Today's Entry Courtesy of Mr. Farklepants' Super Badass Camera

Alternate Title: Mother Nature Should See a Doctor About Some Hormone Replacement Therapy. She's Rather Bitchy.

Just another average day at the golf course:

Tiger Woods never has to contend with this:

Here I come to save the daaaaaaaay:

View of the Sayre Fire from our neighborhood:

Eerily empty freeway on a busy Saturday (i.e. Once again we were cut off from anything south of us):

Marriage Rule #48: Verify Wife is Aware Her Photo is Being Taken. And Rule #49: That She Looks Good

Never let it be said that I only post attractive pictures of myself on this blog.


The most troubling thing about this photo is not my ass fat squooshing out and trying to attack my sleeping daughter, nor that my neck appears to be feasting on my chin, or that it was only somewhere between 7:30 and 8:15pm [or something, I don't know I was asleep] on a Friday night. Or that my mouth was open. Bonus points for lack of drool.

No.

The disturbing issue is that Mr. Farklepants someone was able to come home from work and enter the house. And then locate their camera. And then take their wife's picture. And then make themselves at home on the couch long before my very confused self awoke and was able to register that he had not been there before the reading of half a dozen -riveting, obviously- Clifford the Dog books put a couple of people to sleep.

Then he uploaded it to the family Flickr account.

Note to Mr. Farklepants: Oh, it's on.

If You're Looking For Me...

I'm over at Mrs. G's rifling through her extensive collection of secret boyfriends. Honestly, you can't invite me anywhere anymore.

If Mrs. G sent you...welcome! Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. I'd offer you something to eat but I really need to get to the store. I could serve you a couple of heels from a loaf of wheat bread and some questionable carrots but you should probably stick to the canned goods. And Jesus God whatever you do don't open that carton of orange juice!

If you're Mrs. G and are here to throw some haymakers at me, please...not the face.

Obama is President-Elect Now Let's Get Down to Important Baloney...

Like choosing the hypoallergenic First Dog. Here we have a Wirehaired Fox Terrier. Decent size. Sturdy haunches. And a face that can only be described as "colonial". Grade A stuff. All that's missing is his powdered wig, a shot of bourbon, and a pipe.

Another presidential looking dog: the Bouvier des Flandres. Fancy name for a fancy dog. Throw a monocle on this bitch and call it a freakin' day. You can practically hear her scream, I can't see a thing fetch my opera glasses!

Peru suggests this: WTH? Peruvian hairless dog. But, um, ew. Just say no to anything that looks like it could stand a few good rounds with some Rogaine.

Now that the Obamas have a couple of canine suggestions to mull over, let us tackle cabinet positions. Speaking of cabinet members, while doing my extensive research for this entry -where extensive equals one Wikipedia search about cabinet members- I learned that because they are in the presidential line of succession following the Vice President, Speaker of the House, and President pro tempore of the Senate - in the event that all of those people have a really super bad day- that the cabinet members are never allowed to all be in one location all at the same time. For instance, during the State of the Union Address, at least one cabinet member cannot attend and is kept in an undisclosed secure location. Which makes the SOTU drinking game really lonely. But I digress...

Cabinet positions. Just as George Carlin believed that the Ten Commandments were eight too many and was able to narrow them down to two which would have allowed "Moses to carry them down the hill in his pocket"; there are too many shelves in the presidential cabinet.

First: The Secretaries of the Interior, of Housing and Urban Development, of Transportation, and of Energy can be combined into one. Henceforth known as Secretary of Civil Engineering.

Also merge-able: The Secretaries of Defense and that of Veterans Affairs and it should be this guy from The Longest Yard:

So far we've eliminated four. Now let's unite the Secretaries of Commerce and that of Agriculture because what is food if not a commodity? And let's throw in Secretary of Labor in there because it just fits. New title? Secretary of Business Affairs.

We should also just go ahead and marry the Secretary of Health and Human Services with that of Education and it will simply be known as a high school principal.

We aren't finished. We're just going to do away with the Attorney General position altogether because it's been a couple of decades since warning labels became mandatory on cigarette packaging. If you don't know by now that smoking can kill you then there is nothing further the Attorney General can do for you.

Department of Homeland Security is through too. It was created under George W. Bush and frankly anything he's done has been a disaster. Wipe the slate clean I say.

The Secretary of Treasury can stay because I like money.

The Secretary of State is useful too but should be known as The Wing Man.

Now that we've thoroughly purged the cabinet, adequate room has been made for a new position that can only be filled by one man:

Watching Grass Grow and Paint Dry and Other Tired Clichés

Aside from having to pay our dues quarterly, I don't give much thought to the homeowners association. Since our development doesn't have a fancy swimmin' hole, recreation room, or anything else that would be covered by the dues to maintain; our dues are quite reasonable even with the $15 annual donation for the Fourth of July fireworks show - and appear to go towards landscape maintenance of the community, security patrol and the renovation and surveillance of one often soaped fountain. And postage and handling of letters gently warning residents to remove their trash bins from the curb immediately, or shutters that could use a fresh coat of paint; reminding weekend travelers that the RV needs to be returned to its storage area and not left on the street, and that boats, no matter how ostentatious, aren't allowed in the driveway. Neither are yachts.

[-Attention landscaping department: There appears to be a problem with the irrigation drainage off the easement, a common area, that sits behind our cul de sac. And when I say drainage I mean, it's not doing it at all. It's stagnant and smells a little like ass. Get a hazmat team on this pronto.]

It would appear that a long since dead dying three by five foot patch of grass on the south side of our front lawn was brought to the homeowners association's attention. The first letter we received requested that, and I quote "In order to preserve the appearance of the community and to keep the property values at their highest level"...blah blah blah..."please water and fertilize your lawn." In which they gave us one week to "correct said violation".

Okay. So we did that. Except the grass doesn't understand this whole one week thing. Which of course prompted a second letter. Worded exactly as the first except for the part about the possibility of being called to a hearing (which wasn't in the first) and another one week time limit to "correct said violation".

And the grass was all, I'm working on it bitches. Which lends credence to the statement that you can't rush nature. A statement that, according to a swift Google search, I just totally made up.

The third letter informs us that our attendance is requested for a hearing. Not in court, no. At the International House of Pancakes. I can't make this stuff up people. Where we will be allotted five minutes to argue our case. Where I will present the letters specifically stating to water and fertilize my lawn. To which I will respond: I did. But unfortunately the grass can't read English - perhaps you should have drafted the letter in Latin. And I've watched enough Judge Judy I know enough about law to understand that I followed their specific instructions; and anything that is implied is moot by what was explicitly written.


Then I'm going to ask them what actions they've taken against the banks that currently own several foreclosed upon homes in various states of disrepair in the community they so desperately wish to preserve.

Then I'm going to enjoy a plate of Super Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity pancakes. Heavy on the Rooty Tooty.

It's All Fun and Games Except for That One Kid

Today is Grandparents / VIP Day at the elementary school. It's really Grandparents Day and/or Whoever The Hell Else is Available to Show Up Day; which doesn't seem all that important to clarify but actually, is. See, way back in the beginning of the millennium and I was hanging onto my twenties by my fingernails and really that's not important I just wanted to say I was in my twenties, and it became necessary for Boy-Child#1 to obtain an education through the public school system; it was just plain old "Grandparents Day". Except that they discovered that quite often A) Not all children have living grandparents, B) Not all children have grandparents that live locally, and C) More often than not it was the parents themselves that attended. And people were walking around going, there sure are a lot of NOT grandparents here today.

Here is where I pull up my curmudgeon pants: I'm not much of a fan of this particular school function. Oh I can see that the PTA's hearts are in the right place and I can get behind the feel goodness and donated baked goods of it; but there's a heartbreaking component in this. And that is that because about 95% of the parents or family or the village that are raising these little people are able to get involved and attend, there is always that one, sometimes two, but always one child in the classroom who has no one available to be there. And it's obvious. And while the teacher and other parents make sure to include the child so that they don't feel left out, you know that they know that their VIP isn't there.

*sniffle*

And then there is always that one mom. The one who's a little clueless. The one who is a little self-absorbed. The one who is a bit naive or purposely obtuse who I will overhear utter, I can't believe no one could be here for him. Perhaps she isn't aware that people have to earn a paycheck. And maybe she doesn't know what it's like to already have to request time off or leave work early for school plays, parent-teacher conferences, back to school nights, open houses, not to mention other non-school related events and some people just don't have the luxury of taking the morning off to spend 45 minutes making macaroni and glitter picture frames and enjoying bite size muffins with their child.

This morning I am Boy-Child#2 and Girl-Child's VIP. And because their classes scheduled times coincide; I will vacillate from one room to another and for ten minutes here and there my children will be that VIPless child.

Thank you Elementary School, for seeing to my dose of guilt for the day. The two dozen berry muffins with the burnt bottoms were my contribution to the considerable spread. You're welcome.

~number of times the thesaurus was consulted for this entry? Three. And still too many uses of the same words. I'm failing writing.

After All That I Still Hate 90% of What's in There

On Sunday I finally tackled one of the many projects on my to-do list. Frankly, I have the Rescue Mission to thank for this because if it wasn't for their phone call to ask if I had anything to donate, these two boxes containing one hundred hangers would still be sitting at the foot of the stairs. Correction: That's TWO projects accomplished.

I've never in my life had a closet full of matching hangers. In fact, most of my hangers consisted of those that came with the garment still attached from the store. Another fact: I did not purchase these hangers nor would I have ever thought to do so because I was ignorant of just how awesome a thing that is. These were a birthday gift from my sister in-law. It's okay that right now you're thinking, and you're still speaking to her? Because I was like, ummm...hangers, thanks? I should never doubt my sister in-law because she has an uncanny ability to choose items that I never even knew I wanted until I had them. She was all, trust me. And now I kinda wanna make out with her.

After discarding about 1/4 of my wardrobe and half of Mr. Farklepants', and simultaneously wondering how it ever managed to all fit in the first place; I can now see every article of clothing that I own. Nothing is shoved or hidden [except for the pieces that are still hanging on random hangers because I totally ran out of the new ones]. Some things I had completely forgotten. Some I'd never worn as evidenced by the price tags still adorning them.

Consensus? I have a lot of damn clothes.

Mr. Farklepants' consensus? He doesn't ever want to hear how I have nothing to wear. Ever again.

Also? I have a great deal of slacks. I can't remember the last time I wore them but I think wherever it was, it involved a job and a paycheck.

Remember earlier in this post how I told you I tackled and finished this project on Sunday? Today is Friday. And this unsightly pile remains on my bathroom floor.

Have you tried to wrangle a mass of tangled hangers? Ain't easy. They're ornery and unruly and completely uncooperative. Guess who has a project for Saturday?

P.S. For any of you Los Angeles based bloggers, Dooce is going to be in LA on Monday. Here are the details for the meet and greet. I'm gonna go, perhaps I'll see you there?

How Could I Forget The Transvestites?

So we're all sitting around the other night after dinner discussing movies and various whatnot [and boy can we talk a whatnot blue streak in this family]; and someone, my father I think, mentioned he'd just seen True Lies for the first time. My father, being somewhat of a connoisseur of action movies, I was excited to relay to him that True Lies happened to be the first movie Mr. Farklepants and I had seen together on our first date lo those many years ago. Yes, the Arnold Schwarzenegger flick. Yes, and Jamie Lee Curtis too. And when I say date I mean I took my roommate along for security because as much as I wanted it to be a date I didn't want Mr. Farklepants to think me anxious to date him. Play games, who? Rules much? Aaaaand we all had a good laugh about my young, angsty man-trapping methods.

Mr. Farklepants: What?
Me: Oh, I was telling them about our first date when I took Roommate with us to see True Lies.
Mr. Farklepants: That's not right.
Me: What?
Mr. Farklepants: You're wrong.
Me: I did take her!
Mr. Farklepants: No, It was The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
Me: ........(!) Oh yeah! (then to my father) Nevermind, it was the movie about the transvestites in Australia.
Dad: ........?



I guess Mr. Farklepants was anxious to date me.

Some of you requested the Alfredo sauce recipe from Monday's entry in the comments and via email. The great thing about this recipe is that it is easy-peasy. And I am all about low maintenance cooking because if there are too many steps to follow or prep work that has to be done in advance I'm all, which pizza place do I have a coupon for? [Quick factoid: When the pizza place and your parent's share the same first three digits in their phone numbers, how many times do you call your mom when you just want Dominos? Answer: Hi Mom, no I really meant to call you I swear I know it's 7pm, so what's up?]

The Alfredo sauce recipe is below, and know this: it makes an obscene amount of sauce - you'll be eating it for days. It's probably best to make this for a large group.

Ingredients:

* 1 pound fettuccine pasta (trust me, you'll need a lot more than that)
* 2 sticks of butter, divided (the thing about cooking - math)
* 1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts ( I use the skinless tenders and just dice them up into 1" chunks - cuz I'm all about the bite size)
* 2 (15 oz) containers whole ricotta cheese
* 1 pint heavy cream (I always use heavy whipping cream which is what I assume they mean. If there's another kind of heavy cream out there know that the heavy whipping cream is divine)
* about 1 teaspoon pepper - keep adding while stirring until you can see pepper flecks (the recipe does not call for pepper but I think it kicks ass. The recipe calls for salt but it doesn't need it, I promise)
* 1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (purchase a cheese grater - I'm looking at you AFF)
* 1 heaping teaspoon of chopped garlic

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add fettuccine and cook for 8-10 minutes. Drain and set aside in large bowl.
2. While the pasta is boiling melt 2-ish tablespoons of butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Saute chicken and garlic until no longer pink.
3. In a large saucepan (emphasis on large) combine ricotta cheese, cream, pepper, Parmesan cheese, and remaining butter. Cook over medium heat until well combined (about 10 minutes). Stir constantly. Add sauteed chicken and all its garlicy drizzliness into the sauce. Stir until it reaches creamy goodness.
4. I add the sauce by the ladle-ful to the drained pasta and toss until it meets my satisfaction. Some people are all about heavy on the sauce while others are like, stop when I say when-WHEN! I fall somewhere in between.

Buona fortuna!

Hippie Chick

I've voted in every election since 1992; 1992 being a combination of presidential election year and my being old enough to vote. At the time it was William Jefferson Clinton v George Herbert Walker Bush and it had been twelve years of Republican presidents and we were ready for a change as evidenced by the 370 (Clinton) to 168 (Bush) electoral votes. And the 44,909,806 to 39,104,500 popular vote for Bill Clinton. There was also a little elf-like character named Ross Perot [no offense to the pro-elf movement].

Once again we are ready for change. Yesterday was my little sister's generation's turn. I'm so proud of her; and a little envious that her first time was so utterly fantastic!



**photos of and by Dorothy Z. & tweaked by Tootsie without Dorothy's permission using Picnik

Pardon Me, I'm All Vaklempt and Full of SQUEEEEE!

Well hello, Mr. President-Elect! How you doin'?


Tonight Barack Obama made history! And I only wish I could have been there in person to hear him speak. Except when it came time to hunt for my car because holy hell can you imagine trying to navigate your way out of that when it was time to go home? Where'd we park again? I don't know, Indiana I think.


We pause to bring you the obligatorily point at random person in the crowd.

It's a new day...I can smell the hope. Can you?

P.S. Except that I have to go to bed knowing that Proposition 8 is currently leading with 53% in favor and really hoping that number changes before I wake up in the morning.

P.P. S. WTF California?!?

*all photos associated press

Because All That Butter Just Wan't Enough

I have to admit I'm not terribly humble I make a mean Alfredo sauce. I don't make Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo often because - fat. This recipe is not even joking around about its fat content. We're talking two whole sticks of butter. Two 15 ounce containers of WHOLE ricotta cheese. One pint of heavy cream and a whole cup plus a little more for good measure of grated Parmesan cheese. Freshly grated of course. And when it comes time to physically apply cheese to grater you're all, why didn't I just buy the Kraft pre-grated stuff? Then you remember - flavor. One thing missing from the recipe that I follow is garlic.

I'd like to introduce you to a permanent staple in my fridge:


I sautee one teaspoon of this with the chicken before adding it to the sauce. One teaspoon is all you need because you want to wake up the flavor; you don't want to scare the shit out of it. A little of this stuff goes a long way.

After you recruit your mother to grate the cheese, and your sister to make the salad, and your other sister to pour everyone's drink, and you enjoy your second cup of coffee - dinner is served. You don't worry that you've just forced yourself to finish the entire bowl of rich and heavy Alfredo you were served; or that you sopped up the remaining sauce with a soft buttery roll, or that you didn't actually have any room to finish the salad after that carbohydrate orgy, because you still have three weeks to lose those five pounds that will give you permission to gain it all back come Thanksgiving.

Send Aspirin and Faux Fur Ear Muffs

Boy-Child#1's birthday money rainy day purchase: Guitar Hero World Tour. I thought the drums would at least try to sound like electronic drums. But they sound like someone beating on a cardboard box...repeatedly. For. H-O-U-R-S. The singing? Dying cat.

And man did that game come with a lot of wires. Le sigh.

Wrong side out pajama top not included.