Deja Vu

Here we are again, three years gone by, waiting on a phone call to see if this can all be over now. People came and saw the house yesterday, and now I wait. They were here for two plus hours, one of those spent wandering around in my woods, and now I am waiting to see what judgment they will pass on this house that I have loved so well and hated so deeply for the past six years. Three years without an offer. I cannot believe that my home is so unwanted, but there you have it. Also, they have repeatedly asked how fast we can be out....ok, so tease me, and then tease me some more. I do not think it is too much to ask to want to wake up next to my husband EVERY morning, not just 4 mornings a week. I do not think it is too much for my children to ask to be involved in school activities without having the entire horde have to attend. I want to cook dinner for my hubs again EVERY night, and have a martini waiting for him when he gets home. I want to look at bills piling up and have the choice to pick up a job to make them go away. I want with every fiber of my being for my phone to ring RIGHT NOW and release me. I want to have to rush to pack up my life and go live in a tiny apartment. REALLY I DO.

Back To School

OK, so I managed one post between end of school and back to school, but here I am again. It was by and large a fun summer...I would like to say it ended too soon but in point of fact it ended just before we started tearing each others throats out. Violet went to school today, leaving me alone with The Bumble, aka Mini Me, aka Cadillac Jack, aka Jackie Blue. I have begun his servant indoctrination already, as we are cleaning the house. Scarily enough, it feels good to get back in my old routine of morning...that is to say, get up, get coffee in me, get the kids off to school, come home and pick up. How boring my life has become. Jack seems to wonder what I did with the others and if the same fate awaits him......
Violent was WAY more nervous for school than any of us would have ever guessed, but I think that will at least let her teachers get to know her until she turns Bobcat on them....god help them both. I sent her off in a dirty shirt, winning myself parent of the year and the year has barely started! I am hoping no one notices that the shirt is filthy till after snack, because then I can blame it on them.....remember that life is really about spinning the wheel of blame. My house is very quiet this morning, and even more boring than before. Jack has no one to poke, I have no one nagging me (at least for the next two hours) and things are actually getting done around here....WOW.
On a better and happier note, I made a double batch of Schoodic Slush last night that I should test tonight just to be sure it is not spoiled in any way.....this has to be my favorite punch of all time, especially since it can be an anytime punch...the main ingredients are left in the freezer and can be doled out one serving at a time. Try it, you will like it!
Boil 4 cups water
add 4 tea bags and 1/2 cup sugar
steep 10 minutes
add
12 oz can frozen OJ
12 oz can frozen lemonade
1 fifth cheap vodka
put in one gallon Tupperware or bucket type receptacle and freeze at least overnight.
Fill your pimp cup 1/2 full of the resulting slush, top with ginger ale. I prefer to not stir it, but let it just be slushy happiness in my glass. ENJOY!

He Ate My Heart

Today is the day. Seven years ago Harrison came to the world. Right now on that day, I was hugely pregnant, dropped Lily off at daycare and went shopping. I got my nails done, sparking the tradition of getting my nails done right before giving birth. I knew he was coming that day, but out of all 4 kids, that was the day I was most scared. After my first, Lily, I could not imagine being able to love another human THAT much again. It seemed impossible. I was terrified that it would be less somehow...that I could not be a good mother because I gave my heart and soul so completely to my firstborn. I remember the day VERY clearly....I made James meet me in our driveway so we could go to the Ground Round because I HAD to have their peach iced tea. I ordered steak tips and a salad with blue cheese dressing. Just before the food came, I told James that when the food came, he should eat FAST. The waitress was panicked by the fact that I was timing contractions and eating and not freaking out. She was not a good waitress to go into labor with. After getting to the hospital, I joked with my doctor (Dr. Sunshine...seriously. We were Beer, Grass and Sunshine) that I went into labor early because he was going on vacation the next day. An hour later, I was holding him. (I am leaving out the part where I was nearly struck down for having THAT foul a mouth in a catholic hospital) And he ate my heart. Here's to you, Harrison...I don't know anyone like you. You can't stop laughing, even when you are being scolded, or having a swimming lesson, or trying to ride a bike. You describe DNA to me, but can't manage to bus your own dishes, no matter how many times you get saddled with doing ALL the dishes. You are both a hard headed bull and my soft hearted little man. I love you.

Three Holer Cake

So my mother gets me this book for Christmas several years ago named "Americas Best Lost Recipes". Before she wraps it, my father asks, "If they are lost, how did they make a book of them?" After I unwrapped it, my husband asks, "Shouldn't that be almost lost recipes? I mean, how did they make a book of them if they are lost?" MEN. Anyway, this is my favorite type of cookbook, the ones that have the weird recipes (bologna pie?) with the weirder names (Grandpa Cooleys Angry Deviled Eggs) So I am looking at this book and I find a couple of my fave recipes...Million Dollar cake by any other name is still the same...amazing the lengths some will go to in hard times just to have cake. I find Wacky Cake, which I promptly describe to my friend Mandy. She listens carefully and then says "Oh. That's just Three-Holer Cake. Dad's favorite. Good cake. Not called "wacky cake", tho." Three Holer Cake is a much better name for this particular science experiment, born of a time when eggs were precious, and so was everything else. Kudos to the kitchen wizard that came up with this one, because it is actually my favorite chocolate cake, dead easy to make, half an hour in the oven, and perfect in every way. All the dry ingredients get mixed together, then you separate out the oil and the vanilla and the vinegar, which when combined with the baking soda create the leavening for the cake. Light, yet very chocolate, my hubs likes to douse this cake in Kahlua and whipped cream, the kids like it however. It is a great thing to throw in for dessert on a whim, since it takes no time at all. Tonight I made it with strawberry buttercream frosting, (the name is far more impressive than the unceremonious beating of butter, powdered sugar, milk and strawberry jam) but I like my Three Holer Cake with just unsweetened whipped cream. Deeee - LUX. Enuff talky, let's bakey:

You start with your 9x9 inch glass or metal pan...the one you make brownies in and almost nothing else. Spray her down. Pre heat your oven to 350, which is convenient if you have been baking something in the oven for dinner...just prep the dry, make your holes, then slam it in the oven right when dinner comes out. At any rate, into your 9x9, put the following:

1.5 cups flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup cocoa
3/4 teaspoon baking SODA
1/2 teaspoon salt

Whisk this together. Really. With a whisk. I have tried other things and I am right now saving you from dirtying a spoon, a spatula and a whisk. Just use the damn whisk. Level the playing field once it is all mixed. Make three holes; one big and two little. In the big one, put 5 tablespoons of oil. In one of the little ones, put 1 teaspoon of vanilla. In the final hole, put 1 tablespoon of vinegar and IMMEDIATELY whisk the shit out of it until it is cake batter, and IMMEDIATELY put it in the oven. Do not dilly dally. Do not saunter. Have you ever made a volcano from baking soda and vinegar? While violent, that reaction does not last long. The reason this is made in one pan is to remind you to "get this bitch in the oven right quick!". Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Just enough cake for you and company, not a ton left over to tempt you, not too sweet but just great. Dust it with powdered sugar, reduce some raspberry jelly with a little rum to make a sauce, lay some Hershey's syrup on it, douse it in your favorite alcohol, top it with whipped cream, or some kind of frosting. My frosting was a stick of butter, 5 cups of powdered sugar, the end of my strawberry jelly (?2 tablespoons?) and a splash of milk. just enough frosting to do that one pan. Try it and tell me that isn't your favorite "fool company with a WWII era cake and pass it off as something fancy" dessert. And tell me what you put on yours, I would love to know.

English Muffins and Orange Marmalade

OK, on the long list of things that I love there are a couple that stand out from the rest. The cook in me loves to try a new recipe and have it come out BANG! perfect on the first go. Not that I don't like to work hard, but it is SOOOOO rewarding when everything falls into place and you do something new and it is PERFECT. The Yankee in me loves making something that is easy and yummy and costs a fraction of what you pay for it. My tortillas I had to work on for a long time (perfect now, thank you for asking), but the cost differential (and taste differential) make me never ever able to buy them at the store again. Believe me, I have tried. I have never been able to get as far as picking them up. Oh well. Over the past month I made two things that I love (like on my top ten list of favorite things) that came out perfect, were really easy, and cost WAY less than if you buy them...but why would you? Bliss on every level. Try them yourself and you will see.

Oh, orange marmalade. Always and ever my favorite of the fruit based bread toppings, you are both bitter and sweet (like myself) and you make me so happy. I never EVER buy orange marmalade because it is too damn expensive. So I eat it at my mothers and steal little pots of it from hotels and restaurants, neither of which I go to often, so you can guess how often I eat it. I do understand that there are people out there who don't like it, to which I say "Good. More for me." Then James and I were OBSESSED one day with the thought of making it. So we did, right then and there...and this is what happened: PERFECTION.

Here is what you need:
5 large oranges....I used 6 Valencias, and the second batch I did with 12 Clementines.
2 Lemons
8 cups sugar
8 cups water
4 pint Mason jars

Things you may wish you had:
A mandolin
A candy thermometer (or not)

I myself would LIKE a mandolin, but I have a ceramic knife with which I can get 15 to 20 slices out of a lemon, so there you go. I HAD a candy thermometer, which I tried to use, that turned out to be severely impaired, so there you go. You can do it without, trust me.

Slice the oranges and the lemons in half the long way, then slice them again the other way as thin as you can. Take out any errant seeds as you go. put them in a pot with 8 cups of water, bring to a boil. Turn off the heat and add the sugar. Stir till it is dissolved, then cover it and let stand overnight. Bring to a boil, let simmer for 3 hours, boil hard for 20 minutes. At this point, check it with your candy thermometer (you are going for 220 degrees) or start testing out globs of it in the fridge until it is the consistency you want. Pour into hot jars (if they aren't hot, they are likely to break...think of how joyous a kitchen filled with broken glass and molten hot marmalade would be!) Thass it. SUPER AWESOME.

So then I gots to thinking: "What vehicle do I love BEST for my marmalade?" English muffins, of course. Of all bread products, my most favorite - the chewy crunchy nook and cranny filled awesome one. I looked them up, and go figure...if you can make pancakes, you can make english muffins, and believe me when I say that you have never had any as good as these. Whole nother level. Do not question me, just do it. The recipe comes courtesy of Julia Childs...in my research the recipes had lots of little variations (including ones that get baked in the oven..pssht.) I chose her because, well...do I have to tell you? IT"S JULIA FLIPPING CHILDS. she knows what she is doing. Or she did, anyway. Here it comes:

You will need:
1 packet yeast dissolved in 1/4 cup of water
2 tablespoons of instant mashed potatoes dissolved in 1/2 cup warm water
1/2 cup milk
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt dissolved in 1/4 cup water

also a griddle or big non stick fry pan
english muffin rings (or tuna cans with both ends cut off, or, if you are like me and totally hooked up, big ass 4 inch aluminum rings so I can make sandwiches with mine.)

Mix the potato mixture with the milk and the yeast mixture. Add that to your flour. When I first did this it was WAY too dry...it should be like cupcake batter or wall paper paste. Just add water 1/4 cup at a time till it is thick and smooth...batter rather than dough. Let it rise for 1.5 hours (or so...less if its hot) Stir in the saltwater. "Beat vigorously" (Best line from a recipe EVAH. Thank you Julia.) Let rise another hour. I used my electric griddle cranked right up to 400 degrees or so. Water drops should boogie on that mother. Scoop the batter into the rings, so it is about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch thick when you start. Let cook for 6 minutes, until the batter on top has started to firm up...think pancakes, but longer. Flip 'em, let them cook for another minute or two, put on cooling rack. Burn your fingers as you try to slice them and jam them in the toaster while smoking hot off the grill. Suck on burny fingers while someone smarter than you lectures you on how you need to be patient. Apparently they freeze well, but I wouldn't know. Hot corn are these ever good. Everything that is magnificent about an english muffin in home made form. Wow. Thank me later.

Bring On The Alice Cooper

We had a dance party in the kitchen this AM...a very special dance party, because today is the last day of school. Alice Cooper blared and everyone danced (even jack, although he wasn't sure why) I lovey love love summer. I love having my peeps around me so that we can decide what we are going to do when we want to do it. I love asking "What do you want for breakfast" and saying yes to making crepes. I love watching movies and doing crafts and going swimming and eating lunch outside and staying up late watching movies. I HATE taking my kids to school. Maybe more than Harry hates going. (Lily, well.....) I am SO excited for this summer, because we have Lego Rockband to finish before the new one comes out, and we bought a glorified kiddie pool that we have yet to really use, and James is building them a KILLER playhouse in the yard and I LOVE LOVE LOVE not having any responsibilities at all. The last day of school today is even better than when I was IN school because I really really know what it means. No more getting up in the morning and trying to get everyone ready, which is so much like herding cats it should be an olympic sport. No more dreading them coming home because Harry is bound to have some bad news, since he appears to be MADE of bad news. No more "Can we go get the kids" from Violet. No more rush to start the night train, because no one cares what time it is when you go to bed. Today we party. Today we party like ROCKSTARS, because it is the last day of school. I am making dinner in a few so that it will be done, and we are making mini pies and popcorn and I will probably make Kool Aid and I am having myself a glass of wine when they get home (gasp! at 12:00?!?!) There is only one thing bad about today, and it is the only thing that allows the kids to be more excited than myself. I know how fast this will all go. tomorrow will be Labor Day and the next thing you know they will be off to college and I will be entering a home. But I have today. And I have Alice. And I will soon have mini pies. Carpe Diem!

The Legacy of Language

The other day I was getting Jack ready to take a nap, and I said to him something I have said to all of my babies, since the very first one: "Time to put you down. You're nothing but a no good infink. You can't talk, your walking skills are sub par, and you don't even have a part time job." Why do I say this? I think it was a half formed joke that came out of my older brother's mouth once...because in my family, you always say "I'm going to put the baby down (for a nap)" and we are a mean group of people, we Grasses, and we will make fun of anything or anyone. Just ask my Dad after he fell and cracked a rib....I kept telling him he was invalid.

Every family has it's own secret language that is meaningful only to them....or is my family just weird? I don't really think so....secret code and inside jokes are what bind us together....you like that? I revel in these little gems of members only happiness....how many people out there know what a fizzog is? Or who the hell Googleation T. Cornpone is and why he has a theme song AND a dance? Anybody out there familiar with the term "yippy yoppy" ? My family's secret language is rich and varied...a select few friends are privy to some of our terminology, but as I write this I realize that this lexicon of silliness is so interwoven into our lives that no one but team members could know ALL of them....how many times would I say "Hoppy up out of there" to any of my friends? No one can know the pride I felt yesterday when Jack said "bye bye" to the nurses at my chiropractor and followed it with "Have a good day and get lots of "A"s." This family sings and dances and shouts the things that make us unique (some would say weird) and we all glory in Team Beer with it's roots way deep in Team Grass (lots of offshoots from Team Pike and others as well).

To everyone who understands what this post is about, have another yippy yoppy and be secure in the fact that you are not alone. The best part of any secret language is the fact that it is a thing that grows organically and cannot be forced, nor can it ever really be explained to outsiders, no matter how much you love them. I can't explain why THIS thing makes me feel like Team Beer can conquer the world...I guess it just makes me feel secure that there are at least 5 people in the world who ALWAYS speak my language.

Things That Violet Wishes For

Violet has been on a kick lately....a wish kick. She will randomly express her equally random wishes apropos of nothing. The result: Pure Bobcat Magic.
While making meatballs just now, prompting me to write these things down:
"Mom, I wish we were all elephants."
While getting ready to watch a movie:
"Mom, I wish there was a button right here on the wall that would turn our house into a giant bouncy house. With balls. And a slide that would be right here."
Getting into the tub:
"Mom, I wish our house was made of rainbows."
At Walmarts in the dairy aisle:
"I wish I had pink teeth."
In the same vein, she has wished for pink hair, a pink skateboard, pink feet, and on one memorable occasion, she wished my Kitchen Aid was pink.

Two recurring favorites: "I wish Grover could talk" and (sadly) "I wish we could all move in with daddy in his big house with the playground" (Ummmmmm...Daddy lives at his shop, and there is no playground, dear)

I will capture more of these, I know I have forgotten a couple...the point is this: I too wish for a house made of rainbows that would turn into a bouncy house. My hair IS pink, and I wish my Kitchen Aid was too. Violet is wise beyond her years. I'm not so sure about the elephant thing, though.

"I wish I had some pink goggles."
"Mama, I wish all the world was matching."
"I wish it was fishing Christmas." Me: "What????" Vi: "Fishing Christmas, so Santa would bring me a princess fishing pole."

Bring It!

Ok, so I have made it to day 5 of P90X, and let me tell you, this workout is AWESOME. I have an update on my stick-to-itiveness worries......I have been crippled with the worst cold I have had since the swine flu, but I am showing up anyway, and doing my 'best' which translates to about 70% of my actual best. If I can do this beast with this raging cold, then I guess I can do it next week without....and the week after and so on and so on and doo be doo be doo be. I am thrilled with the workout videos, since every day is different, and some I can rock out and some leave me weeping and puking on the floor. You know it's a real workout when the guy leading you on the video starts the workout with "Welcome to Plyometrics, I hope you have your little bucket handy". And that dude ain't joking. Hopping till you puke never used to be my idea of a good time, but I am bound and determined to work harder next time. This whole program is so up my alley. Like I said before, I want to KNOW that I am working out, and this thing lets you KNOW! Getting up at 5 am is less fun....but I am trying to find a time when I can be completely alone - these are long intense workouts, and they are harder to do if you are putting on another show or fetching someone a cheese stick in the middle...kind of breaks up the old concentration. Next week it will be 4:30....ugh. Got to get it done before school....but like I said before: EXCUSE LIMIT ZERO!

Don't Look Now, I Have Turned Touchy Feely

So this weekend I get my wish: a REAL workout. I have issues with treading on a treadmill or ellipting on an elliptical or barely working up a sweat when I work out. This is not to say that I am in shape, I just like to FEEL like I am working out when I work out. So the other half of Team Beer Pike (that is to say the Pikes) bought P90X, and promptly gave it to my hub for his birthday. Now if that ain't a kick in the taint I don't know what is....KIDDING. We all decided that it was time to not go gently into that dark night simultaneously, and if you read my blog, you know that I want to be HOT (or at least hottER), then Renee bought the shit, and before I could give her our half, it was a birthday gift....million thanks, by the way, we love you! So tonight marks my last night of having a guilt free drink for a week(I am officially giving it up, aside from Friday nights) tomorrow is my shopping for workout clothes, a chin up bar, new dumbbells, as well as the dreaded FIT TEST which I am sure will prove that I should just give up and lie down in my grave. Then it starts on Sunday.......I am excited and nervous. Nervous because I am doubting my own fortitude and / or stick-to-itiveness. Excited because I want to be that mom where people say "HOLY SHIT you have four kids????" not "You look good, I mean, you've had four kids". It may not seem like a big distinction, but it is to me. I have to take measurements (ugh) and PICTURES (double ugh) but I don't have to weigh myself, which is good. I am fundamentally against scales outside of the deli department. I weigh what I weigh. I know when I am heavy, and I know what weight suits me, and it has NOTHING to do with height weight ratio charts or body mass indexes. People who knew me for the brief period wherein I weighed what the charts would have me weigh were worried and tried to hook me up to a cheeseburger IV. I'm not saying those charts are wrong for everyone, they are just wrong for me. I owned a scale once, and when it had a nice warm coat of dust, I threw it away. Weighing yourself is for accurate medication dosage, and that number should play no part in your self image. Easy to say coming from someone described recently by her oldest friend as having this attitude "I'm Patty. Look how hot I am." I cannot argue with her, because she is true. As I am barfing out this blog entry I am thinking, "Why am I saying these things?" The answer is because beautiful is how YOU feel about it. Not what someone else thinks. This is backed up by the unwritten blog entry "How my Husband Ruins My Efforts at Losing Weight". I stand in front of the mirror, disgusted at myself, he thinks that is a mating signal. I pinch the fat roll at my side, he sidles up to me and purrs. It has nothing to do with anything except for one simple fact: In his mind I am, and will forever be, 27. Hairstyles and colors will come and go, wrinkles multiply, breasts head south....in his mind, I am at my peak of awesomeness. I only know this because that is how I think of him...the black and white photo I took of him when we lived in the apartment on Hampshire Street, wearing a black tee shirt with his arms over his head leaning into a doorway. Full head of jet black hair (OK, as full a head as James Beer has ever had) no wrinkles, no stress induced white peppering his head, children still in the future...head filled with going to the bar with his hot new wife and then taking her to bed that night. We all need to remember this: We may have a different picture of ourselves in our head that our physical selves may or may not match, but the people who love us have a different picture too. One that reminds them why they fell in love with us, that is etched on their hearts. Man, I need to stop...that turned all squishy really fast. Have a great weekend!

Enough Whining

I came to a realization the other day: I have it pretty flipping easy around here. I whine a lot about not having my man around, and I whine about wanting to move, and I bitch incessantly about the kids, and all the people I love tell me I am doing a great job. Yes, I have 4 kids with whom I spend all of my time with in a nothing little town where I know almost no one and interact with less people than that. I know that 4 days a week I am a stay at home single mother with all the weight of the world on her shoulders. We can't sell our house, I am so alone, I want to be near my hubby and my friends........BLAH BLAH BLAH. Here is the real deal - I am going to be honest with myself and everyone else (Renee) that reads my blog. I am living an easy easy life. Yep, I have the horde to deal with breakfast lunch and dinner, and there is cleaning and homework and issues and pooping....but when those things are out of the way, I am on my own. I can do whatever I like all day long. Here's to the women who go to work...I think of difficult things to cook for fun. Here's to the REAL single moms out there....I wait for Friday (Thursday if I am lucky) and hand off the horde to a willing and able man who is happy to cook and let me nap. Here's to the women who work AND have kids...God bless you, no one cares if I get dressed in the morning. My kids help me clean, help me take care of them, and generally make things pretty easy for me. Do they drive me crazy? YES. But they all go to bed every night and then I am alone. All these things would actually change if we ever DID sell this house. I would have another mouth to feed, for one thing. I would have more laundry. I would no longer be able to completely pass the kids off to James every weekend. I would have to get dressed, as I doubt anywhere I live would be secluded enough to let me wear my PJs most days. (especially while gardening) I would have THINGS TO DO....with no excuse to get me out of it. So this is me, thanking my lucky stars for the vacation from real life that I have been given. May as well make the most of it, I guess....I really DO have it pretty easy.

By The Way........(And 5 Can Chili)

Please make comments if you are so moved......I would love to know you are reading. And now, for your eating pleasure, my infamous 5 Can Chili recipe.
So here is the thing...I know my chili isn't award winning, I don't spend days crafting it, but I am here to tell you that if you just give it a try, it is the best 10 minutes you will spend cooking.....TRUST ME. If your family is like mine, they will love it, and if you have a gaggle of people coming over, it is super easy to stretch....just add more meat, or beans, or whatever. Now, you need to start by doing two things: 1. Stretch your can opening muscles 2. Don't expect to get an actual recipe....you need to do what I tell you to do in your best submissive way, and quit whining. If you have read/used any of my recipes, you know I am not super big on amounts. Use your brain, for gods sake. NOTE: The absolute BEST way to make this recipe is with venison. Do not question, just DO IT. Beef is fine, as is cut up steak. But, in the words of Bobby Flay, (I am paraphrasing here) If you want to make chili with turkey, don't.

1 lb ground beef (more if you have company)
1 med onion
1/2 red or green pepper (if you have it...I never do)

Saute onion and pepper till they are translucent. Add beef and cook through (use the strainer trick if you are watching the fat) To this add a bunch of chili powder (? a tablespoon? Two?) and some cumin and black pepper. Now give it some of my old standby...Glug Glug from the Worcestershire bottle. Now two turns around the pan of molasses. Let this cook a bit. At this point you could add some chipotles, but I just make it a little hot and serve with hot sauce (kids, right) Here's where it gets weird: Add a liquid. Not water. Not a lot. Be creative. My favorites are 1/3 of a beer or a shot of whiskey. I have also used wine (too snooty), Red Bull Cola or apple cider. What you have is what works. Let this cook down a minute - to cook out the booze and to give you time to man the can opener.

In your crock pot, put: 2 15 oz cans diced tomato (another good point to add the heat if you get them with chiles or jalapenos) 2 15 oz cans of tomato sauce (I always use Hunts b/c thats what they have by the case...taste before you add salt!) and one drained can of beans of your choice....I like black beans but my kids are dummies and like kidney. Whatever. Now slop your meat mixture in, taste it to see if its ok, add what you need, and cook on high all day. You finished making dinner at 9:00 in the morning! Make some rice to go with it and bingo, you are done. A little bit sweet, a little bit hot (just like me). Enjoy, and let me know how it comes out.

Virtual Sorrow

Rats. Now I have to explain my passion, and my shame. I am a gamer. No, for real. Not just Rockband, and not just recently. I have been a gamer since I was ten, and never stopped. For me, a good game is as good as a trip to the spa, in the sense that I completely unplug. I can mark out very important times in my life by video games. My mother was playing Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when I called her to tell her that James had asked me to marry him. The next Zelda game and my first daughter were scheduled to be released on literally the same day. Zelda got released a week early, Lily two days late. I played that game while I held her in the night and nursed her (and in the day, for that matter). Harrison coincided with the release of Legend of Zelda: the Wind Waker. Not a very good game. Good baby....not really that many long nights sitting up. While we were waiting for Violet to come, by hook or by crook, We went out and bought one of the Lego games (I think) James drove the 1/2 hour drive to Wal-Mart TWICE in a blizzard to get me Rockband when I was pregnant with Jack...as an infant, he could sleep through us rocking out at all hours of the night at any volume. The thing about a really good game is that it is like an interactive book....you can get just as sucked in, if it is a good one, and you get to run the show. Usually, that is intensely satisfying. USUALLY.

Once upon a time, there was a very artsy game named Ico, where you had to drag this apparently mute (and not very smart) girl all over this big castle, avoiding scary dark shadows. You spend half of the game doing this. I don't know about the other half, since I was so upset when the scary shadows took her that I cried. Mission accomplished, sadistic game designers. That was my worst overly emotional game experience, until NOW. I have been playing Dragon Age Origins for the past month now. In this game, you get to kill lots of shambling darkspawn and other bad guys. Lots of blood, lots of killing, lots of fun. You also have to cultivate relationships with the other members of your party that you pick up along the way, by your actions when they are watching, by talking to them, and by giving them gifts. You can imagine my teenage excitement when my love interest Alistair gave me a rose and moved in to kiss me at one point in the game. Shortly after that, I took his virginity, and then it was on like Donkey Kong. He and I were rocking the tent every time we were in camp. He was my puppet. Every time I talked to him, he would say "Your desire is my command". We had a loving, intensely violent relationship. Then the bastard dumped me! I put him on the throne and he dumped my ass! Not only did he dump me, but my series of comments during the breakup disgusted him so much that he stopped LIKING me. WHAT THE WHAT???? I have never been so virtually depressed in my life. I could barely go on to save the kingdom. I harbored such resentment toward this guy that I wanted him to die. And he doesn't even really exist. How dare he drop my hot mage ass? I felt marginally better when I talked to the Googles about it and discovered that one girl was so mad that she made him play the rest of the game with no clothes on. Sweet pixellated revenge. To see him in important meetings with nothing on but a necklace and a medieval fantasy banana hammock! Hell hath no fury, my friend. But I am digressing into my revenge fantasies.......

So what to do? I started over. Hours and hours of my life wasted, and I finished the game, let my douchebag of a former lover sacrifice himself for the greater good, and there was much rejoicing. Then I went directly to "Start New Game" and started over. I crafted a woman that he would HAVE to marry and put on the throne. I am armed with the knowledge of how to keep me on as his mistress at the very least, and I am going to make a pact with the devil so that neither of us needs to die at the end. Why? Partly because I missed the easter egg where you can have a threesome with him and this chick in a brothel, but mostly because I am a bone addict. I like mashing buttons and killing things. I like looking at the hit points rolling up off of my victims head. I like stunning them with a blow below the belt and sneaking around and backstabbing them. I also like kissing my lover while we are drenched in the blood of darkspawn and werewolves. It is completely unnecessary, but I do it any way, all part of what my brother and I used to call "hanging out". This is the part where I explain how gaming is better than going to a spa. I am not thinking about anything but how to get out of the dungeon I am in when I am playing. I am wrapped up in getting the best weapon, doing all the stupid side quests, making out with people (if possible) When I go to a spa, or get a massage or whatever, I am still thinking about the kids, the house, things I need to do, et flipping cetera. This is not relaxing. Gaming until 12:30 in the morning with a forgotten beer sitting next to me - BLISS. If I don't write anything for a while, you will know where to find me......Hanging out with Alistair, trying to ensure that he will make me queen. Because I deserve it.

More of the Same

Well, as we like to say in this family, another day, another dollar. Another Tuesday, another week begun...James has left and I am 'alone' again. We have heard nothing from the last showing, giant shock. We were discussing our current situation, and the statement was made: "Dear Whoever is raining down this shit on us: We were not bored. We did not want selling our house to be an adventure in patience and cleaning. No offense, but this has now officially GOTTEN OLD. Let's get a move on already...yep, we get the point, now all of us treasure each moment we are together and make the best of the moments in between. Mission accomplished. " Anyway, I can't REALLY complain....we had a great weekend and my week is starting out relatively fine. I ate right and worked out when I was supposed to and managed to do no harm to anyone or anything living in this house. Ta Da!
Now I will go back to bitching. I am not sure that I really see what it is that is keeping our house from selling. I understand that the market has been shiteously bad, but we are closer to three years of waiting than we are to two. And at this point, it is the idiosyncrasies of the prospective buyers that are REALLY starting to make me flip my flop. So here is my top five list of buyer's reasons for not wanting to buy my house, in order of annoyance:

5. We were looking for a farmhouse.
WOW! You were? Then why the hell would you come and look at MY house? It is NOT a farmhouse. Not in the pictures, not in the description, not in real life. It is a contemporary. It says that on the listing sheet. Here is a helpful tidbit for any of you people wanting to buy a house - contemporary DOES NOT equal farmhouse. Forever and ever AMEN.

4. My millionaire fantasies were dashed by the fact that you had the woods logged.
I don't know who told you that you could make money off of buying property in Maine and making a mint off the trees, but that is not true. Also, they are still my trees, so your complaint is like complaining about mileage put on a car you want to buy. TOUGH SHIT. If you had bought my house two years ago, there were more trees then. They were my trees, though, so I sold them. Also, there are still plenty of trees here....you have all the firewood you will ever need, trust me. I base this assertion on one simple fact: TREES GROW. In fact, they will grow better now that we had some of them cut down. You cannot burn them faster than they will grow, unless you light the woods on fire.

3. The house is too big/too small
This one is similar to # 5..... My square foot equals your square foot. 2000 of them in this house is the same as 2000 of them anywhere. REALLY. Why why WHY would you look at a 2000 square foot house for you and your spouse and then be surprised at how big it is? I am assuming that you come from another dimension where everything is slightly smaller. Or perhaps you think I lied on my listing sheet. Or, most likely, you are dumber than a box of hair.

2. Wait? What? Oh, we never actually got out there to look at it.
WHAT? Really? REALLY? You went to the trouble of calling my agent and arranging for a showing and you are now telling me you 'never got to it'???!?!? Well, just so we are crystal clear on this, I want to inform you and everyone reading this what goes into getting ready to show the house: First, I have to wait until I have just enough time but not to much, because I have four people living here who were hired solely to mess this house up. That is the only job they have. Not only do they mess it up, but I am forced to mess it up on their behalf (stupid kids eating all the stupid time) Then, when the time is right, I have to move through this house like a whirlwind, cleaning and dusting and mopping and vacuuming, taking care of at least two children who, while I love them, are the opposite of helpful.... all the while with the refrain in my head "I hope it's good enough". Enough to give a girl a complex. Then, when the house is clean I have to round them all up (including the dog) and leave my house for at least an hour....usually two because people are late OR....surprise....never actually come. I hate you people. Forever.

1. (with a BULLET, people!) We are just starting to look....there are a lot more houses on our list.
what? How many houses can a person/couple look at without the shopping becoming totally pointless? Apparently the answer to that is EVERY HOUSE IN THE MOTHERLOVING STATE. We here at the Beer compound have been #3 out of the ten they have seen, in the top 5, but we are planning on seeing more, best we have seen, it's down to two of you (that one twice) I have another tip for anyone thinking of buying a home: do a little research first, PLEASE. It is not just impractical but downright CRUEL to waste someones time by looking at their house along with 20 others. If you can't narrow it down more than that, you have SERIOUS decision making problems, and I would prefer you DID NOT work them out on my time. Look at the pictures on the interwebs. Ask your realtor some questions. Buying a house is not like going to Baskin Robbins, you mouth breathers! You couldn't POSSIBLY really be interested in 20 different houses, and if you ARE, then I have news for you: You are an asshat.
When I have purchased a house, I found a few houses in my price range that I wanted to see, saw them and picked one. See, I was able to eliminate houses very easily like this: I hate capes. No capes on my list of houses to see EVER. Want to know why? Because when I get inside that house, no matter how perfect it may seem, IT IS STILL A CAPE, AND I WILL NOT WANT TO BUY IT. I need 4 or 5 bedrooms....the funny thing is that they LIST that right on realtor.com. Neat, huh? Looking at a 3 bedroom home would be a little foolish for 6 people. so I don't.
Too much choice is as bad as not enough....remember that, people.
NOW SOMEBODY BUY MY HOUSE!

Something Healthy, Something Not.

Ok, so this recipe is not actually news...I found it on the Bisquick box. But let me tell you, the very first time I made it, I knew it was a hit.....when I made it for Geoff and Renee (the other half of Team Beer Pike) Geoff declared that it was exactly what he wanted, even though he didn't know what it was. So may I present to you CHEESEBURGER PIE (yes, it has Worcestershire sauce in it, as do almost all of my recipes. I put it in my beer, my bloody marys and on my salads....might even put it on ice cream in a pinch.)

Preheat oven to 400

1 small onion, chopped
1 lb ground beef
seasoned salt, pepper, cumin
Worcestershire sauce

Cook the onion until it is translucent, add the meat and the spices (don't ask me how much...just do it.) cook till its brown, then add a couple of healthy glugs of my favorite unpronounceable condiment. Let that cook down a bit. Put that in a deep pie plate (I use an oval casserole dish...whatever.) Cover the meat with cheese of your choice. I usually use Mexican blend, but you can use cheddar or whatever blows your skirt up. I used Kraft slices once, but you need to rip them up into pieces....you will see why.

In a small bowl combine:

1/2 cup Bisquick
1 cup milk
2 eggs

Whisk the crap out of that, but don't go too nuts, it is always a little lumpy. Now prepare to feel like you have ruined dinner: pour the contents of the bowl on top of the cheese and meat. It will look not quite as good as vomit. Have faith, though! I would not steer you wrong! Toss the bowl of dog vomit into the oven for 25 to 30 minutes until the crust (!!!amazing, isn't it? It made a nice crust!!!!!!!) is all yummy looking. Serve this with hamburger chips (do not skip them unless you hate pickles....seriously. you HAVE to have them....and jalapenos if you are James) and drizzle the portions (slices if you made it in a pie plate) with mustard and ketchup or BBQ sauce or hot sauce (I recommend Frank's) just whatever you would put on your cheeseburger. Eat, and be amazed that what appeared to be a pie plate full of dog vomit turned into something that tastes EXACTLY like a cheeseburger. My kids can't get enough...the four of them will eat the whole thing by themselves.

So here is what I made for myself last night, and it was not too bad, thank you very much. I had bought a piece of salmon from the store for myself to eat, and the clerk thoughtfully wadded it up in a ball before cramming it in the bag for transport home. Thank God it was on sale for only SEVEN dollars a pound. If I was wrapping something that cost seven damn bucks a pound you can bet your bippy I would treat it with a little more respect, but I DO live out in stickville. Anyhoo, here is what I did with it, after asking the Googles how to poach salmon, which I had never done before, and now I feel stupid, for several reasons: 1. It took like 9 minutes total from opening the fridge to remove the fish to plate....REALLY? 2. It did not make my house stink like a dirty fishmonger. This is very important to me, as I am not fond of the stink of fish in any area of my home.... and 3. I don't really like salmon all that much, but cooked like this it was pretty damn good, and leftovers are good to go for today on a salad.
Put yer thinking caps on, dummies, because this one is real tricky:
Get out a frying pan or skillet that has a cover or can have a cover jury rigged onto it. Slice half an onion really thin and strew that in the pan. Now put in some fresh dill. Or not fresh, if you are like me and hate to hear the produce person ask you "What is that?". To that add half a cup of water. Now splash half of that glass of white wine you are drinking into the pan as well. Or, if you are more of a beer person (as I am) use some apple juice (I used Simply Apple, which is neither juice nor cider.) or use orange juice. Or use your imagination....sometime I will tell you how I used Red Bull Cola in my chili. Lay your 1 pound salmon fillet skin side down in the pan on top of the onions and dill. Crank the fire up under that motha and slap the lid on. Let 'er rip for around 5 to 7 minutes and you are DONE. I served mine to myself (and I was very grateful that I was so nice as to cook me something, unlike some people around here) with steamed spinach. I put a piece on the plate, put some of those onions on top and drizzled fish and spinach with the juice, put on some salt and pepper, and I think that may be the best piece of salmon I have ever had. No joke. Now go cook something, lazy bitch.

Hope Springs Eternal, As Does Despair

So now the house has been on the market for 2 years and 6 months. SERIOUSLY. I have a trailer full of things in my yard that has been there almost that long, filled with my hopes and dreams which I now no longer remember. We have shown the house on average once every 3 weeks FOR THE LAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS. Being a lapsed catholic, I dutifully buried a statue of St. Joseph in the front yard lo these many months ago, but he has apparently been on vacation. For those of you who don't know, St. Joe is the patron saint of real estate or houses or some such witchery. To get your house to sell faster you are supposed to bury him in your front yard about a foot down, say a prayer over him and do a shot (I made up that last part). When we wanted to sell the last house we lived in, my dear friend Maribeth sent him to me, and he worked like a charm. This time around, nothing. COME ON! I am assuming that all the saints have jobs, and I was under the impression that this job was his. HEAVENLY SLACKER! That is not to say that we left it up to him alone.......not being superstitious, I long ago decided to cover all of my bases, so we had a little voodoo shrine going (complete with shot of rum and cigar) santaria candles, a little incense holder for Buddha, a Jesus candle and a Pope candle. WHAT MORE DO YOU PEOPLE WANT?!!?!?!? I even put some voodoo symbols on the House of the Rising Sun (my chicken coop). Crap. Nothing but cycles of cleaning, excitement, despair, resignation, cleaning, excitement, despair, resignation, lather, rinse and repeat until it drives you to drink (oh, wait....already...nevermind) Oh well, today is gorgeous and I spent some outside time with the horde......and decided to move St. Joe. Harrison suggested that the lightning tree would be lucky (not sure why since we call it the lightning tree due to the fact that it has been struck by lightning a million times) Maybe the fact that the tree has been hit so many times is what makes it lucky. I'm going to lay money on the fact that I somehow damaged it's root system with my Catholic tomfoolery and now it will die. Probably in a spectacular and unlikely fashion. So I buried him again. If it works I'm buying everyone a round of drinks.
*****adding to my post........the weird thing is that this day is St. Josephs feast day.....I did not know that....maybe something good will come of his move.*******

EXCUSE LIMIT: ZERO

So my very best friend Renee suggested that she and I should have a work out blog to (HAHAHA) inspire people....at least it will inspire each other, and that is all that really matters. We have not come up with a witty name for the blog yet, so I am going to plunk down my first post here.
Allow me to introduce you to Edna. Edna is not my friend. She has been a rotten addition to our household and won't go away. You see, I got it in my head about 7 years ago that I needed an elliptical trainer. Being at the time short on children and therefore long(ish) on money, we bought one. I quickly came to realize that I had invited a harping bitch into my home, one that I was both drawn to and loathed with a passion rivaled only by my dislike of cheesecake and Glenn Close. Oh she's sort of moderately fancy....jeezeless whore wasn't cheap, I can tell you that...she has little programs (mental note: avoid # 2) that up the resistance, and a little 'trainer' icon that shows up when you aren't going fast enough (fast enough for WHO? why must I please a 1/2 inch LCD man?) and she is stained with rust from the sweat that I have shed on her. Her handles are stinky and she squeaks like a mad barstid when you get going but I realized something about her today that I had overlooked all these years: she is here. Right here in my house. Not down the street, not in storage, not in another town, but right here, so now I come to the moral of this story: excuse limit: zero.
In case you don't know, I live just past the edge of nowhere. I mean out there past Satan's left nut. James is in NH all week at work, I am home alone with the 4 children. I don't know a whole lot of people, and even if I did, I don't know many that would babysit for free whilst I go to the gymmy poo. Now make no mistake about it, I have elevated lazy to an absolute artform. I can be so still that flippin birds will land on me. I used to play Transformers with my son and Transform into a rock so I wouldn't have to do anything. I have gone through bouts of purchasing home gym type equipment over the years (Edna, I am talking to you) more for the retail therapy than for the physical therapy. I have all manner of shit around my house for working out, and I use exactly NONE of it. Why? Because I am lazy. But I did have that pesky epiphany the other day, and realized that I wanted to be sexy and lazy. A while ago I wanted to join a gym that I found that was cheap and had one hour of childcare a day. IT WAS 42 MINUTES FROM MY HOUSE. Yes, it is the only one around with childcare, but really? I can't allow myself time to shower and suddenly I'm rushing off on a 1 and 1/2 hour commute for one hour of gym? EXCUSES! I AM SICK OF THEM. I am going to work out here in my own home and I am going to do some form of it every day. NO, SERIOUSLY!
So here is how tonight went: The night train is rumbling along at a good clip, and I really want another beer BUT (noexcuses) I won't. I start looking for my running shoes and I can't find them but (noexcuses) look where I knew they would be. Pants? I don't need no stinking PANTS! I can't find my yoga pants so I worked out in HEAVYWEIGHT WINTER FLEECE PANTS. (NOEXCUSES) I know it sounds stupid, but if you are part of the peoples who are not into excercise, any old excuse you have lying around will do. But I tell you this: Steely Dan has been running through my head, two little lines from the same song, first one depressing, second one inspiring : " The time of our time has come and gone, I fear we been waiting too long" SHITBALLS! My life is now passing me by! And then I remember: "No time is better than now" So, all dressed up in my fleece snowpants, I trudge out to the porch where Edna lives with Lily's iDog radio under my arm since I can't find my headphones, clean off the old whore, and do my workout. And I am proud of me. Tomorrow I lift weights and maybe do a little yoga.....anything as long as its a day away from that bitch. But we will meet again soon, Edna, and one day when I ride you, I will break you. On that glorious day I will take my sawsall and cut you into pieces that I will reassemble to spell out EXCUSE LIMIT: ZERO to hang in my home gym. Or around my neck...you never know.

Oh Crap.

Alrighty then....I have come to a major realization here: I am on my way to fat old and boring. SHIT! What am I going to do? What I have been doing does not seem to be working out for me very well, so I guess it is time for a CHANGE. In a way, my lovely whore sisters over at Moms who Drink and Swear have inspired me. Nikki made a blog (and aparently makes a living) from just being herself, which is actually a lot like me. Now I realize that I am truly not alone, no matter how alone I actually am (see....delusion can be good for you.) Renee can yell at me now, since she has been bugging me and bugging me to write something new, and I realized last night that one of my posts on MWDAS actually made me feel better about life (might have been the beer, but whatevah!) so I am going to try harder to write.
Now here's the other thing that I realized: I am not 25, or 30, or even 35 anymore. The planetary act of rotation closer to the sun, while impressive, will no longer dissolve the warm outer layer of my winter fat. SHIT! I have flirted with this realization since Jack was born, but I have never really approached the problem with any sort of resolve. Well, that needs to change, because my outsides need to reflect how drop dead hot I am on the inside. so there. That boring shit starts today, since no time is better than now.
As to the old thing: I looked inside myself and realized that I will never be old. I am 21 and hot to trot and foul mouthed and punky funky weird inside there. I don't care if someone thinks I'm too old to shop at Hot Topic...I'm going to anyway. Here's the thing about that: The point of dressing like a freak when you were 21 was to make old people (that would be anyone over 35) nervous. I devised a plan that will let me hold on to my skull tee shirts, big black boots and Dropkick Murphys hoodies (not that I have one of those, but hint hint honey...) Now I try to make the YOUNG people nervous. I realize that 3 years ago, I used to relish the fact that Lily's classmates were a little scared of me. Not all of them, just the snotnosed brats in need of the sassback hand. Then I started to think about that time in the not so distant future when she will be dating. I was punk when punk was scary, not Avril Levigne wearing a tie (how the eff do you spell her last name?) Think of all those awkward teens coming to my house and having to ask me to turn the music down. It makes me smile just to think of how uncomfortable I could make impressionable young men when I beat their sorry asses at Rockband.
Speaking of Rockband, on to the boring part. Who am I trying to kid? I ain't never been boring, and I ain't gonna start now. I'm a videogame junkie that refuses to grow up and stop having "parties" (they ARE still parties if it's just you and one other person, right?) and till thinks that the Muppets are HIGH-larious. So there. Recipe to follow.