(Z)oloft...

...or prozac.  I'm not picky.

It's been a helluva month and I am glad it is over.  I really hope that I will stop waking up in the middle of sleep time (which isn't always night time) thinking about blog posts.  And then not being able to go back to sleep.  That sucks balls.

My next big task is getting us through May Fete (here are some pictures).  My daughter is wrapping the May Pole.  Look all the way at the bottom of that page in the link to see that.  Only hers won't look anything like that because they aren't wearing matching dresses.  And the streamers are black and gray.  They are calling it the Trash Pole.  I'm sure it will be lovely, anyway.

Then, of course, is the small matter of graduation.  I can't see any way around cleaning my house.  I would hire it done but I think I still have to pick up my shit and put it away somewhere, so what's the point?  We are going to have an open house for her so I need to break out the old chocolate fountain and see if it is still slinging chocolate everywhere.  So I shouldn't start cleaning before that.  And I will have to eat an ass-load of chocolate, too, because that is what it takes to fill up the chocolate fountain--an ass-load.  Said chocolate fountain was a 40th b-day present from bff (who claims to be reading this blog again--we'll see if she really is:  Hi Aunt Buckethead!)

Okay.  Well, it's very much like me to go out on a low note, so I think I'll just leave my zoloft reference where it is and call it good.  Guess there is a "What I Did For My A to Z Challege" post on Monday (or is it tomorrow? Guess I better check on that) and then we can officially be done. Yay!

(Y)ou'uns

What's that you might ask?

I don't really know.  I'm not even sure that's how you spell it.

When I first moved to this place I thought everybody was talking about the family from the tv show Dallas.  You know, the Ewin's.  And I couldn't figure out why for the life of me.

My best guess is that it is a contraction for you ones.

Southern Illinois is a really funny place, phonetically. Hey, it's a word; spellcheck says so.

A lot of people around here have quite a southern-style twang, yet instead of using the correct word, ya'll, they say you'uns.  Even the school teachers, who are mostly somewhat educated.  A lot of these people say warsh, too, which I always thought was a more yankee thing.

In Iowa, where I lived until I was 15, we drank pop.  When I moved to Tennessee we drank coke.  Not Coke, coke.  As in, "What do you want to drink?"  "I'll have a coke."  "What kind?"  "Mountain Dew."  Here?  Soda.  Actually, it's pronounced SO-dee.  That particular word I have actually taken a shine to.  I say it all the time.

Another thing they get wrong around here?  Chipmunks.  Everybody (in Des Moines, IA) knows they are squinnies.

(x)m and me

(First, I have to tell you that I have been feverishly singing the abc's to myself trying to figure out what letter I missed...I wrote my W post yesterday--Monday--and scheduled it for Tuesday--today. I had to go look at the calendar where my daughter was kind enough to write out all the letters on their corresponding days because she knows me so well.  When I saw all the other W posts when I was sitting down to compose my X post, I got really confused.  Then I remembered that I scheduled it because I had to work until 3 am and I wasn't getting up until noon because I have to work until 3 am again tonight and then get up at noon so I can go back to work again on Wednesday, but that is only for 8 hours, so...what?  Oh, yeah.  It's Tuesday and I am writing my X post for tomorrow instead of cooking something for my family to eat tonight because I love ya'll so much.)

One of the best presents I ever got was an xm radio.  I had heard about it and asked for one for Christmas.  I was promptly shot down.

"I ain't payin' money for you to listen to the radio!"

(That was my husband, btw.)

Well, he did a little asking around and all the people he found that had one all really liked it and said they were sure that I would really enjoy it.  So he bought one, and a fancy boombox adapter thingy for the house as well as the car set up.  Then he waited for Christmas to roll around.

I cried when I opened it.  He loves to do that to me.  He will now tell you that it was the best money he ever spent.  I listen to it all the time and I have heard so many artists that I never would have.  I usually listen to the 70's station--that's where I learned that Bruce Springsteen had written "Blinded By The Light".  If you listen to his version you may even be able to understand some more of the words (it isn't "wrapped up like a douche" after all).

One night coming home from work I was listening to the alt. country station and heard a bluegrass version of Dirty Deeds by Ac/Dc. 



You're welcome.

(W)ork

The one thing I wish I could blog about is my work.

But I'm afraid to.

I have one friend at work (really, it's true) that knows about this blog.  He and I are someday going to start a blog together if he ever gets a new laptop.  Anyway, some of my other co-workers have overheard us talking about it and have expressed an interest in it, but I don't want them here!  How can I talk about them if they are going to read it?

I keep hearing how you are supposed to be really careful about what you put out on the web because someday it may bite you in the ass; you know, keep you from getting a job or something.  I have no professional aspirations, factory-related, so I'm not really concerned with that.  But I did sign a confidentiality agreement 15 years ago.  That was before blogs, so that wasn't exactly what they had in mind.  It's more like not discussing the inner machinations with reporters (they actually try to enforce that one every time we have a union drive) and taking pictures because we evidently have some top-secret stuff in there.

Now that everybody has a cell phone that's hard to enforce.  I actually took a picture of a mural they painted on a bathroom wall once because it was just so bizarre I wanted to show my husband.  I felt like a spy trying to covertly snap some secret documents for the government.  I probably wouldn't get fired for that.  But there is a piece of equipment that blew up about a month ago and I have to walk by it every day.  It just flew apart mid-cycle one day and now it is cordoned off with caution tape and there is a note taped up to it explaining that the weld just blew in the middle of the cycle--not opening or closing.  It looks like it has been bombed and it is kind of scary to walk by because crap went flying everywhere when it happened and somebody could have been killed.  They might fire me for taking a picture of that.

I work with some real assholes and I would love to tell you about them but it would be really awkward to have to stand next to them for 12 hours while they are glaring at me thinking You call me Melonhead and now everybody calls me that behind my back and you told the whole internet that I have a great big head and like to look at child porn? 

That could be uncomfortable.

(V)indication

You know, this A to Z Challenge has made me stretch my brain muscles to come up with these posts.  I'm sure that was the point, and I think it is a fine one.

But.

I'm not sure that it's for me.

I started this blog so I could whine and gripe about things in my life.  Things that I realize aren't important to anyone but me.

And that's okay.

Then I found Rae.  Well, actually, she found me. And it was nice to hear from her, have her leave me a comment.  And I would read her posts when I could (she sure is prolific) and comment when I could think of something to say.  No pressure.  Then I read she was taking part in the Challenge, and I thought I can do that.

And it was fun, too.  Then people started dropping by and saying nice things and that was awesome!  But the pressure.  Did.  Not.  Like.  I began to dread the thought of logging on; having to sit down and write something that someone else would like to read.  Ick.

Now, I realize that this is pressure I am putting on  myself.  None of you said or did anything that made me feel like this.  (Except you, person who stopped following me...you are the only sane one here and we should all follow your lead!)  So I wrote my unpost; the one post that made me laugh the most out of all of these.  And then I did something I regret.  I changed it so it wouldn't be that offensive.  Yes, ya'll, it was worse than what you read.  But it was pure, unadulterated me and I liked it.  But I didn't think you would like it so I changed it and I've been pissed off ever since. 

So, where do I stand now?  In my living room in my panties.  Actually I'm sitting.  No, really.  I'm going to finish this challenge because I started it (only 4 to go!) and then I'm going to go back to drinking too much wine and complaining about my hair.

(U)npost

So,  these are just some of the topics I could have posted about this month, but didn't. Mostly because they are totally inappropriate. You've been warned.

(A)blations are awesome

(B)ooty calls

(C)anadians--why I hate them

(D)umb people make me angry

(E)verybody loves oral

(F)**k--the most versatile word in the English language
         (honestly! it's a noun! it's a verb! it's an adjective!)

(G)ermans aren't much better than Canadians

(H)ello herpes

(I) please myself

(J)ust say no to Jehovah's Witnesses

(K)egels

(L)ove in the afternoon

(M)oms do it, too

(N)aked time

(O)h I am noticing a trend

(P)lease don't mention sex anymore

(Q)ueefs

(R)eally? Queefs?

(S)o much for no sex

(T)hat's the spot

(U)vulas

I actually had some even worse ones but I didn't think you could handle it. And before you tell me not to be prejudice, I have a very good reason to not like Canadians and Germans. I know that aren't all bad; just most of them are.

And I promise I won't post about (V)aginas on Monday.

(T)enacious C

It's official, Interwebz. I'm out of topics. No clue. Me and my blogalicious friend Rae are both surprised that I have managed to make it this far, but it is all about to come to a screeching halt I'm afraid.

I could post about my stripper name, I suppose;  (T)inkerbell (T)edder. Eh.

I could post about that (T)asty chicken I had today. But guess what? It wasn't as awesome as I had hoped it would be. That zesty sauce is kinda gross.

(T)ennessee is just too obvious.

It was probably apparent yesterday that I was running out of ideas. I don't want to have to post another youtube video. But, hey, I just had an idea for (U) for tomorrow. Yay! Boy, are you in for a treat.

(S)pringsteen at the (S)ommett

I was there, ya'll, and it was awesome. This here combines my love of Bruce and my guilt over the dog.

(R)ocky Top, (R)hubarb (R)ecipe, and a (R)eally Expensive Ironing Board

You may have figured out by now that my love of all things orange stems from my love of Tennessee. Since it's my blog and I can do whatever I want (and some of you people will read anything), here goes: 

I wanted to show you my church key because it wasn't working properly and it was really funny, but then it started to perform. Every. Single. Time. You can even hear me humming in the background:
Rocky Top was the first song I taught me kids to sing. True story. The second one was You Never Even Called Me By My Name by David Alan Coe. Then the Alphabet Song. That is why I won that Mother of the Year Award that one year.

Okay, on to rhubarb. I was on my way to buy some rhubarb plants Monday when I was so rudely interrupted. This is what I was hoping to make someday:  

Mexican Rhubarb Chocolate Chunk Brownies

Ingredients

For the rhubarb compote:

• 1 cup rhubarb, strings removed, cut in 1/2-inch slices
• 1/4 cup water
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

For the brownie batter:

• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 tablespoon New Mexico chile powder (not chili powder)
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 2 ounces bittersweet chocolate
• 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter (1 stick), room temperature
• 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
• 2 large eggs, room temperature
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 teaspoon dark rum
• 2 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
• 1/4 cup chopped walnuts
• Shortening spray, for baking dish

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

To make the rhubarb compote: In a small saucepan over medium heat, bring rhubarb, water and sugar to a boil. When sugar is dissolved, lower heat to a simmer and cook until rhubarb is soft, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and cool slightly. Puree in a blender until smooth, if necessary. The rhubarb should break down to a smooth compote.

To make the brownie batter: In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, Chile powder, cinnamon and salt. Set aside. In a clean microwavable glass bowl, melt bittersweet and unsweetened chocolate together in the microwave at 50 percent power or in a double boiler. Set aside.

In a stand mixer, cream butter and sugar on medium speed. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, combining well. Add in the vanilla and rum. Stir the rhubarb into the chocolate mixture, then add to the batter. Mix until combined. Add the flour mixture and mix just until incorporated. Scrape down the sides with a rubber spatula and gently fold in the semisweet chocolate and walnuts. Do not over mix. Spray an 8 by 8 by 2-inch clear glass baking dish with shortening spray. Line bottom with parchment paper, then spray parchment. Pour batter into the prepared pan and smooth out top. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 35 to 40 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool. Cut into squares and serve.

Hopefully they won't be nasty. It could go either way.

And finally, about that $200 ironing board?

It came with instructions.

(Q)ue Pasa USA

Do you remember this show?

We didn't get cable until I was in junior high school. We only had 4 channels, so I watched a LOT of pbs. I was probably the only 10 year old who watched The Forsythe Saga and Masterpiece Theater. I watched Julia Child, too. I still love her.

Even after we got cable I continued to watch Masterpiece. If it wasn't for that show I may have never found Jane Austen! For the record, I prefer the 1980 version that I saw on Masterpiece with this Mr. Darcy, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with this guy.

Oh, before I go, remember that pazillion things I had to do yesterday? My first stop was Anchor to get some tomato plants and look for some rhubarb and this is what I got, instead:

Well, you can't really see it there. Let's try this:

Yeah, I got hit. Never even saw it. Or felt it, for that matter. Poor girl that hit me can't say the same. My blue baby kept me safe but she is damaged and it hurts my heart. A lot. I love that truck too much. Needless to say I lost my initiative after that. I still managed to get to Kmart and spend $200! I bought an ironing board for pity's sake. I didn't think I hit my head, but I must have.

A (P)lethora of (P)s

I really have a (P)azillion (see how I did  that? Not gazillion, pazillion. With a p.) thing s to do today. After struggling with (N) and (O) I just have too many (P)s! And no time.

My first thought was a post on (P)oints. I'm a sucker for 'em. It all started with mypoints. I get emails everyday and I click on the link and get 5 points. Sometimes I am actually interested in whatever it is and I will buy it; sometimes I get points for signing up for a newsletter. I sent flowers to someone today and got 750 points. I have earned just about 50,000 points since I started and I redeem them for $50 amazon e-gift certificates every 7500 points. You can get all kinds of things with your points but I like amazon.

That's not so crazy--you can see the reward in all of those points. What is crazy is my incessant need to accumulate points at spark people. Spark People is a weight loss web site and they give out points for different activities. The funny thing is I got 25 points from mypoints for signing up at Spark People, but now every day I read emails from them and get 1 point. I log in every day and spin the wheel and get points. I even lie and say that I drink 8 glasses of water every day so I can get 5 points. Instead of availing myself of all the tools they have there to work on losing weight, I hoard points. And I can't even get anything with them! I'm up over 7500 now. They give me a little trophy icon according to how many points I have and I just eat it up.

The next (P) I thought of was (P)rotection. My son has a new girlfriend. He is 16. I got to have THE TALK with him Saturday morning. Lord knows if anyone is going to make me a grandma it is going to be him. His sister is almost 19 and is on the pill, paid for by me. I figured I should do the same for him. He says this girl is abstinent but we all know that doesn't last. I think I handled the conversation pretty well, except for all the nervous laughter. And I only lost my cool once, when he told me she was a vegetarian. "Good Lord, Son, I think I'd rather you bring home a baptist." And I'm only half kidding.

No, the (P) I finally settled on is (P)olka. I love it. There is a polka band from Ashley IL, which is only about 20 miles from here, that I have seen on the Big Joe Polka Show, but I can't remember their name. My daughter went to a car show in Ashley last summer and called me to tell me that they were there playing that "stupid song you like". She's a doll, really. I couldn't find anything on this band, of course, so I will leave you with a clip of the Polka Nuts:



I believe you can see them this Thursday night on Big Joe on RFDTV at 6pm Central time. (And I really hope there is beer in heaven.)

(O)CD

It was documented earlier in the challenge that I am not a neat person. That makes this next piece of information all the more perplexing.

I work in a lab in a factory and we test samples there. These samples arrive in a tube through a pneumatic tube system, like at banks. We open the tube, cut pieces off of the samples to be tested, stack the remaining pieces up on the table in front of us, and send the tube back. We then load the cut pieces into the appropriate equipment to be tested. We have banks of these tube systems and depending on which side you are working on you are receiving tubes from 2 to 4 different places. Usually it is 3. So you have 3 stacks that you are working on at once.

Okay, so I'm a slob. I have no trouble living amid clutter and chaos. But when I am at work...I can't. My stacks have got to be perfect. I will stop what I am doing and re-stack them if they start getting wonky. When I come back from break I will re-stack what the relief person stacked while I am gone. My co-workers are all aware of this, shall we say, fetish of mine. Some of them will just leave my samples lying on the table if they have to cut any for me so I can stack them my own way.

It wouldn't be such a big deal if these stacks were important in any way, but they're not. At the end of the shift they are taken downstairs and recycled. Who cares if mine are the prettiest on the pallet? No one, that's who. And, no kidding, every day when I come back from break I tell myself to just let it go; it's not a big deal at all. But I just can't. I get this really heavy pressure in my chest and it gets really hard to breath and I hear a ringing in my ears. And I. Must. Re. Stack.

There, that's better.

(N)o Duh

I was informed at the beginning of this week that I am immature and mean.

No! You're kidding me!

I guess she thought this would be some kind of revelation to me, but, (N)o, it was (N)ot.

I'm not always mean, of course. I can be nice, when I want to be. As I get older, though, it seems that I can't hold my tongue quite so much and what I am thinking just comes tumbling out of my mouth and people construe it as mean. I like to think of myself as honest. Sorry if it stings. (This also applies to the keyboard. Add wine and we are in for a lot of fun).

And I am sure it is a sign of my immaturity that I can't keep my snide remarks to myself. At least that was this individual's thought. It quite possibly is true. I know that Miss Manners or Emily Post or one of those snooty bitches considers me immature because I like to cut all of my meat up before I eat it. That is not only immature but rude. I just don't want to have to stop to cut more once I get started so I cut it all right at the beginning. And if I am immature (and rude) in my table manners that it is not such a stretch that I would be immature (and rude) in other areas.

But you know what? I'm okay with it.

(M)esses of (M)s

I racked my brain trying to coming up with an (M). I am really starting to have to work too hard at this!

First (M) in honor of my birthday:

(M)edicine. Getting old is such a joy. Four pills each morning and seven (!) each night. It got embarrassing to have all those bottles lined up by the kitchen sink so I got one of these handy things. My cholesterol medicine is in there, as well as prilosec, melatonin, and glucosamine and chondroitin.

The second (M) on my mind today? This (M)ess:

The satellite installation people tried to walk me through troubleshooting why one of our remotes no longer changes channels in one of the bedrooms. They wanted me to check some connections. Uh, really? Which one? Nope, not that one. Uh-huh, not that one either. And now we can't change channels in either bedroom or the kitchen. So, they are coming back tomorrow. I just cleaned up for them 10 days ago; I'm good til Christmas. Sorry.

I originally thought about sharing some of my (M)usic and (M)ovie collection with you, but I actually have plans with a friend of mine to start a movie review blog, so that will have to wait:

That's not the entire collection but a pretty good representation. I personally like how you can see the bookcase in the background. I can see a flamingo there, as well as my trash. I'm too busy to take another one. I have to go (M)ow the dandelions--no picture, sorry.

Glad to see lots of people went to visit Out of my Head. One little shout out and she passes me in followers. Awesome. No, really, I'm happy for her.

(L)iberals and (L)obster

Yes, blogosphere, it is indeed my birthday today. And my what a day it has been.

I'll start with the (L)iberal first. I have no idea what her name is, really, but she is a hoot! And guess what? I think here comments are broke!! Luckily for her I know how to fix it, because it acts just like the problems ya'll were having with my comment section. I will email her about it tomorrow because I have already tapped the box o'wine and I have no other motivation now.

That was how my birthday started, with a comment from her. I then went to a meeting at the high school where my son was officially removed from the special education program. He is an exception, to be sure, but the people there have been super and they are responsible for a great deal of the progress he has made. Now if we can just keep him out or trouble, he may grow up to be a productive member of society. To his credit he has passed 3 of Mom's Random Piss Tests (MPRT) and we are continuing to let him live.

I left the meeting and picked up a friend and we went to Marion and ate lunch at the Red (L)obster. It was awesome...and we were right next door to Target! I bought new dish towels in orange, turquoise, and yellow (the colors I am going to paint my kitchen because they match my fiestaware) and a new book, The Help. I managed to talk myself out of buying an ipod touch because I would rather have a hot tub. Duh, who wouldn't.

I stopped at the custard stand in Sesser and bought myself 2 quarts of orange sherbet on the way home. I truly believe this is the world's best sherbet and I am looking forward to digging in. I think it will be marvelous with boxed zinfandel. I could have sworn it was sherbert but spell check insists there are not 2 r's in there.

Okay, just so we are clear:  It is my birthday and I am already drinking. If I leave you an inappropriate comment later on I am sorry. It probably was hilarious to me. And Rae, we need to meet in Marion sometime and go to Tequila's and have some of those drinks with the umbrella's in them!

(K)FC

Have you seen this?!??

Doesn't that just look like the most awesome thing ever? Oh my giddy god, no bread, just chicken filets! I'm not so sure about the "zesty sauce" but I have got to get me one of these. It's called a Double Down.

It has 540 calories, 32 grams of fat, and 1,380 mg of sodium and I absolutely must have one. I think I'm in love.

(I counted the words on this post; it's over 50 and I wrote a really long post yesterday so I'm calling it good. I really think the picture speaks for itself!)

I Killed (J)ohnny Cash's Dog

True story.

I moved to Hendersonville, TN when I was 15 years old. I was a freshman in high school and we moved in April, literally days after my birthday. I had to go back to middle school for 6 weeks. It was awful.

When you live around Nashville you just get used to seeing famous people in everyday places. I'm sure it's the same in LA or NYC. Only the famous people in Nashville aren't quite so fancy and they do a lot of their own shopping and whatnot. I worked at KMart for a long time. I helped Tom T. Hall find a mop. I showed knives to Jim Varney. I showed fishing reels to Grandpa Jones. I worked at Opryland the summer that the movie "Rhinestone" came out. I got to meet Dolly Parton and Sylvester Stallone (he's really short!) but I was more star-struck meeting Junior Samples and Lulu Roman.

Anyhoo, I had a friend that lived back in the neighborhood where Johnny Cash lived, right past Roy Orbison's house. Johnny's house is on a curve that was widened to accommodate all the tour buses. Of course I used to come barreling through there in my '77 T-bird much too fast--but you could get 25 points for each tourist you knocked down; 50 if you didn't hurt their camera. Kids were worth 100 because they are little and fast and harder to hit. I bet you think I'm kidding. I guarantee you they still play this game in Hendersonville, only with inflation and everything the points value are probably higher.


During my junior year Rena and I were really good friends and I spent a lot of time at her house (her mom had an awesome collection of fiestaware) so I of course passed back and forth in front of Johnny's a lot. I knew that dog was always there. He could hear that T-bird coming and he would assume the position. If I didn't see a tour bus as I was heading into the curve I had it made...I could just accelerate through the curve and hug the inside and the dog would never get near me. On the way back out I had to slow down heading into the curve but I was already on the inside curve and he never came that far into the road. Well, then Johnny had to go and get him some antelope and ostriches. He had some land across the road from his house, which was on Old Hickory Lake, and he brought in some exotic animals for whatever reason. I was 17 and had only seen things like that in a zoo, so this one particular day I was gawking at those awful-looking birds and all of a sudden ba-dump-a-thump!

Yep, front AND back tires. I don't know if you know how big a 1977 Ford Thunderbird was. BIG. He didn't feel a thing. Okay, that's probably not true. But he didn't feel it for long. I pull over and get out and the guard comes out of the guard shack and here comes Johnny's brother Roy running out of the house across the road. I'm crying, "Please tell me that wasn't Johnny's dog!" and Roy just nods his head.

"Oh god, I didn't even see him! I was looking at those freaky birds!"

"He hates Fords," the guard says. "He runs out after them all the time. It's the third time he's been hit; we knew it was just a matter of time."

"Tell Johnny I'm really sorry! Is he going to be ok? Do we need to take him to the vet or something?"

"It's too late for that. We'll take care of him. You go on home now."

That is the only dog I have ever run over. And all of that story is true except for the part about the dog hating Fords. Let's call it poetic license. Oh, and in case you're wondering, you don't get any points for hitting dogs because that's just mean.

(I) Don't Have a Clue

It just didn't seem right to blog about me (I) for the I post when (I) blog about me every day. (I) wanted something else. You are about to get an unfortunate glimpse into my thought process:

(I)chthyology? Hmm. No fish. (I)ch. (I)ch. (I)chabod Crane? No. (I)chabod Crane from Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington (I)rving? Is that even correct? (I) don't know. (I)rving. (I)rving. (I)rving Berlin! Sure, I can write about my contentious relationship with my mother and how we would fight and/or hardly speak to each other all week long but on Sunday afternoons we would sit around drinking beer, reading Trivial Pursuit questions to each other, listening to big band music...there was bound to be some (I)rving Berlin in there somewhere!

So, you almost got to read that gem. Luckily for you my daughter suggested I write about the (i)ce cream we made for Easter. It was awesome!

Lemon Cheesecake (I)ce Cream

8 oz. cream cheese (or cottage cheese)
3 T. fresh lemon juice
2 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 t. vanilla
1 cup half & half
2 egg whites

Puree cream cheese (or cottage cheese) with half & half in a blender. In a small bowl, beat egg yolks with sugar until thick and lemon colored. Add lemon juice and vanilla; stir well. Add pureed mixture and mix well.
In a medium bowl, beat egg whites until stiff and fold into mixture; chill until cold (about 1-2 hours). Pour well chilled mixture into ice cream machine and proceed according to manufacturer's directions.

(I) added a couple extra tablespoons of lemon juice. Oh, and that small bowl should probably be bigger.

Call me when it's ready!

(H)ousekeeping...or lack thereof

My bloggy friend Rae has mentioned several times on her blog what her housekeeping duties include. I don't think she likes to do all that mopping, and dusting, and vacuuming, and all the other nonsense she does. Every. Single. Week. But she does it anyway.

Me? Not so much. I tell people all the time that I just don't get bothered about that kind of stuff. Mind you, we're not living in squalor...but it is messy. And dusty:

As soon as I saw this I thought of Rae. She always has pictures on her blog that relate to her posts, but I don't think she takes most of them herself. Let me assure you, this is my headboard in my bedroom and I am the one who wrote "Dust Me". I especially like that wad of dust at the bottom of the "M". And I wanted to share this with her, and thank her for all of the comments and emails she has sent me, and for all the encouragement she has given me to continue with this challenge.

Posting everyday is not my strong suit, but I have been enjoying it very much, and love hearing from my new friends. Coming up with these posts is getting hard, though. Luckily my daughter came up with an idea for "I" tomorrow. It's way better than what I had in mind.

(H)ats off to you, Rae!

(G)oat(G)irl

I was born in Des Moines, IA. Although Iowa is a predominately agricultural state, Des Moines is not. Later we moved to the suburbs and that is where I spent all of my formative years. I tell you this so that you may understand that I am NOT a country girl. Yet I find myself living on a goat farm. In the country.




The lovely lady with the beard and the blue collar is Gabby. She was my first bottle fed goat. She used to love me best, but then puberty hit and she switched allegiance to my husband. She luuuurrrrrrves him. She starts rubbing her head on him as soon as he crosses the fence and then nibbles on his jeans. The runt next to her is Tinkerbell, and she is my latest project. Between Gabby and Tink there was Patrick and Henry, and Lucy and Ethel. Unfortunately bottle fed goats don't usually survive and those 4 are no longer with us. Tinkerbell doesn't know it yet, but she is headed to the big goat pasture in the sky in a month or two.



Please disregard the Beverly Hillbillies goat shed there. It was still cold when they started dropping kids and my husband was still unemployed so he just nailed up scrap lumber to keep the wind off them. Last year I think we lost about 40 kids to the elements. That includes the ones that got suffocated at the bottom of the goat piles. They would bunch up trying to get warm and the ones on the bottom would be dead, every morning. We only lost one this year, and it wouldn't have survived any way. It helped that we bred them later in the fall, too. You can see Gabby being the Alpha Female at around 0:55.



They all came running over to the feeder when they saw me outside. I wish I could have caught the babies doing their little hyper jumping and hopping thing. It's adorable.

This certainly isn't the life I envisioned growing up, but it really is a (g)ood one.

(F)iestaware *UPDATED*

 Finally...the long awaited fiestaware post. Prepare to be dazzled, boys and girls. I am about to share with you my extensive fiestaware collection.

Yep. That's it. Isn't that the cutest darn pitcher you've ever seen? I put that on my amazon wishlist last Christmas and was fortunate enough to receive it. You know, it looked a LOT bigger in the picture. I just went back to amazon to take a screenshot so I could show you how I had been misled by the picture, and, well, I was misled by the picture. But, it clearly says 5 oz. mini pitcher. 5 oz. is not a lot. We put maple syrup in it one morning, but it was just one more thing I had to clean up.

The butter dish is the first piece I acquired and I bought it for myself. Well, I had an amazon gift certificate and that is what I used it on. It matches one of the paint colors in my kitchen.

Next came the aforementioned pitcher. Just last week I ordered the platter. That color was the cheapest and I needed a platter...you do the math.

I just noticed the post-it note stuck to my spice rack in that picture. That's a recipe for corndog batter. Mmmm. Gotta go.

**UPDATE**
I got an email from the Union Store (my husband is a heavy equipment operator Local 520) that they were having a 50% off sale. Did you know that fiestaware is union-made in the USA? I got a 67 1/4 oz. persimmon pitcher for $16!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Normally he wouldn't be overly thrilled with my (in his opinion) unnecessary purchases, but union-made, honey! Helping the Brotherhood! Keeping America working! The wee little ones are only $6! Look at all the colors!! Gotta go!!

We Interrupt This Challenge

It is almost 2 am but I just can't sleep. I only had to work 8 hours today so I was home by midnightish. I am sitting here in my pj's catching up on all the blogs out there and looking at my COMMENTS. That's right, I said COMMENTS. I kicked Blogger's ass, ya'll, and I am still high. Well, it could be the wine. If I leave you a rude or inappropriate comment, it's the wine. I'm sorry.

I'm noticing, though, that I am not like the other bloggers out there, and when they find out, I really hope that they let me stay and play. I must say that although I like to say I am open-minded and don't discriminate against anyone, I guess I really do have a certain idea about (crap, I don't know how to say this) "certain people". And these "certain people" that I tend to believe are stupid and narrow-minded and, most of all, not funny--well it's just not true. They are hilarious! In a good way. I always just assumed that I wouldn't like them and they wouldn't like me, but they keep reading my blog. Now, they may just be monitoring me for Sarah Palin, but maybe they can see past my liberal agnosticism.

Oops! Cat's out of the bag now!

Well, I just thought I would warn you now, before we get to the letter T(ea) post. Yes, I drink a little too much wine on occasion. And leave what I believe are witty (and hilarious) comments on blogs that I stumble upon. And I am really foul-mouthed, but I am trying to dial that back a notch or 10 so I don't offend you. Yeah, that's not gonna last.

(E)nter If You Dare

Thank you all for waiting so patiently while I flailed around trying to fix my comment section. I told Rae I was just going to go push some buttons on the Dashboard and that's pretty much what I did.

Until I noticed the one that said embedded. (Oh, look, my code is showing!)

The button next to embedded was selected, with the following disclaimer:
       The embedded comment form can not be used if you have Post Pages disabled.
(Didn't know I knew that one, too, did ya?)

To be quite honest, I have no freakin' clue what Post Pages are, or which one of you snuck in here and disabled them, but I told you I would figure it out!!!!

Just in time for my awesome F post tomorrow...I hope I can find that stupid camera.

(D)one

Fine, Blogger, you win.

Sand Dollar is my template. It has the most orange in it, and we all know that I am obsessed with all things orange.

I don't know why you won't let me have comments on my pretty blog, Blogger. I think it's pretty racist, actually. Well, I don't know if racist is the right word, but it's pretty darn mean. Every one else has a pretty blog and just because the only code I know is <>, I can't have comments? It's not fair.

That's right. It's not fair . There...I used my code.

But I will win, Blogger. After I work my next 3 twelve hour shifts I will have a day off, probably. And then I will email my bloggy friend Rae and ask her to help me and I will have comments once more.

Or I will keep this butt-ugly template. One or the other. But I will have comments!

(C)omments

Well, it is no longer (C)aturday, but my (c)omments are borked.

It's not unusual for me to have 0 comments, but with 5 new followers you would think that someone would at least say boo or something.

Evidently they would if they could. I changed layouts but still no go. I already have the lamest blog in the A to Z challenge...now I'm gonna have the ugliest one, too.

Well, it's 2 am. I've already worked a 12 hour shift, gone Krogering, baked 2 dozen cupcakes, and spoke sternly and authoritatively to my blog. I feel gross and smell like a great big thing that they make at that place where I go 64+ hours a week. It's just gonna have to wait. I'll try to have it fixed by Mon(d)ay.

Happy (C)aturday

I am really kind of a grammar nazi so that makes my love of lolcats all the more mystifying.



The newspapers around here are pretty much a joke and I read them more to find the grammatical errors than to learn any real news. So, of course, I immediately noticed that in this lolcat they spelled cyootness wrong. See, those kind of things really bug me.

(B)arack

Yes, boys and girls, I am talking about our President. Yours and mine. Let's talk about health care reform, shall we?

Just kidding!

I had a dream about Big O this morning. Let me preface this by saying that I am not normally in my dreams (what do you think that says about my self esteem?). My dreams are more like tv shows or movies that I watch but don't participate in. Also, I almost never remember my dreams. Unless of course they are really weird.

So, Barack came to my house for chicken enchiladas. They are kind of my specialty and I guess he heard about it. And let me tell you, he LOVED them! The secret service guys wouldn't eat them and that kind of pissed me off, but that just left more for me and B. That's what I call him. B. We're tight like that.

(A)pril Fool's Day

Today is my grandma's 86th birthday.

(Here is where I would show you a picture of my grandma but I can't find my camera and my scanner hates me. Get used to it.)

Grandma is pretty freakin' amazing. My grandparents live in Iowa and my grandfather has macular degeneration (along with a whole slew of other maladies) and is going blind. So Grandma drives them down to Florida every January. And she drives them there quickly if you know what I mean.

She exercises 4 days a week and does yoga and meditation every day. I just saw her on Monday and she showed me a picture of her and my cousin Amy's daughter, who is like 4, sitting on the floor underneath a card table coloring. On the floor! I'm 13 days shy of 44 and I can't do that.

My daughter is graduating from high school on May 23rd and they are planning on driving back down here to see it. Since my dad died I've really been feeling orphaned, being here in the this god-forsaken place with no family. (Usually I don't mind it too much...I don't like people all up in my bidness). But this is a big deal and I want to share it with the people I love most and I am really glad they are going to be here.

Happy Birthday, Doris!