Monday, October 29, 2012

Home based "business"

I'm sewing today.  My kids seem to want to wear something for Halloween.  They are always needing stuff.  Like nutritious food and interaction and effective discipline.  Phht.
 
Since I'm busy, have some alpaca porn.
 
 
 
 
You're welcome.
 
 

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Monday, October 22, 2012

Peppermint or cherry? I'm undecided.

So...how's yer debatin? 

Mitt Romney looked ill.  If he wasn't a Mormon I might blame that on his playing a pre-debate drinking game but it really it looks like flu.  He's sweating.  He's flushing.  Then he's pale and green.  His eyes are sunken.  His flag pin is big.



I was half expecting Mittens to hurl and then for the moment to be bigger on the internets than binders full of women.  Desk full of vomit.  Battleship full of vomit.  Highlight of Bob Schieffer's career.

Bush senior pulled off an actual foreign hurl and people pointed and laughed.  It was funny.

Bush junior got a shoe thrown at him.

Apparently Mitt did complain of having a nervous stomach earlier and if that isn't a statement for the end of a contentious campaign I don't know what is.  We're all sick of it.  Let's vote already.

Then we'll all chug Pepto Bismol.


Monday, October 15, 2012

Next week, I recommend my favorite carbonated douche.

Last Wednesday night, the status on my Facebook page read:

My husband has told me that I am not allowed to buy a book about vaginas for my Kindle because it's priced at ten dollars and that's too much to pay for Vagina. This after we paid sixteen dollars to watch Taken 2 tonight. A little vagina might just get that Liam Neeson taste out of my mouth. 

Indeed, I did purchase the book.  The author was on Colbert and I'm highly suggestible when it comes to genitalia and Liam Neeson.

What's more, I'm only 18% into the Kindle version and I'm not even going to wait to finish it before I recommend you read it too. 



Read this if you are a woman.  Read it if you are a man.  Read it if you are unsure or are dabbling genderwise.  Read this if you've had sex, haven't had sex, have hooker amounts of sex.  Read this if you don't want to have sex anymore and you can't figure out why you should, because this book will tell you.  Read this if you understand that vaginas are the most common vehicle for childbirth, because I'm sure the book will get around to covering that.

On Friday night, my Facebook status read:


It's not often I get profane here on FB...but geez, Ann Coulter is such a twat.
 


To which I apologize in light of the subject at hand...er...heh.  There are better expletives to describe that woman.


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Cake of Doom! October 2012

I once wrote a post about cake.  It was a delicious post that earned the comment, "You should bake and post more cakes."  People seem to like to eat cake.  I know I do. 

So I mulled this idea around in my brain, to the point where I had a dream, a dream of a dessert that is so calorie laden that no one should eat it without warning.  A dessert that has nothing to do with Cool Whip.

The dream started with bacon.  Bacon in sweet food is a trend I can support. 


No need to splatter grease everywhere.  When you bake your bacon at 425 degrees for about 15-20 minutes, you'll get good crispy bacon and a house that smells porky for the next 72 hours.

Then I baked butter cake in a spring form pan.  The recipe and the post about the previous cake can be found HERE:



When the cake was cool, I started on the parts of this dessert that render it dangerous.  Butterscotch mousse, pecans in caramel, and crack frosting. 


In the red bowl is the butterscotch custard that is the base for the mousse.  I used a regular old chocolate mousse recipe but replaced the melting chocolate for butterscotch chips.  Butterscotch chips don't melt as  gooily as chocolate but that didn't seem to matter in the final product. 

Since the bacon was cool, I crumbled it with my kitchen scissors.

Then I made caramel sauce, mixed in a bag of pecans and set it aside to cool.  It reminded me of this post I wrote once on making sugaring for at home hair removal.  The thought of body hairs in sugar doesn't ruin my appetite but I apologize if I did yours.  Let's work on getting it back.

Finally, I mixed up the first part of a batch of what I like to call Crack Frosting.  It's seriously the best vanilla frosting you've ever tasted.  It starts with a rue that you have to set aside to cool.  Best part of this frosting?  No chalky powdered sugar.  You get lovely creamy light frosting out of regular granulated sugar.

Folding the butterscotch into whipped cream finished off the mousse and I spooned it on top of the cake still in it's springform pan.  Put that in the fridge for a few hours to set, giving me enough time to watch an entire Bollywood movie.


After dinner it was assembly time.

Cake removed from the pan with the help of a sharp knife around the edges and slid onto a stand, pecans in caramel sauce spooned over the top, crumbled bacon on top of that, piped crack frosting, and then Heath bar crumbles so it looks like I care.

Behold.  Butterscotch Bacon Cake of Doom!


I'm going to go cut a piece.  Then I'm going to eat lettuce and apples for two out of three meals all the next week to make up for it.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

And step and step and twirl!

I missed the best parts of the Presidential debate because instead of watching it I only listened to it on NPR while driving.  Radio gives us no facial expressions.  No posturing.  No clenched butt cheeks.  That's a whole layer of inflammatory rhetoric gone and I feel shafted!

In order to help my readers and other hangers on make an informed decision, I've tried my best to count the more common body language expressed in this debate.  Better than any episode of Dancing with the Stars, let me tell you.  No one cha-chas like Biden.



Smug grins:  Biden 36, Ryan 32 (Though Ryan seemed a continuous grin during all of Biden's responses.)

Condescending head tilts:  Biden 7, Ryan 12

Eyerolls: Biden 4, Ryan 1

Literal finger pointing:  Biden 34, Ryan 32  (Biden moves from one to two fingers often, which is a little bit sexy.)

Giggles:  Biden 10, Ryan 4

Karate chops: Biden 19, Ryan 16

Jazz hands:  Biden 1, Ryan 3

Drink gulps and grunts:  Biden 0, Ryan 18  (Vodka?)

Obsessive blinking:  Biden 8, Ryan 15

Lip licking and cheek tonguing:  Biden 5, Ryan 5

Nods in agreement:  Biden 3, Ryan 5

Nods in disagreement:  Biden 10, Ryan 7

Invisible hand rulers:  Biden 24, Ryan 7  (I love you THIS MUCH!)

Calm down nah:  Biden 4, Ryan 2

Sniffs and scoffs:  Biden 10, Ryan 14

Guffaws: Biden 1, Ryan 0

Counting on fingers Biden 2, Ryan 0  (No fingers skipped!)


In the end I was hoping to see either candidate give this gesture:


Because that would have swayed undecided voters for sure.

Monday, October 08, 2012

The dog kids love to bite.

Last year around this time I was invited by some of the womenfolk in my neighborhood to attend an all male revue for Deer Widow's Weekend.  It was raunchy.  My eye still twitches from time to time.

I thought the mistake I'd made in deciding to attend such filth was to participate sober but it turns out that it was a far worse faux pas telling my mother about the whole thing.

See, I was seeking forgiveness for my sins.  The shame...the greasy greasy shame!  And she offered none. Instead of easing my suffering, or chiding me like she would have when I was a sophomore menstruator, she declared that she wanted to go next time.  She wants me to find out if there is an AARP discount on the tickets.  She wants me to chaperon her and her similarly aged and bouffant hairdo-ed cousin while they heat up their folding chairs and dollar bills in the front row.

She wants to par-tay.

The thought of this has me cycling between dry heaves and catatonia.

This is the woman that didn't talk to me about sex.  The most I got out of my parents, other than advising me that I shouldn't date one boy too much or lots of boys too often, or that I should always stay vertical and dressed, was hearing their mattress squeaking in the middle of the night through our shared wall.

This is the woman who declared, "Tube steak is delicious!" during a family dinner of chili-dogs without the slightest hint that the term did not refer to mild pork sausages.

This is the woman who asked me if I'd ever participated in a certain common sexual act brought up on talk radio and when I admitted I had, she said, "That's nasty!" 

This is the woman who used to shout, "What's your bra size again?" across the Kmart lingerie department in an effort to find me the least sexy most pristine white bra on the rack.

My mother should not want to attend a male strip show.  No one's mother should.  I'm a mother and this is only common sense.

Just to make sure she got a clear picture when she brought up the idea again just recently, I warned her that whether you like it or not, male strippers will be violating your personal space.  About how this oily male person flipped me over on a chair and simulated himself on me and another oily male person placed my hands back down in his Garanimals and another one put his hands on either side of my head and proceeded to invite me to a family dinner.

Okay...

I get it now.

God, I am so screwed.

Tuesday, October 02, 2012

Gathering No Moss

Two weeks ago today I had to drive 120 miles to Elko to report to jury duty and then I had to drive all the way back.

The weekend before last we had to drive 150 miles to my hometown so I could see people I haven't seen in twenty years and then we drove all the way back.

A week ago I drive 120 miles to Salt Lake City to deliver my kid to the Navy and then I drove all the way back.

Last weekend we drove 150 miles to my hometown so my husband could see people he hasn't seen in twenty five years and then we drove all the way back.

Tomorrow I drive 120 miles to Salt Lake City so the Navy can instill some knowledge and preparedness into my manchild and then we'll drive all the way back.

Next weekend I'm driving nowhere if I can at all help it.

Next week my butt is staying right on my couch where it belongs.

Ya'll can come see me.  It's your turn, dammit.

Monday, October 01, 2012

Reunion Addendum: Be cool, stay in school.

If my 20th high school reunion a week ago wasn't nostalgia enough, we had to attend my husband's 25th reunion from the same high school last Saturday.  Here is what I learned from people who are more mature than I am:

 
Hawt.
 


1.  Even though you've given up on big hair, there is no giving up on living the 80's mantra of "hang loose." 

2.  No one has arthritis yet?  Might as well cuddle!

3.  Count the grandkids.  Count the marriages.  Don't count your trips to the bar.

4.  We ain't got no curfew. 

5.  Compare how high your heels are before you compare how hot the hot flashes.

6.  I have a job, you have a job, let's talk about something else.

7.  What did I attend all that college for?  I can't even see to match my socks anymore.

8.  Do you remember that time we all went out and did that really stupid thing and didn't get caught?  No?  Oh, well, I sorta don't either but it was AWESOME.

9.  Raising teenagers...screw that.

10.  Ferris Beuller never did anything to contribute to my 401K...he can suck it.

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