Twisty

St. Patty

This week has been brutally busy and exhausting. That explains (I hope) my lack of post-y-ness.

I come from Polish and Irish heritage. Mostly Polish, I admit. Nevertheless, St. Patty’s Day has always been a favorite of mine.

Yeah, you don’t score a day off. But it’s a nice little break from the every day.

Also, it’s one of the (few) days where I don’t have to make up an excuse to drink.

Traditionally my fella and I have spent St. Patty’s Day at his mother’s house, where we are treated to a feast of corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes and homemade soda bread. Delicious! I’m always doubly impressed considering she’s of Swedish ancestry.

J and I are in charge of bringing the beer and cider. (This happened the year after she tried serving us O’Doul’s) This is one of the rare occasions she’ll skip her traditional glass of milk with dinner and toast with us.

This year she’s in Florida. I very much miss my pint-sized mother-in-law, her saucy neighborhood gossip and our special dinner.   

I hoped to surprise Mr. Surly by whipping up a tasty Irish treat. However, work deadlines loomed and dramas unfolded (I’ll spare you the details). So, rather than sneak in a little trip to the store, I made do with what was in the McGuinness family pantry. Since I'm between trips to the veggie store, my options are mostly of the unhealthy variety.

So, tonight we’ll be having chicken, rice, carrot sticks, a French vanilla cake with homemade chocolate icing…and a beer…or three. (Yep. Next year we’re springing for a plane ticket for dear old mom.)

Cheers to you and yours this St. Patty’s Day.  Enjoy!

Blog Noir: Chapter 6

She did it! Three cheers for Sadie for finishing chapter 6 -- parts one and two, no less.

To read Blog Noir from the beginning. Click on the links to the upper right.

Also...

Thanks to all of you kind readers who have supported the project. You have been a very generous and enthusiastic group.

Thanks to my fellow writers who have helped make this a lively and fun undertaking.

Special thanks to Christina at Feisty Repartee, for -- without whom -- none of this could be possible. Her boundless creativity, organizing skills and spirit reign supreme.

Writer's Block & Penguins

I’m very lucky. I have one of those jobs that require me to be creative for a living. (I know. I thank my lucky stars every day that I’m not shoveling dirt or calling people during dinner to sell them magazine subscriptions.)

The only downside is that it often saps a good chunk of my artistic energy…and today is one of those days.

So. I’m boring. And suffering from writer’s block.

While I try to get the creative juices flowing, try this little game on for size.

You get to be a yeti and whap penguins with a large club!

I assure you. It’s far more charming and PETA-approved than I make it sound.

(Thanks, McGuire for the link.)

You Know, What I Really Need...

You know, what I'm really need right now is a Christmas ornament featuring a buxom Native American woman with butterfly wings.

Oh, look...here one is!

Should you wish to take a gander at the whole collection (or purchase one of these lovelies for yourself), click the image below for a larger view.

Oy.

Hat Tip: Good Housekeeping magazine, March 2005

Sorority Cookbook

My sorority cookbook came in the mail today.

Back around June, a big ol’ e-mail went out to sorority alumnae – from my college and the surrounding area – to contribute recipes and stories about their experiences. The finished book would then be given to the senior class as a graduation gift and sold as a fundraiser.

Apparently the group had tried a similar endeavor in the early 1990s. However, for a bunch of reasons, the book never got completed. So, sadly, a number of the contributors passed away since then. (Little candles appear next to their names in the book.) I’m disappointed they’ll never get to see their delicious recipes in print.

The best part is the stories and comments:

“Barbara made this when her family lived at West Point in the early ‘50’s and she had cadets over for dinner. It will feed and army!!”

“Beginning in 1928, Maxine (13 years old), driving a Model A Ford automobile, took herself and her little sister to school in Englewood, Colorado, near what is now Columbine High School.”

“Sometimes it is just the slightest enhancement that can take a grilled hamburger to the next level!”

I just love this kind of stuff.

Now, here’s the kicker…

So I’m flipping through and on page 104, I see this:

“Laura Bush’s Oatmeal-Chocolate Chunk Cookies”

Wow! Suddenly. Famous. Cookbook. Although First Lady Laura didn’t contribute a story, the recipe looks damn tasty. One day perhaps I’ll meet her in person, so I can do the secret handshake.

In case any of you fine folks are interested, here’s one of the two recipes I threw into the mix. Cheers!

 

The Doocy Smackdown

I just saw something that really got under my skin. This morning – like just about every other weekday morning – I sat down to watch about 15 minutes of FOX NEWS with Mr. Surly. I was absolutely tickled when they featured a blogger – fishbowlDC.com -- the first to receive official White House press credentials. (Tangent Alert: Granted, the evil part of me was momentarily overcome by extreme envy, as it seems political bloggers always seem steal the show. However, the kind and gentle part of me quickly took over, feeling grateful that this seemingly nice, articulate guy – and the blogging community – got some attention and a boost of credibility.)

But I digress…

Steve Doocy et al. immediately jumped all over the guy saying that fishbowlDC’s blog isn’t news, so much as it’s an opinion piece – pure and simple.

Clever fishbowlDC said that yes, he’s reporting news but certainly adds in some commentary. (This was met with scowls from the FOX NEWS team.)

Now, Mr. Doocy, how is this any different than your funny and/or nasty little personal observations you share while reporting the news? How is it that your opinion – about everything from the Michael Jackson trial to Syria -- is somehow more informed, somehow better than fishbowlDC’s? Please. Enlighten me.

Top 5 Blind Date Quotes

Today I exchanged e-mails with my friend McGuire and we got on the subject of Match.com. (He’s a single, foxy, 30 year old financial services professional and brand-new homeowner, in case any of you fiiiiine young ladies are interested.) I always feel that it’s my job to offer unsolicited advice, as I am the patron saint of Internet dating, having been on close to fifty blind dates.

So, he got me to thinking about some of the colorful dates I’ve had. I thought I would take a few minutes to share with you the top five most memorable quotes of my dating life.

#5 – “Oh, the animals don’t mind about the leather. They just care if we eat them.”

Surprised by his request for “no cheese” on his eggplant parm, I questioned him about his dietary preferences, figuring he might be lactose intolerant or something. He said smugly that he was a vegan. I thought it curious, since – earlier in the evening -- he was quick to point out the custom leather seats in his brand-new Corvette. So, I asked (coyly), “Funny. Doesn’t leather come from animals?” The genius gave me the answer above. Nice.

#4 – “I had them bound for your convenience.”

(Over dinner during first 10 minutes of first date.)

Him: I have a gift for you.
Me: Oh! How sweet. That’s really unnecessary.

(He reaches into bag and pulls out a one-and-a-half-inch thick, perfect bound set of computer printouts with a clear plastic cover.)

Him: My movie reviews. I wrote them. I had them bound for your convenience.
Me: Wow. Thanks –
Him: Would you mind reading them by early next week? I would love to get your impression!

Ugh!

#3 – “I’m a dirt scientist.”

I'm not messing with you. The guy studied dirt for a living. He was embarrassed about it. He shouldn't have been. I actually thought it was pretty freakin’ cool.

#2 - “No. You don’t need a pen…”

(Dirt Scientist – see above – and I just finished having two cups of coffee and four hours of excellent conversation at the local Barnes and Noble. Although he planned to call to me to schedule another date, he still wanted me to have his cell phone number, should I need to get a hold of him.)

Me: Hold on one sec. (Digging around in purse.) I know I have a pen in here somewhere…
Him: No. You don’t need a pen. I have another great way for you to remember.

(He runs in front of me and starts making Catwoman gestures.)

Him: Meow! Meow! (Claws the air.) See. I’m a cat! 9 lives. Meow! Get it? The number nine is first!

(He arches his back and thrusts his arms forward.)

Him: So, you see what I am?

Me: Uh –

Him: See? I’m a diver. I look like the number 7. The next number is seven.

Me: I’m sure I have a pen in here somewhere –

(He begins skipping around parking lot and doing – what seems to be – Twyla Tharp-inspired modern dance.)

Him: You see? I’m free. I’m FREEEEE! Like the number THREEEEEE! (Continues to flail around the lot, squealing and making swishy windmills with his arms.)

Before I could be treated to the next number of the series, I had hit the gas and was already half way down the highway.

#1: “I’ve always wanted to…”

Back in the day, I did a short stint as a hostess at a local family restaurant. One day – out of nowhere – the baker asked me out on a date. Although I didn’t think we had a lot in common, I accepted. I know how much courage it takes to ask someone out, so I didn’t want to shoot the guy down.

Almost immediately the date went south. After sharing appetizers and a few beers at a local joint, we hit the road to go to the local miniature golf place.

Halfway there, he pulls over to the side of the road and says, “Those beer and hot wings is startin’ to get to me,” and proceeds to get out the driver’s side of the car, pull down his pants, bear his hairy butt and pee – like 12 inches from the car!

And… that’s not even the worst of it.

After a pretty disastrous date, he drives me back to my car. I smile politely and thank him as quickly as I can, eager to get the heck out of dodge. As I’m leaving the car, he grabs hold of my arm and says, “Wait a minute.” Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s going to chop my head off and bury me in a ditch.

Me: Um…thanks again. What – what is it?

(He leans over, two inches from my face and says…)

Him: I always wanted to kiss a non-smoker.

Man! Thank God I finally found my Prince Charming.

Blog Noir: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is up. (Go Liv! Nicely done.) Read it for yourself here.

To read the story from the beginning (or pick up where you left off), click the links on the top right.

Free Martha!

Today Martha Stewart will be back out on the streets. Actually, she’ll be leaving “Camp Cupcake” for five months of house arrest.

The media is all a flutter and the stories tend to be one of two flavors:

• Martha is redeemed! Now she's an angel! Our domestic goddess is back! Let’s all bow down to her!
• Martha is a soulless, conniving, thieving felon who didn’t get even half the punishment she so richly deserved.

I think they’re being too simplistic. Martha is neither an angel, nor a devil. Frankly, she’s far more complicated (and compelling) than that.

I’ve always kind of identified with Martha. She’s grew up a scrappy, central New Jersey kid of Polish ancestry. She liked crafts. From an early age, she was enterprising, selling pies and cakes to the neighbors. (Oh, how I tortured my parents with my Crystal Light stand!) So, perhaps that gives me a little bit of a soft spot where the domestic goddess is concerned.

Also, it’s difficult to look at the whole Martha/jail experience and not factor in how gender plays a role. Why is it that Martha does one, utchsky stock deal and she’s considered Satan’s baby, while male executives from large corporations would screw good, hardworking people out of their retirement funds and not get raked across the coals? However, this is not a feminist manifesto, so I’ll save that discourse for far more qualified and well-researched Women's Studies PhDs.

Let’s carry on…

I think people should appreciate Martha for the little bit of creativity and luxury that she brought to the everyman. Yes, she had predecessors – the General Mills-contrived Betty Crocker, comes to mind. However, no one was able to tie in beauty and style and taste and get it out to a mass audience the way Martha could. (Kmart, anyone?)

Martha typifies the American Dream. You start with nothing (or, in her case, very little). You capitalize on a talent and/or skill. You’re tenacious. You’re clever. You work like a dog until you make oodles of money.

Take away the decorating with doilies, homemade almond brittle and tables set with garage sale-scavenged Depression Glass and you get to the heart of the matter. In the end, Martha is a very, very, very savvy business woman who built her own empire from (almost) nothing.

Yes, she stepped on her share of toes along the way but, really, do you think any of today’s leading executives and entrepreneurs went their whole lives without pissing someone off? It may not be right, but it’s reality.

So, welcome home Martha. I can’t wait to see what comes next…

The Agenda

Very busy day at work. My wrists are aching and eyes are shot. So, I’ve decided to have a blog-free evening (no posting, no reading) – the first in a while!

So, here’s what’s on the agenda:

-          Try not to get sucked into “Friends” reruns on TBS. (Here’s what’s strange. I never, ever watched the show when it was on network T.V. Now, I love it. Sorry I’m a decade late to the game.)

-          Finish The Canterbury Papers, a very cool medieval suspense novel by Judith Koll Healey. (Think: Medieval monarchy. Think: Knights of Templar. Think: Seeeeeecret heirs in line to the throne. Yes!)

-          Share a glass of wine and some quality chat with Mr. Surly, provided I can wrench the laptop from his vice-like grip. (Hey, make sure to stop by The Idiom to pick out a disguise for him to wear to the upcoming Jersey Blogmeet. They seem to take the whole "We're no one special and you don't know us" thing very seriously.)

Have a great night…and see you tomorrow.