yummy junky breakfast recipe

take a couple of plain frozen waffles and sprinkle chocolate chips (mini are a little better because they fit so cutely in those little squares, and they melt faster) plop a gob of strawberry jam on top of that. fold 'em into tacos. Stick them in the microwave and nuke on each side 15-30 seconds, depending on microwave. These are best eaten wearing ugly pajamas while streaming random music on your laptop.

The other day I went to the health fair at work. I work for a great company that gives us a up to 400 bucks to spend towards workout equipment, gym membership, anti smoking programs, etc. Anyway, in order to get the full $400, I took a jaunt downstairs to have my waist measured and my vitals evaluated. I should have just kept my lardy, unhealthy, flabby self up at my desk. Or better yet, locked myself up in the janitors' supply closet where light of day would be unable to reveal my slobbiness to the outside world.

One of things that was done was to test me for my cholestorol. And according to the stat sheet, they may as well have stuck the cholesterol tester into a Hostess cupcake instead of my finger, because I have high levels of the stuff. I am also at risk for heart disease. Well, that made me feel old.

I stood there as the cutesy-wootsie technican reviewed the results with me.
"Do you excercise?" she asked pointedly. There she was, petite as a medical scrub fairy, practically small enough to use a band aid as a belt. There I was, gross and unhealthy,like an oozy cookie-eating troll that had crawled away from her desk to take this evaluation merely to avoid taking phone calls for 20 minutes. Imagine the contrast: a bucket of gray mop water next to a shiny, diaphanous bottle of Evian. All I could do was nervously mumble and stare at the paper.

The thing is, I love sugar too much. If I could, I would brush my teeth with chocolate syrup. We're talking about someone who likes to go to weddings just so she can scope out the bride's dress, and then make a beeline for the free cake. I am a hopeless case. If you ever want to find me, follow the trail of chocolate crumbs. I'll be the chick sitting on the overturned mop bucket with cupcake remenants on my teeth.

Helpful Household Hints

It is not a good idea to use a bent wire hanger to retrieve a hypothetical picture that might've fallen behind your stove, and you are unable to see the partially exposed 220 volt plug. Especially if you are still slightly amped from a grande venti grande capaccino from several hours before. You might kill the electricity in your house. Or get electrocuted.

I'm just sayin'.

I have read many a blog describing the scourge of unsightly, nasty vermin descending upon an innocent household. I have empathized and shuddered passively from a distance, falsely cocooned in the misconception that the nuclear heat of Phoenix would discourage all but the occasional cockroach on steroids. I have rejoiced in the fact that the few accidental pets that have scampered accross my floor have been tiny and non-disgusting in nature. Sadly, I have taken my vermin-free life almost for granted.

And then the pigeons came. Actually, the pigeons were already here when I bought my condo. But they knew their place. Shyly and stupidly they congregated in their own area severly humbled by their pariah status, wearing their "kick me" signs with quiet acceptance. But somewhere along the line, they have taken a self esteem course and have boldly come out of their segratated area. I think they unionized last weekend when I drove up to San Bernardino, because since then, they have been chillaxin on my front stoop.

By this point, you are probably wondering why I whining about some stupid city birds. First of all let me explain that they poo by the truckload. And almsot Jehova's Witness-like, they are growing in numbers. It is very creepy to hear the flutter of their wings as I open the front door. Last night as I went out to do some laundry, a fat pigeon lethargically waddled away as I stepped out. He wasn't even scared of me! He plucked the Marlboro out of his beak and tossed it aside. And then he ripped up his "kick me" sign right in my face.

And they are dropping dead here and there. It is not like some little furry thing that is maybe a couple of inches long. Oh no. Imagine a giant gray bloated thing sprawled out with no place to hide right out there in the parking lot. I'm a sheltered person. A delicate flower. A candle in the wind. A fluffy Bambi ear. A city mouse through and through. I have bought meat wrapped in cellophane all of my life. This experience with the grisly side of nature close up just makes my stomach turn. Somehow, I will have to make it.

Especially since someone has scrawled "kick me" on my front door.

I'm getting a tattoo!

Ha ha! Made you look!

Actually, I have decided to compile a list of some of things I'm grateful for, and I was just trying to cleverly manipulate you into reading it instead of clicking on someone else's blog. I'm feeling misty eyed and sentimental enough to get my own series on the Lifetime Channel right now, and felt the need to spread some of that Hallmark-y emotion.
Actually, the truth is that this list is a way to cleverly conceal the absolute lack of anything interesting going on in my life under the auspice of ebuilliant nobility. Nonetheless, here is my list in no particular order:

1) Cake for breakast. Chocolate frosting. Yum yum!
2) Paid vacation days
3) Freedom to go to church and say grace over my tater tots in public. Not that I eat tater tots in church. I meant at the place were the tater tots are served.
4) Starbucks
5) Sleeping in
6) English accents
7) Mute buttons (I work in a call center, so you can imagine what joy that can bring. Too bad they don't have mute buttons for people)
8) Furry socks
9) Furry cats
10) Not having a furry back

And the list goes on, but not here. I'm not that narcissistic. Now go read someone else's blog who has a life.

Preachers' Convention 2008

Just got back from Preachers Convention in Palmdale, CA, and had a great time. Here are some of the highlights/things learned from the car trip and subsequent camp, not necessarily in chronological sequence:

1) Good bonding time in the car with Snoozy, Steve, and Brenda
2) Ate some of Gareth's fried turkey
3) Got hit on in the desert by a complete stranger (story to follow)
4) Was complimented on my pouf
5) Learned that Pastor Steve has a bladder the size of a Hello Kitty change purse
6) Lotsa home cooking

We arrived in the dark am hours of Thanksgiving, and I was so grateful to collapse onto a made bed (thanks Donna). Of course the main reason to go to any kind of camp is to draw closer to the Lord. Which I pulled for. I learned something very important on the last day of what Jesus wants from me. I'm so glad for the encouragement of my God.

All seriousness aside, it was a total food fest over there. Some people didn't end up coming, and some people got sick,which meant there was a lot of extra eats. It was like being suspended in a perpetual buffet at Luby's. There was so much leftover that we made a new foyer and preaching lecturn out of the stuffing remnants. On the bad side, I did succumb for one day to a flu bug (Bubonic Plague Jr) I was grateful that the Lord touched me fairly quickly.

And now for the aforementioned story: Sonya and I decided to take her 47 hyper dogs on walk in the desert. We were trotting along the sandy path, when a white car pulled up to us. Below is a rough recap of what was discussed. I'm going to include the literal conversation in regular type. In italics, I'm going to include the unspoken subtext of what was thought, but not spoken.

Driver: "You guys Holiness?"
Sonya: "Yeah, we're staying at the campgrounds up the street."
Driver: (leering through a sinewy curly que of cigarette smoke) "Great! Me too! I only smoke filtered" In the background, a miniature Doberman barks.
Driver: "That's my dog. She's in heat and so am I"
Sonya: "We have service at 7:30 if you want to come "
Driver: " Yeah, I'll think about it. are there single people at this church? My name's Sam. What's your's?" (brief introductions made)
Sam: (leering at Sonya) "So, are you single?" (leering at Roseanna) "Are you single?"
Sam: "I'm single, too. Me man, you wo-man and standing upright make good couple. ooga."
At this point, Sonya and Roseanna look woefully down at Sonya's tiny dogs, wishing they would temporarily turn into snarling German Shepards in case Sam the Single Person tries anything. Suddenly, the dog jumps out of the backseat,
Sam: "Don't worry about her, she doesn't bite. not that I really know. I just borrowed her from my neighbor to pick up chicks"
Doberman: "Arf arf! run, Forest, run!!!"
Sam: "I'm thinking about either getting a car, because that's a more believable way of making you think that I have money than telling you I own France, or going to Hawaii ...Hmmm. I hear there are single people in Hawaii. (Leering at Roseanna) what's your name again?"
Roseanna: "the itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout..."
Sam: "God bless you! should I get chunky or smooth peanut butter when I go to the store next time? "

When we got back to camp, we shared our story with the peeps back at camp. As Sonya pointed out, this clearly shows that we are still got it-after all, here we were in the middle of nowhere, and we still got hit on! Ron had fun with us and made a litte poster out of one of Thanksgiving decorations we had up in the dining room. Sonya and I decided to have our picture taken with it:

Don't we look excited to be with Sam????

Slumming With the Rich People

Yesterday I met Cherita and Julianna at Scottsdale Fashion Square. For those of you not familiar with Phoenix, it is a fancy schmancy high-end mall made entirely of gingerbread and recycled diamonds in downtown Scottsdale. All the pretty people go there. Unattractive people and those who wear tie dye need not go inside. Sadly, I once made the mistake of showing up a few Christmases ago without tweezing my eyebrows, and was promptly escorted off the premesis by security. They were just about to stone me when someone walked by with last year's Prada bag. Thankfully I was able to sneak away.
Anyway, I rudely invited myself along to their excursion because I was dying for some girly girl time. And they are the girly girliest of them all. We had a lot of fun gushing over the minature serving tongs at Crate and Barrell and eating overpriced soup at Paradise Bakery. I'm just glad that we live in a civilized country where one can rush out and buy a snowflake shaped pancake maker if necessary. Or an ice cube tray that spells out the entire Greek and Hebrew alphabet. It was very nice of them to let me tag along. Though the average sweater cost the same as a lung transplant, I still had a lot of fun with them. Plus, I got the last laugh when I sneaked past security wearing shoes that didn't match my purse.

Cooking with Roseanna and other FEMA Disasters

A couple of weeks ago my mom took to Goosberries for my birthday where the tomato basil soup is so good, it is actually delivered to you by singing cherubs on a pink cloud. Anyway, I thought it would be really cool to whip up a batch myself. There are few things as satisfying as making a big ol' batch of soup and squirreling it away for later when you are wearing scrunchy socks and are in a homemade eats kind of a mood. I had visions of myself pirouetting around my kitchen making soup while a soft acoustic guitar soundtrack accompanyed me in the background. Soup so good that eating it at my break area at work would transform the ordinary patio into a magical atrium of flying peacocks and Halleluiah choruses. So after a finding a recipe on the Internet, I bought enough tomatoes to almost weigh as much as God's address book, and got to chopping and simmering. My first clue should've been when it didn't turn that nice, rosy red color:

Is this supposed to look like burned transmission fluid?

I gamely stirred on, hoping for a pre Christmas miracle. I threw in some more salt and pepper, added some more tomatoes. But still my pathetic creation still came out tasting like a bland cross between heated up Play Doh and Gerber's pureed something. The worst part of the whole ordeal is the whompin' mess I made in my kitchen. If one were to walk in, it would be easy to assume that I have been laboring away on a four course meal for Martha Stewart. There are pans and cans and dirty cutting boards piled up self-importantly on my counter implying something much tastier than my lame-o soup. I just had to blog this because if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? Especially if that laughing puts off cleaning up your dirty kitchen.

No Purse in Store for Me

The tragedy of it! I sit here with a lip ulcer so big, that I will christen it "Winston." Anyway, Winston and I have been surfing the Internet looking for the ideal purse. I have been searching for a good one for ages, and have cruelly stymied by the evil fashion whims of those who would foist mustard and electric green Oompa Loompa parachute sacks as acceptable merchandise to stores out there.
A purse is a very sensitive issue. It has to be just so. It can't be too small, or too frumpy, or too weird-shaped. My purse is where I keep the important things: bobby pins and crumpled receipts from 8 months ago. For several months I also lugged around a Starbucks gift card that had like two and a half cents on it, but presenting to the cashier would have been like trying to pay for my cinammon dulce latte with a peso. My friend Sandy has a total mom purse. On the outside it looks trendy enough, but one glimpse of the cavernous inside reveals what is really held in its depths: keys, wallet, medicine, water bottle, collapsable staircase, several parchment scrolls from the Greek revival, magic flying slippers, etc.
So anyway, I suppose I am stuck for now with my little black Liz Claiborne number that I bought at Ross. I guess it could be worse. I've stocked up on shoes, because now I hear that puce is making a comeback...

Now For Something Encouraging:

Johhny shared this with our church while he was pitch hitting in the pastor's pulpit. Pretty cool. There are 4 or 5 parts to this. I'm including part 2:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfNiZrt5FjU

Election Day is Almost Here (Unfortunately)

Ah, the winds of change, they are a blowin'. And even if that wind consists of the hot, rancid breath issuing forth form Obama and McCain, we as American citizens still must to our part to deliberatly and methodically research our options. Even if the choices for voting can be equivicated to choosing between being led to the block, or being stuck at a Barry Manilow look-a-like convention, we still have the obligation to prepare to make the best decisions we can.

Sunday afternoon at Suzy's house, Janet and I fevershily researched our way through the devisive issues. Armed with highlighters, intrepid fact finding skills, and peanut M&Ms, we marched through the information to get the answers. Suzy was there too, but as evidenced by the pictures below, she decided to take a more passive approach:

I sit with a smirk of satisfaction, knowing full well that Evil cannot prevail against truth, justice, and spellcheck.

Here Janet displays a look of keen intensity knowing that she is researching issues that could quite possibly stop the rotation of the Earth.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

The Land Before Time (the 80's)

A few weeks ago, my mom told me that someone named Chrsity called her house asking for me. As soon as she started reading the area code "503" back to me, I knew that it was non other than my imfamous partner in slumber party-dom, Christy Southard (now Christy Leigh). We would go to each others' house and stay up all hours playing UNO, gossiping, and eating. Sometimes we would take walks in the dark to what used to be Christown Mall. Considering we lived off of Indian School and 7th Street, it was a good thing we weren't killed or molested-especially in that neighborhood! I remember the fashion trends back then: stirrup pants, pegged jeans, and bobbed hair. I remember my favorie songs: "Be Near Me" by ABC, and anything New Wave. My crush at the time: Jason Taylor. I remember wearing white pumps and a red plaid skirt to school and feeling oh-so-grown up.

Christy and I had totally different tastes and goals, but somehow we ended up staying friends until she moved back to Oregon in the 8th grade. Anyway, she mentioned that she lost her pictures when they were destroyed in storage. I don't have a scanner, so I took some pics out of my scrapbook and will post them here.

Thank you Christy for making the effort to come into contact with me!

Goody!

This is one of the best times of the year! I realize it is trite to write about the weather, but for us Phoenicians, this is a very big deal. Soon I will be able to check the mail without needing to bring a canteen and 790 UV sun screen. No more touching my car keys and accidentally peeling off a top layer of skin. That's right-fall is on the way. Even if it is a bit relucant. Summer seems to go on and on and on and on here. Kinda reminds me of an annoying neighbor that won't get off your couch and sprawls all over your lucky teddy bear. Needless, to say I have been anticpating this for weeks. Even though it's still in the 90s, I stubbornly ordered myself a hot chocolate the other night at Starbucks. So what if I'm still crankin' the a/c at home.

Avast Ye Matey!!

ARRRR!!! 'Tis National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Even though the day tis almost over, I just wanted to wish my fellow lassies and scallywags a hearty good day. So go enjoy a good bucket 'o chum, and hug a pirate today. Else I'll be poking ye in the eye with me hook.

http://www.piratequiz.com/