Nuns do '80s & '90s

The Feisty Nuns have been at it again. We just observed our annual December fete which is when we exchange books for the coming year. (M&M and I are still lobbying to drop the "book" facade, but the ranks will hear none of that talk.)

In previous years we have had cookie exchanges or gone out for dinner and drinks. It's pure merriment, whatever we do. Since I happened to host this time, I called for a theme (because, who doesn't love a costume party?) specifically "High School Flashback Night!" Isn't Picky a lovely girl?

I've never had so much fun in the foyer. It was giddy amusement to greet each girl at the door and see their interpretation of the "look" back in those days. Picky was the only one able to unearth her clothing from the era (a sweatshirt puff-painted with her name and hearts all over.)

No problem for the rest of us, though, because with time, our old clothes have become new again. Which means pret-a-porter -Target, in case you want to recreate your own glory days. Too bad it's all cut for a 'tween body (and by tween, unfortunately, that does not mean between motherhood and 40!)

So jolly were we after a few strawberry wine slushies (tried to recreate the sustenance, too) that I didn't even mind that the time frame was blurry. Our high school years straddled the decades yet our outfits were a morph of 80s icons: Madonna meets the Heathers at the Breakfast Club. Tell me that these sweet little Guess shoes would not look hot with acid-washed jeans with a little zipper down the ankle! (Or tight-rolled.)

I donned absurd amounts of mousse and gel and gave my flat-iron the night off. I'm only now appreciating that fifteen years ago when everyone else was paying good money for spiral perms, I had one au-naturale. However, I didn't use nearly enough product back then and the result was a four-year blur of frizz. I only started figuring out my hair in college and then the Rachael-cut was taking off and I almost missed the boat. Just one of the many ways I could have been living large if I knew then what I know now...

And if only I had known that I would be lucky enough to hang on to friends like Girly Stuff, M&M, Red and Picky after all this time I could have saved myself so much angst, frustration, and hassle that comes with adolescent friendships that don't last and can be especially harsh amongst the girls. Why didn't I know then that no one is cool at seventeen because we're all too worried about what everyone thinks of us?! And how did I manage to keep with such a fine group of people? It can't be coincidence or luck. (I'm not just drawn to crazies.)

A word about the inspiration for my outfit.

I bumped into a lady at Chick fil A a few months ago. We were both with our kids and I noticed her familiar face, but it wasn't until later that I could place who she was: an acquaintance from high school.

She was then, and seemed to be now, the ever-perky, always made-up, Southern debutante-type. She was the quintessential high school social climber. Pretty, coy, perpetually campaigning, pragmatic. Looking back, she was already poised and on the hunt for a husband at an age when the rest of us were just leaving behind dolls. And she knew then what we're still learning about men, if you know what I mean.

So when I was planning my outfit, hair and makeup, this young lady, as she was then, became the alter-ego that I set out to recreate. My inspiration, if you will. So, I had to laugh when GS looked at a couple of us dancing and announced "y'all look like you're on birth control." I had embodied my mistress.

So it was a success. And I have to thank M&M and her husband for nailing the music of our youth. That was a huge contribution to the festivities! I chose the same snacks Picky and I used to sneak off campus to eat and I think Picky actually ate (which almost never happens.) And while it was fun to be that girl for one night, I have to say that it's way too much work for this lazy girl.

Don't get me wrong, I like to party; but not in pinchy shoes and lots of make up.

Can you imagine being a teenager again? What from your high school days are you most happy to leave behind? What do you like to relive?

Merry Christmas, Friends

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. I hope the joy of salvation is celebrated in your heart!

We're in the middle of a couple of busy days. But good busy -- full of family visits, food and fun. How can you not love this time of year? The smells, the cookies, the music, the innocence of believing in magic.

It may be a while before I get to say "hi" again. So enjoy your Christmas and count your blessings. And say a little prayer for me that Santa and UPS make it here on time!

Stream of Consciousness

I'm going to let you in on nothing in particular, today.

I feel so uninspired to talk about food, and that's not like me. I haven't seen the inside of the gym since before Halloween, so that after-the-fireworks shock has set in sooner than usual, maybe? I won't bore you with woe about my mid-section, since we both know what I can do about it.

I think blogging is a microcosm for real-life relationships. I've got this whole circle of blogging friends, now. People that I don't know in real life, but we "talk" all the time via comments. I also have blogging acquaintances: we know of each other and if we happen to cross paths, we smile and say "hi," but we're not reading each other daily. I've also got blogging friend-of-a-friend situations like, Mother Hood who came over just to say "hi" on my birthday.

Angie at American Homemaker, who has some fab recipes, made me think of all this microcosm business. I have personally tried her Pumpkin Oreo Muffins and her Ham and Spinach Roll Ups. Loved 'em! The best thing about her recipes is that they are so accessible. "Accessible" is a thing wine snobs say to mean "even you screw-top drinkers will enjoy this one." Well, I mean to say that even you non-cooking types can manager Angie's recipes. Many of her ideas start with a box of cake mix and turn into something wonderful and new. She comes up with all sorts of semi-homemade goodies a la Sandra Lee.

Sandra is, in my opinion, the real man's Martha and much craftier. So is Angie. Check her out, she keeps it real.

Oh, so I was headed to the store to pick up a few things and I was thinking about trying one of Angie's recipes, but I couldn't recall all the ingredients. A thought suddenly popped into my head that I'd just call her cell and ask what to buy. Then I remembered (just as suddenly) that I don't really know this person. She's a blogging friend, not a friend in real life. (Don't worry, blogging friends, I'm not going to go cross country and One-Hour-Photo you. )

I forked over the money to buy Only Child a Lightening McQueen lamp that he spotted at Ross and asked so maturely if we could buy. Normally Id say something like, "let's wait and see if Santa gets it for you," but I felt guilty for dragging him in there for the third time this week. We had to find a pillow for The Micker, long story, but it was a successful hunt. I was feeling cheerfully generous, and let him have, it no strings attached. And as an added bonus he went right into his nap with no fussing. So these $7 finds are the reason we keep going back to that (spit) store.

Does anyone else have a Love/Hate relationship with Ross?

The thrill of the hunt is awesome. The wading through clothes on the floor or picking up one pillow and a dozen fall down...that's the price we pay. And I know that Ross ain't trying to be Nordstrom. But every Ross is trashy. Not so much at Marshalls and TJ Maxx. Is Big Lots more upscale in the world of close outs? Because if I was a manager at Big Lots I would not appreciate being compared to Ross.

Just like Walmart, Ross is the third world of shopping and they've got the pigeons in the parking lot to prove it. Do pigeons like a good deal, too? How do they know?

Yet I can't seem to love them or leave them. I know I'm not the only one.

Ross!

One memorable trip to Ross occurred around the time Only was being potty trained. He told me he had to go, number 2. The bathroom had a closed sign on it. I ask if the bathroom was working, because I've got a barely-three-year-old that has to poop, right now. Hourly employee tells me to do what I need to do and walks away.

I explained my predicament to a nice lady shopping outside the bathroom and she went to get a manager. The bathroom was not closed because of a malfunctioning toilet. It was closed because there was no toilet paper to be had in all the city and the shipment from corporate (where Ross gets all of its toilet paper) had not come in. I caused such a stink ( ha!) because, while a hole in the ground is sufficient facilities in many parts of the world, here in the first world it is not. I was willing to argue, threaten to write letters, and raise my voice, lest some paper product be produced to wipe my kid's butt.

I even suggested we use a shirt off the floor, since it had so many basket skids, it couldn't be sold.

Meanwhile, nice shopper lady asked around until she found someone willing to part with a few baby wipes. Just as we were washing our hands and leaving the bathroom, the security guard came running back with some toilet paper scored at the CVS next door. Seems they had TP all along.

Is there a moral to this story? I probably don't want to hear it, but if you read all my ranting you get to say it.

Heather, your request is coming soon. I'm too sluggish to find the camera just now.

Rachel, you'd better not leave town without calling me!

You're too kind

A big thanks to Girly Stuff for reminding me how silly and spirited I was as a kid and for showering me with the love and attention my star so requires. (Too bad I wasn't born with her common sense.)

We graduated from high school in the early 90's; those were days of big hair, red acrylic fingernails and all things gaudy. The gaudier the better.

Check us out in our over-the-top prom dresses. I think I can see Picky's reflection in those frocks. My sister made that dress for me so that I could have exactly what I wanted, but I am responsible for the design. And for that side up-do straight out of Napoleon Dynamite.

How was my birthday, you ask? Well, MMA and Only Child treated me like a queen all weekend. MMA brought honor to our family name by submitting his opponent at the jiu jitsu tournament on Saturday. I got to do a little guilt-free shopping for myself. And, we managed to sneak away for a dinner date on Sunday, thanks to Aunt 'Niesee. It was a great weekend and birthday.

Thanks for the calls and well wishes! I love you people! I love being thirty five. I still love that dress and I'd wear it for my high school flash back party if I could. Alas, it is history, along with the excuse "baby fat."

Psst, Dan, (my prom date) where ever you are...your old truck from high school has been found and he's done pretty well for himself. It landed the role as "Isabella's truck" in the new Twilight movie.



Oh, GS even arranged for my prom date...and we're still all over each other's business! (Me and Girly, not me and Dan.) Gotta love that.

Easy, Pleasy, Cheesy

I've missed my Friday dish lately, but I picked a great appetizer to share with you that can be thrown together in less time than it takes to get dressed.

My baked goat cheese is easy, pleasy, and cheesy -- in a good way.

I first had this dish more than ten years ago at a restaurant and was told it was retro, then. I knew immediately that I would be reprising it at home. Their version was a soup bowl filled with red sauce and thick scoop of goat cheese was floating on top, baked-up, browned around the edges. This was served with day-old french bread, toasted in the broiler. The warm cheese was soft and spreadable and slightly tart. The marinara mellows it all out and the bread allows for dipping and licking the bowl clean. Not that I would ever do that when I'm home alone.

I made the Muir Glen version of this dish several times (its on the label.) Until one day, I went to throw it together, but no Muir Glen tomatoes were to be found. But what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a jar of Vodka Sauce...oh, holiday cheer!

Ingredients:
2 small logs of goat cheese (about 4 oz each)
1 jar of vodka cream sauce such as Newman's Own

I like to pour the sauce in an 8X8 baking dish (or one that's pretty enough to serve from) and then arrange slices of the goat cheese all over the sauce (and if you figure out how to slice goat cheese let me know.) Usually I end up with little broken balls of goat cheese placed on top of the sauce. Rustic, if you will. Then you bake it in the oven at 350 until everything is hot and bubbly. You can broil it for a minute to make the cheese golden brown, but only if it needs to be fancy. And while you're at it, sprinkle it with something green.

Serve it with toasted baguette slices, pita chips or a hearty cracker. It's too heavy for a wimpy cracker.

I believe goat cheese is probably served in Heaven. Anyone could fall in love with it if exposed to that salad from Ruggles with the goat cheese and apples...know what I'm talkin' about? In case some of you want to make the plain white bread version of this, whipped cream cheese could potentially be substituted.

But that would be like putting cottage cheese in your lasagna or drinking wine from a box -- we've all been there, but look how far we've come. Just make it with goat cheese. It's scrumptious, I promise!

When it Snows in Houston!

When it snows in Houston, its BIG NEWS.

Hey everybody, it's snowing in Houston! This is our reward for the nasty cold drizzle we endured all day. We were playing outside with the neighborhood kids making little snowballs and snow angels and running around with our tongues sticking out. Too bad it was already dark when it started snowing.

Only Child kept picking up snow and tasting it; even off the ground!

I know that snow is no big deal for anyone north of Dallas, but for us, (being this close to the coast) it's a rarity. Only Child is one of four snow babies on our street; they were in utero the last time we saw snow 'round these parts. This evening they were running a muck, giggling and having the time of their little lives.

I made my neighbors take pictures for me because I was too excited to go in and hunt down the camera. I'll see if I can freeload one to post.

Stay Toasty!

Slow down Superstar!

No good deed goes unpunished, or so my dad used to say--ruefully. When I was young I thought he was so jaded. And look at me now; I'm twice the cynic he was.


Yesterday was a bad day for me. I am constantly racing around trying to do all the right things. Generally, I like to do the right thing, especially when it involves taking care of people that I love. But, moderation in all things, right?


Yesterday was one of those days...I attempted to get eight different things done, but I really only had time for three (and I knew it! Dammit.) I gutted out six 6 and a half things and didn't do one of them right.


You know those kind of days? I was so angry with myself. Moderation... moderation... why am I such a slow learner? Why do I think that spreading myself painfully thin will make me feel whole? Why do I insist on squeezing blood out of a rock? It doesn't work and it never will.


Deep breath...OK. Yesterday. I got pulled over and I ended up getting five tickets. Yes, five. WTF?!? I didn't think that was possible either, but it is. And I do need a referral for an attorney who handles traffic tickets.

Back to poor, poor, pitiful me. The only way this injustice seems possible (in my mind) is explained by the following theory and true story.


On Sunday, a police officer in Houston was killed when he tried to pull some gang-banger over. The driver ran from the car, hid in some bushes and gunned the officer down.


Maybe this tragedy was going through my police officer's mind when I was getting pulled over. He came upon me so fast and furious that I thought there was an emergency that he desperately needed to get to and I needed to get out of his way. I changed lanes three times trying to get out of his way before I realized I was the emergency.


Stupid of me, I realize. I should get pulled over more often, if only for the practice. But since the guy came flying behind my like a maniac, I thought there was something more serious than nice lady driving too fast.


The officer was spitting fire that I didn't immediately pull over, but took an extra ten seconds to comply. He was probably expecting to find someone more in-your-face than me. But all he got was a petite and polite lady with a car seat in the back...didn't matter, he was so angry he couldn't see straight.


If there was any way he could have arrested me, I am sure he would have. Too bad for him that its not a crime to have enough Capri Sun in the trunk to warrant an "attempt to distribute." So he had to settle for weak citations like "not signaling my lane changes" and "unsafe lane changes" (these are the lane changes I made while he was pulling me over!)

Today is another day and I will have my day in court and I believe in our justice system...OJ finally got his, right?

Let me just say, I'm not a cop-hater and I don't have a problem with authority, but Mr. C E G of HPD, you are a real load!

Yesterday's incident sent me over the edge. I was flustered, angry, overwhelmed. Pissed. Upset. Beside myself.

And why was I rushing around? Just trying to help a little old lady that I love get to the doctor. Like I said, no good deed...

Does anyone remember that I had a premonition in the form of a dream a while back?

We think my dad was possibly clairvoyant. Maybe I've got the shining, too. That and significant stage presence.