Monday, December 15, 2008

Crackin' nuts in Frisco

I am taking my daughter, older son and both of my parents to the Nutcracker tomorrow. Shhh. They think they're taking me. Ha ha! joke's on them!

Ok, not really. I'll be sandwiched in the backseat of the Toyota between brother and sister while my dad drives us down to the city. I imagine it might still be fun. I hope to take some pictures of the kids in their snazzy city outfits and then I hope to fix my Picasa and then I hope to post some new pictures.

I'm excited (!) (almost squee! excited) about mah boy seein' the Nutcracker for the first time. His sister's been prepping him for nigh on three years now, and now that he's five (house rules) he can experience the fantasticness that is the San Francisco Ballet in person. I think he mostly wants to go because the toy soldier army fires a cannon at the mouse king. I could be wrong.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Really not all that bad. Maybe even good.

Wow. That was....really lame. I'm sorry. Note to self: no half-drunk blogging after bad news from the dentist.

Instead, we will think of eggnog, mistletoe and holly berries. Christmas trees, Playmobil nativity sets and open fires. We will read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, Polar Express and The Gift of the Magi. We will listen to sentimental Christmas songs at night with only the tree lights on and we will warm our toes by the fire and we will remember the first Christmas we spent together as a couple and then as a family. So many Christmases and each one different but defined by the things that are the same. The first Christmas we spent together we were living in a small apartment and we saw no need to buy a tree for ourselves. A few days before Christmas I broke down and fashioned the ugliest tree ever out of an upside down tomato cage and hung it with tinsel and ornaments. We tacked our two stockings to the wall above the heater. I got a bottle of vodka in my stocking. Now, Christmas officially begins when the kids demand the Playmobil nativity set the weekend after Thanksgiving and ends the day after Christmas when I can't take the clutter any more and begin putting all the decorations and ornaments away.

Last year, I decided that I would skip Christmas this year altogether. We just wouldn't do it. None of it. I was so disgusted and stressed out and unhappy in the weeks leading up to Christmas that I just couldn't see the joy in it anymore and figured that we would just avoid it in the future, like the plague or the mall. But here it is again and there's no running away from it. Might as well enjoy it.

I see a lot of spiked eggnog in the coming weeks.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Merry Fucking Christmas to you too, Great Depression of ought-8

Man, but it's been hard.

When it was just US watching our own budget things seemed dire enough but now with, oh, you know EVERYONE watching their economy as well as the nation's and planet's spiral ever downward things seem even worse. We've been trying to buckle down for the last year or so since our own finances went topsy-turvey and I've got to tell you--there's nothing more depressing than fantasizing about the swanky cocktail party of your dreams, you know, the one where you're wearing that vintage frock you fit into ages ago, updated with some fine Louboutins (what? just me?) passing out nibblets of chorizo-stuffed dates wrapped with prosciutto while your husband--outfitted in natty slacks and cashmere cardigan (omg! with a pipe!) shakes you and your guests a dirty martini (although, really, probably more of a Sidecar. Yum.) while in reality you're trying to decide if your 5 year old really need his cavities filled or if you can replace some of the draughty windows instead or maybe buy some firewood because the heater's broken. Poor kid. His teeth hurt. On the other hand, fillings only benefit him, while warmth benefits us all.

It will be interesting, this next little while. If not the dust bowl, then what? The closing of Detroit? Where will they go? Mexico? Canada? Will they come to California again? Will the mothers of dead babies breastfeed grown men?

How can we have let this happen? And how can I stop the draughts around my doors? How do we keep the cold out?

Merry Christmas, baby. All I need is what I've got, right here with me. I will snuggle my babies for warmth and feed my chickens and grow my garden and take care of what I have because that's all I have. It's enough. It's perfect.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

We did it!

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And we did it for guys like this. Pretty soon it will be in their hands and I'm just happy to report that we seized our opportunity to do the right thing. We'll try not to fuck it up for you too badly, my little guys. We certainly made the right choice last night.

And thank fucking god. I didn't really want to move to the Netherlands.

Friday, August 29, 2008


I'd really like to lay down some mad lines here about perspective and parenting and first days of kindergarten and shit, but I'm sort of obsessed with Black Hockey Jesus right now and keep checking in on him to see if maybe today qualifies as a two-entry kind of a day and also there's a toddler screaming at my elbow (HELLO! HELLO ELBOW! CAN YOU HEAR ME ELBOW? ELBOW HELLO! ELBOW!) and, yesterday, every time I turned on the radio or opened my eyes I cried mad, mad tears of joy/frustration/hope/anguish that burned my cheeks and stung my eyes like little crazy bees of emotion, and as disappointed as I was last night with Obama's speech I still want to kiss him for making it and say thank you, thank you, thank you for fighting hard and being our Obi Wan Kenobi, my eight-year-old didn't understand much of what you said but she listened with an open heart more golden than sunshine, more full of promise than a full Netflix queue and today I understood that despair will only guarantee us 4 more of this bullshit and that the hippies were right! all we really need is love, true, open, sweaty, blissed out love and hope and if enough of us send out our happy blinking beacons of happy hopefulness we will get what we need because if enough of us get to the forest RIGHT NOW, we will be there. We will be witness to the tree falling and we will hear it fall and we will be able to say: Now. The time is Now.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Not setting the goal too high since 1997

During my senior year of high school I applied to only one college. Everyone else I knew was applying to many, many colleges and universities and staying up all night and working every weekend on essays that would set them apart from the pack of other high school seniors who were applying with 3.9's and several extracurricular activities to their name. I had no interest in spending my last year of high school actually working at anything, other than being a complete bad ass, and I'm pretty sure I met my goal. The year was 1997, and I was subsisting on little more than black coffee, cigarettes and modern rock. I was dating a guy in his early twenties and I drove an '83 Volvo DL. I was the master of my situation and I was completely uninterested in being disappointed by rejection. Plus, I knew exactly where I wanted to go.

I applied to San Francisco State University and was still actually nervous about not making it in. Seriously, I think they take people on a first come, first served basis and I let out an audible sigh of relief when my Letter Of Acceptance came. My parents and I decided on the dorm for the first year and we took out student loans and drop-kicked that last bit of senior year in the ass and I packed myself up in my little Volvo and headed forward to my future with love in my heart and practically nothing in my head.

I dropped out after the first semester.

It had nothing to do with the school. Or the city, I loved the city and I continue to love the city. What happened was, I met this guy the summer before I moved and we had the most amazing courtship that happened mostly in the city. It was awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I dropped out of school, he never returned to his school to finish up, we moved in together and had three babies by the time I was 26.

Yeah, I know. The downside...ok, one of the downsides is that he DOESN'T ACTUALLY LIKE SAN FRANCISCO. I know, I know. It was a horrible realization for me too, but what can I do?

It's been years since we've been to the city together, but last weekend I dragged his complaining ass all the way down there because my dad's family was having a reunion and I told him that he just had to kind of ENJOY IT DAMMIT I WANT TO GO AND YOU HAVE TO TOO. He went. He even helped us find this great dim sum joint in Chinatown:

(That's the Sprout in a hat (worn backwards, of course) we picked up in Chinatown. Bean got Pop-pop firecrackers and Peanut got little slippers that are off-gassing the most vile shit imaginable. They've been kicked outside until they learn to let it go.)

It was not this place, though:

Which was too bad, really, because, and I know you can't actually tell from the picture, but the front of the building was painted GOLD and it was AWESOME.

We had such a good time, and we did nothing but all the shit I've always refused to do, like Chinatown and Fisherman's Wharf, but the kids loved it (also, Cable Cars+toddler="FUN! FUN! FUN! ALL DONE?") and at the end of the day, I think my husband did too. Oh, plus really good food and service at Beretta that, unfortunately, we had to duck out of early because of child related illness--ha, no, my kids didn't make anyone sick, one of my kids GOT sick. Just, you know, for fun.

Hopefully we'll do it again. Some day.

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Monday, July 21, 2008

It's just the clown. It's weeping again.

An exercise in stream-of-consciousness blogging.


We've taken the plunge: we've decided to commit to a weekly CSA box. No doubt, it will be brimming with all the same produce we're drowning under from our own garden, but that's a small price to pay for supporting our favourite local farm, right?

I mean, right?

(I have nightmares of ratty beet greens taking over our fridge and being forced by frugality to make beet green omelets, smoothies and pies until we all die, choking on our beet greens. I've been...meaning to get in touch with a therapist.) (OHMYGOD ANALRAPIST!!!1!11!!)


So, we've been watching "Damages" recently, piggybacked by "Benidorm" (look it up). I have to say, the preposterouness of this show is spellbinding. I couldn't get over Glenn Close's ridiculousness in the first few episodes, but now I rely on it like the TV mainlining freak that I am. Dearest Husband is out of town now for a few nights, and if we hadn't finished it last night, wrapping it up with the final three episodes in a frenzied fury, bedsheets drenched with the sweat of anticipation and disappointment, I'm not sure that I could have sworn fidelity on that one. I mean, I held the show at arms length until I JUST! COULD! NOT! STOP! THINKING! about just WHAT EXACTLY had happened to...

And Holy Shit, that's it! It's done! The demons have been exorcised for I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF GOD REMEMBER ANY OF THE CHARACTERS NAMES! HALLELUJA!

Ahem. This house is clear.


To come: A conversation involving Cydwoq boots and how to pass your own personal Douchebaggery test!

(Hint: Cydwoq boots do not equal douchebag! The equal the opposite! They equal a man of exquisite taste and grooming! THEY EQUAL AWESOMENESS!!!)

Sunday, June 29, 2008

they might have to pry my iPod from my cold, dead hands. or maybe they won't. who knows.

You want to know what makes me feel old? The iPod nano I got for my birthday. That makes me feel old. I tried to do what all the kids are doing these days and "download" some "sweet sounds" so that I could "rock out" some point, I'm not quite sure when I can actually use it because of having to constantly be aware of possible bludgeonings and the screams resulting therefrom or the sound of children disappearing stealthily which is really hard to catch even when you're really paying attention...anyway, I thought I broke the computer because in the middle of trying waaaay too hard to get some Kruder and Dorfmeister (look! I'm still cool!) in there the damn thing stopped working. My reaction to the computer when it stops and will no longer respond to my incessant tapping the space bar and/or enter key or random flailing with the mouse is to exhale loudly and walk away, irritated at the idiot box and confident that when my husband gets home he'll listen to my complaints and shake his head and chuckle at me, his little moron.

Stupid iPod.

Of course, my man fixed it all and I am now able to enter the 21st century, ear buds proudly inserted for maximum obliviousness, completely ready to check out at designated times--basically, when the kids are in bed and the only thing he's in the mood for is Rambo: First Blood 2--and enjoy the music that has been pre-selected for me.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Rambunctious Sausage

Man, it's hard to keep this thing going. We've been busy with chickens who are finally laying, bees who continue to keep us on our toes (is that a queen cup? Are they getting ready to swarm, or are they bearding because it's too damn hot in the hive? Who knows? Not me.), garden watering in blistering hot weather and then not-so-hot but horribly smokey weather. I've been trying to get a handle on household finances (my good LANDS, groceries are expensive), find a job and try to maximize my efficacy and efficiency as a, GULP, housewife all at the same time. Also, trying new recipes because it's fun and tasty.

Oh, and having a birthday. The very last birthday of my twenties, thankyouverymuch.

Yay! We had a birthday yesterday and it was fine. I turned 29 with very little fanfare which is exactly how I like it, and also two birthday cakes because why fuck around with one freakisly delicious cake when you can have two.

What happened was, the kids wanted to go pick out a cake and because Kelsey almost never picks one up for me I said ok, so at around 3 or so we hit the best bakery in the WORLD (ok, maybe I've been to a better bakery in France, but only maybe), conveniently located in Sebastopol and the kids chose a cake that looked fine and delicious. Roughly 5 minutes before we got there, Kelsey did the same thing. At the same bakery. Almost with the same cake.

I know. We have similar tastes in baked goods. It's what makes the marriage work.

After a lovely dinner that Kelsey's mom made for us, we tucked in to the cake Kelsey brought home for us. It was delicious, and just in case it wasn't, we had a back-up. We're very boy scout about cakes.

And then today, just because we've been cooped up in the house because of unhappy smokey sinuses and headaches (seriously, there are, like, a BAZILLION fires happening around here. It's horrible. Oh, Oh, and our well may be going dry! I knew I was forgetting one piece of horrible, horrible reality), Peanut decided she'd like to play a game. All rolled up. In a comforter. As a sausage. A rambunctious sausage. My first born had us all in stitches today pretending to be a sausage that bites back. "Mom! Mom, look! I'm a Rambunctious Sausage! Aaaaarrrrrrrgghhhhh!"

It was so much fun I even forgot about almost being at the bottom of the well.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

ack. blech. also: hot

Yeah, I kind of lost steam on that whole bee business. I had a whole mess of pictures for that post that Picasa failed to import or Blogger failed to accept and so I would have had to go back and do it again and you know what? Life's too short.

Also? Fucking hot. It's 99 and windy right now and it's only going to get worse and I've been watering plants back from the brink all morning and it's too hot to eat and I've got low blood sugar and I've got to get in the car soon and perform carpooling duties and it's So Fucking Hot and

Ahem. Sorry. I must have gotten my Whiny Pants mixed up with my All-In-Perspective Pants.

What I really wanted to talk about was fashion and my never ending fascination with it. You know how you can see something in a magazine or, you know, gossip column, and go, "Oh, no fucking way. There is no WAY that is going to stick. Uh-uh. I hate it, it's awful, it'll go away before it ever pops up near here (read: the sticks). I'll just ride this out and hopefully the next wave will be more acceptable." And then the world decides to beat you into submission and all of a sudden EVERY WHERE YOU LOOK it's happening. The trend that shouldn't be is really on fire and the pain and misery of it keeps you up at night like when you're nine months pregnant and it hurts to stand up and it hurts to lay down and you have indigestion and your ankles are swollen to five times the size of your head and....

Again. My apologies. I'm going to go change my pants. Be right back.

Ahh, much better. So then. Then fashion resistance fatigue sets in and you no longer care. Ennui! It's the new black! You spend weeks laying aside your resentment and come to a place of inner peace. Nothing can faze you now. You and your zafu are one with the universe which also includes the object of your past disgust. And then, one day, you open a catalog and you are shocked to find that what you really really want, of all the things on the shiny pages full of lovely pretty things for you to wear are FUCKING GLADIATOR SANDALS OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE I BECOME NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

And then you have a beer and go to bed because it's too fucking hot to get all worked up like that.

Monday, May 12, 2008


Hey! We got bees! Again! Hopefully they'll stick around this time and not, you know, die!

Last year we set up a hive in the back yard but we were hit with varroa mites and the little guys didn't make it. We did, however, manage to harvest 17 pounds of honey mid summer and they went on to produce several more pounds, more than enough to see themselves through the winter but alas! twas not to be. They lost too much mass and the remaining bees froze to death. It was really sad. We buried the queen.

Her name was Beatrice.

We thought we'd try it again. Two fridays ago, the bees came. The gear:

Sprout is none too sure about the shenanigans that appear to be in the offing:

But the ever-ready Bean is on the job!

Pep talk? Threats of bodily harm if he fucks up? We'll never know.

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More to come....

Friday, April 18, 2008

the un-panzanella

I always have this (incredibly faulty) notion that I'll remember how I've cooked something that I really liked. That I'll remember which food blog I got a recipe from and how I changed it and whether or not I'd do it again. I never do, and I think I've lost some good recipes because I lack the discipline to write down what I've done. Kelsey has set up a blog for us to record recipes for food and cocktails we've liked (or have not liked and would please never like to try again, thankyou) but I can never remember my username or password so I try to do it over here a bit too. Well, tonight the kiddies are in bed, Kelsey's watching a horrible-looking movie and I'm sitting down with some new bourbon to write about what we had for dinner tonight.

(cue Law and Order DU-DUN)

I found a delicious looking recipe over at Smitten Kitchen for a spring panzanella but when I stood in front of the raw ingredients, they seemed to want me to do something else to them, not to mention the fact that I would be using fresh bread instead of stale for the croutons and also bread that I had made, with my own two hands, and making croutons out of it seemed, well...wrong. It was still warm, is all I'm saying and also I really really like my leeks on the caramelized side of things.

So. Here it is.

For the body of the salad:
3 leeks
1 large bunch asparagus
1 can white beans
4 slices bacon

For the dressing:
1/4 red onion between diced and minced
spoon tip of dijon
juice from 1/2 lemon
few shakes white wine vinegar
olive oil

I cut the green ends off of the leeks but ended up peeling them down to the innermost bits and slicing them and cooking them in olive oil until they were dark, almost too dark. The rest I sliced in half and then in half again to rinse out any sand or dirt and then cut them into 1 1/2 inch long pieces. Into the pan with the green ends. When fairly soft, throw in a bit of water and cover to simmer for a bit. Remove lid and season with s&p. Continue to cook to desired coloration and sweetness. Remove from pan. Add 1-2 tablespoons of butter to the pan and add asparagus. Cook until starting to brown and then toss in a little water and cover for just a minute. Remove cover, season and remove from heat before they're too soft. While the asparagus is cooking, cook the lardons of bacon and then add to beans (note: in the future, I will cook my own beans because a little firmness of bean would be nice. The cannellini beans I used this time were too soft by the time they'd heated up with the lardons). Cut asparagus in three.
While the leeks are cooking there's ample time to make the dressing. All is thrown in except the oil which is whisked in.
Croutons would be lovely with stale bread but if the bread is fresh slice and drizzle with olive oil and place in 350 oven until just toasted.

To combine:
Beans and bacon on bottom of bowl; leeks; asparagus; dressing; bread on the side.

And voila! C'est simple et tres delicieux.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Spring springing and such like

I know I said something about chicks. Chicks are cute. At least they were last week when they were still new:

Now they're going through their awkward phase. They're all gangly and their pin feathers are coming in and if they could talk their voices would be cracking, except they're girls so maybe they would be wearing jeans that were too low and/or tight and listening to, I don't know, what do tweener girls listen to? Hannah Montana? I have no idea and I hope to never, ever know ever again. I myself went through a Poison phase and my husband will never let me forget it.

We will do these chicks the favour of not taking pictures of them at this point (Also: laziness), something I wish my parents had done for me.

And on to: spring nosegays! Or something. This little trifle of loveliness is sitting in my living room right now en route to its final destination. Probably a stinky bathroom. Poor flowers.

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Saturday, March 29, 2008

recent loveliness

I have made several tasty things to eat over the course of the last few weeks. A few of them are:

Our Easter meal was comprised of:
Looking back....we relied too heavily on Martha, perhaps, but I'm saving these recipes because everything was beautiful and delicious and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Also, there was some Scharffenberger champagne involved. That helped.

Right, I also made the lemon-rosemary bread for Easter. We've been eating that bread almost constantly since we tried the recipe a couple weeks ago. I was going to whip up another batch of it today, but the day got away from me...tomorrow I'll try again.

AAAK! also: @#$%%&$#@ and such like

Hey! Guess what! We're still sick! Ha ha ha! So much fun! Next weekend I'm going to learn how to juggle chainsaws and hypodermic needles! I'm really looking forward to that!


Hey! Guess what else! We got to take Dearest Husband to the ER on Thursday night! Weeeeeeeee! Kelsey thought he'd been exposed to a neuro-toxin while cleaning his fish tank which was experiencing a massive die-off because....this is boring. Suffice it to say that while Kelsey was in the ER, the kids were alternately nodding off or listening to Jim Broadbent reading Winnie the Pooh while I was puking out the car door in the parking lot ( I know! Classy!) and shaking with the chills. When we got home Peanut puked, I collapsed in bed and Kelsey took some codeine cough syrup. He's got pneumonia. Apparently the doctor cheerfully told him that if he had truly been exposed to the toxin he thought he had been, he'd be dead.

So...that's good news.

Kelsey has basically holed up in our bedroom with these items:
  • 1 bottle liquid happiness
  • 1 bottle antibiotics
  • 1 Wii
  • several pillows
  • snacks
  • possibly a shot gun to keep the rest of us the hell out of there, "so help me God, I will get better dammit! Stop making me sick you bastards! (cough, cough...grrrrr.....)"
If he does actually get better, it will be entirely because of the delicious wontons I made last night. So tasty. Recipe will follow.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Why do we continue having crappy birthdays? and new chickens.

Bean had a birthday. We were sick, to greater or lesser degrees. He had a nice day, Dad brought him a bike, there was much merriment. He decided he wanted a bento box for dinner, so we went out to sushi because truly, it does not take much arm twisting. "Bento box, you say? I'm on it!" Husband and I enjoyed the most delicious raw fish while the little people enjoyed their beef teriyaki and california rolls and such. The Sprout loves oshinko maki. Who knew?

During dinner the Bean was tired. We couldn't even stay for our mochi ice cream, and if you can't stay for your mochi ice cream, you know something's amiss. We brought it home, stuck a candle in it, sang a song, ate our ice cream, collapsed in bed.

It was....perhaps not the most memorable birthday ever, but they hardly ever are. I made a lovely chocolate cake for his preschool class, and per his request, Dad made cinnamon rolls for his breakfast. Oh my holy GOD they were delicious. Husband used a recipe from the Fanny Farmer Baking Book and made them with a potato dough. They were beyond rocking, but unfortunately I didn't think to take any pictures.

Later in the week, we had a semi-scalping involving the Sprout, his hairline and an angry CPU with the sharpest damned air vents known to man. Yesterday we brought home two chickens to our brand-new chicken coop that Husband built over the last couple weekends. One is an Australorp and the other a silver-laced Wyandotte. Their names are Penny and Princess and next week we'll bring home some chicks that will move in with them when they're big enough. Pictures to come. The kids are in love and want to check on them constantly. The chickens themselves seem to be adapting fairly well, but the dog is being a pain. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything different from a creature bred to be a farm dog.

Sprout is healing, the chickens are neeping, spring is springing all around us. It's torture to be inside, except for being sick and all, Easter is creeping up faster than I thought it possibly's overwhelming and perfect.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

saved by the...well, not the bell exactly

Unless it is the kind of bell one would ring a death knell with. Bean and I (and Sprout, but he still doesn't count in cases like these) decided that we'd like to go visit our dinner. On a farm. Where it was still living.

It...seemed like a good idea. I don't know.

Kelsey and I have been talking for a good long while now about buying half of a cow from a local rancher, which is a great idea, environmentally speaking, and it would also allow us to look like the complete assholes we are. "I bought MY beef from a LOCAL rancher. Oh yes, it's grass fed. Oh yes, I'm supporting the local infrastructure. Oh yes, I practice what I preach. Please allow me to spend the next few minutes telling you why I'm better than you and also why Michael Pollan is my savior."

Well, we haven't done that yet. But what we have done is bought half of a hog from a lady nearby. It's "going to market" tomorrow where it will be butchered and packaged and when I go to pick up my hams and bacon and chops and roasts, it's going to look just like it does at Whole Foods, only I will have actually paid more for it. And I'm just not feeling fulfilled by that, precisely. I know the point is really to buy locally produced food from a conscientious farmer, thereby dropping a pebble into the bucket of waste and sloth and obesity and hatred and dishonesty and if enough pebbles are dropped maybe there's a chance we'll fill the bucket up with righteous pebbles and displace the scum. But it still seemed too removed, because to me, the other point was to establish a firmer relationship with my food, and if that was going to come in the form of rubbing my bacon's snout between the eyes, than by gum, that's what I was going to do.

So that's what Bean and I tried to do. We found the address where our pig was supposed to be living out its last hours, but after getting out of the car and walking around a bit, we could see neither hoof nor snout of any porcine wonders. My girlfriend who decided to accompany us said in my ear, "Maybe it's better that way. I mean, I don't know if I would want to meet MY dinner."

And maybe it is better that way. I wasn't totally sure I wanted to either. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Plus, Bean was totally into it.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Old news, resurfacing

Yes. So. Time has passed. We made bagels again and they were more or less the same. Yummy, satisfying, but imperfect. Much like myself. The new news: I have new glasses! Also contacts! My eyeballs feel like they're being lovingly caressed by sandpaper! Yay!

But: There is other news. I bought some Maraschino! It is lovely, in its way. It is lovely in:
  1. the Aviation
  2. The Last Word
  3. the Union Club.
(Someday I will branch out and not rely quite so heavily on Jay, but he has not led us astray yet.)
((I love Jay's blog the same way I love Luisa's: they tell me what THEY think of the recipes they're trying, and they both have great taste, by which I mean, they both like the same things I like. If we lived anywhere near each other, we'd have the best sleepover ever, what with all the cocktails and yummy nibblets.))

This is incomplete, I know, but I wanted to get these cocktails recorded. I've been sick for so long I've almost forgotten what the contents of the liquor cabinet hold in store for us, and during my illness I tried many of Luisa's lovely recipes but had to rely on my family's feedback because I CANNOT FUCKING TASTE ANYTHING, LIKE ANYTHING AT ALL IT IS AWFUL AND MY HUSBAND IS SO SICK OF ME ASKING HIM TO TASTE THINGS BECAUSE HOLY SHIT, WHAT IF I'M OVER SALTING (breathing, breathing.....) Basically, I'm going to have to try them out all over again so that I can actually taste them.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008


We made them! And they were...Not Bad!

Here's what they looked like before the sun came up:

Here's what they looked like while they were boiling, also before the sun came up:

Here's a picture of the tree outside my kitchen window with no sun peeking out behind it because guess what? The fucking sun STILL wasn't up!

And here's what they looked like right before we ate them:

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Like I said: Not Bad. Not delicious either, but it was a noble effort. Eventually the sun did come up and I was able to coax everyone out of bed with the lure of delicious bagels but I have to admit that the best part of this whole project might have been the hour or so that I got to myself, drinking coffee and boiling bagels, before anyone else was awake.


Monday, January 21, 2008

Recap madness!

So, about that whole Christmas thing....

We finally took the tree out of the house today--poor bastard was starting to lose its needles so we took pity on it--and I took a moment to look back at the month of hell most people call "December" and--and this is not news, mind you, I've been highly aware of this for, oh, the last 7 years or so--realized that all the pain and anger? All my fault.

I love being a parent! It's so much fun! How come nobody ever tells you that the sound of your own voice repeating the same simple phrases over and over and over and over again will make you nauseous and the thought of having to sit calmly and discipline a four year old in the middle of the parking lot at the grocery store will send you out in hives?


It's not like I didn't already know that all the bad things my kids do are a direct result of my parenting, or lack thereof, it's just that it sucks so bad to feel like a failure all the time that it's tempting to just blame them for their actions and the way they make me feel.

Phew! That feels good. Who needs a shrink when you can just send your angst out into the ether of teh internets?

On a lighter note: Bagels! We made some! If they don't look like ass tomorrow when we cook them I might take pictures! Or might not! You'll have to wait and see! And when I say "you", I mean "my mom".

(Hi mom!)

The kids had a good time shaping them...the bagels themselves? not so much. Hopefully the bread will forgive us our transgressions and cook up all lovely and gorgeous in the morning. I used the recipe from The Fresh Loaf's site, but I didn't use the final 1/4 cup of flour before kneading the dough. The mixer was having a hell of a time as it was and Kelsey decided that it looked ok. If they don't turn out, it's his fault.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008


So, about that run to Bevmo yesterday morning...I picked up some things we were out of (Junipero gin, Lillet Blanc) and some things we were almost out of (St. Germain) in addition to something new.

Creme de violette, baby!

That's right, we had purple drinks last night because if there's anything sexier than Bevmo in the morning it's drinking liquid Chowards at night. Yum.

I jest.

Actually, the creme de violette was really pretty cool. Yes, it's purple and yes, straight up it does sort of taste like your Grandmother's underwear drawer, but once mixed in something like, say, the Attention, you have strange feelings of wanting to tip a little sip on the curb in her memory. Which you would never actually do because it's such a lovely cocktail.

The recipe Kelsey used for the Attention cocktail was somewhere between the one from cocktaildb and the one in an old copy of Imbibe magazine we have laying around the house. We were going to have Aviations, but I am lame and didn't manage to pick up the maraschino. Because I am lame. More on that later, I'm sure.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

I'm developing a new kind of dog. I'll call it a Booze hound

You know, it's really, really hard to not feel like an alcoholic when you're buying over a hundred dollars of liquor at Bevmo at ten o'clock in the morning, but when you get home and find that there's really no room in your liquor cabinet for your admittedly mostly top shelf although ultimately tragically alcoholic hooch, all attempts at staving off that feeling flee in embarrassment.

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Having said that, I'm sure looking forward to tying one on tonight!

Monday, January 14, 2008

stabby rip stab stab

There have been so many things I've wanted to say lately and I haven't had the time to write any of them down. These fleeting thoughts land on the tips of my hair and before they've had an opportunity to tip-toe up my hair and into my scalp (from where, they would then travel into my brain--isn't this how everyone's ideas work?) they're gone. They're like fucking Kobayashi. I have Kobayashi thoughts.

And dude, I have short hair.

So instead of any well thought out posts on anything meaningful or relevant an update will have to suffice. An update that will also hopefully serve as a reminder to the myself 11 months from now when Christmas is around the corner that I have sworn not to participate in Christmas this year.

That's right! Christmas is canceled!

Why didn't I think of this before? Why has it taken me so many years to figure out that if we leave the area (perhaps country) for Christmas we're totally off the hook? I mean, right? Will we have to send notes to family informing them that their kids will receive nothing from us this year because we've spent all of our Christmas money on a beach front hotel room and also to please not send us anything because my holy GOD the shit we've got already could keep an entire nation of third world kids in toys for eternity. As it is we just send the crap down to our local hospice shop or Salvation Army and pretend that we've done something good. And yes, all of our toys from China went into the trash instead of the donations pile because if we need anything, it's more lead in our landfills.

I don't know what happened this year. Christmas has been stressful in the past but it's usually because of Something Else, like cooking for Kelsey's family for the first time or having to coordinate too many outings to different family members houses or morning sickness. This year our responsibilities were light. Sure, we cooked dinner on Christmas Eve--and it was fucking delicious--but it was simple and low-key. On Christmas we were at my folks house where our responsibilities begin and end with deciding how much to drink and also if The Court Jester is really appropriate for the billionth time (answer after 3 glasses of wine: yes.). It was the kids. The kids ruined Christmas for me, and I'm pretty sure just saying that makes me the worst parent this side of Britney. They regressed so radically for the three weeks leading up to Christmas that I found myself thinking, "if I shave my head and flash my snatch in public and then hide a gun in my bathroom, will they hospitalize me? Just for, like, a couple days? Just long enough to get through Christmas?"

But does that mean that I'd have to talk to Dr. Phil? Cause that would be a deal breaker.