It’s me. The end.

Hope everyone had a nice holiday.  Saturday, Brad, Autumn and I went up to Branson to his mom’s house.  And there, we did the following things:

1)  Had dinner at TGI Fridays, where Autumn selected a nice healthy meal of 15 greasy potato skins, and I drank a very large glass of Sangria.  Brad had dry ribs, but he is boring.  He didn’t like them much either, so that was probably his punishment.  If he had chosen the Dragonfire Chicken like I did, which by just it’s name alone, implies a promise of fantastic spectacular food, he may have been much more happy.  But Brad … he like man meat.  As in the beef variety, to make that clear.  As in cow beef, to be even more clear.

2)  Went to Brad’s aunt’s house to pick out a new cat friend for Chloe.  And ended up chasing wild Maine Coons around the kennel.  It was seriously like some kind of Animal Planet Crazy Pet Show up in there.  Let’s see … Brad’s sister, Sarah, gets two of the Maine Coon’s out of their cage and almost sets her hair on fire.  The we let the Ocicat out just to take a looksee, and also to make her quit sitting in the kitty litter box for no dadgum good reason.  Then one of the Maine Coon’s slips under the closet door and Brad had to move mountains just to get her out.  And by mountain, I mean a huge queen sized cat hair covered mattress shoved into a 5 x 5 dark and scary crawl space, clearly.  And let me just say, good thing Brad was wearing a nice black shirt.  Cuz otherwise it wouldn’t have been near as funny.  Brad + cat hair = damn good time.

And finally, as I catch one of the coons to put her back in her kennel, I get scratched up a little on the hand.  It was really no big deal, but Sarah said I need sprayed with antiseptic.  Which was okay, I guess, until it comes out as a suspicious neon yellow powder.  And then on further inspection, realize it is not for human use and has been known to cause cancer.  Fantastic.  You know my psychotic brain is loving this one.  A little bit of hypochondria set in, I won’t lie.

But on the bright side, our new little Maine Coon, Bella, is as sweet as can be.  And Chloe hates her, of course.  Well worth the trip, I’d say.

3)  And a trip out in public for us wouldn’t be complete without a stop at Walmart.  Ya’ll know Brad and I do Walmart like it’s our damn job.  This time was no exception, as it was midnight and we figure it was probably time to do our Easter shopping.  Stocked up on all the $1 candy a kid could ever want, plus trinkets that will find its way to a trash can in the near future.  Brad, of course, did the appropriate thing and asked in a sincere and sweet voice when all this crap would go on sale.  I’m thinking we are buying Easter baskets sometime this week now.

4)  I helped make Easter dinner for the first time at any holiday ever in my life.  I got to slice bread, fashion a deviled egg maker out of a snipped off piece of Ziploc (which also doubles as a manicotti stuffer because I tried it earlier last week), and chop up a can of sliced mushrooms into tiny tiny pieces.  Needless to say, dinner was awesome.

Here’s pics:

Autumn’s Easter dress is so fab. I swear, having a 14-year-old is loads of fun!

And to show you how much Brad does not hate me for the Maine Coon cat hair incident, I give you this:

Awwww, me loves!  He’s like the best thing ever.  Like right up there with mashed potatoes and Dancing with the Stars.

Til next time, xoxoxoxoxo!

It is officially the second day of Spring, and I must say how utterly excited I am.  Spring rejuvenates me like nothing else.  I am like a bear out of hibernation.  A frolicking kitten with a ball of yellow yarn.  Or like cherubic children giggling and running through a field of wildflowers (except without the running, of course).

Simply put:  Spring is my time.  Where the best part of me lives.  Where I shave my armpits out of necessity, not guilt.  Where I wear Capri pants seasons past their prime.  Where I smile more, laugh more, am happy more.  Before you know it, I’ll be doing meditation in spandex out in the backyard.

(Except I won’t because spandex is not a good look for me.  Or anyone else for that matter.  And meditation is like exercise, but for the brain, and ya’ll know I don’t take kindly to that kind of torture.)

Easter is on Sunday and well as my late daddy’s 72nd birthday.  So try to have some good food and good times with your family.  Maybe go outside and enjoy Spring and count your blessings.

And if the spirit moves you, I suppose a little spandex would be okay.  But only for a minute and when no one else is looking.  Cuz seriously, we don’t want to see your jiggly bits all outlined and shiny like that.  It sort of makes me unvoluntarily taste my ham twice.

(Unless you are Brad, of course, who couldn’t be more perfect, even in a tight pair of stretchy britches.)

Toodles, ya’ll.  See ya next week!

If, by reading the headline of this posting, your brain went immediately to Oh good Lord, it’s a cooking story, first of all … Shame on you.  Second of all …

You be right.

So on with it!

Apparently now that I am learning how to cook, I pretty much think I can cook anything.  Yesterday, I bought a head of garlic for no apparent reason.  I’ve never bought garlic in my whole life, much less knew what to do with one.  And then I bought a zester.  For what … don’t know.  I guess lemon peel, in case I want to do that.  Or maybe I will like to grind up some whole nutmeg?  No matter … I have one … that is the point.

And now I have a ladle, for those big pots of soup I will make one day.  And on my shopping list?  Broiler pan, grill pan, food processor, meat mallet, crock pot, blender …. what in sam hell is wrong with me?  Who buys all this crap?  And why do I have like 30 spices sitting on top of my stove?  Where oh where did all my Hamburger Helper go?

But the Queen of Cooking has been knocked off her throne.  Cuz I made dinner last night and I am oh-so-unpleased.  It was cube steak night, and I’ve never made cube steak ever.  I did the flouring ok … I mean, how hard is that?  But I’m almost 99.984659348% sure I wasn’t supposed to float the steaks in a hot tub of grease.  And then the burning.  Pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to do that either.

Granted, I didn’t burn all the steaks.  And mostly you could pick off the charry bits and it was fine anyway.  But that is not the point.  The point is, I did not make pretty food.  I made nerdy food.  I made the math geek of food.  I made the president of the chess team food.

Erlack!

So I made some beef onion gravy out of the brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pan (they be lots).  And let me just say this:  there’s nothin’ like a little gravy to cover up the taste of burnt.

Now tonight is a total reclaimification (hush, it’s a word) of my Queenly Cooking throne.  I am making marinated chicken breast and it will be awesome.  And because if I can’t mix up oil, water and a packet of powdered seasoning, then something must be wrong with my brain.

On another note, for those with nothing else better to do this evening (i.e., me), I give these agenda items:

1)  Dancing With the Stars – I watch it for the dancing, Brad watches it because I say so.

2)  The Bachelor – We all know how it ends, but getting there is all the fun.  Plus, he is cuter than the last Bachelor, who had hairy caterpillars for eyebrows.

3)  Rent Blonde Ambition starring Jessica Simpson.  It is hilarious.  Not the movie, mind you.  The movie is hokey as hell.  But the scene where she about knocks herself out with her bouncing double-Ds is worth your $3.50.  However, the part where she tongues Luke Wilson is not.  So it’s a one-off.  Whatever.  You will perfect your eye-rolling techniques, at the very least.

Bye now.  Leave comments.

I know, I know.  It’s been a long week.  You deserve a little something special.  Something sweet to lead you into the weekend.  Calm down, I have no cheesecake.  Which is quite unfortunate now that I think about it.  However, I do have this.  And it’s just as good:

My baby.  My beautiful, adorable nephew Bristol.  Look how precious he is!  Omg, I can’t stand it.  I just want to reach into the computer and grab him.  Except that’s how crazy starts, so I’ll just sit here quietly and sigh.  He really does make me squishy on the inside, ya’ll.

So he is over a year old now, and as cute as a button.  He says mama and dada and puppy.  And probably “Auntie Di” but in the privacy of his own crib.  Don’t want to release the verbage all at once, ya know?  Because he is Baby Einstein and we don’t mess with that kind of genius.

He walks, he high-fives, he french-kisses.  He pulls my glasses off my face.  He waves bye-bye.  He cracks me up like no one else.  And as soon as he stops the pooping-in-the-pants thing, I’ll let him come over.

(WHAT????)

However, he isn’t all peaches and cream.  Sometimes he lets his dark side out.  Funny in a picture, but not so funny in restaurants.  Evidence:

See what I mean?  Hilarious!  But put him in a booster seat at the buffet by hundreds of happily eating strangers, and suddenly … not so funny.

Oh, but who am I kidding?  Even when he’s throwing a temper tantrum he’s still pretty cute.  And even cuter when it’s someone else trying to shut him up.  I love the non-responsibility of being an Aunt.  Because even when his mommy and daddy are out, and mom and I are babysitting, being a Nana always trumps the Auntie position.  Tantrum calming, diaper changing, vomit cleaning, bag/blankie/toy/Bristol-all-at-the-same-time-holding …. ALL Nana duties.  Seriously, I know this to be true.  I wrote the book on it.

And now having talked about Bristol all morning, I really miss the silly kid.  I want to see him and hold him right now.  I want to tickle him and give him razzberries in the belly.  I want to give him little kisses on the forehead and squeeze him till he makes a Dough Boy sound.

But at the first sign of poopie …

Brad and I took the kids to the skating rink this past weekend.  It’s been a long long time since I’ve been to a skating rink.  And let me just say this … they haven’t changed a bit.

Back in the day, I’d say around 1989 or so, I used to go skating all the time.  I’m pretty sure it was a rather nerdy thing to do then as well, but dangit … I had triangle-shaped hair and huge eyeglasses.  What else was I going to do?

Anyhoo…

I remember doing the shuffle skate to Paula Abdul, or holding on to my friend, Suzanne’s, belt loop to a little Salt ‘N Pepa.  Mannnnn.  Those were the days.

Fast forward to 2008.  Holding hands with Brad’s kids, practically pulling them around the rink.  But same ole 80s music, same ole disco lights, same ole corny games.  Like walking through a time warp.  And the couple skating?  Yeah, Brad and I …. we’s like Roller Rink Royalty or something.  It was awesome.  (Minus shiny tiara, which would have made it perfect, but I can’t help it that they are stupid.)

And as for the skill?  Like riding a bike, my friends.

(Except for the shin splints.  Those were a nice surprise after about 2.5 laps around the rink.  I was like, what the freaky hell?  I gots to take a break already.)

All in all, though, everyone had a great time.  I only fell once, but in my defense, Brad’s son pulled me down with him.  He’s lucky I didn’t roll over his fingers in retaliation.  I mean, on accident.

I told Brad we should come here on our own some time.  And then he gave me a look like my tongue had plopped out of my mouth for no reason or something.  So I’m pretty sure my skating career is over, and I’m relegated to kiddie helper for the next 15 years.  Or until Jaylon learns how to roll in skates instead of that wax-on wax-off thingy he was doing that got him absolutely nowhere.

Oh well.  It was fun while it lasted.

I don’t know what was up with this week, but I’m pretty sure it was 93784765894 years long.  So glad that Friday is finally here.  Not that I won’t be working two jobs today, dealing with cranky customers who want to blame me for flight attendants not showing up and the fact that I should have known there were ice storms in Coos Bay (cuz that is so obviously my fault), then backing that up with a nice long evening of wiping sweat off tanning beds.  Weeeeee.

Oh, how I love my life.

But on a lighter note, lookie me:

That’s my new hair. I decided I am much too lazy to maintain blonde highlights. Cuz when I finally drag my ass to the beauty salon, it costs triple to fix the 6 inches of root. And I just don’t have that kind of money after I spend it all on other more important things like books or a spice rack.

So it’s back to au naturel for me. There are some red highlights in it, but you really can’t tell so much. Prolly cuz it’s been about 2 or 3 months since I had it done, and color-stay shampoo is really just a crock of hooey.

Other than that, don’t be gettin’ so damn excited. The winky wink is for Brad. Sorreeeeeeeee.

Must get to work and make others happy. Hope ya’ll have a fab weekend. And don’t forget, Daylight Saving Time begins on Sunday. I so esssscite, I about pee my pants. I loves me some sunlight, yo.

(Oh p.s. … How fierce is this … Christian Sirriano won Project Runway! I clapped very loudly on the couch and woke up a sleeping Brad. He gave me the stink eye. Boo.)

I’m sure most of you are reeling from the fact that I am now cooking and enjoying it.  Truth be told, I surprise myself.  I mean, it’s gotten so bad that I am now the proud subscriber of Everyday With Rachael Ray and Taste of Home magazines.  And I spend hours discussing recipies and what I am going to cook for dinner.  So much so, that my mother has noticed and gone complaining to my sister that she had to listen to me talk about Tamale Casserole at work on Friday.  And Brad has called me a monster.  Hmmmpf.

However, in defense of myself, I am still not exercising.

So I’ve only lost half my head.  Just so you know.