Oreo cookies. Double stuf

Did not feel like typing today so you are blessed with my angelic voice and face....

Just a bit bored.  And, honestly some days it's just easier to vlog.  Why is there only one f in the stuf part of double stuf on the oreo cookies package?   

OMG Becky, did you see the size of her hangover?

I think the year I turned 26 I decided I would never 'get' any older than that.  Sure my birthday comes around and I acknowledge it but that is the extent.  I do not act my age nor do I have any desire to.  Granted, shit hurts a tad more when I party like it's 1999.
Like, say when you go to your husband's work banquet and you are introduced to moonshine.  Apple pie  flavored to be exact.  And apple is your favorite pie.

Bad news.  Big mistake.

And for some reason, after already drinking too much of it (add a bottle of wine in there too) you feel the need to do 'shots' of it with a bunch of 20 somethings (most of who you could be their mommy dearest) sometime between oh I'd say midnight and 1 a.m. but that's just a guess.

Yes Angela, brilliant idea.  Then the fake mustaches come out.  Oh boy. I slightly recall doing a "mustache bit" but have no idea what it entailed.  Nor do I want to know.  I only hope I didn't bust out with one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs and do the dance number to go with it.  Shimmying shoulders and all.

Oh God, the dance floor.  There is a reason that on Monday morning when I went upstairs to get the kids up (the par-tay was Sat. night) my thighs almost gave out.  I suspect it has to do with the bump and grind.  Alan asked me who the people videoing the dance floor were.

Fuck.

I have always loved dancing.  My mom is a choreographer and it is in my blood.  Unfortunately for me, when you have alcohol mixed in that blood it can be a lethal combination.  Really though I bet I burned 5,000 calories.  At least.  Silver lining in everything.

Then, yesterday it came time to do the 'walk of shame' into the Crew.  I was bringing Alan his lunch.  Please Lord, let them all be out on calls.  They weren't.

What have I learned?  The next time someone puts a red solo cup in front of me I will take a polite sip only.

Yeah, right.

Oh, and ladies here is a tip you mustn't forget:  Always wear matching (clean) panties and bra.  And shave.  For crying out loud shave.  If the EMS crew has to cut your clothes off they will be much obliged.  I hope you now obsess about this every morning as I do.  Yes, I really, really, really like this Crew.  They are real people.  Most of them started out as volunteers and that says a lot about character to me.  Giving of yourself and expecting nothing in return.  Sure, a pat on the back now and then is welcome.  Stick your left hand on your right shoulder and pat yourself.  You deserve it. Volunteering for EMS and fire often goes unnoticed in the public eye.  That is until you need them.   Then they get the heroic recognition they deserve.  If only for a moment.  But they don't care because that's not why they do it.

Sticky, gooey and mighty tasty...cinnamon rolls.

If you're a fan of cinnamon rolls you won't care how many burpees you have to do to work just one of these babies off.

They are delish. And easy.  I'm normally a blonde and sweet kinda girl w/ my coffee...but w/ these - the wakey juice can be black.  The combo of the two is like a party in your mouth.  Get your mind out of the gutter with the party in mouth thing.

Ingredients for filling:

3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup sugar
1/8 tspn salt
Throw some cinnamon in there.
1 tbsp melted butter
*Combine above w/ fork and set aside.
*Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  Right now.  Go do it.
*Butter a round cake pan.  Right now.  Go do it.

Ingredients for dough:

3 cups all purpose flour
3 tbsp sugar
1 tspn baking powder
1/2 tspn baking soda
1/2 tspn salt
1 cup buttermilk  (If you are like me and don't have buttermilk you can just take 1 cup milk and add 1 tspn lemon juice or vinegar - let sit about 10 minutes and stir and voila! buttermilk.)
6 tbsp melted butter

*Mix all the dry then add the wet.  It should be like dough.  If not, you suck at cooking and should stop and have a mimosa.
*Get your rolling pin ready.  Flour a surface to roll the dough - I go a tad overboard w/ the flour but it never sticks.  You are going to want a rectangle shape about the size of a 13x9 pan, if it's bigger that's ok, if it's smaller that's ok.  Once you have a shape that resembles a rectangle grab the filling and dump it on and spread it around all of the dough.  Start rolling it lengthwise - kinda keeping tabs on what the edges are doing, folding them in a smidgen if need be while you are rolling.  When you get to the other side...stop.  Cut into 8 pretty thick 'rolls'  and place them in that buttered pan you have waiting on you.  That oven should be beeping by now to let you know it's preheated.  Stick them in for 20 - 25 min's.  While they are in there you will want to make your icing to spread over them as soon as they come out to make a big, fattening, tasty, gooey pile of "holy crap if they weren't so sweet I'd eat another one" rolls.

*Ingredients for icing
1 cup confectioners sugar
2 tbsp soft butter
2 tspn milk
Start stirring (I use a whisk) I just add water by the tspn until it's the correct consistency.
You can always add pecans or whatever into the filling.  I don't because I don't like nuts in my food.
Enjoy.  These are fabulous and easy.

Greeks.

That's right my sweet Emma, ask Yia Yia.

Ahhhh my mom, Yia Yia to the kids, the teacher of how to make the world's best Baklava.  Alan thanks you.  For some reason I only make it at Christmas time.  I also only make my ginger snaps this time of year.  That's probably a good thing because like Lays, no one can eat just one. My ever expanding ass doesn't need any more help.  The older I get the harder it is to drop (the weight).  Well, things are dropping but that's a different story.  An unflattering one. 

Back to the baklava.  It's time consuming, it's a pain in the ass, but it is so totally worth it.  You can freeze it for months and it'll still taste just as good when it thaws.  It keeps in the fridge for what seems like forever...Alan has eaten it after a questionable amount of time and it was awesome - so he said.     I guess baklava is a tradition for me at Christmas time.  My dad used to take me to all the magnificent Christmas parties the Greeks of the North Shore would throw and wow would I love to go to one as an adult.  They sure can party.  And eat.  And drink.  Hmmm, this may explain some of me.  Seriously, their sha-bangs are the BEST!  Maybe I can find some Greeks in Waynesboro?  

When I think of fond memories from my childhood 9 times out of 10 they involve my dad.  At my cousin's wedding this past April, I overheard my mom say to my Aunt "she's just like her father".  That was music to my ears.  My dad was the coolest person I have ever known.  The sarcasm and wit that is me all came from him.  The need to be the center of attention?  All him.  The cooking skill came from both my parents.  My passion and creativity?  Well I'll blame the Greeks for that one too.  Greeks are the most passionate people ever.  My parent's divorced when I was 6.  My dad died when I was 19.  On his key chain we found his wedding band from their marriage.

How's that for love? Why did I never notice it before?  

Rest in Peace, dad.  I wish you were here to enjoy Jacob, Emma and Ellie.  You could've taught them so much.  Even how to cuss in Greek which, by the way, thanks for teaching me - that tends to come in handy when I want to cuss at someone but can't in English.  You know, when someone you love passes it is so easy to forget their faults, short comings and bad choices and only remember the good that they were.  He had a few articles written in the paper about him after he died.  His wake had to be extended a few hours because of the amount of people that came to see him.  My brother, mom and I stood there for hours and hours accepting people's condolences.  Sometimes I even found myself trying to comfort others. A pillar of strength at 19. 

I wish I'd have waited for you to answer the phone that night, not become impatient and hung up because I would see you the next day.  I never did see you again.  OK.  Stop the tears, there is a silver lining in that.  My kids and people who I love will never not know I love them.  I express it every chance I get because you never know if you'll get another.  So yes, my passion for life definitely comes from my dad, not just because of the way he lived, but also because of the way he died.  No warning. 

 I guess the holidays erupt emotion.

New kid in town.

So, have you ever met someone and thought to yourself “hmmmm this person could be fun to be around, hang with and score they know lots of people and you don’t because you are new to the area”?  They were wicked friendly to you - I am not talking Bff’s but, ya know a friend at least. Someone to introduce you around.

Then the next time you see them they are possessed.  I mean walk right by you with an angry expression – maybe even one of a 2 y/o who didn’t get their way – and don’t even acknowledge your slight existence as the new kid in town.  Seriously, WTF? Won’t even make eye contact.  Then you see them yet again, on a different day and that warm, fuzzy smile you first were drawn to is back and they (drumroll please) talk to you!  Wow.  This pattern continues and you realize it’s not you… it’s them…and you are thinkin’ holy crap med check STAT please.  Personally, I believe everyone has a touch of bi-polar.  But for the love of God don’t not speak to me because your panties are in a bunch about something else, it’s not my fault.  In fact, I might make ya smile. That's gotta be a miserable way to live.

Granted, I have all kinds of crazy going on within, but at least I am consistently a sarcastic, stubborn, immature goofball.  You’ll always know what you are going to get with me.  Trust me, I’ll tell ya.

Enough about people.

The refrigerator in this (naughty word) rental we are in bit the dust sometime Saturday into Sunday so it was coolers with ice for our perishables.  All the meat defrosted so I have to get my ass in the kitchen and pre - cook meals I guess.  Oh well, at least the new (actually used) one the landlord got here this morning works.  Really, I am still in awe of where we are living and just grateful to be here, shitty appliances and all.

 

Which reminds me.  Grateful aside for a moment, I really wish our house in Chesapeake would sell so we can purchase here.  This whole rental in a triplex thing just ain’t our style.  The neighbors are nice enough but seriously, quit smoking – the orchestra of hacking and hocking up lugees while in the shower that happens to be right on the other side of the wall from my desk just isn’t my cup of tea first thing every morning.  Temporary, temporary, temporary.  Wait, wait, wait.  I am grateful to be here.  Yep, gotta remind myself.

Well I am off to hunt for a J-O-B.  <SIGH>  Actually, I’ll get distracted and do something else.    

How to move, Lara Croft style.

Double fist everything and look pretty while doing it?  Nah, not really. But it does look pretty cool, doesn't it?
I am over picking up/cleaning to show the house.  I am over it not being rented or sold.  I am over everything.
When I first started boxing stuff up I would write with care what the contents are and make sure they were doubled up on packing tape, so not to break mid-carry.  Twenty Rolls of tape and a hundred boxes later (and one month) today I found myself throwing our belongings carelessly into the box - even playing my own version of basketball - and as for writing on the box it would go something like this:  Shit we don't use but he won't let me ditch.  Kitchen.  Because the kids and I have been living here still, I waited to pack the kitchen last.  Unfortunately, most of the stuff is fragile and my give a damn is busted. On one box I wrote Misc. shit.  That was about a week ago and I have no idea what's in it.  I had to make my way through all the boxes a few days ago because Jake had no pants.  All the ones that I left out for him...too small.  When did that happen?  Maybe it's the man sized appetite he has.

Silver lining:  I have learned during this whole process.  I didn't know I was capable of painting ceilings, trim and walls in four rooms.  Had no idea I could go to Home Depot, saw my own piece of moulding and install it on the worlds most uneven wall.  All by myself.  Well, with help from YouTube.  Yup, they have a video on how to install moulding on uneven walls.  I took carpet out of three rooms by myself and hauled it down to the road for large trash pick up - one piece of a time. I even dealt with the nasty padding under it.  Blech.   It has been an exhausting month, but I am getting to move to where I want to be and that is the biggest silver lining.  I had my moments of sheer hate spewing out of me but I quickly replaced them with Faith.  That faith is quite amazing when you believe in it.  I never understood it's true meaning until this move.  My ADD is kicking in and there are some ginger snaps hollering for me to eat them.  C-ya.  OOhhhh something shiny.

Horsin' around...

You know how "The song remembers when"?  Well, the smell does too.  Murphy's oil always takes me back to the same place.  As I close my eyes in the now, I imagine I am fifteen and am cleaning tack...saddles, bridles, hackamores.  I can almost feel them in my hands.  I am at Johnson's Riding Farm and I am getting Cricket ready to go gallop into the high fields.  There is no greater pleasure in my life than flying through the woods and jumping everything in site on horse back.

 Jolting myself back to reality, because this house isn't going to clean itself, I am almost sad.  Why, I ask myself why did you ever stop riding?

Myself can't answer that.  I suppose it was a combination of boys, needing to see the world and money.  Horses are expensive.  And I'll be honest, with the anxiety issues I have now I would be petrified to jump even the smallest stick while on a horses back.  I'd sit there and analyze the fifty things that could go wrong and then put myself right into rapid heart beat.  Yup, gotta love anxiety.

I have heard all these things about moving, such as "we didn't know how much crap we had..." or "living out of boxes" or "don't wait until you are moving to paint and replace the carpet, you'll be pissed your doing all this work for someone else to enjoy."  I get ALL of these.  Our rooms look huge without so much 'crap' in them.  And I am currently sleeping on my mattress in the living room and all of our clothes are in bins in there as all the furniture is out of the house. I have pretty much painted three bedrooms, ceiling, walls and trim solely.  I have also had to paint some downstairs.  That being said, I am absolutely thrilled my career choice was not house painter.  Dude, that job sucks.  My back is glad I am not a furniture mover.  It is screaming for Advil right now.

I am far too pretty to have to work this hard.  I am constantly sobbing that in my mind.

So here's my advice about moving.  Marry rich and hire people to do it for you.  Now, since that is not the case with me I am keeping a positive attitude (most of the time) and keeping my "Eye on the prize" (thanks Holly).

After all, if dreams were easy to reach - everyone would be doing it.  Hard work never hurt anyone.  Well, accept maybe the wrist of a painter and the back of a mover.