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.

Double Knock-Out!

I love it when good works and good fun come together, especially at this time of the year!

Here's a charity event that I am really excited to tell you about. Let me say that again. I'm pumped about an upcoming mma tournament, [correction, Brazilian jui jitsu tournament] right here in Houston! I'm hoping my own MMA will throw his hat in the ring so I can watch him fight.

Elite Martial Arts, which is the only real game in town for serious students of mixed martial arts, is having a charity event to help one of their own. An Elite student, Mike DeAses, a father to four young boys, is the beneficiary of this tournament. The money raised will help with medical bills related to his pancreatic tumor. That's the good works part of the deal.

The fun part is getting to watch some fiery amateurs like my MMA grapple, scrap and throw down -- so close you can smell the sweat! Kids and women are also encouraged to participate! There will be a "bookie" on site taking wagers and winnings will go to the medical fund.

I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a good "girl" fight...I mean a REALLY good girl fight since high school. Maybe college. In any case, its been a while.

All the action happens Sat. December 13th beginning at 3:30 pm. The location is 10640 Westheimer Houston , TX 77042.

Tickets are just three bucks!!! You can't touch a diet coke at any kind of sporting event these days for $3.

There will be a Karaoke competition with some local champions in that sport. Also there will be a raffle for an X box and other cool stuff, followed by a potluck meal after all the fights.

Doesn't that sound like exceptional family entertainment?

Now I know that some people are against fighting, but this is a sporting and clean-cut way to do it. And as I am learning, men have all this extra pent up fizz that they have to get rid of some kind of way, lest they boil over. Or is that just in this house? Even the three year old needs serious exertion, although here's where my double-standard kicks in: no fighting for Only Child.

I'm not suiting up to fight either. One of these days I'll let MMA recount my attempted-suicidal girl fight back when we were in college. He probably saved me from getting double black eyes, as my opponent had a significant size advantage. If "less drunk" is an advantage, then that's what I had. And I had my Bonfire boots going for me. Does anyone else remember Hurricane Harry's as fondly as I do? Good times, I tell ya...

Ohh, I can't wait for this tournament; I hope to see you there! I'm semi-retired, but could possibly be provoked...

Free Meat...(at Arby's)

Mmmmm....beef....Homer-want-meat...


Hey, here's one for my male readership; that's you MMA, and I know you want some of this!


Go here for a free Roast Beef Sandwich at Arbys; it says you can print and use it as many times as you like until my birthday, December 14th. Happy Birthday, from me!

'Love myself today!

To give due props, this came from Money Saving Mom's blog.

Waxing and other forms of Female Torture

Does it make me masochistic that I like getting my eyebrows waxed?

I go to this place called Li's Nails that was recommended to me by a teacher friend. This particular friend used to be in the pageant circuit (yes, we're in Texas) and her nails, eyebrows and everything else about her is always perfectly poised for competition. (Those rambunctious middle-schoolers weren't going to make her look haggard.)

So Teacher-Friend let me in on this one beauty secret. Let me just get it out in the open, Li's is not one of your finer day spas. It is what it is. And what it is, is the kind of place where they ask if you want to do your "moustache, too." (The ambiance is about on par with the tact at this place.) But I keep going back for more.

I like to sit back in their ordinary black office chair and feel the slight burn of the wax before they rip it off my face. Li is usually speaking incomprehensibly to one of her co-workers. It might as well be Vietnamese; I can't understand a word of it, but I find it soothing. If the procedure lasted more than 2 minutes I'm sure I could fall asleep.

I know, I'm sharing all sorts of personal things and I feel so naked. But who doesn't love getting their eyebrows cleaned up? Maybe I should say, I don't find it very painful and overall it is a pleasant thing to do for myself. Is that weird?

My friend's mom had an Epi-lady when we were kids. Remember those machines of female misery? They had a coil of wire that simply ripped the hair out of root off your legs; the logic being that it would grow back softer and less noticeable. We screamed like Banshees! Oh the pain! We were about eleven when we experimented with that thing and I decided right then and there that I'd rather have furry legs than participate in such self-loathing, ever again.

Here I am twenty years later, still torturing myself! I had a baby, afterall. He's three and I haven't gotten rid of him yet...some days that defies logic. The last two days he's been sent to time-out within a minute of getting out of bed. This is no exaggeration. Three can be torture.

I also tend to burn myself almost everytime I turn on the oven. If the scars on my hands could talk, they would say "either: chain smoker, or really, really clumsy in the kitchen." MMA is convinced its psycho-logically motivated, because burning one's self so frequently can't be accidental. (Even a monkey can learn not to burn its self if repeatedly exposed to a hot oven, right? My words, not his.)

Quick mention about my drug of choice: the flat-iron. When you take a shower, then sweat down your back to fix your hair, it can't be for pleasure...maybe with some therapy, I could get on board Team Naturally Curly Hair. Maybe.

Here's my favorite torture of them all. Some of you may be able to identify. You could tell me honestly and without hesitation to just stop the madness and in the next breath, torture yourself in the same way...get your bags packed, ladies, we're going on a GUILT TRIP! Is this a female universal, or am I especially gifted with the ability to burden myself with ridiculous, totally avoidable, and unnecessary guilt?

I'm guilty right now, because my little one is parked in front of the TV while I enjoy some "me" time...he's going through a difficult stage, after all, and needs my every fiber, every minute of the day. (TV watching = Bad mom)

....I'm back. Only Child went to the bathroom and my service was needed there. I would only share this tidbit with good, non judgemental people who would understand. I found myself saying "Anthony, don't flush the toilet, mommy needs to see your poo poo." I can't be the only one, er uh, the only mom who needs to see it...(ChaCha, your day will come.)

Be assured this is not another variation of mommy cutting herself...who else is going to stay on top of the stomach situation in this house?

How do you torture yourself? Misery loves company.

Hostile book report

I wrote this a while back for the Nuns as this was one of our books this year. Since it was a busy weekend, I thought I'd pull from the archives. This is my screenplay book report. It's a one scene jobby; Superstar carries the whole thing.

If I'm not available, I guess Reece Witherspoon could stand in. (Remember how brilliant she was in Election?)

A Hostile Book Report

by Woman Interrupted

[Read aloofly by know-it-all 11th grader, lisping slightly through braces. Catholic-school-girl get up; knee socks.]

So I read Love in the Time of Cholera, set in turn of the century South America...not the century that just turned, the one before it...and you know what??? It was stu-pid as love stories go. This guy is a Nobel winning author? Whatever!

So, as a teen, the main character, Florentino, sees a girl of fourteen from a distance and starts writing her secret letters, which she, Fermina, answers in secret. This is their only form of communication for years because of her over-protective father, yet they think they are in love [roll eyes]...until she wakes up and realizes how stupid it is to be in love with someone you've never even had a face-to-face conversation with.

So Fermina kicks Florentino to the curb, breaking off their engagement, and goes on with her life. She eventually marries up, snagging a rich-young doctor and they are the "Brangelina" of the So-Carib, if you know what I mean. Dad obviously approves.

But Florentino is a whiny baby who spends the next 50 years pining for her from afar. Or from as close as he can get. Hhut! He follows her life and pines so persistently that he can make himself sick just thinking about her. Maybe he is confusing the symptoms of IBS with being love-stricken. In any case, he hoodwinks many, many women over the years, but never considers marriage, because he's waiting to win back Fermina.

Then, (and tune out if I'm going to spoil it for you) Florentino grows into a dirty old man of the most vile variety. One word: pedophile! But as a testament to his love-letter-writing, we're talkin' mad skills, he manages to win Fermina over again at a ripe old 70-something after the good doctor falls off a ladder to his death...chasing a talking parrot...of all the ways to go.

Have you ever read love scenes that describe the heroine as "smelling like an old lady"? If you don't mind detailed depictions of old people hooking up or reading about deviant sexual behaviors, then you might learn something from this book.

Or, you could just google "death by cholera."

A friend described this book as "plotless." [smacking gum] There is a plot, it just takes forever and a day to materialize. By the time the relationship finally comes to fruition, the fruit is ready for the compost-heap.

And why am I hostile about reading this book?

I kept pushing forward, waiting for the book to live up to the reputation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, but it kept getting stranger and more perverse. I think the author has a few loose screws.

I was forced to admit by the time I finished three quarters of the book and nary a kiss had transpired in this "epic" love story that "spanned more than a half century" that the book was not about the relationship of Florentino and Fermina. No, this was a lesson in how even a creepy stalker, through persistence and patience, can get what he wants if he never gives up. And sometimes, after you work hard to get what you want, its not what you thought it would be.

[Smugly] If I'm not mistaken, there is a child's fable somewhere that teaches that same lesson in about 8 paragraphs.

[Did I mention that the Nun's dropped this book like yesterday's trash]