smart asses. Myself included. And I've always known that we come by it honestly - a genetic trait handed down from my grandmother, through my mother, and now to my brothers and me.

Those who have come to know our family accept this lively banter as our manner of communication. Rarely is a complete sentence spoken without one of us slinging a backhanded remark or unfurling a great comment like Sir John Gielgud's butler in the movie Arthur... "I'll alert the media." (if you don't know the movie, I won't bother explaining it).

Tonight we gathered at my Mom's retirement complex for "Pool Night". This is the second time we've done this: my mom orders a bunch of pizza, somebody brings a cooler full of beer, and we hang out in the pool room at the "death star" (as the local firmen call it) and play pool (poorly) and make fun of each other.

It was a blast. I think my mom totally enjoys having all her little chicks scratching around while mother hen directs traffic. Mostly she joins in and makes fun of us. "Gee, sure seems like a long time since someone's hit a ball in." "Do I need to pay for lessons for you kids?" That sort of thing. She'll have one beer (no more; "it gives me heartburn") and a piece or two of pizza, and just soaks it all in.

At one point when the sarcasm was at its zenith, my husband turns to my mom and says, "Your realize, of course, that YOU taught them to act like this." She just lowered her head and started to giggle.

I will never, ever, forget the day when I was about 10 years old, and my mom, dad, and I were sitting at the kitchen table with fresh cones from Dairy Queen. Mom sniffs her cone several times, making a sour face with each sniff. She hands the cone to my dad. "Does this smell strange to you?" My dad, ever trusting, puts the cone to his nose (it was quite the large honker, mind you) to test the scent... and BAM! Mom pushes the cone into his face.

I thought I would die. I may have peed my pants, I don't remember. All I can remember is my mom laughing for about an hour. My dad was a saint.

Road to Recovery

Thanks to everyone for their prayers and well wishes for Daisy, our 4-legged baby. We still don't know what was wrong with her... but she's improving and that's all that matters. GUESSES have ranged from snake bite or spider bite (although we really couldn't find anything that looked like a puncture would) to some kind of fungus or infection she might have picked up from her romp in the swampy area up in South Dakota.

The top pic is 'healthy' Daisy. Below that is a pic of Daisy from last week... the infection manifested in her eyes first, and then she proceeded to break out in hives and her whole body swelled up. Her poor legs and paws were so swollen in was hard for her to walk, and her normally-thin ears were puffy as marshmallows. She was just miserable. Two different antibiotics and steroids plus benedryl helped knock out whatever it was... but we were plenty scared for a few days. She was such a trooper - always sweet during the multiple visits to the vet's office - I'm sure she must have known we were trying to help her, despite the shots and poking/prodding.


She seems to be out of the woods now. Swelling has gone down, and she seems back to her chipper self again. Her poor eye, though, is still really scabby, and the hive/lesion thingys that appeared on the bridge of her nose and top of her head are all scabby as well... so of course she is wanting to paw at them and rub them on every bumpy surface - I'm sure they itch like hell... we all know what it's like to have an itchy scab!! aaaaggghhhh!! So, I'm sure it's going to take a while for the eye to heal up, and I'll be surprised if she doesn't have a little scarring from the ordeal. Thankfully, the eye itself seems to be very healthy - just the soft tissue surrounding it is goobered.

Again, thanks to all of you for your well wishes sent her way. We love her to death and don't know what we would have done if she hadn't pulled out of this. Her 4-legged sister Molly is happy to have her back to normal as well. PHEW!

Carpe Diem

Not a good week if you are someone who: a) fears death, or b) lives life by the "I'll get to that tomorrow" philosophy.

Found out this week that an incredible lady from one of our advisor offices in Atlanta was just diagnosed with a very rare form of cancer. They gave her 6 weeks to live, but based on her rapid decline, she'll be lucky to make it three. Completely blind-sided her. Healthy as an ox up to the diagnosis, and only in her early 50s. Will leave behind a thriving financial practice and husband/kids who will miss her dearly. Yikes.

Then, I heard yesterday that a dear, dear friend of our family was also just diagnosed with a very invasive form of cancer. TWO weeks to live. It's slightly less of a blow because this fine gent is well into his 80's and has led a wonderful, full life. But, nonetheless, he didn't see it coming.

Just found out today that a good friend of mine and fellow supper-club member is in the hospital through the weekend while they try and determine why she has clots on her lungs. This gal is mid-thirties, a marathon runner, and just finished riding the week-long bicycle trip across the state of Iowa. Meaning, she has, up to this point, led and incredibly health lifestyle. We're hopeful it's nothing serious, but I'm nervous as hell until the test results come back.

And then a fucking bridge in Minneapolis falls into the river during rush hour. I can't think of how many times I've driven over that bridge. Those poor sons-a-bitches, just trying to get the hell home after a long day of work and WHAM!!!! A gazillion pounds of concrete and steel comes smashing down around you and next thing you know it's via con Dios.

All I'm sayin' is it's time to take stock of your life. Today. Call your mom this week and tell her that you love her. Hug your spouse for no reason and when they give you that "what the hell is wrong with you?" look, just say, "I'm thankful you're my partner." Buy that stupid guitar or belt sander or shotgun or pair of leopard pumps or leather jacket that you've been coveting for a year and kept telling yourself, "oh, that's just silly." Kiss your kids and your dogs. Buy a bouquet of flowers and put it on your nightstand...

Life is short enough as it is without having to be mired in regrets when your number gets called. CARPE DIEM!

Argument Won... FINALLY.

Carlos and I have been having this argument ever since we've known each other. Despite my repeated attempts to convince him that it's possible to get sunburned on an overcast day, he has, prior to now, flatly refused to believe it is possible.

I understand how he might think this, having the skin qualities of George Hamilton as he does. That arse can spend the whole friggin' day in the sun and barely get pink on top of his cocoa-brown complexion. My wonderful Scottish heritage has given me no such epidermis.

Today we spent the afternoon at my cousin's on the lake. Hot and muggy, but completely cloud-covered. I should say it still remained bright enough to warrant a pair of sunglasses, however. To prove my point and against my better judgment, I applied no sunscreen today. Sure enough, my forehead now looks like a radish. Thank goodness I had a fairly good base tan from last weekend, or I'd be in a world of hurt right now.

Just now I placed my wide girth between Carlos and his view of the television, thereby securing his attention. Pointing to my forehead, I said "DO YOU SEE THIS???" I then pulled up my shirt and pressed my fingers to my chest, leaving stark white imprints against the red skin when the fingers were removed. "How do you explain this considering we NEVER saw the sun ONCE today?"

I could see the little hamster running feverishly in his brain, trying to find a way to deny the obvious evidence. "Wellllll, I only said that it was impossible for ME to get sunburned on a cloudy day."

He knows as well as I do that his explanation/excuse is a pile of horse manure. I gave him that look, the "I know that you know that I know you are full of shit" look.

"We're never going to have to have this discussion again, are we?"

"No," he replied. somewhat sheepishly.

Argument won.

Kill Me Now

You’d think after 44 years of existence that I’d know better than to wharg down a spicy cilantro steak taco and half an order of nachos at 1:30 in the morning. Especially after woefully forgetting to take my Prilosec that day.

Yet, my response is what it always is when Carlos and I slog into the kitchen after a long band gig day and he says, “I’m freakin’ starving. I’ll pay, if you run and pick up some Mexican while I’m walkin’ the dogs.” Sounds good!

At 6:00 a.m. this morning my trachea reminds me of my misdeeds from hours before. I slam a handful of Tums and fall back to sleep.

Three hours later I’m still waging war in my gut and I’m slamming down bottled waters trying to rinse out this awful taste of chalk in my mouth. I’m such an idiot. I think the only thing that’s going to squelch the fire is a big ol’ greasy egg McMuffin! Just kill me now.

I've Been What? Tagged???

This is such an unexpected moment… responding to a “tag” from my buddy Trelvix. Why they call it a "tag" is foreign to me... is it like "tag, you're it?" I'm not the hippest when it comes to the latest internet lingo, so I'm just guessing. But mostly I'm surprised at being tagged by TRELVIX. He is not the type to normally play along with this sort of thing. A real “runs with scissors” kind of guy. For whatever reason (I blame it on the inevitable mellowing that comes with each passing year) he acquiesced and did one of these “get to know me” exercises. And now, the apparent protocol dictates that he pass this exercise on to others. Swell.

I actually enjoy these simple diversions from time to time, so am happy to comply. I’m not “tagging” anyone else though. I’m too limited in my circle of blogging friends (my ramblings are done solely to amuse myself). So, to fulfill whatever rules or regulations govern these things, I give you the requisite eight things you might not know about me.

1. I’m really lucky to have a cool family. I have three older brothers, all of whom I adore and see regularly. They are some of my best friends, and I KNOW how lucky I am to have siblings that care about me. It is a tribute to my Mom and Dad that we are all so close – they raised us with a lot of love and a good dollop of discipline. I am truly blessed.

2. My most embarrassing moment is NOT the night I was so drunk after a Pink Floyd concert that I dropped trow and peed in front of about 40,000 fans stuck in traffic (keep in mind I’m a WOMAN, so really hard to clandestinely pee). Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go. No, my most embarrassing moment was when I was about 11 or 12 years old, standing in front of my bedroom mirror playing my tennis racket guitar and singing along with whatever record was on my close-n-play turntable (remember those things?)

I was totally working on my rock star face and honing my guitar god skills when I see the reflection of my Dad standing in the doorway behind me. He wasn’t laughing, he was just standing there with a quivering lower lip. I collapsed in a heap on the floor; I’m sure I started crying and yelling at him with pre-pubescent fervor to stop invading my privacy or whatever. My own damn fault for leaving my door wide open, but it was the middle of the day in the middle of summer and Dad wasn’t supposed to be home from work yet. I laugh about that moment now, but back then it was HORRIFYING I TELL YOU!! Haha

3. As much as my buddy Trelvix hates the smell of cinnamon, I LOVE the smell of cinnamon. I actually love the smell of maybe 80% of the spices in existence. Garlic frying in butter… MMMMMMMM.

Fresh basil, fresh dill, fresh chives…. Mmmmm. The smell of spices means somethin’ is cooking, and I’m all about the cooking!!!

4. I believe in guardian angels. I know I have one that looks out for me personally - I've evaded enough close calls to really believe that. Our whole family has one that works overtime on the 4^th of July. Anyone that has been to one of our mostly drunken fireworks extravaganzas can attest to that! This year’s “Saturn Missile Battery in the fire pit” was HI-LARIOUS, but only because nobody got hurt – just some burned shorts. Thank God for angels!!

5. I like hanging out with the fellas. Growing up with three older brothers, I was always a tom-boy. But even as I’ve aged and become much more “girlie” I still have so little tolerance for most girlie behavior. I hate catty women, I think long fingernails are completely ridiculous, and I don’t have any tolerance for weakness. Give me a cigar, a good whiskey, and some football and I am in paradise. Headstrong, independent, intelligent women are my closest gal pals.

6. I am not afraid of death, but I am terrified of getting old. More accurately, I am afraid of losing my independence and faculties. I don’t care about getting wrinkles and saggy boobs and all that. Outward appearances are so unimportant. But living through my Dad’s battle with Alzheimer’s has me petrified. Seeing this wonderful, funny vibrant man reduced to a shell of his former self was a nightmare. I never want to be a burden on ANYone, financially, emotionally, or otherwise. My only hope is that should my path take me down a similar road that there will be some kind of life-ending alternative in the next 30 years!!

7. I love to fish but I hate baiting my hook and I don’t like taking the fish off the hook. And, I don’t have a clue how to clean a fish. How stupid is that? But, isn’t that what husband’s are for?

8. I abhor people who litter. I don’t know how many times I’ve been stuck in traffic and I’ll see a car ahead of me throw a cup or wrapper or fast food bag out the window and I SO BADLY want to jam my car in park and walk up to the idiot’s car, rap on the window and shove the bag back in their face while screaming, “GEE, I THINK YOU MUST HAVE ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED THIS YOU FUCKING MORON!!!” I have yet to do that, but as I get older and more impatient I am edging ever closer to this event. I’m not a green-freak or anything, but when I’m at the beach or in a park and see people’s discarded beer cans and hamburger wrappers I go mental. So, please, don’t litter when you’re around me.

There you go, me in a nutshell.

The Smell of Puppies

"It's gonna be a good day, Tater."

I steal that phrase from a very funny man, comedian Ron White. If you've not seen his standup routine, check it out. Anyway, today WAS a good day, for three simple reasons.

1) Got my fat ass up WAY too early and, tired as we were (after a successful but late band gig night), Carlos and I shlubbed out to my bro John's house to help cut down a giant dead piss Elm on his property. Several others were there to help, and not only did we successfully cut down that big-ass dead tree, NOBODY got hurt and nothing got busted. PLUS, a good bonfire woodpile resulted. YESSS.

2) In post tree-felling celebration, multiple cigars and beers were consumed on the patio, enjoying the afternoon's sunshine... then burgers on the grill. Swweeeeeet. There's something quintessentially perfect about eating great food outdoors on a great day.

3) What could top that but a trek up the road to see the new litter of 3-week-old Buzz puppies... Nine yellow and black Labrador bundles of joy, their eyes open only a few days, grunting and cooing like little piglets. GOOD GOD they are cute. Just as some folks like the smell of babies, I love the smell of puppies and puppy breath. Can't get enough. Effin made my day.

Tonight I shall drift off to sleep, my belly full, my limbs tired from hauling timber, and my thoughts of furry Lab puplets dancing in my head.

It was indeed a good day, Tater.

Inevitable Destiny

So, do you remember when that moment hit you... that horrible, horrible moment when you said to yourself, "Holy shit. I've become my mother." (or father, if you're a guy). I don't. Remember the moment, that is.

For me, that moment has been occurring my whole life. Ever since I can remember, folks have always been saying how much I look like my mom. Even when they confused me for a boy (with three older brothers I was a HUGE tomboy until I got out of high school) they STILL said I looked like my mom. And I always thought my mom was really cool, so the fact that people compared me to her was kind of a compliment!

Even when I hit 35 and started complaining about taxes and "these kids today" and the high price of [insert food item or commodity of your choice here] and that kind of crap, I didn't so much dread the thought of becoming my mother as much as I loathed the fact that I was GETTING OLD. "Shit. I'm saying things that OLD PEOPLE SAY!!! ACK!"

Now that I'm 40+, I'm not dealing with aging very well, but at least I know that if I am indeed becoming my mother, maybe things could be worse. My mom is a great old lady. She was a really AMAZING woman in her prime (airplane pilot, engineer, painter, could sail a boat, handy with tools), but even now, at 84, she's a great old lady. She's funny as hell, still loves to paint (mostly watercolors), plays bridge several times a week, does the crossword puzzle every freaking day, keeps up with world events, and likes a cold beer now and again.


Mom's sister, my Aunt Mary, is also very cool. Most of my friends know Mary from our annual Christmas party, and they think she is just about the hippest octogenarian they've ever seen.

And she is. Witty, urbane, stylish, and MAN can that woman smoke and drink! HA! She parties right up until the end with the young folk.

But mostly I love the fact that both of these fine dames have maintained their sense of humor and joie de vivre well into their golden years. So maybe I'll luck out. I figure I've got some pretty good genes working in my favor.

Why Vacations Can Suck

So, it's been 2 weeks since we came back from vacation in Palm Desert, and I'm STILL not back into the swing of things at work. Well, okay, that's not true. Yes, I'm back to the daily grind and plugging along as usual... but the "sh*t, I'd really rather be sunning by the pool right now" feeling still hasn't gone away.

Maybe it's the nicer weather that's around this week, or maybe it's the fact that these last two weeks have been crazy-busy, but I can't stop thinking about how much I'd really rather be on vacation!!!

Leading up to a vacation, that week prior is always horrible. Last-minute projects, loose ends to tie up, clients to appease, co-workers to fill in. Did I pack everything I needed to? Did I grab the rental car paperwork? Oh crap, where are my reading glasses? Sunscreen? Don't forget to go to the bank! Shit. I know I'm forgetting something.

The totally sucky thing about vacations, though, is that there's always an end. The fun starts to wane around Wednesday when you realize there are only a few days left. You keep shoving the thought to the back of your mind... but every once in a while it pops back in. Tick, tick, tick... every minute brings you one f*ing tiny bit closer to having to go back home.

Friday is the worst. "LAST DAY" you think to yourself. That night, you have to gather up all your crap that you've strewn around the condo... making sure you don't leave your swimsuit hanging on the back of the bathroom door, or your sunglasses next to the coffee maker.

This last trip was particularly excruciating. We'd survived a 7-hour delay in the DFW airport flying INTO Palm Springs. Yes, SEVEN F'ING HOURS we sat at the f*ing airport. Tornadoes had stormed through the city the day before, and ALL the flights were jacked-up. We were lucky we even got in on Saturday, but we were supposed to get in before noon, and didn't get there until 9:00 that night. Lost a whole damn day.

So, then we have a great week, with lots of drinking and relaxing and great meals out with fun friends and family. Cut to the trip home on the following Saturday... HEY, GUESS WHAT?? Our f'ing plane has mechanical problems! We're not taking off for another 2 hours. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee! Now we'll miss our connection in Dallas, so we'll get to sit there ANOTHER 4 hours and wait for the last flight out to Omaha! OH BOY!!!!! FUCK ME.

I guess I should be thankful that our luggage made it there and back. Last year they lost it. BOTH F'ING COMING AND GOING. But I swear I'm never flying through DFW again, or on American Airlines. They really pissed me off.

So, we get home LATE on Saturday, spend most of Sunday recovering, and then it's back to the grind again. Damn, I really hate coming home from vacations.

Guess I will just start counting the days until the next vacation in October. So, your duty between now and then is to keep my mind occupied with other fun stuff. GET ON IT already!

Finally Able to Talk About It.

It's been several weeks now since HGTV announced the winner of the 2007 Dream Home. I apparently seem to the only one surprised by the fact that they didn't pick me. I had so much positive energy directed at that damn contest. I don't know how many hours I laid awake at night and imagined how much fun it would be to pack that place with my family and friends.

That's really the only reason I'd want a place that big - a place that sleeps TWELVE for heaven's sake. I love to entertain and have parties and have friends stay over... But OH did I want that house. It truly was the house I'd always dreamed of. The perfect kitchen. A large dining area withe a huge table. A wonderful lodge-y feel with big stone fireplaces and rough-hewn beams, looking out at the most incredible views of the mountains.

Dammit. It's going to take me a while to get over this one. I haven't watched HGTV since they announced the winner. I'm not sure when I'll be able to forgive them.

Sure, the logistics would have been complete hell. I'm not ready to move. Not while my mom's still alive - she needs me. And I really don't have any great desire to live in Colorado for that matter. I just really wanted the house. The furnishings were exquisite. The layout was perfect. Everything about that house was exactly what I've always wanted. Just the location sucked.

My heart is broken. All that shit about positive thinking and the power of believing in your dreams... right out the frigging window. My only consolation is that maybe this really would have been a giant disaster for me. A financial nightmare. An emotional drain. I guess if I really think about it, that's exactly what it would have been. But I still can't help but feel like a jilted lover.

Damn HGTV.

Bread Pudding to Die For

In my previous post I talked about the bread pudding I was going to make for our supper club last weekend. Oh.... My..... Gawd.... it was sinfully good. And a great item to take since I could do the majority of the work ahead of time. My title of "Dessert Queen" was once again well-deserved, as the contented smiles and loud "mmmmmmms" shone forth from the dinner table.

Here, for your enjoyment (and hopefully use!) is the recipe. THIS IS EASY - make it and impress your friends and/or family - they'll think you are a genius!!! (a side note - this is definitely NOT a diet-friendly recipe... quite the contrary - a real artery-buster. So... if you are counting your calories, run away NOW).

Nuevo Cubano Bread Pudding - Emeril Lagasse
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup 1/2-inch diced pineapple (I just used canned pineapple tidbits)
1 cup 1/2-inch diced bananas (about 1-1/2 bananas)
4 large eggs
3 cups heavy cream
1 cup coconut milk (usually in the baking isle - NOT the stuff for pina coladas!)
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
6 cups 1/2-inch cubes day-old Cuban or French bread
1/2 (or more) cup sweetened shredded coconut, toasted
Confectioners' sugar, garnishPreheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Coconut-Rum Sauce
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted (this is a WHOLE STICK - yeowch, but mmmmm)
1/3 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup coconut milk
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg yolk, beaten
1/2 cup light rum (I used Bacardi GOLD rum, and it was EXCELLENT)

To begin:
Butter a 13 by 9-inch baking dish with 2 tablespoons of the butter (it didn't take that much butter for me... maybe only a tablespoon)

In a large skillet, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter over medium heat. Add the pineapple and bananas and cook, stirring, until they begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat.

In a small saucepan, melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter.

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs. Add the cream, coconut milk, brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon and allspice, and whisk well. (note: I always have a problem adding melted butter to cold ingredients like cream [it hardens and clumps] - so, to avoid that problem, add your butter to the brown sugar first, then mix that with the coconut milk - which isn't cold - then mix with everything else). Add the bread, fruit, and melted butter, and stir well to combine. Let sit until the bread is saturated. (doesn't take very long - 5 minutes or so.) Pour into the prepared dish.

(note: I thought the baking dish contents seemed "soupy" so added a few more chunks of bread here and there to soak up some of the liquid. HOWEVER, in hindsight, I was amazed how thoroughly all the liquid was absorbed during baking, so don't worry too much about the wet consistency if you follow the recipe's measurements!)

Bake until golden and firm when pressed in the center, about 1 hour. Remove from the oven and cool slightly on a wire rack to set, about 20 minutes.

Serve on dessert plates. Spoon the rum sauce over the pudding and sprinkle each serving with the coconut and confectioners' sugar.

Coconut-Rum Sauce:
In a medium saucepan, combine all the ingredients except the rum. Cook over medium-low heat, whisking constantly, until the sauce has thickened and coats the back of a spoon, about 10 minutes. (Do not allow the sauce to boil or the egg will curdle and the sauce will not be smooth.) Remove from the heat, whisk in rum, and set aside to cool slightly before serving.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

What was nice about this dessert was that I made the bread pudding late in the afternoon so that it was ready to take out of the oven about 15 minutes before we had to leave. I left it covered through dinner, and it was still slightly warm by the time dessert was served. I just took all the ingredients with me for the sauce, and whipped that together at the host's house. Use lots of sauce (boy is it good). Dust the dessert liberally with powdered sugar, and be sure to toast the coconut - it really adds a wonderful flavor and a bit of a crunchy texture. (to toast the coconut, lay out in a single layer on a cookie sheet and put in a 350 oven. In a few minutes, take out the sheet, spread the coconut around, cook another few minutes. Repeat until the coconut gets brown, but with a few white shreds still. Keep an eye on it, as it will burn easily.

The rest of the Hawaiian-themed meal was quite good. A really excellent pork loin recipe, some interesting salads, tasty vegetables, rice with pine nuts, and Navy Grog cocktails (whooo, those will kick your butt).

Now I just have to come up with an interesting recipe for potatoes for Easter Sunday... Hmmm. Any ideas?

Cooking with Wine

So, not to sound snotty, but I probably will anyway when I say "So, I read this great article in the New York Times the other day"... but, well, I did. So sue me. I read this article in the Times last week about cooking with wine, and it was quite interesting.

First, those who know me know that I love to cook. I don't cook all that often, though - it's hard to get excited about it on a regular basis when there's just the two of us. It's also hard to get motivated to cook when I work a 40+ hour week and I'm just mentally exhausted when I get home at the end of the day.

That being said, there are only a few things that bring me as much joy as putting together a really great gourmet meal and entertaining good friends. When I have the time, I can spend an entire day cooking. I really love trying new dishes and new techniques. Sometimes I fail, sometimes it's "ok", and sometimes it's a wicked-good success. The successes make all the failures worthwhile!

So, anyway, about the NY Times "wine" article. Basically, after a lot of foo-farrah about this wine and that wine and blah blah blah cooking techniques and making dishes I've never even heard of, what it all boiled down to is that cooking with really expensive wine is NOT - repeat NOT - worth the extra money.

Here is a particularly well-written section from the article. The analogies to pencils and skittles made me laugh out loud...

"After cooking four dishes with at least three different wines, I can say that cooking is a great equalizer.

I whisked several beurre blancs — the classic white wine and butter emulsion — pouring in a New Zealand sauvignon blanc with a perfume of Club Med piña coladas, an overly sweet German riesling, and a California chardonnay so oaky it tasted as if it had been aged in a box of No. 2 pencils.

Although the wines themselves were unpleasant, all the finished sauces tasted just the way they should have: of butter and shallots, with a gentle rasp of acidity from the wine to emphasize the richness. There were minor variations — the riesling version was slightly sweet — but all of them were much tastier than I had expected.

Next I braised duck legs in a nonvintage $5.99 tawny port that reminded me of long-abandoned Halloween candy, with hints of Skittles and off-brand caramels. Then I cooked a second batch of duck legs in a 20-year-old tawny port deliciously scented with walnuts, leather and honey. Again, the difference was barely discernible: both pots were dominated by the recipe’s other ingredients: dried cherries, black pepper, coriander seed and the duck itself.

Wincing a little, I boiled a 2003 premier cru Sauternes from Château Suduiraut (“The vineyard is right next door to Yquem,” the saleswoman assured me), then baked it into an egg-and-cream custard to see whether its delicate citrusy, floral notes would survive the onslaught. They did, but the custard I made with a $5.99 moscato from Paso Robles, Calif, was just as fragrant.

Over all, wines that I would have poured down the drain rather than sip from a glass were improved by the cooking process, revealing qualities that were neutral at worst and delightful at best. On the other hand, wines of complexity and finesse were flattened by cooking — or, worse, concentrated by it, taking on big, cartoonish qualities that made them less than appetizing."

There you have it from Julia Moskin and the New York Times. I don't know who she is, but sounds like she did her homework.

Apparently, "back in the day" (when I wasn't cooking anything more than ramen noodles, Kraft Mac & Cheese and frozen pizzas), Julia Child released a cookbook which said cooking with anything other than a really good wine is just sinful.

So, everyone followed suit and dumped out their bottles of "cooking wine" in favor of more expensive alternatives. The Times author's test kitchen pretty much proved this to be unnecessary. However, the article said that the old fashioned "cooking wine" is NOT a very desirable solution, due to the fact that it often has salt and other flavorings added, and that can distort the flavor of the dish.

SOOO, there you have it. I'll no longer worry about using my $5 or $10 vino for cooking!!

Coming up this weekend... our monthly "ChowHounds" gathering. This is a group of 13 crazies who try to get together every month at a different host's house for a great meal. This month we're having a Hawaiian theme, and since I wear the crown of "dessert queen" I am bringing the final sweet du jour.

I plan on having some fun with bananas, coconut, pineapple and rum!! I'll let you know how it turns out! Cheers!

Spring Fever, Summer Flu

Now that the weather is finally starting to get a little warmer (crap, now I've gone and jinxed it... we're in for a freak snowstorm next week. Just you wait), I am really starting to get major spring fever.

Carlos and I sat out on the back patio tonight after work, sipping some amazing Irish whiskey and watching the dogs whittle assorted sticks into toothpicks. It was positively balmy, and my mind started racing with all the pleasures that spring brings. "Looks like the chives made it through another winter." "What do you think about maybe taking the patio furniture to the car wash and giving it a good spray clean?" (that one got me an "uhhhhhh, NO" look from Carlos) "Can you believe all the buds on the lilac hedge?" "I think I will put vinca in these rectangular boxes this year, but I just don't know what to do with the elevated pots." (I'm thinking I'm going to do geraniums again). "Boy, the patio sure needs a good sweeping."

As I do every year, I will get too excited too soon and rush off to buy a bunch of annuals that I will plant exactly 2.8 days prior to an unexpected temperature dip and overnight freeze. But I can't help myself. I love planting things. The look of the freshly-turned earth, the excitement when new blooms pop open. But mostly the beautiful colors. Every year I fall in love all over again with a freshly planted garden.

This new romance lasts approximately 2 or 3 months. Then the heat of summer comes. "Hell no I don't feel like weeding the garden - it's 98-f*cking degrees outside!" "What do you mean the potted plants look dried-up and shrivelly... I thought YOU were watering them!" With the furnace that is our Iowa summers, the garden falls into disrepair. Too hot to tend it. Too hot to even be outside enjoying it. By the time cooler temps roll in with the fall, the garden has become a dishevelled, overgrown mess.

Weeds and wildflowers choke out the carefully planted annuals and perennials. Moles (those F*CKERS. MAN I HATE THEM!!) will have churned-up every other square inch of my lawn. Our yard will look like a combat zone, but I won't care because I'll be inside, hiding in the dark cave of my air conditioned house.

Such is the ritual every year. But I can't help it. I don't know what else to do. If we lived somewhere more temperate, I'd be willing to take better care of my garden and yard, but LORD do I hate hot, humid weather. (although I LOVE the hot weather if I'm sunk up to my neck in river water, a beer in one hand and a stogie in the other!! BRING IT ON!)

Maybe my good friend (and master gardener!) BB will have some suggestions for keeping up with my garden during the hot summer months. So, until such time as Iowa summers get a little more palatable, my poor garden will perpetually suffer the consequences of my neglect. Anyone care to be my summer landscaper!?

A Secret Revealed

I think probably most people have more than a handful of secrets that they keep buried deep within the cobwebbed hidey-holes of their minds. Secrets they've never told anyone.

Not me, buddy. I'm virtually secret-less.

I really haven't had many events in my life that would require secret keeping. I'm just lucky that way, I guess. Maybe good things always seem to happen to me because I choose to just ignore the bad things. I dunno. Maybe I don't have secrets because I can't KEEP secrets. No, that's not true, either. I'm a really GOOD secret keeper. I just don't have many of my OWN secrets.

ANYway, so on to my secret.

My buddy Trelvix thinks this is going to be some kind of amazing story. It's not. Although it IS really out of character for me.

Here's the scene: Summer, 1985. My awesome parents had given me a choice a few months earlier when I graduated from college: take the savings bonds they'd put aside and pay off my college debt, or use the money however else I wanted (but I'd still be responsible for the college loans!!). I opted to take a big chunk of the money and go to Europe.

My good friend Sarah and her sister Katie were along for the ride. Just the three of us. Going to Europe for THREE MONTHS, riding the Eurail, with youth hostel passes, backpacks, bed rolls and passports. Why the hell did my parents agree to this? Was the world just that much less scary 20 years ago??

I will have to blog at a future date about some of the other amazing adventures we had while we were there: Katie being mugged by the gypsy kids in Paris, getting hit-on by the old man in Munich, hanging out in Switzerland with the boys from Belgium, staying on the Botel (a boat/hotel) in Amsterdam... anyway, I digress.

We flew into London and took the train all the way south to Italy, then a boat across to the Greek Islands. It was unbelievable. Being an art student and seeing all these amazing places... it was surreal. Our first day in Greece we were staying on the small island of Korfu. We got off the ferry and were immediately bombarded by locals offering us rooms in their homes. We were exhausted, and ended up just picking someone who looked moderately clean and had most of their teeth. In broken English he beckoned us to follow him through a winding, cobblestone street, past row after row of white-fronted houses (like rowhouses), all joined together, through a little doorway into his home.

His wife was just as you'd expect - leathery skin, dark, deep-set eyes, whispy grey hair falling across her forehead, standing there in her well-worn apron with a broom. She greeted us in broken English and a large smile, and her husband ushered us up a narrow staircase to the room upstairs.

There were three single beds in the room, with two small windows that looked out onto the street. The windows had no glass or screens - just shutters that were open to the sunlight. There was no traffic noise - I don't really recall even seeing many cars. Just people sitting on their stoops, chatting or cleaning vegetables.

We dropped our backpacks and immediately dug for our swimsuits. We were headed for the beach. We had to ride a bus to get to this incredibly private area, surrounded by vertical cliffs and blue water as far as the eye could see. From the bus stop, we walked down, down, down this long, winding road which eventually dumped us out onto the beach. It was unbelievably gorgeous. Maybe only a dozen other people were there, most nude or partly nude.

Being pasty white and prudish Americans (of course, each of us wearing ONE PIECE bathing suits... HA!!), none of us had the nerve to disrobe. But here's when my secret happened.

We'd been frying all day in the sun, and I'd gone out into the deep water to cool off. I'd been watching this young Greek man all afternoon, but hadn't had the nerve to approach him. What would the point have been? We were only there for a few days. Besides, I had a serious boyfriend back home.

As I'm standing there in the deep water, my arms floating, eyes closed, just feeling the cool of the water, I hear a whisper RIGHT behind me. "Hello" he said, in a low voice. "Hi," I said over my shoulder, awkwardly, somewhat nervously. I didn't turn around - I wasn't really sure WHAT to do. Neither of us said anything, just sort of floating there for what seemed like an eternity.

Next thing I know, he's right behind me, AGAINST me, just the two of us floating there, as he starts to run his hands along my shoulders and sides, and, well, I'm not going to get all romance novel here, but the long story short is I totally let him feel me up. For a long time.

Eventually, I turned to say something and he kissed me, hard. And it was great, and we made out, groping at each other for quite a while, and I could totally feel his hard-on pressing into me. It was then that my brain woke up and it said "WHAT THE FUCK do you think you're doing missy??" I pulled away from him and started to giggle, and he started to giggle, and then I said something like "what's your name?" or some other retarded question, and it was then that I realized he didn't speak a word of English. Well, other than "hello" I guess.

He looked at me with a sheepish expression and said something in Greek, which of course was Greek to me (arr arr). I honestly don't really remember how we broke it off and both ended up heading back to the beach, but I remember he just went back to where he'd been sitting all day, and so did I. Sarah and Katie had missed the entire thing. They'd been sleeping on their beach mats. I didn't say a word about it.

The day was winding down, and it was obvious that all three of us had burnt the crap out of ourselves. It was time to go. We packed up our belongings and started the trek across the beach towards the road. I took a sidways glance towards the Greek boy, and he was watching us leave. He shot me a smile. I smiled back and nodded, giggling to myself. Nobody had a clue.

I never told anybody that story, and I don't know why. It's not like anything really bad happened. I guess I cheated on my boyfriend by making out with some STRANGER, and maybe I think I felt pretty guilty about it. But shit, when you're 23 years old, you need to experience all of the many flavors that life has to offer, right??

More on Europe at another time. Until then, today's advice: CARPE DIEM!!!

Some things really ARE priceless

OK, so not to get all Zen or anything, but the last few weeks have really made me realize how f**king lucky I am. I have a really fun family, amazing friends, and a cool husband who plays in one of the area's most kick-ass bands. I don't have much to complain about. For that I am thankful.

This past weekend was totally killer. One of my oldest and best pals, Stinkbait (don't ask), came from across the state for my brother's Scotch tasting soiree. This yearly event is always a blast, and even though I never remember most of the attendees' names from year to year, their faces are always familiar and the handshakes are just as genuine. It really is a nice group o' folks.

Some amazing Scotch was consumed this year (as always), and the food was fantastic. Duck, grilled steaks, salmon, salads, fresh fruit and cheeses... and don't forget the haggis. What kind of Scotsmen (and woman!) would we be without a taste o' tha haggis!? This year's haggis was pretty tasty. Not as oatmeal-y as in years past.

Anyway, Stinkbait and I had a blast at the tasting, and despite our inebriated states, good judgment prevailed and we declined the late-afternoon invitation to go sledding at my brother Itchy's house. (as it turns out, EVERYone who DID go sledding suffered some kind of injury, so I'm REALLY glad we didn't go!!)

In preparation for a second night of rockin-out with the Pranxter boys (Friday night we had a great time as well), we opted for a brief post-scotch-pre-bar nap. Went down HAARRRRRRDDDDDDDDD. It took a 1/4 stick of dynamite to pry Stinkbait from his bed, and it was at least a good hour, if not two, after he was vertical for him to actually WAKE UP and realize where he was. Damn, that's a good nap.

Lurlene and Jolinda (M and M) came down with their cousins and the six of us partied like idiots all night long. Well, some of us more so than others. I think Stinkbait and I were fairly judicious in our application of spirits and/or malted beverages, so by the end of the night were fairing better than our younger counterparts.

Regardless, it was great to have Stinkbait there, as I really respect his musical opinion, and was glad he had a chance to see the new Pranxter lineup. They were kickin' some butt and takin' names last weekend, and all was right with the world.

This coming weekend brings more of the same... a fun cocktail party on Friday night at my pal Deb's house with all the other crazies in attendance, and will head from there to the Pranxter gig. Saturday is our "supper club" gang get-together. We're having "Indian Night" (that's Indian with a dot, not Indian with a tomahawk). I'm attempting to make, for the first time, the very traditional dish "aloo gobi". (btw, if you have the "Bend it Like Beckham" DVD, watch the featurette of the director making this dish with her mother and aunt- a RIOT). This gathering, too, will be followed by a trip out to the Pranxter gig.

I wish Stinkbait and Ladonna lived closer than a couple hour drive. I wish their young-un was older and didn't require so much parental supervision. I wish we all had a gajillion dollars so none of us had to work and we could just hang out together all the time. Damn.

But, for now, anyway, I'll just have to be thankful for the fun times we DO get to spend together. I look forward to the next event, and in the meantime I'll just be thankful that I have long-standing great friends that are such an important part of my life. Until next time, ROCK ON!!!!!!!!

New Year's Resolution

So, how much time is "normal" for someone to spend daydreaming about something that will never happen in a million years... you know, like winning the lottery, or marrying some rockstar hunk, etc.? To me, it seems completely ridiculous to daydream about it AT ALL, but I can't stop myself. I keep dreaming about winning the AWESOME house they are giving away on HGTV.

It's THE house I've always wanted. Gorgeous kitchen, amazing views, tons of room for guests (it sleeps TWELVE!!), a huge "media room" with a big-screen TV... all located as a ski-in/ski-out home in Winter Park, Colorado. I gaze longingly at the pictures online almost every day, studying each detail and agonizing over whether I could actually leave my family and friends behind and move.

Then I think, "Hey, this could just be our vacation home, and we could rent it out the rest of the year," and I ponder all the ups and downs of that scenario. It's so ridiculous. I'll never win this house in a gazillion years, so why do I keep torturing myself dreaming about it?!?!?

So, here's my New Year's resolution: Stop daydreaming about things you can never have, and be happy with what you DO have!! I really do love my little house. It's just the right size for us. But I wish I had a bigger area to entertain, and I really want to give my kitchen a make-over. So, I just need to shut up and stop whining, work hard to save some extra money for a remodel, and get 'er done.

If, by some UNBELIEVABLE quirk of fate, I end up winning that house (uhhh, right), then you are all invited to come visit!! You can check out my dream home at HGTV.com (but don't register to win - you're only diluting my chances!! haha)

Wow, where did the time go?

Can't believe it's been almost a month since my last post... but December was a busy one. Had an awesome Christmas this year. We spent the early part of the weekend with Michalle & Melissa. It was a fun visit, filled with good food, tooo many drinks, and the soon-to-be-tradition of the Lord of the Rings Dorkfest. Damn, that was fun, watching all three LOTR movies (the extended director's cuts) back to back! Made for a long day, but it was a blast. I don't think any of us ever got out of our pajamas the whole day! HA!!

Christmas Eve we had a small gathering at our house for chili and Christmas caroling. Despite Charlie's prediction of it being a total bust, it was actually a complete blast. Almost everyone in the neighborhood was home, and we hit about 6 or 7 houses before deciding it was time for hot chili and boozed-up egg nog. The weather was cold, but not freezing, and the brisk night air was perfect for singing. We actually sounded pretty good, and looked even better in our festive (and antique) Santa hats. I think this will certainly become an annual tradition.

My friend Kirk from work spent the night at our house on Christmas Eve (no in-town family for him), and then spent Christmas Day with us at my brother John's house. Awesome food, too many presents, and my crabby sister-in-law wasn't even all the crabby. It was a great day.

New Year's Eve weekend was also a blast. Spent that Friday evening with some gal-pals watching movies and having dinner/drinks. Fun. The Pranxter gig at the Chrome was much more fun because Challe & Missi had come to CB to party with us. They REALLLLLLY needed the drinks that night after driving through a HORRIBLE snowstorm for 4.5 hours (normally just takes 2!!). Thank you Jesus that they arrived safely.

Now the New Year is off and running. I am really looking forward to reading the upcoming chapters of a story that my friend Tracy is putting together. He is one of the funniest M-F'ers around, and he's writing a story about our Christmas party. So far I've seen chapter one, and just about peed my pants. I wait with great anticipation for chapter two.

I'm also looking forward to more parties with my PPP (Party Posse Pal!) Challe-gal and her peeps, and hopefully more visits from Missi as well. It was great seeing the two of them last month.

April brings our annual trip to Palm Desert and I am already counting the days. And far beyond that is a trip to Orlando in the fall. I'm hoping the daughters will work hard to save their pennies and be able to join us!!

My goal for 2007 is to get my diet and exercise program back on track. With Orlando on the horizon this fall, I need to be in tip-top shape for lots of walking and roller coaster riding! So, better get my sh*t together. Now.

I dread the upcoming grey months, filled with few breaks and not much to celebrate... but this will be a great chance to knuckle-down and hit the gym. Wish me luck!!