Oh Wait! Let me look for that.

It's time to cook a big-ass ham for many of us.

I'm not a huge fan of big-ass ham, but this morning I am digging through all the recipes I've gathered during my 21 years on this earth (ha!!).

I'm not a great cook, but I have been a lover of cooking since I was about 12 I think. I'd sit in my kitchen with my momma, going through her recipe box, and copying down some that appealed to me.

If I remember right, the ones I got from that time were mostly pie, fudge, cookie-type stuff.

Then I started jotting down other recipes from her files. Sadly, I never learned how to make her kick-ass roasts. Just can't duplicate that incredible taste. It's a momma-memory now.

I got my own recipe box (still have it) and started gathering my own recipes. When I was in my 20s and dating my wasband I really developed a love for recipes. Had to cook my way into his heart don't you know. Luckily for me the man would eat ANYTHING and enjoy it.

We had kids and I was a stay at home momma for a few years. Very budget-challenged years. I got incredibly good at dollar-stretching and the recipes grew and grew. Lots of hot dishes (shout out to Minnesota - hell ya!) and meatloaf stuff. Gathered tons of recipes from my momma again.

Had gardens with tomatoes, zucchini, broccoli, beets, green beans, winter squash, carrots, peas. Tons of other crap I can't remember.

Lots of canning. Jeez I used to kinda love canning. My girls will tell you different. That I was a crabby beast during canning days (late nights getting the stuff put up - tomatoes wait for no man or martha).

I sure did enjoy how the finished product looked. All those gorgeous jars full of colorful nummy stuff.

Going through the recipes is memory-loaded. So many of these were written from my momma's own hand and many are ones I dragged out again and again when the girls were babies.


So on Sunday I will bake my big-ass ham, roast my new potatoes, and make a bunny cake with marshmallow frosting. And I'll think about my momma.

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In the Naked, Cold, Light of Day

I put shorts on today.

Big deal? Yup, it is a big deal. My legs have been covered up pretty much since October (except for that one time in Vegas where I took them out only to quickly put them back where they belonged under black tights) and I am shocked how, year after year, I discover that they may have been neglected.

The feet too.

I've mentioned it millions of times (insert blog-reader's huge yawns - ready, set, go!) that it is DAMN cold here in the winter.

So . . . my legs disappeared in October. Mostly.

There have been brave, brief, flashings in the mornings after my shower and briefer skitterings as I high-tail it into the covers to dive into the warm spot that Pup may be providing. But, besides all that frolic, my legs are hidden in jammie pants, leggings, tights, yoga pants, and jeans.

It is 60 here again (whooo kiddies!) and when I returned home this afternoon after class and Cub (groceries) it was hotter than a cowboy waiting in the lobby of the Bunny Ranch in Nevada.

So I flung open doors, put on a camisole, and dug around for a pair of shorts.

Okay, they're cut-off drawstring sweats I bought at the Fleet Farm, but the legs are showing people! Don't get smarty-pants with me! :)

But sheesh! Look at these legs! I am part Swedish and my melanin may be a bit challenged on my gams until some sun hits them.

And where did this hair come from? Oh . . . I'm supposed to shave more than once a month? Oh.

Poor Pup.

And my toes are definitely not cute.

It's time for some detailing.

Then I can find my toe ring and get this party started!

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Pattie and George

Pattie Boyd Harrison Clapton has been the inspiration for five songs from two different rock stars according to wiki. I knew about three of them, but five?

Harrison's, Something and For You Blue, and Clapton's Layla, Wonderful Tonight, and Bell Bottom Blues.

Creative is as creative does I like to say.

Well, I'd say it if you were listening wouldn't I?

;)

She really is something to be sure.

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The Sun is Shining - You Know How I Feel

We dusted off the little car, wrapped ourselves up in sweaters and, for me anyway, a scarf, and headed off to Wagner's Drive-In.

A cold ride! Even with the butt-warmers turned on.

I had hot coffee, chicken strips, and homemade coleslaw. Pup thinks this may have been the earliest he has broken out the summer car since he bought it.

Now I'm having a hard time settling down and getting back to the biz of studying. Wanna come help me? Please? Because I'm totally sick with the fever.

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Girl Crush

I think I was watching Saturday Night Live with my wasband and longtime girl-bud, Deb-oh-rah long ago when I first saw Debbie Harry. I was instantly mesmerized. She was so damn darling!

My friend kept saying, "Look at her hair! Why would she wear her hair that way? She used to be a hairdresser for cryin' out loud!"

I kept looking at her hair and thinking how I could never pull that off, but she sure was fun to look at. She had the blond in front and dark in back. How forward-thinking was she? Now everyone does it. Around here anyway.

Many years later Deb and I saw her at an outdoor event. We thought she was fabu!

She's still a babe.

Love her.

Heart of Glass

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The Fever

Holy Crapinoli. It is only 26 degrees right now, but the sun is shining and there is the possibility of close to 60 degrees today.

Did you hear me?

60! That's practically naked weather here. I have seen people riding around in convertibles already. Not me, not yet. Once I take the top off Ruby (my Wrangler) it is a commitment. That top does not go up and down with a push of a button like Pup's BMW (yes, he's a spoiled brat; he bought it for himself six years ago and that man loves that car like I've never seen.)

So yes, we live in Minnesota. Where it is pretty cold nearly six months out of the year, yet we own two convertibles.

The reason? People around here are stone-crazy. No lie.

The sun comes out and the state goes insane for weather. Because when it's nice here it is the most gorgeous place ever. And when you know there might not be another day like this around the corner, it makes you appreciate the day you have.

The golfing, the driving ranges, the outdoor patios at resto's, the walking around the lakes.

All the lakes. 15 thousand of them. Boating, camping, hiking, riding in cars with boys, riding in cars by yourself.

Can't find a picture of Ruby with the soft top - sadness!

I love my Ruby. She is the 2nd Wrangler I've owned and as long as I can haul my round arse into that seat I will own one.

Yes, I have bad hair all summer. Yes people COMPLAIN when they ride with me. Yes it is like riding in a gravel-hauler. But man is it fun.

I can't find a pic of Pup's car. His is black.

Riding around in Pup's BMW is fun as well, but a different kind of fun. A skirt and sunglasses kind of fun. A valet-parking kind of fun.

I do both. I lean towards the wife-beater and hat kind of fun. Converse sneaks, a hoodie, and wife-beater. Jeez I cannot wait.

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Ooops!

I forgot to tag people for the story/picture challenge.

Heff over at Heff's Bar and Grill.
Ms. A over at The Sarcastic Granny.
DDG over at The world according to donut girl.
Niki over at Confessions of a Cosmeholic.
Blase over at My Game . . . it's your move.

Thanks for reminding me!

The Tag Rules:

1. Go to your first photo file and pick the 10th photo in it.
2. Tell the story behind the photo.
3. Tag 5 other people to do likewise.

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Let Me Know When I Get There

I love hipsters. I love their tight jeans, their pale faces, their self-absorbed air, their deeply-rooted shallowness.

The Twin Cities are awash with these types. I generally lump them into a young un crowd because older hipsters aren't hipsters; they're misplaced hippies or somesuch. Real hipsters are young and self-righteous and I love them.

I love watching them, I love noting what they're wearing (so good!), and if I get a chance, I love talking to them. Sometimes they are incredibly smart and informed and sometimes deep as a deep blue puddle. Just like the rest of us.

Remember when you may have had hipster tendencies? Remember when you were filled with self-righteous indignation? It just might be the only thing I miss about being a young un.

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Tag!

I have been tagged by the beautiful and talented Karen over at This Old House. You need to check out her place toot sweet. She and her family are remodeling a gorgeous old house and every detail she chronicles makes me want to move in with her and pretend I belong. How long do you think it would take for her to notice?

The Tag Rules:

1. Go to your first photo file and pick the 10th photo in it.
2. Tell the story behind the photo.
3. Tag 5 other people to do likewise.

Here's what I got. Truth be told, this photo is number ten of the last import, but I'm using it anyway!
The Story
Pup and I got married last June in Vegas. He likes Vegas and we really didn't want to make much fuss since this is #2 for both of us. We like to explain that it wasn't the wedding that was important, but the marriage.

We went with my daughters (in photo), my new SonIL - the Big B, one of Pup's sisters and the bro-in-law that he works with.

We had a wonderful and relaxing time. Serious fun.

We laid by the pool during the day, hung out in the sport book, did lots of shopping.

Now that I'm into telling this story, I realize it sounds like I'm in Vegas all the time. I don't even like to gamble! Crazy.

Sarah Bella and Lorenzo got tattoos - such a Vegas thing to do right? Lorenzo's second, but Bella's first. Darling tattoos of their own design. Both of the tats are cute and meaningful to both girls. It was a weirdly family-bonding thing to do. Pup didn't want me to get mine there (I'm not sure why now that I think about it) so I waited until we got home and I had a friend of Bella's do his magic.

This shot is one day when Pup and I were wandering around getting presents for the family. We called the girls and had them meet us for lunch. We sat in the bar eating our fried zuke and chicken strips watching tributes to Michael Jackson on the big screen (he died the day we got married).

Such a great trip. I love family trips!

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Hot Men Friday

Joaquin Phoenix

I know he's a bowl of mess-mix, but I can get there.

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And Now . . . a Pause from Our Sponsors

Heff mentioned in one of his comments that we (I believe he only meant me, but I'm using my blog-license) should get out there in the moment. Less writing - more living.

It's because we have the fever. The spring fever. The spring fling. You know, where we fling everything out, polish it up, place it on the shelf, and enjoy the tidy.

Whooo daddies, it's a beautiful day.

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I'm Annoying

I know you guys don't know me that well, but I really can be annoying. Hey! You guys that DO know me - no fair chiming in with your raucous agreements!

The thing I am MOST annoying about is nutrition. I go ON and ON and ON. It's a wonder I haven't been murdered in my sleep with a fish oil gel shoved down my throat. (Pup? Is that you?)

I'm not saying I adhere to everything I say, (which makes it ever so much more annoying) but I just LOVE spewing out crap I've learned from classes or readings. Real boner-killing things like:

Sugar - you may as well get ready for your heart-attack if you eat any of this crap.

HFCS - our government is trying to kill us by subsidizing all the corn-producers in the country. Evil Evil!

Grains! No one would ever fart again if we stopped eating this crap!

Soy! Did you know that if men ingest too much of this shit they actually grow breasts??

You get my point. Do you want to choke me until my eyes bulge out yet?

So when I found this I laughed and laughed!



Oh my god, I haven't had tears squirt out of my eyes this hard for quite some time.

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Story

A year or so ago I flew to San Francisco to drive home with my daughter, Lorenzo, (her name has been changed to protect the innocent - or not so innocent) who was moving back to Minnesota.

Road trips can be a blast. And we certainly did have a good time.

Like the night we wanted to make it to Salt Lake City and we BELLOWED for hours to Madonna's Like a Virgin CD. Ha!

The payoff was waking up in a crazy motel in Salt Lake and flinging open the icky curtains to see the most magnificent view ever! Mountains - omg - she and I were a little awestruck. Nothing like that where we're from let me tell you what.

Along the drive we needed to stop and get gas. We were on a godforsaken stretch of highway, we think somewhere in Wyoming. We fill the tank, walk off the car-cramps in our legs, and go in to the convenience store to poke around for snacks and such.

I'm looking around for something new to read and can't find the magazine stand so I approach the odd-looking woman manning the cash register. She has been keeping a wary eye on us because god knows two rumpled, flip-flop wearing, bleary-eyed woman such as us are cause for alarm, you know?

I ask her, "Do you guys have any magazines"?

She cackles a bit and responds, "No! And I don't have any dirty books either!"

Really? I had no idea I looked like a someone who would be on the hunt for dirty books. All I was looking for was maybe a People or some other throwaway. Whooo doggies! Someone snapped their bra on too tight that morning.

I simply said, "Ooooookaaaaaay." and paid for our SlimJims and cashews.

Lorenzo and I laughed for MILES and MILES! I have gotten really good at telling this story while drinking vodka. I have her Marlboro-Red voice down perfectly.

Never again peeps, never again will I willingly go into the states of Wyoming or Nebraska. Weirdness is everywhere in those parts.

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The Wrecking Ball: Renewed and Improved

Day One
I am sitting in my office this rainy a.m. Pets are snoring away. Hubbins is snoring away up in the loft. I am drinking my coffee (COFFEE!) in my jammies, doing my morning readings and thinkings.

Spring! Yes, I believe it really is coming.

Daylight Savings Time has hit, making us all groggy and cranky, but the underlying feeling is YES! I just might live through this winter without being sent to the loony bin or getting so fat I can't sit in an airline seat.

Naturally makes me rethink my wrecking ball.

It's been swinging away for a couple of months, but there hasn't been any bite in its force. So now it's day one babies.

As I said in Vegas to my band of buds - I swear by all that is unholy that I am going to get healthy and happy and skinny. Let's kick some winter ass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minnesotaoans are funny little critters. When Spring hits the air we go crazy! After being cooped up in our cars, our offices, our houses for months, when the sun gets hotter and the temperature goes above freezing, we break out our sweaters, our convertibles, and our happy faces.

This past weekend was like that.

In truth, it is an ugly time of year around here. When the snow melts it uncovers all the sins of fall past. All the things you didn't get to when it started snowing. The yard is full of doggy-bombs, soggy leaves, dead weeds, and brown grass. UGLY!

But you get this itch. An itch to get out there and rake that ugly brown lawn, pick up those bombs, feel the sun on your face. Smell that air? That's the sweet smell of warm air freedom.

I am breaking out my bike, Allie style. Time for the use it or lose it challenge. I am challenging myself.

Image courtesy of nataliedee.com

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John Mayer

Cal from SidenoteCal reminded me how much I love this guy. I really don't care he's been labeled a douche bag lately. Who here is not a douche bag? Hmm?

He's young, he's quick-witted, he has social-tourette's just like me. He thought he was being witty. Let's give the guy the benefit of the doubt.

I love this version of this song.

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Overheard

At the swanky club Cooper on Saturday night.

The hilarious Doug, his smart, funny, darling wife Carla, Pup, and I stopped to check out this new club in one of the Minneapolis suburbs.

What a gorgeous place.

So what did I overhear? Not a gad damn thing. Carla and I watched all the tables of people that were not engaging in hilarious convo, (as we were I'm sure! - hey! we're funny) but they were constantly texting away or talking away on all their collective smart phones.

Smart phone my ass. I do believe these people are all dumbasses. In the moment people! Why aren't we in the moment??

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Las Vegas Stories

Guest Blogger:
Lorenzo

The Scene
Sex and the City Slot Machines

Who:
Me and you Momma!

The fabulous slot machine ladies of Sex and the City caught our eye, so we headed over there to test our luck. I had no luck and grumbled while the woman next to me (who looked like she belonged on COPS) got to pick out shoes from SJP's closet to win bonus spins.

For you however, the machine sang a different tune! After a few spins, you also got to pick out a pair of SJP's shoes. Oooooh the options - Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin... you picked the plaid box, let's call them Burberry :) Those Burberry shoes paid off, because you got three bonus spins!

So there I was, green with envy of your cyber-Burberry shoes and bonus spins, when you hit Vegas pay dirt; the machine started ringing and the faux coin-in-pay tray(?) noises started rolling! This prompted our OC housewife Vicki-esque "Woo hoo!"'s and Midwestern "Oh my god!"'s.

This went on for awhile and we were oblivious (as usual) to the crowd growing behind us, who were all curious to see who the next big Vegas winner was; blue-hairs, Q-tips, and all. Little did they know a mere $54 had been won and two gambling penny-pinchers were at the Sex and the City machine's helm.

As the witnesses to our garish excitement rolled their eyes in disappointment, I'm sure they were thinking - AMATEURS!

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Hot Men Friday

Lenny.

Did anyone see him in Precious? He made that hard-movie-to-watch a little easier on the eyes.

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Perfection Redemption

Today, I've been spinning my wheels, running on empty, chasing a high, and any other schlocky cliche you can think of. A fretful, unproductive day.

Got me thinking.

If we are so busy worrying about perfection. Worrying about 100 percent, or the best, or the thinnest, or the cutest, or the smartest what is happening right now that we're not paying attention to? What flavor? What sensation? What touch, look, thought, feeling haven't I really tasted today?

When my darling Sarah Bella was little I walked her down our driveway so she could ride her bike over to her best friend's house down the street. I wanted to watch.

She took off, her hair bouncing back and forth, little legs peddling away. An ordinary happening that is a forever kind of memory for me. I wish I had millions of them. How many have I missed?

What did you miss today?

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. . . Motherless Bastard Part Two

To put a point on it, Calvin has more quirks than I've dealt with in the past. He had no momma and never was able to suckle so he quickly decided I was his momma and would lay his tiny, kitty body across my arms and suck on my thumb joint. I'm certain it wasn't satisfying.

"Poor little motherless bastard," I would say each day.

I had just been laid off and was home much more than normal at the time. Confession: I believe I spent March, April, May, and maybe more in a stupor; watching way too many movies and not thinking at all. At all.

So Calvin got to sleep on my lap while I was on the couch for those months during his kittyhood. His little paws always having to touch a part of my bare skin.

So now he thinks he owns me. I can't shut a door without him trying to open it. If I'm in a room, I turn around and Calvin is in that room. I can't have a conversation with Pup in the office without Calvin going behind my computer to chew on wires (a squirt bottle has helped stop this crap). If I leave for a day or two he is UPSET when I return.

"Poor little motherless bastard," I say on a daily basis.

He sleeps by my head at night, one paw always touching my shoulder. I'm convinced he really does believe he owns me. If Cesar Milan ever were to help me with my animals he would shake his enormous head and cluck his tongue, knowing there was no hope for my lack of pack-leader skills.
He is a chewer. I had NO IDEA cats could be chewers. I thought only large Astro-looking dogs were chewers (remind me to tell you about when George ate a small couch).

But a cat? Wires wires! One day I know I'll come home to find Calvin looking like the cat from Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation.

Get this, I wear camisoles to bed often. The ones with the skinny straps? One morning I woke to find Calvin chewing the strap off of my cami. Seriously. I cut the strap off of it and threw the rest away. He carries that strap around occasionally. Weirdness!

He waits every morning for Pup and I to clean our ears. Patiently waiting for his Q-tip. (Pup just made me add that Calvin get his own Q-tip, not our used ones.) He promptly trots off with them, either ruckasing with it or dipping it in water and tossing it into his food dish. What the hell!?

When I was gone over the weekend Calvin slipped out the door unbeknownst to Pup. Pup didn't notice until the following morning.

He searched through the house for Calvin's favorite places. Shaking his treat bag, calling for him. Nothing.

For some reason Pup decided to check outside. He is walking around the snowy yard calling for him. He spots a forlorn furball under some stored deck furniture on our porch.

He had spent the night outside.
"Poor little motherless bastard," Pup thought.

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Motherless Bastard

My cat, Calvin, is odd.

I've owned many cats in these years, and most of them have been odd. Personality quirks, issues, fur-smoothing needs.

There was Amy, beautiful part-Persian longhair. She hated my mother and would disappear for hours at a time while mom was at my house. My ex-SIL also insisted that Amy would perch on the arm of the sofa and stare at her. I say that woman was odd and needed some staring.

Then there was Sailor, gorgeous tabby that my wasband and I found in Duluth on our honeymoon. She was the most ferocious hunter I've ever seen. She also turned out to be a prolific kitty-producer before we could blink an eye. We quickly took her for de-kitty-production.

Her offspring became a couple more cats we owned. China, who followed wasband around the yard like a doggy. We also quickly learned that an outdoor cat isn't the way to go. I know they act like they love it out there, but it's a hard world and I will never let a cat out there on their own again.

Then a succession of family kitties too numerous to mention. All of them with issues.

My oldest bestie, Deb-oh-rah, (since we were 16 baby!!) would tell you that maybe it's not the cats I've owned, but maybe moi? Wha? How can that be? ;)

Then came Calvin.

Now, I'm the owner of an American Staffordshire Terrier, George, and this breed is considered to have a high prey drive and cats are not recommended.


I'm afraid they didn't consider Calvin.

Pup is a cat lover, as am I, but when he fell in with me he also fell in with George. Pup has been a really good sport about George too, even though Pup would much rather have a smaller-type dog. Not a 75 pound piece of hard muscle that many people shoot you the stink-eye for just walking down the street - poor uninformed richards; but I digress (could I get to the point?).

So one day the lovely Sarah Nicole (dearest friend to my darling Sarah Bella) texted me a picture of a few kitties her vet clinic had on their hands. It appears that someone had decided to toss a couple of litters of kitties into a dumpster and leave them to their fate.

Someone heard their little mews and brought them to the vet's office where they were hand-fed for weeks and loved and these little guys needed a home.

There was one little, tiny, gray guy with wild eyes that I immediately fell for so we went to check them out. You know, just a little peek.

We adopted two of them. Calvin for us and DK for Lorenzo, who was newly living in San Francisco at the time and needed a little warm body to cuddle.

to be continued . . .

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Las Vegas Stories

The Scene
This is the story of four little girls who went to the policy academy . . .

Oh wait, wrong girls . . .

This is the story of four women-girls who went to Vegas. Deb-oh-rah, Sherry-baby, Lorenzo, and myself.

Or should we use our stripper-names? Kitty Liberty, Penny Lane, Priscilla Forest, and Muffin Aurelia. Alright, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe you had to be there, hmm? Oh, you guys should have BEEN there!

We drank bloody's for breakfast (okay - we had eggs too), had vodka for all the rest of the meals. Or tequila. Or brandy. Lots of liquor. Priscilla said we had to keep our day-buzz going or we wouldn't make it through the night.

We went to a couple of comedy shows, did a little shopping, visited Madame Tussauds (what a hoot!) and gambled!

I am a terrible gambler. Really bad. I should just throw 20s out the window of the airport shuttle - of course I couldn't drink for free then could I? Hail no!

I signed up for TI's Player's Club card, took my free $10, added another $20 and literally gambled for three days. How is this possible? Although one afternoon Priscilla and myself hung out at the Venetian chatting up the bartenders and a couple of deep sea scuba Texans (I might need clarification on this one) while playing Keno for an entire afternoon. So much laughing my face hurt. Literally.

Very relaxing time, yet not at all! By Sunday I was READY to come home. I wanted my Pupcake, my dog, and naughty cat.

Traveling is fun, but there is no place like home.

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One Year of Blogging Today

And the adventure continues.

One year ago I had just been laid off from my job and I was feeling lower than an inner-city kid's pants. I decided to start yapping.

One year later and I'm still yapping. Who knew I had so much to say?

Just about everyone who knows me.

Gotta love me to hug me.

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Overheard

In Vegas!

Young girl with legs the color of rice running after a boy (she must have been from snow-country). He was running fast.

Hey! Don't you want to buy me a shot? Don't you?!!

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I Got an "A" on My Midterm!

Financial Accounting

I took it last Wednesday. The few days leading up to the test found me anxious and not optimistic. Not at all. I was fretting, eating badly, worn out, not sleeping, crabby crabby crabby!

I went into class with my one page of allowed notes (one side) that I had created in 6-point type. Hey! It's fair!

We had two hours. The kid in front of me finished in about 20 minutes, packed up his backpack, and left. Oh dear!

It took me nearly the entire two hours. Why am I so nervous? What's going to happen to me? Am I going to be swept up by the dumb-police and carted off to dumbass jail? No? Maybe?

As I hand my test paper to my instructor I say,

"Well, that was a blast."

Without blinking an eye, he looks me up and down and says,

"I bet."

I fear he doesn't have much faith in me either.

So today when I got to class Mr. Warm & Fuzzy told us to come up front and pick up our papers.

Mine said 91.

I shut my eyes. That couldn't be right.

I looked again. Yep, it still said 91.

91!

I immediately texted anyone who would care to know. I felt light as a feather, smart as a whip, happy as a clam!

Get out of the way dumbass school - you'll have to find someone else to warm that bench.

Whoooo hoo!

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