Year: 2009

Fast usually doesn’t translate to good, take this post for example

I’ve been sitting here for an hour trying to figure out how to recap the weekend because it’s just too much. It was all too much. In a span of forty-eight hours I have laughed, cried, and laughed until I cried. I have eaten more than my share of Memphis barbecue and, in a moment of Mexican food desperation, some Taco Bell.

Blame it on my sophisticated palate and general sense of food elitism, but there are times when nothing tastes better than some crispy tacos from Taco Bell covered in their mild taco sauce that will take the tarnish off a penny. I know that to be true because we never grew tired of that particular experiment in college. If only my 2 a.m. passionate interest in the chemistry of taco sauce had translated to any of my college courses.

The deliciousness of the Taco Bell caused me to reflect on other fast foods that have ministered to me at various times in my life and here’s my list.

(I know you are FASCINATED)

1. Whataburger cheeseburgers with extra mustard – This is the only food that got me through my pregnancy with Caroline. The first three months were so miserable and only the Whataburger had the power to cure my morning sickness. I’d eat my first one at 10:00 a.m. every morning and, on particularly bad days, be back for another one by mid-afternoon.

You know what’s sad? When the Whataburger drive-thru staff knows you well enough to comment on your pregnancy and is excited to find out you’re having a girl.

2. McDonalds Big Macs – I know. Disgusting. I loved them throughout high school. And, really, there’s nothing cuter than a teenage girl in her dance team uniform eating two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.

(I can remember that jingle but I can’t remember that Caroline has the day off school tomorrow even though it’s written in all caps on my calendar CAROLINE OUT OF SCHOOL)

3. Sonic tater tots and a corn dog – If loving the tots is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

4. Popeyes spicy chicken two piece dinner – There was a delightful period of time in my early 20’s when I’d just graduated from college and found myself living in San Antonio where I didn’t know a soul and spent my work week dispensing sub-par financial advice to people who should have known better than to listen to me. On Sunday mornings after church I’d stop by the grocery store to buy the Sunday edition of The Houston Chronicle, swing by Popeyes to pick up the two-piece dinner and then go back to my little apartment and eat chicken while I read all the beautiful wedding announcements in the Lifestyle section. And may have occasionally cried and felt a little sorry for myself because I was twenty-three and clearly on my way to being a spinster destined to eat fried chicken alone forever.

Listen. I’m not proud.

5. Chick-fil-A nuggets – There is no star that shines as bright in the fast food world as some Chick-fil-A nuggets. The sad thing is that Caroline doesn’t care for Chick-fil-A.

I KNOW.

Where have I gone wrong? I keep trying to convince her it’s delicious, but she’s not buying it. She’d rather have a Whataburger cheeseburger, so basically her taste buds in utero are the same now that she’s six. It’s unfortunate since I can only tolerate a Whataburger cheeseburger every now and then since I ate my lifetime allotment in a nine month period of time.

I’d love to know that we are all united in our love of at least some sort of fast food. Please tell me your fast food weaknesses, both past and present, so I don’t feel alone in my confession of years of Big Mac consumption.

(Also, I realize this post in no way really recapped the weekend because it is what I like to call a cop out post. I have too many details that I’m still processing and am in desperate need of sleep. And maybe a Whataburger cheeseburger.)

(Not because I’m pregnant, just because I wanted to bring it all back around. Just wanted to clarify.)
Edition 69: Fashion Friday

I spent most of the day yesterday getting ready to leave for the airport. In the midst of my packing, I realized I faced a huge dilemma. I wanted to pack my black boots and my brown boots, but, alas, there was no way both pairs were going to fit in my carry on bag unless I left out other important things such as my travel-sized hot rollers, curling iron, and Ziploc bag full of toiletry items. I debated leaving one pair at home, but that would be like a scene from Sophie’s Choice. I wasn’t emotionally prepared to make that kind of decision, which is why I ended up wearing my brown boots as part of my travel attire even though it was 95 degrees when I left San Antonio.

Also, you know what’s a real pain in a security line? A pair of tall brown boots and people who don’t realize that it’s a bad idea to purchase your coffee at the Starbucks located in the terminal area because there is no way the airport security is going to let that Grande Vanilla Latte get past them because, you know, coffee equals potential explosive device.

The thing I love about airports, other than the ability to purchase a bag of overpriced trail mix and keychains in the shape of whatever state you happen to be visiting, is the people-watching. It was especially good yesterday because there was an abundance of super cute outfits wandering around as opposed to the kind of looks I often see while traveling, looks that make you wonder when some women decided it was okay to leave the house without wearing proper undergarments or changing out of their pajamas.

I just kept thinking how cool it would be if I could take some pictures and do a whole series on fashion do’s seen in the San Antonio airport, but ultimately decided against it because I have a fear of random people thinking I’m some sort of weird stalker. If anyone’s going to think I’m a weird stalker, I’d prefer it be my closest friends and family.

Also, you know what gets kind of hot in an airplane when they cut off the air before takeoff? A pair of tall brown boots.

Now for a few questions.

1. Several people have asked about flats: “Help! I need to find a cute pair of flats that won’t make me feel like I’m back in eighth grade and it’s 1985.”

A few weeks ago I said that I just couldn’t get into the ballet flat trend. I have to retract that statement. It was made in haste and after an unfortunate shopping trip that involved seeing way too many pairs of flats that looked a little Connie-esque. (Remember Connies? Plain faux leather? Came in colors that matched every Laura Ashley dress ever made?)

But then there came a day that I wanted to wear some leggings with a tunic-type shirt. If San Antonio wasn’t the hottest place on Earth then I could have worn boots, however, it is the hottest place on Earth and I needed a fashionable alternative. Which led me to flats. Specifically, these black suede-ish flats that I found at Payless on sale for $15.00, but are a pretty good knock off of these flats that are significantly more than what I wanted to pay to revisit trends of the ‘80’s.

Once I dipped my toe in the pool of flat shoes, I became a fan. They are versatile and an excellent alternative to the flip-flops I wore all summer long, therefore I reverse my earlier feelings of ambivalence and perhaps even intense dislike of the flat. However, I will always be a heels kind of girl at heart.

So if you, too, are ready to embrace it and let Connie bygones be bygones, I’d suggest looking for a flat with a little pizzazz. Personally, I wanted to stay away from anything that was a solid color with no embellishment. Look for something in a fun leopard print which is surprisingly neutral or something fun like this or this. I am especially fond of a bejeweled flat because there’s nothing wrong with a little bling (except for me actually using the word bling).

And in related news, it turns out that I am a full three inches shorter than I believed myself to be.

2. Jennifer asks: “I enjoy a yoga pant. Even on days when I’m not taking a yoga class. But footwear has me stumped. Now that it’s freezing cold, I can’t do a flip flop. Running shoes feel too big and bulky. Any ideas?”

Let me pause for a moment and think about what it means to be freezing cold. I can’t remember the last time I actually felt cold.

I think what you need is a really cute sneaker. They are sleeker than a running shoe, but provide full coverage for those freezing cold days. Look for something like this or this.

Or you could go old school with these Adidas or Nikes

3. Sherry asks: ” I love the dress, tight, and cowboy boot look but was wondering if I’m too old for this. I am 48 and while I like to dress up to date I don’t want to look like I’m trying to be 20 something again. What’s your opinion?”

In theory I like all the pieces of this outfit. Dress? Good. Tights? Good. Cowboy boots? LOVE.

However, as darling as the look can be, I believe there is an age limit. But I’m not totally sure what that age limit is. Honestly, I think it’s the cowboy boots that are hanging me up. I think the dress, tights, and a tall riding type boot would look fine, but the cowboy boot might be too much. The other factor issue is to make sure that your dress isn’t too short. It should hit right above the knee and the tights need to be opaque.

But that’s just my opinion. I have always believed that the most important thing is to find your own style and go with it. Some of the women whose fashion sense I admire the most are the women who don’t bow to every trend and determine what works for them.

Before I wrap it up for the week, I have to share the greatest discovery of my life. Well, life might be overstating it, but it’s definitely the best discovery of my week. It’s a site called Shop Style. You can search for any specific item of clothing such as a sweater coat, jeans, blazer, or what have you and it will show you a variety of different options available at various stores in various price ranges. It’s like your very own personal internet shopper and I adore it.

I’ll tell you what else I adore, a barbecue sandwich with coleslaw on the top. I’ve only been in Memphis for six hours and I’ve already learned something new about myself.

Y’all have a great Friday.
I probably won’t need blue suede shoes

I’m leaving for Memphis at 4:00 today and between now and then I have a list of about a million things I need to accomplish. Which makes me wonder why I’m sitting here with P watching Lonesome Dove for the 854th time instead of, you know, actually doing something that might prepare me for my departure. I guess the most critical detail would be to actually pack a suitcase instead of just staring into my closet, wondering how much I can fit in one bag, and trying to decide if I’ll need a sweater for Saturday when the high temperature is supposed to be 65 degrees.

My guess is yes since it was 94 degrees here yesterday and 65 is going to feel like the Arctic Circle compared to that, especially since I tend to need a light jacket any time the temperature dips below 75.

I’m looking forward to seeing some sweet friends, but I’ll miss my peeps. Although if yesterday is any indication I think they’ll be fine without me. Caroline walked into the kitchen and saw P eating Fritos out of the bag. She said, “Hey Daddy! Why don’t you get us some bean dip to go with those Fritos and let’s go watch some hunting shows”.

I don’t know that he’s ever been more proud.

Fritos, bean dip, hunting shows.

It’ll be hard to know that kind of fun is going on without me this weekend, but I’ll manage somehow.

And just think how excited they’ll be when I come home with some Elvis memorabilia because, y’all, it’s Memphis.
There’s no such thing as too much chocolate

Good news! The chocolate cake was, in fact, magically delicious.

Bad news! I will need to repent at the altar of Jillian Michaels and her planks of torture to work off all the calories I consumed in the form of the aforementioned chocolate cake.

More bad news! It’s October 7th and the temperature is still in the 90’s with approximately 184% humidity.

Even more bad news! My new bangs are totally put out with the humidity and are revolting in the form of pure frizz. I tried to just pull them back with a clip yesterday and discovered so many gray hairs lurking underneath the surface that I may have shrieked in horror, grabbed the tweezers and started plucking them out.

Even worse news! I’m pretty sure I now have a receding hair line due to all the hair I pulled out.

At least the chocolate cake made me feel better, even if it was only for a little while. Note to self: Food is not love.

(But it’s pretty dang close)

Here’s the recipe:

Best and Easiest Chocolate Cake

1 box Butter Recipe Chocolate Cake mix
1 3 ounce instant chocolate pudding mix
16 ounces sour cream (I used light because I like to keep it healthy)
3 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup brewed coffee (I used a half cup of my grande nonfat latte because it was right there and didn’t require me to actually brew a cup of coffee, which worked out since I have no idea how to make coffee. Why do I need to know how to make coffee when God invented Starbucks?)
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips (I used Ghiradelli because it’s the best)

In a large bowl, mix chocolate cake mix, pudding mix, and sour cream. Add in eggs one at a time. Then add the oil and coffee. Once it’s all blended, add in the chocolate chips.

You can pour all the batter into one bundt pan and bake at 350 for 1 hour or use two 9-inch round pans and bake at 350 for about 35 minutes. (I used the 9-inch round pans because I feel that a birthday celebration needs a round cake. It’s just my personal belief system and I will not condemn you if you feel differently.)

I totally planned to take pictures of the entire process but that would have required a skill that I don’t really possess known as multi-tasking. Here’s the one picture I took.

I know what you’re thinking. How is it possible that I don’t have my very own wildly successful food blog with this kind of attention to detail?

The only explanation is that some people are hung up on the need to see beautiful step-by-step food photography as opposed to a dirty mixing bowl in the sink.

After the cake cooled, I made chocolate frosting. You could always just finish it with a light dusting of powdered sugar, but I say go big or go home.

Chocolate Frosting

1/4 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla
3 1/2 cups powdered sugar

Mix butter and cocoa together. Add milk and vanilla. Gradually add in powdered sugar until you achieve desired consistency. It should be thick, but spreadable.

But wait! There’s more.

I spread the frosting on the bottom layer and then sprinkled it with Heath bar toffee bits (I originally typed “chips”, but it’s English toffee so naturally they are not chips, they are bits). Then, I placed the other layer on top (thereby creating a delicious, crunchy toffee-filled center) and covered the rest of the cake with frosting followed by another sprinkling of the Heath bar toffee bits over the top of the cake.

And I took a picture!

I assure you that what it lacks in beauty, it makes up for in lopsidedness and pure deliciousness!

Also, I’ve never used this many exclamation points in one post ever! Ever!

I think this is what’s known as a sugar rush!

Something tells me that detox with Jillian Michaels later today isn’t going to be nearly as enjoyable.

Y’all have a great day.
This may be the year for a gift card to Academy

I just read an article that stated the number one country to live in is Norway. It went on to detail all the ways Norway is superior to other locales, including such things as the economy, the beautiful scenery and the chance to use the word “fjord” on a daily basis. One thing the article neglected to share, however, is that the temperature never really gets above buck naked cold and that there isn’t an HEB grocery store to be found in the entire country.

Speaking of HEB (how’s that for a transitional statement?) I spent most of the morning at HEB loading up on all the necessary provisions which lean heavily these days towards a host of over-the-counter pharmaceutical products for our assorted bouts of acid reflux, muscle aches and allergy issues. I also needed to get the ingredients to make P a birthday cake because today is his 39th birthday and there is no way I can let that kind of event go by without chocolate cake.

(I’m trying a new chocolate cake recipe and have every intention of documenting the process in photographic form. So if it turns out halfway decent or perhaps even magically delicious, I’ll post the recipe here tomorrow.)

The biggest issue I have with P and his birthday is it’s impossible to find a gift he’ll actually use and there are only so many times you can give your husband an envelope full of cash without it becoming overly sentimental and romantic.

One Christmas I actually surprised him with a lower something or other for some sort of gun, but I only knew to do that because I called his best friend and asked him for help. He told me about the lower whatever thing and the whole thing ended up with me driving an hour to the middle of nowhere and then an additional forty-five minutes past that until I ended up in some man’s basement looking at weapons. I’ve never been more certain that I’d just wandered into a set of circumstances that would eventually be turned into an episode of Law and Order (ripped from the headlines!).

So now I just stick to the Gap and their lovely assortment of plaid shirts because, really, what do you get the man who already owns a pair of these bad boys? There’s nowhere to go but down.

P asked me to clarify that these boots are not intended to be any sort of fashion statement (I know we were all worried), but merely serve as a practical measure to prevent him from incurring a rattlesnake bite. Although let’s not pretend for a second that if he were a single man the ladies wouldn’t be lined up for miles once they noticed that embossed leather snake profile.

Happy Birthday, P. I love you and your snake boots. I love the way you love our family. I love that you are never afraid to say exactly what you think. I love that every year you vow that you’re not going to be as nice as you were the year before and then end up buying new work boots and assorted fajita dinners for your employees, also known as the sons you never had or wanted to have. I love that you leave your empty Zyrtec D wrappers on the kitchen countertop next to half the paper towel that you want to save for later.

Actually, that last part isn’t true.

But the rest is.

I’ll love you ’til all the fjords in Norway run dry.
In summary, Woody, Buzz, Aggies and popcorn

Over the weekend I reunited with an old love, Dreyers Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Ice Cream. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but on Friday night my car drove to HEB like it had a mind of its own and I couldn’t resist the call from the ice cream aisle. I blame the PMS.

P was at the ranch, Caroline was spending the night with Mimi and Bops, and the Dreyers and I cuddled up on the couch and watched Grey’s Anatomy together. It was a sweet reunion, but now we’re going to have to break up all over again…just as soon as what’s left in my freezer is gone. Which will probably be five minutes from now.

Obviously, I spent Friday night throwing caution to the wind in preparation for my big soccer coaching debut on Saturday morning. To be honest, I wasn’t all that concerned about the coaching, mainly because I’d thrown myself on the mercy of my sister’s husband, Chris, earlier in the week and he just happens to have coached several years of high school girls’ soccer. Let’s just say that he has been known to wear some track pants.

Chris isn’t coaching this year for the first time in several seasons and my sister mentioned he kind of had the itch to get back into it and what better way to cure that desire than to let him coach six-year-old girls? I mentioned to P that Chris missed coaching and I was going to ask him to help me on Saturday, P said, “That’s like offering a crack addict a puff of secondhand smoke”. I’m not sure why P doesn’t think the Mighty Rainbows take the game seriously, but it might have something to do with all the cartwheels they do during practice in between giggling hysterically and picking flowers.

On Saturday morning I woke up (at 9:00 a.m.!) to the sound of rain coming down and so I went to check the official soccer website to see if the game would be cancelled. The website offered no form of helpful information, other than to let me know that the referee for each game would determine if the game would be played. Which would be great except I’d received an email the night before letting me know that there were no referees available for our game and we’d need a parent or a coach to volunteer. As someone who referred to the referee as an umpire last week, I felt less than qualified to step into that role. Plus, I don’t really like blowing whistles because they tend to draw attention.

While pondering the weather dilemma, I received an email from the mother of a player informing me that her daughter had fever and wouldn’t be at the game, which would leave us with a grand total of three Rainbows. So I acted like a referee and called the game, meaning I called the dad who coached the other team and we agreed, between the rain and his fear of me bringing in my brother-in-law as a total ringer, it was for the best.

Which left Caroline and I with a long, rainy afternoon on our hands and nothing to do.

So we headed to the movie theater to see the Toy Story double feature in 3-D. We got there about thirty minutes early because I was convinced it was going to sell out. After we secured our tickets and our handy 3-D glasses, I told Caroline we could get some candy from the concession stand. Her reply stopped me cold in my tracks.

“I don’t really care for any candy”.

“What? You don’t want candy? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Do you feel okay?” I began feeling her forehead and back for signs of fever because, in my world, no desire for candy clearly equals SWINE FLU.

“I’m fine. Why do you keep feeling my head?”

We walked into the theater and had our pick of seats. People like to say there are no benefits to being slightly compulsive, but I will bet you an aisle seat at the theater that they are wrong. Caroline and I chatted about the movie and I told her all about 3-D and that technically the way it works is through something I like to call “MAGIC”.

More and more people started to make their way into the theater carrying kids and buckets of popcorn that could feed every family in North America for a week. I asked Caroline one more time, “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“No, Mama. I’m fine. How much longer ’til the movie starts?”

“About eight minutes.”

The manager came in to welcome us to the show and announced there would be free refills on any large item during the ten minute intercession. Yes, because two large vats of buttered popcorn are totally necessary if you’re aiming to have a heart attack in the next forty-eight hours. Then, just as the lights were about to go down, Caroline turned to me and said, “I think I want some candy now”.

Of course you do. Because when you’re six you have no appreciation for the coveted aisle seat and the fact that it will be GONE by the time you spend fifteen minutes waiting for the privilege to drop $25.00 on a pack of Nerds and a “Value” drink.

But we made it back in time for most of the previews and even found another aisle seat.

We loved seeing Woody and Buzz in 3-D and decided to end the evening with dinner at a Chinese food restaurant. I was so thankful that I’d remembered to record the A&M vs. Arkansas game just in case we were running late. As we were enjoying our lo mein, a man came into the restaurant to pick up some food to go and I heard someone ask him if the Aggies were winning, he said, “Yeah, they look great!”

I know now that he’d only watched the first five minutes of the game.

But, bless my heart, I went home, put Caroline to bed and began watching that game with all the optimism of a kid on his way to see Santa Claus until it got to about midway through the first quarter and I began to feel instead like I’d just been kicked by Santa Claus and he was wearing a red shirt that read, “WOOOOOOO PIG SOOOOOIE”. It was hateful.

I may employ my daddy’s new game-watching strategy. He records the game, waits to see if his team won. If they did, he watches it. If they lose, he deletes it. It saves him heartache, stress, and a fortune in antacids.

Much like limiting yourself to just one bucket of large popcorn at the movies.