2014: Why Not!?

Shall there be resolutions for this new year?  Of course!  And they shall be meaningful, specific, and totally unattainable (in most cases).  At the end of the year, I'll hope no one remembers my lofty goals, that no one notices my pants are *tighter* rather than looser, that my eyebrows are still blond and invisible and therefore alien-like.

Thinking of really good resolutions.  

So here goes.  What I've turned my third eye toward for 2014:

1)  I've always been good at asking WHY NOT.  I've moved all over the country, going where the wind blew me, forever hurting my earning power but helping me become the very round person I am today. I mean, well-rounded.  I'm turning it up a notch, though, this year because asking WHY NOT is harder when you have a husband and three children.  Some people forget what that phrase even means after they have kids and turn from the life of the party into the plainest vanilla in the room.  I won't be that gal!

Thankfully, I've already started on this goal. I took a class, for credit, at our excellent local community college just for fun.  We painted our family mottos on the living room wall.  I bought really big weird glasses that are purple in the sunshine.  I slurped down raw oysters for the first time, one of the few foods I had been afraid of.  I started using butter on everything.  Maybe that last one doesn't count.  But I shall stop asking WHY and starting declaring WHY NOT!  I will say YES more.  I will care even less if someone thinks what I'm doing is weird. In fact, the weirder, the awesomer!

2) Speaking of awesome, I'm going to start a motorcycle club.  Ryan and I have been watching Sons of Anarchy, and I realized, in the fashion of WHY NOT, I needed to head up a group of motorcycle gangsters. What will my group of badasses look like? I do know there will be leather.  Oh yes, leather. I'm thinking chaps, low-cut t-shirts, tattoos everywhere.  Some brawls in the backyard, a few prospects to torment (wax my floors, pond scum!), and wild raucous parties that end in a happy naked pile.  I will tell you what there won't be: motorcycles. I hate the things. But I feel I can't be a gangster without calling my club a motorcycle gang.  Maybe I'll put a few photos of motorcycles up on the wall of our "chapel", which will be in the kids' playhouse out back.

The name?  Bitches that Read.  I really wanted it to be Bitches That Read, Write, and Cook in a Generally Awesome Way, but that doesn't roll off the tongue too well.  I'm not sure when or if we'll ever meet, but know that I'm an official BTR badass and that you had better pay me the respect I (think I) deserve.   In fact, if you ever see me, you'd better run up and bump my belly with yours. I've always wanted to greet people that way, and now that I have a motorcycle club, I can do it!

If you wanna join, send me 500 words on whether I should ever tell my kids that rather than prepare for an essay exam on Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse in high school, I watched a Green Acres marathon, showed up to class without having read one word of it (and no Cliffsnotes either), read half of it during the exam, and managed to eek out a B.  I mean, that's pretty much the most badass thing I've ever done, and I gotta show my kids I'm more than just a really hot mom. I'm a GANGSTER, dammit!

3) I'm going to practice the art of brevity.

I'm out, y'all.  I gotta go shine my van and oil the stand mixer.  Happy New Year!

Things you really need to think about right now

Since I got back from vacation, I haven't gotten anything done.  Except watch 2 full seasons of The Wire, of course, which is the most important thing anyone could ever do.  That show has taught me a lot about drug gangs and police--I'm now an expert, by the way.  Anywho, everyone else has been quite productive, so let me brag and give you worthwhile things to contemplate.

1) Ryan repaired the washer again. This time, the clutch needed to be replaced.  For $10 and a few hours, Ryan saved us from having to buy another appliance.  Since we just spent a fortune on vacation and on other home repairs (tree removal and asbestos abatement, among other things), I'm grateful. You should be grateful, too, especially if you're a local friend.  Not only would I be really grouchy without a working washer, but I'd also be more than a little stinky.

2) Katie is now enrolled in kindergarten for the fall of 2013.   We had to complete a checklist of tasks Katie should be able to complete before starting in August, and turns out, she's ahead of the curve.  Too bad early achievement doesn't mean squat (Sir, you should hire me because I did so well in kindergarten!  Of course that means I'm awesome!).

3) Drew has managed to climb and knock over every piece of furniture in his room, so for now, all he has is a bed in there.  Doofus.  My girls never climbed, so this is new to me.  He's my smallest kid, but he is my wildest.

4) Winslow has learned to roll her eyes--it's genius, I tell you.  She can make me feel stupid with just a glance (No, Mommy, I don't need help wiping.  Uuuugh).   Is she really only three years old?

So there you have it.  Well, I left out that I did supervise having our house insulated and weatherized (new furnace, whoohoo!)  (insulation in all walls and in the attic, whoohoo!). But I'm not sure I can actually take any credit since all I did was let them in the house and sign a form at the end.

There are some house projects in the pipeline.  In the meantime, however, I'll be watching The Wire.

How to Handle the Post-Thanksgiving Food Hangover: A Serious Tutorial

Most of us have been there: bloated, groaning on the couch, loosening every piece of clothing in hopes for relief from all the eating.  That extra piece of pie, while delicious, just sent you from almost too full to function into a complete descent into absolute misery (Eric, come bestow the True Death upon me!  That roll wasn't worth the pain!).

One more bite, and I'll die!

But I've got a plan for you this year.  A plan that will make you forget your thankful binge and bring you back to tip top shape for whatever you need to do for the holiday season. Just follow these simple steps starting Friday morning:

1) Dress head to toe in your nicest workout gear.  Top, bottom, running shoes.  Don't own any?  There's still time to buy overpriced anti-jiggle wear (just remember Lululemon doesn't have anything over a size 12, so you might have to settle for Tar-jay. Yes, the irony of selling workout gear to the already thin is obvious to me, but I just don't have the startup cash yet for my own idea of "Big Boobie, Belly, and Booty Unitards". I'll keep dreaming, though).  Believe me, being dressed for an active day will make you feel energized and alive.  The more expensive stuff does the best job.  Don't know why, but stuffing your thighs into $100 skin-tight pants gets the blood flowing.  Just getting into them counts as a workout.

You'll lose inches just getting dressed.

2) After you're dressed, make up a huge batch of Sangria.  It's for your heart, of course!  Not only is the wine good for your cardiac health, but the Sangria is especially healthful (there's a well-known celebrity who loves to call her recipes "healthful" while she dumps 8 lb of sausage into a pot, and I have to do everything she does) because it has FRUIT in it.  It's akin to pureeing carrots to hide in your kids' Lucky Charms cereal--disguising the health food with something more pleasurable.  Put the mixture in the fridge to cool off.

Fruit = healthful

2.5) Feel smug and accomplished.

3) Head to your local SchmarBucks and pick up a no-fat chemical-laden anti-sweetener fake coffee smoothie.  You need all the factory made stimulant help you can get today.

4) When you return home, grab a pastry.  Chocolate Croissant, Almond Croissant, Plain Croissant. Whatever you pick, it must be a croissant.  And you must pronounce to the world what you're eating, taking care to say "Cwoi-sant" rather than "crescent", adding in a nice guttural R.  (If you can't get it right, chain smoke some heavy duty ciggies to ensure a certain je ne sais quoi when you're parroting French words)  Have the entire family repeat after you: Croissant, Croissant, Croissant.  Then send the hubs and kids back into the basement so they can continue their 24 hour Christmas movie marathon on TBS.

Why the French pastry? Because French women are ultra-skinny, and they eat pastries, right?  I think perhaps they don't eat an entire half-dozen in one sitting, but I don't have definitive proof, so enjoy as many pastries as you wish.  It's for your health!

5) After breakfast, you're ready for serious research.  You only have about five weeks to start making your New Year's resolution plan, so it's time to begin screening workout tapes for your body transformation that's sure to end in complete success by the end of January.  Don't even think of actually working out, though. You're recovering from yesterday and physical activity must be carefully rationed.  List the ones that look the most fun.  Make a warning list of "DO NOT EVEN ATTEMPT" for the tapes that encourage too much fitness--I mean, you can go too far.  These lists will come in handy when by January 2nd, you're already bored by squats and would rather do "chair-based calisthenics".

6) The real workout is for after your healthful lunch of leftover gravy and Sangria.  Have your friend pick you up (since you've been drinking), and go see Skyfall. I read recently that watching a horror movie can raise your heart rate and help you burn calories without actually sweating, and I'm guessing an action flick can count, too.  Daniel Craig's chiseled abs make my heart flutter.  I bet your pants will fit better after the movie as long as you stick to calorie-free snacks such as unbuttered popcorn and fake nacho cheese.

7) When you get home, the family looks famished, so feed them leftovers from yesterday.  You're out to be "healthful", so make fruit salad with the Sangria bits and top it with whipped cream (for the protein, of course).  Man, you really sacrifice.

8) After eating, you realize it's time for some family togetherness and exercise.  Since you've already worked out (James Bond movie!), send everyone else for a walk.  Put your feet up so you can catch up on the latest People magazine.

9) When they finally return (2 hours later. Well, actually they came back 45 minutes after leaving, but you had locked all the doors and windows so you could enjoy your well-deserved quiet time, which wasn't so quiet with all their selfish screaming that you needed to come unlock the door RIGHT NOW), go ahead and put in the mail that letter you penned to the Pope making the case for your early sainthood.  Hug your family. Then go watch reruns of Honey Booboo.  High-brow TV is always a great antidote to over-exertion, and you, my friend, have had a busy day.

If you follow the steps of my plan, you won't even remember how stuffed you were on Thanksgiving evening.  

What if you're out shopping on Friday, though? How will you recover from the holiday?  While I'm usually loathe to recommend medicinal fixes, I think you'll need something stronger than Sangria if you've been out in the maelstrom of bargain shopping.  A lobotomy, perhaps?

Or maybe a sympathetic cookie would help.

Peanut butter and WHU????

Y'all, I've had a religious experience over here at The Kiefer Cottage, and it's all thanks to peanut butter...

...

...and pickles.

Last night, I read an article from the NYTimes on the cult classic: the peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

At first, I thought that sounded kind of gross.

But I love Bread and Butter pickles, and I love Peanut Butter, so I might as well give it a try.  (I also love liver and pickles together and if you haven't tried the combination, you should. And don't give me that "I know I wouldn't like it" because I've missed out on winning tastes when I refused to try something new.)

First, I spread the peanut butter on a piece of bread (I didn't want to use two pieces in case I hated the thing).

Next I added slices of pickles.

Then I folded it over and ate it.  I felt it needed a lot more pickles, so I doubled the number, and then decided this might be the most delicious new thing I've tried in quite some time.

I shall eat this again.

Ryan, on the other hand, decided, after one bite, that only a crazy fool like me could enjoy such a strange combo.

That's okay. More for me.

Tried anything new lately?

I linked up to The All Star Block Party.

The Little Red Fox with a Big Booty

I'm feeling a bit rantalicious today, but bear with me.

I spent a couple of weeks with my mom in August, and we went through years and years of financial records, photos, and other memorabilia.  And look what I found.

This is a photo I took of a picture, hence the poor quality. But look at me.  I was a fox!  (Funny I use that word because my college friend Julian called me foxy a few times. I never believed he was being serious.)  My friend Sarah was visiting at the time, we were just about to head out for a fun night--it was 15 degrees that evening, which was outrageously cold for south Georgia.  It was an evening of gloriously outrageous lawful misbehaving.

I felt so bad about the way I looked, though.  I'm sure you see that little pooch.  I thought it was huge. I thought I was a super fatty.  I thought my nose was too big, my skin not perfect enough, my booty too jiggly.

Circa 2002.

I look back now and think, what the hell was wrong with me?  I should've felt *good*, not bad.  Cute, smart, funny, and with a booty that many many men appreciate. I was too dumb to realize I was doing just fine.

And yet I know I wasn't the only one being too critical.  Women are notoriously negative about themselves.  Even now, friends of mine bemoan their momma-hips, their tiny double chins, and their flat hair.  It's just not worth it, though.  If you're taking care of yourself, shouldn't you be celebrating your difference than wishing to be like some perfect little thing in a magazine (who's been photoshopped beyond recognition anyway)?

So that's my lesson to you. Next time you're beating yourself up for being a little fat, or having a few zits, or frizzy hair, or whatever, just stop.  Ten years from now, you might regret how you held yourself to unnecessarily high standards and wish you had stopped the negative baloney and enjoyed living a bit more.

Thankfully, I'm through with that.  My hips are much wider than before, my nose seems to have even grown a bit, and my hair isn't that red anymore (I'm a blond except in the most perfect light, like my profile pic).  I may not be a fox, but does that really matter?  Nah.

No fall garden, no Tiramisu, but there will be light fixtures!

We came to a tough decision a few weeks ago.  There will be no fall garden planting.  The drought has gotten worse, and I don't have the patience nor the money to water.  So the bare spots shall remain bare.

I've also come to the toughest realization of my life.  I cannot eat Tiramisu.

I know.  I can't believe it either.

For years,  I've been unable to tolerate coffee--my stomach starts seizing within an hour of drinking a cup--but coffee-laced desserts seemed to be okay since the amount is so miniscule.  But no longer.  Goodbye, my Tiramisu.

Perhaps that's unfair. I haven't figured out if it's the caffeine or something else that causes all the distress, so I guess I could try decaf. But that seems to be akin to eating tomato-free pizza. It's okay, but it ain't pizza.

Therefore, I shall comfort myself with photos of things that make me smile (other than the fam and the animal life around here).

Hate the candle thingies, but love the structure.

A little metal twin bed. Perhaps for Drew?

Beautiful!  Maybe for the dining room, but I'll have to find $58, which will take an entire year to raise if I rely solely on "profits" for the blog.

Anywho, have a great weekend!  I hope you never have to abstain from your favorite dessert!

Kiefer Cottage goes rogue...

And buys a second vehicle. Who knew that's what people have these days!!  

What is it?

A 1980 VW Rabbit convertible.

Right now, it's not a convertible. It's merely topless.  You could say it's only wearing a G-string.  I know, this is a family-friendly website (sort of), so shield the little ones' eyes.

The cost?  Let's just say it's well under $1000.

This cute little thing has had a lot of work done to it, but Ryan said it was a miracle he made it back to the house. It reeks of oil and is now a bit damp since it was pouring down rain for some of the drive home (who knew it'd rain after weeks of almost nothing?).

This car isn't a daily driver, though.  At least not yet. It's for a top-secret project that shall be revealed soon, I promise.

In the meantime, revel in its adorable-ness.  Seriously, isn't it so cute???

FTR, I chose this car.  It's my main contribution to the project. So any dudes rolling their eyes, scoffing at this chick-mobile, well, you can kiss my patootey.

How to get someone's attention

I know some of you read a lot of blogs. I do too. The ones that don't have GFC are harder to keep up with because I hate getting posts emailed to me, but I have a long favorites list on my browser so I can keep up with these uncooperative blogs (that's not completely fair. It's actually totally unfair for me to say they're uncooperative.  But it's said and I cannot erase it).  I just have my ways of following people and that's that.  

Anyway, there's a blog I go to that is pretty darn famous. The design there is pretty vanilla, but there's enough personality in the writing that I can't stop visiting.

And you know what? They don't like me there.  I haven't figured out why, but after a year of commenting, I think it's clear the blogger'd be happy if I never visited again.  In fact, I bet in their home, there's a list of doofus bloggers they'd like to punch in the gut, and I'm at the top of it.

How do I know this so definitively?  Because they never ever reply to my comments.  Even if 99% of comments have a witty reply, even if I'm the first to do it for the day (quite a feat considering how many they get), even if I'm on my best online behavior (don't be a tool, Starr, don't be a tool!), I don't even get a winky-face in response.  I get...silence.

You know, Starr, they get a zillion hits a month.  They're probably just busy.


Oh, it's you--how've you been?  How'd that liposuction/butt lift go last month? Anyway, how could they be busy *every time* I comment?

Do you need an ice cream? I think you're a little too upset about something silly.

I'm not upset, I'm just hungry for pie!

Well, I'm not upset.  I just think it's funny.  Funny in a "why did I eat beans the night before the big job interview" kind of way.  I mean, any blogger is in it for the glory, even if it's just 1% of the motivation behind public writing.  It's a big exercise in "LOOK AT ME BE AWESOME!", so of course I'd rather not feel anonymous in Bloglandia.

So I've been practicing some new comments to leave to see if I'll get acknowledgement.  I love really personalized comments around here, and the ol' cut and paste is a cop-out.  Here are some I've come up with:

1) OMG UR stuff is GORGEOUS!  I don't want to sound desperate, but can we be best friends? I'll be waiting to meet you at the Long John Silver's on Veterans on Friday night at 7pm.  Write back soon!

2) Yeah, your house is just okay.  I mean, I saw something just like it in the Pottery Barn Catalog.

3) I totes luv the fact you posted 100 photos on how to huff spray paint--oddly refreshing you can live out your addiction online. Wait, that was an art project? My bad.

4) WHY DO YOU NOT LOVE ME?

I think all four of these are winners.  Any more ideas you have?  The nuttier the better. They're more likely to get *something* in response, even if it's a cease&desist order.

Because a photo of sausage is always appropriate.

Posts in Queue

I love the word Queue.

I also love rain these days because we've had so little of it.  So imagine my delight when I woke up this morning to see this on the bush outside:

Not dew, but rain!

 And now I know how to bring it on.  Yesterday it was so hot that our AC started freezing up, blowing not-as-cold air, getting weaker and weaker.  So to cool off, I sat down at the pian-er to play and sing a few tunes.  Within minutes, it started to rain.

So yes, it's now finally proven that I am in control of the universe.  And I'd better start taking care of my vocal chords because it's going to take some serious singing to bring on some serious rain.

Anyway, since we've established something I've known all along, I can tell you the excessive heat has put a damper on the blog posting. I know, weird, huh?  But I've had some things ready to talk about for awhile now, so I'll show you some of them.

Awesome hamper I got for next to nothing at a used furniture market.

New paint color in the dining room.  This is the only corner that isn't covered in stuff, so more pics will have to wait.

Easy tomato preservation--I promise to get the post up soon so you can start dealing with your harvest.  You want to save some of it for the dead of winter, right?

Other things in the pipeline:

I got a fabulous new hair color and went really funky last weekend. My only problem is that by the time Ryan's home to take my photo, I'm wilted on the floor moaning for more ice to be poured down my shirt.

I have a few shoutouts for some prizes I've won recently in Bloglandia.  Hopefully this week I can finally show some gratitude rather than merely being gratuitous...

Y'all, reassure me.

First off, let me say that I'm disappointed so few people want a subscription to House Beautiful Magazine.  I figure it's due to several reasons.  1) You already subscribe (yay!).  2) You think it's uppity (it's not!  it's beautiful, just like the name says!). 3) You can't read formal English that well.  4) You only read car magazines. 5) You don't read magazines at all.  6) The only people who read this blog are related to me.

To address #3, let me translate the giveaway into Text Speak.  I had to outsource this job because I'm not fluent in how young people are communicating these days.

o hai u guize! u shud totes ntr r contst! we r givin awy a sub 2 Hse BuTful!


Now you understand better, no?  So go enter!  


If you truly only read car magazines, I can almost understand that.  I, too, love car magazines, especially Car and Driver because their slogan is "Intelligence. Independence. Irreverence."  Those three words are what I aspire to every day. How could I not like the publication!? Anywho, this is a chance to broaden your horizons FOR FREE.  Reading another type of magazine won't mean C&D will break up with you.


For #5, I'm going to pretend that it just couldn't be that.  I consume all sorts of information from various sources, so it's hard for me to fathom cutting out an entire genre.


And if my family comprises my entire readership, shoo.  What do I do about that???


Seriously y'all, go enter the giveaway. Right now, you've got great odds since only a few friends and my mother-in-law have entered, and since my MIL is disqualified for being related to me, you have a great chance of winning!  I know I like winning, although the one blog contest I entered, they never sent the prize.  I promise I will--I chose something I don't even have to go to the post office to ship, so that'll never be an excuse.


Okay, now that I'm done browbeating you for not entering a contest with better odds than winning $.50 off dollar menu fries from McDonald's Monopoly games, I'll get to my real reason for writing today.

I feel the need to explain why I keep the word "y'all" in my lexicon despite my relocation to the Paris of the Plains.  I was born and raised in the South (Birmingham, Atlanta, and Memphis), so that means y'all and all of its variations are embedded in my DNA.  But I also prefer efficient use of language, and y'all has it all, y'all.  It's quick off the tongue and can be used to create double contractions, which not only sound awesome but also scare the pants off of unsuspecting Yankees.

"We're gonna need all y'all over there to do the funky chicken. And grow out your mullets."


"Did y'all bring y'all's swimsuits?"

or my personal favorite:

"Y'all've gotta try this pimento cheese!"

Y'all sounds better than "Yous" and doesn't reduce women to men like "You guys".  And it isn't offensive like "You people".  So try it on for size.  People might unfairly underestimate your intelligence, but then you'll blow 'em away with your smarts. Being underestimated is a good thing, y'all.  At least that's what I say to myself in the mirror every morning.

When Daddy's Gone, Momma Goes Nuts

I know I'm already cuh-razy, but this weekend has put me over the line into absolutely insane.  Ryan's been in California galavanting with his childhood friend Brandon, ogling hot women, eating good food (currywurst?), and sleeping in.  So what have I been doing?  Painting?  Cleaning? Being otherwise productive?

Nope, not this gal.  I've been trying to just hold it together.

While I was on the phone with Ryan, my youngest two decided to make toilet paper art.  And then when I snapped a photo, they both hid their faces like common criminals (or celebrities).

Yesterday, we got our chickens from Padgett Pasture. I brought my camera along, but decided that posting photos of chickens being slaughtered might offend even the most sarcastic of my readers (the snarkier the person, the more sensitive she is, I've learned). The girls made notable observations about the process, saying "I don't think the chickens like being killed" and "Mom, it stinks out here!" and "That chicken will taste good once Mommy cooks it."  Drew played in the mud.

My friend and neighbor invited us over for dinner, and when we got home, everyone collapsed.

The cake of pain.

Out of sheer loneliness, I then made a cake.  Because I was suffering a great depression from missing my husband, and I'd been dreaming of a good tiramisu for weeks, I decided to make a melancholy (read: easy) version that even the saddest (laziest) of bakers could tackle, and even made up the recipe myself, adding in a few tweaks to make it chocolatey (only for its medicinal properties of course).

After finally getting a slice a couple of hours later, I fell asleep, making up for the lost hours from the night before.  I missed having Ryan around to get up in the middle of the night when I hear suspicious noises, and I even missed the whiffs of dragon breath that linger as he rolls over.

Thankfully, Ryan returns this afternoon.  And the children have been well-behaved.  And I've got loads of leftover cake to make me feel better.

Tiramisu for Dummies*

1 Box of Yellow Cake Mix (plus whatever the box calls for)

1/4 c. brandy

A cup of strong coffee or espresso 

Sugar to taste

Mini chocolate chips

8 oz Mascarpone

2 c. whipping cream

Powdered sugar to taste (at least 1/2 c.)

1. Make cake according to box instructions, putting in a tad less oil and adding the brandy.  Bake in a 9x13 pan that's been greased.  (My box said 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, which was perfect)

2.  Let cool for a few minutes.  Make your coffee--I used Ryan's Moka, but made regular coffee--and add in enough sugar to make it sweet.  

3. Poke holes in the cake with a fork, every half inch or so.  Brush the coffee onto the cake. I wasn't very generous with it and the cake could've used more.  Next time I might just pour the coffee onto the cake.

4. Dump a lot of mini chocolate chips onto the cake.  Enough to cover the whole cake.  Wait a few minutes while the chips melt. Use an offset spatula to spread the melted chocolate across the top of the cake (a spoon might work too).  Let cool an hour or so.

5. Let the Mascarpone (or cream cheese if you don't have the Italian cheese) soften up.  Take it out of the carton and stir it up a little.  Use your mixer to whip up the cream and powdered sugar until it hold medium soft peaks.  Add in a little bit of it to the cheese to get it all incorporated. Then gently fold in the remaining whipped cream.  Top the cake with the mixture.  Refrigerate.

My "icing" was lumpy because I didn't work too hard to mix everything up well.  But honestly, it's still tasty and allowed me to drown my sorrows a bit.

Send cool thoughts to us here in Kansas. The forecast predicts temps over 100 today.  Thank goodness Ryan got me that box of white wine before he left!

*This is tiramisu in the vaguest fashion ever.  If you get on my case about it not being authentic, I'm going to send you photos of chickens being "processed". 

I'm a celebrity: Part Deux

Have you ever heard of the blog People I Want to Punch in the Throat?

Jen, the blogger, is hilarious and speaks big truth about life in the midst of great wealth and homogeneity.  And she is also local to me, living down in Overland Park, which is a swankier suburb of Johnson County, KS.  For the record, I live in the "affordable" (AKA run-down) northern territory of the county where young couples move to get underwater on their cute two bedroom houses and old people go to die.  We are Joco wannabes, but she's enmeshed in the real-deal suburban Kansas culture.

Tonight, she hosted a get-together for her readers, and I went.  I learned a few things tonight:

1) I might have a hearing problem.  I felt like I could barely hear myself speak this evening. Those who know me well understand how weird that is considering I am a loud mouth with an unpleasantly piercing voice. (I think I spotted Ryan wearing ear plugs the other day. Hon, at least have the courtesy of getting flesh colored ones. Pink just isn't your color)

2) I have learned to censor myself a lot in the past few years.  Or at least I keep my thoughts to myself until I can write it down in a completely *private* venue like a blog or on Facebook.  I miss speaking my mind and should do it more often.

3) I love Tiramisu, but have only had it good once.  Tonight was not that night.  Why do I bother ordering it when I know it's gonna suck big time?

I had a good time, although if you can believe it, I felt like I barely spoke at all.  So few got to experience my winning personality and better-than-average sense of humor.  Maybe next time I'll speak up and walk out with a new BFF.  This evening, I ran out around 9pm because my Spanx were killing me.

Anyway, here's me and Jen!  We sat next to each other, and she actually touched my arm a few times. I won't be washing my left shoulder for a few days to savor the experience a bit longer.

An actual blue haired woman!

Seriously, she was seated right next to me, but she guards her privacy pretty darn closely (I would too if I said anything of importance), so I let my little blue-haired friend stand in for Jen.  Good thing I was wearing one of my suitable for public consumption shirts (of which I only have two) or else I would've looked like a major fashion victim.  Don't laugh.  Forget I talked about myself and used the word "fashion" in the same sentence!

This is the second Kansas City celebrity I've met in the past year.  It's because I'm so incredibly awesome.  Jen might not be preparing a lemon souffle with sweetbreads and parsnip puree, but she is saying what we're all thinking. Thank goodness somebody is.

Are you "Over-Propped"?

There's an article in the NYTimes this week that is a riot.  Why? Well, it's talking about design blogs and pretty much calls us all a bunch of frauds.  Okay, that's going too far.  It doesn't really say that.  But there is a quiz you can take to see if perhaps you're trying too hard when decorating your home and blogging about it.  That maybe we should all relax and slow down our quest for awesomeness.

See? Winslow doesn't try too hard. And she's awesome anyway.

You can read the article here.  The quiz is located in the Multimedia slideshow on the left sidebar and consists of pictures of items. If you own more than a few of the items listed, then you're over-propped.  And you might wanna see a professional about it.  I'm sure your insurance will cover it.

Bar Cart? Yeah, I'm guilty of owning one.

For full disclosure, I've owned that bar cart for years.  My friends from Georgia Tech should recognize it because it was used at many parties.  Yes, for booze.  So it ain't a prop, peeps!  Sheesh.

Dry Ice Magic

This was delivered to my door last Thursday for Mother's Day.  I grew up in Memphis and love Corky's barbecue.  We ate it yesterday, and it was all delicious, except for the beans.  They didn't work too well, and I'm not sure why.  But the meat was the star of the show.  Yum.

The kids didn't care about the grub, but they sure did love the ice used to keep it all cool.

Yup, dry ice.  We took precautions, nobody touched it with their hands, and we had fun watching dry ice do its fun, smoky thing.

After the kids went to bed, Ryan "took care" of the rest in the sink.  We just needed a carved pumpkin and spooky music to make it Halloween.  Or some beakers and wild cackling to be in a mad scientist's layer.  Of course, we are quite mad around here already...

I hope all mothers had a wonderful day yesterday.  I'm getting my new toilet soon.  If that ain't a sign of Ryan's true love, I don't know what is.

A love letter

Dear Ryan,

I know I tested our love when I tripped and fell on my Kindle, causing the screen to permanently malfunction.  But you have stuck with me during this sad time while we mourn the loss of my e-reader.  You didn't leave me for a woman who has "more respect" for electronic devices or go on a facebook rant about what a loser I am.

Instead, you called Amazon, admitted that your clumsy wife had accidentally broken her Kindle, and somehow convinced them to send me a new one, free of charge.  You say that you didn't even have to ask, the agent on the phone immediately offered since I have bought a few things on it here and there (perhaps a bit more), but I know you. I'm sure you spent at least five minutes begging on my behalf, maybe even compromising your values for my sake.

My new Kindle arrived today, just two days after the untimely death of the old one.  It's a real beaut, this piece of plastic and transponders and circuits and wifi-thingies and magic nano-ink and whatever else they put into it.  It even has your eyes, so when I'm reading, I'll be thinking of you, too.

All My Love,

Starr

P.S. Thanks to Amazon, too.  Please send them my regards.

Aliens in the backyard

I walk into the garden every day to check on my seedlings and plants. Why? Well, I want something to grow, dammit!  And by presenting myself as garden warden, those plants will be productive members of my backyard prison OR ELSE.  I also sing to them and talk encouragingly, begging them to grow quickly and beautifully. I figure a multi-faceted good cop/bad cop-in-one approach would be best.

This morning, I admired my lovely plants as I walked down the path Ryan built.

A seedling from the "gourmet bean collection" at Costco.  Katie wanted to plant some beans, so I pulled them out of the pantry.  Every last one has sprouted, so we'll see how it all works out.

Parsley I grew from seed, Basil I bought at the nursery.  

Mint in the tire I found on the side of the road.  This plant has doubled in size in less than two weeks.  Tip: Mint should be planted in a container because it will take over everything. Very invasive sucker, that mint.

What's that in the planter?  That soil looks funny.

Oh yeah, it's an onion scrap.  I didn't have any soil to put in the planter, so I put half-decomposed compost in there.  It was an experiment. Considering how happy the mint seems to be, I think I made the right choice.

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?

I know I saw a cat back there this morning, and she loves to use my garden as a litter box.  Must be sick and spreading the bacterial or cancerous wealth for my own kitty cat.

There's more of it!

It's taking over!  That cat is dead meat!

I asked Ryan clean it up, which he graciously did, wisely using some large pieces of bark to dispose of this obviously toxic waste rather than contaminating a shovel.

And then he did what I should have done. He looked up "Dog Barf Fungus" on Google.  Yup.  This yellow stuff is called slime mold (although it's not considered a fungus anymore).  It looks like animal vomit and is actually protoplasm.  How awesome is that? I have protoplasm in my back yard!  

Turns out it's totally harmless, and that some people, way back in the day, would eat the protoplasm--kind of like scrambled eggs.  I'm not sure I'll be doing that anytime soon, but at least that gray and white cat won't be getting the evil eye from me...today.

Did you know...(and giveaway winners announced!)

...that you're not actually supposed to sit on the seat during a Spin (indoor cycling) class?  I learned that the hard way.

...that you can watch grass grow?  We'll post pics this weekend of our budding lawn. It's gorgeous!

...that step class is easier *without* the step? Who knew?

...that when you host a giveaway, maybe you're actually supposed to give something away rather than keep all 21 of your followers waiting anxiously?

You are in luck, my people.  YiaYia finally sent another package.  This one was a doozy.

Nutella!  and Oreos!

Yes.  The Oreos were opened and already more than half-eaten.  YiaYia was on to us and got in the joke.

Fantastic rice, delicious coffee.  And lentils, as usual.

An article from the Times-Picayune.

So we had a whopping three entries into our contest.  And no one guessed the contents of the package.

*Ahem*

However, because we are benevolent lords of our manor, we decided to give each contestant a prize!  Here are the lucky winners and their respective prizes:

Pete, with her answer of: 1)    Leftover Easter candy

2)    Packages of expired or almost expired garden seeds

3)    Individual packages of Kleenex

4)    Assorted, mostly unrelated collection of leftover Christmas cards from the past 10 years

5)    A  pocket/purse-sized sewing or eyeglass repair kit

Pete gets...drumroll please...

SPICES!

Katie, with her answer of, I'm going to say.... a toilet seat. :)

MEN'S BODY WASH!

Katie has three sons and a husband living with her.  We thought this was fitting.

And finally, Christie guessed, Well, I'm going to guess that you'll  be receiving some sort of preserve--maybe jam or pickles.  :-)

BEETHOVEN'S NINE SYMPHONIES!

Now, before anyone gets their panties in a wad, keep in mind that Christie is getting CD's.  Bulky, early 90s CD's that may or may not work anymore.  

Also, she lives in Canada, and they're kind of crazy up there sometimes about food crossing the border, so I figured something non-food would be better.  They might, however, try to confiscate this because Beethoven tried to steal jobs from Canadians, so I hope it makes it there.

So that concludes our first giveaway.  Winners, send me your addresses, and I'll mail these out in the next few weeks.  

CONGRATULATIONS!

Public Service Announcement

Greetings. We've been "on vacation" the past two weeks, which means we're exhausted and in need of rest.  Ryan drove the family 2800 miles, and yes, I've notified the Pope to start the canonization process on his behalf. Sure, he's not dead (yet), but I'm sure all that driving took a toll.

Of course, this trip has left the house in the same state of chaos in which we left it.

So I'm interrupting our usual fare for this PSA on an extremely important topic.

Deodorant.

For years, I've slathered on poisonous aluminum-based products to keep the stinkage at bay.  While at the Hyvee recently, though, I decided to venture into the natural deodorant world.

I thought, 'Ello gov'nuh.  Step in time over to the bloomin' toilet aisle.  

What a lovely array of products.  I'm sure they're all great. But I only had one concern: Price.

Blimey!  I'll be righ' gobsmacked at'eez prices!  8 quid?  9 quid?  For that price, this bloody stuff better be edible! And more scrum-diddly-umptious than the Queen's own crumpets. 

Oh, as you can see, I think in a British accent.  Preferably that of Dick van Dyke from the masterpiece "Mary Poppins".

Ah, just 2 quid.  That'll do, pig. That'll do.

So I picked up Herbal Clear natural deodorant.  And made my merry way home.

The family's time at the beach tested this product's limits.  Sadly, it failed the test.

Crikey! (A little Crocodile Hunter never hurt anyone either) That mate stinks! Oh, bugger... that's me.  No wonder me mates been keepin' upwind on the shore. Even with a stout breeze, these pits could knock 'em on their bums.

Turns out that 2 quid can't buy functional natural deodorant, just like a spoonful of sugar doesn't actually help the medicine go down. It takes a whole pound.

Or ten.