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.