Tag Archives: Food!

The Odyssey of alcohol

Every 20-something has the same thing happen to them. A moment in time (and that moment may last an extended period) when they are just. so. stupid. And in this moment of idiocy, they mutter things like “I’ll never…” They’re having some sort of lame quasi-protest of things they’ll never do. They don’t actually have a reason for finding it unacceptable, yet they lack the skills to just say, “meh, I don’t like that.”

So rather than just not comment on something they dislike, or comment that it’s not their thing, they proclaim!! that they will NEVER….

Case in point:

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Oh my god I will NEVER drive a minivan!!

That was pretty much the mantra of my generation. Lord help you if you did anything as horrifying as get behind the wheel of one of these. For god’s sake, why not just un-pop your collar or wear *gasp* bootcut jeans.

Well, sooner or later, you realize, as horrifying as it is, you are that age — you gotta have the minivan. And even if you never ACTUALLY drive one, you’re more like, meh. I’m sure there are things far worse, far more embarrassing. OTHER things that I would NEVER do.

Well, ladies, you’re doing it.

And it’s this:

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OH MY GOD Y’ALL!

It’s *WINE* time!!!

There’s this whole Pinterest “movement” I’ll call it, and it’s all about the love of WINE! They have JOKES!

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Get it? Ha ha!! You know that you can BUY that? Someone will print that out for you and send it to you. But you have to pay for it. And that person is probably a genius, because she knows that people are so drunk on wine that they’ll buy ANYTHING.

 

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Hey! I’m hiding my drinking in a coffee cup! It’s funny, because it’s WINE!

 

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This one is TWICE as funny because I’m calling myself a TERRIBLE name that I’d never allow a man to call me, AND, I’m changing my personality with WINE!!

 

Here’s the thing, lady wine lovers. That ginormous glass of vino you lurve?

 

jules wine

This one. Oh and also. Cougartown? Terrible show, Monica. Really. Just awful.

 

The wine. The way you’re endlessly worshiping it?

It’s your minivan.

It’s the thing that the cool kids are looking at and thinking, oh my god, HOW DO I AVOID THAT?

I. Will. Never…

Not all of them. Sure, some of them are perfectly capable of appreciating a decent glass of wine. Just like some folks were perfectly capable of not giving a damn what they were driving, as long as it went.

But for the most part, dudes. You’re like, MAKING SOME SERIOUS LOVE to your wine. It’s pornographic. You’re all “ooooohhhhhhhh wine” because you don’t seem to know that it’s a drink. It can’t hear you. It’s old fruit, fruit that got so old, it went all stinky, and then someone was like “ah cool I’ll squeeze it into a bottle, some fool will drink it” and YOU ARE THE FOOL.

There was a time when you were like “how can I avoid being the weirdo that my mother is” and now you ARE. Maybe her vice wasn’t wine. Maybe it was Gloria Vanderbilt jeans or Dr. Scholl’s flip flops or Canfield’s Diet Chocolate Soda. But it was weird and changed her and you SWORE but LOOK. Look at you dude. LOOK.

And all the regular wine drinkers are like, ah man, suburban moms are KILLING MY WINE!

I mean, for the love.

Not only are you drinking what I can only assume are pound and pounds of old grapes in a single sitting, then you justify it by PLAYING WITH THE GARBAGE:

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It’s not just that these are do-it-yourself wine garbage crafts, but there are TEN of them.

Including stuff like this:

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Forever is today?

What?

That doesn’t even make SENSE. And how many CORKS is that? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, holy shit I cannot possibly keep counting because NOW I’M SAD.

And those 10 DIY Wine Garbage Projects are one of the SMALLER suggestions on these here internets for what to do with your used corks.

I mean:

wine-cork-projects-wine-cork-table-top-from-crafts-for-all-seasons

That’s FURNITURE.

Furniture made with WINE CORKS. And it is one of THIRTY suggestions on this particular drunken enabling crafting page.

Not to worry, though. You can make furniture out of your beer bottles too.

But it’s not really presented in quite the crafty quaint fun loving Pinteresty way. If you’re a beer drinker, the suggestions are more along the lines of:

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Yes. Because nothing says “I drink too much” like shards of glass in your bum as you sit on the dock by the bay. You make a cork buffet, and you are AMAZING. But you make one of these bad boys, and your parents and siblings are suddenly holding an intervention. Maybe if you stenciled “Forever is Today” across the side it would be classier.

Seriously.

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WHAT THE HELL IS THIS EVEN?

Wine is stupid. And it tastes bad. I want the wine movement to go AWAY and to take its Pinterest pages with it. And to stop giving women a bad name. We don’t all love you, wine! We don’t!!!

And for god’s sake, GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND.

Ladies. Just buy a minivan already. Because you’re already embarrassing your children.

Now if I can just get them to stop doing this:

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Oh, high boots and chunky scarf. The minivan of fashion.

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Good Lordy…

Ah, I remember it like it were yesterday.

The lady who lived across the street and a few houses down was turning 40. FORTY! I thought, how is she not dead? She was turning 40, and her husband got up early and erected a big old sign in the front lawn.

“Good Lordy, Whats-her-name is 40!”

(I can’t remember what her first name was, I am certain he used it though, and did not call her Whats-her-name.)

I heard my Mom and the biddies some of the other upstanding adult women from the neighborhood gossiping engaging in intelligent conversation based only on facts and not conjecture about the big four-oh for Whats-her-name, and it appeared that her gift back to him for his surprise was a nice packet of divorce papers.

Forty-year-olds, I thought, are weird.

Huh.

I really wondered if I would not handle 40 well. Would I curl up in the corner denying the age process? Would I do something stupid to prove I’m still young (I mean, I am — go ask a group of Baby Boomers if they think 40 is old) like jump out of a high place with only a hand-sewn piece of rayon to keep me from splattering to earth? Would I storm into Forever 21 demanding service?

As it turns out, though, I’m not even a little bit annoyed. I’m so unbothered to be 40, the only thing bothering me is why I’m not more bothered. I think, maybe, it’s helpful to be the youngest of five. When everyone goes through it first, including one of them hitting the big FIVE-oh before you even get to FOUR-oh…

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…well, then maybe you just aren’t as annoyed or scared or desperate to divorce your husband at 40 like old Mrs. Whats-her-name was.

I did wake up with a sore hip.

But rather than LAMENT the passing of time, I decided to take a look back at the last decade. Did I spend my time wisely in my 30’s? Was I properly mature and responsible while still being fun and full of awesome (I think we all know it’s a resounding YES to the awesome part, but that’s just a given). Did I properly leave my 30’s as a graduated member of the Generation X Dirty-30 Club, as well as an honored and respectable alumna of Volvo-Driving Soccer Mom University (those might actually be the same thing).

In pictures, I think, it looks like I had a good time.

Let’s take a look!

Age 30 ~ I couldn't find any digital photos, so at a minimum, I really AM showing my age. Here I am with a sweet two year old Hank.

Age 30 ~ I couldn’t find any digital photos, so at a minimum, I really AM showing my age. Here I am with a sweet two-year-old Hank.

Age 31 ~ Fulfilled Mom and Dad's dream by finding some fool to marry me and take me and my kid off their hands. They actually would have preferred if I left Hank behind, but as it turns out, he was Jim's dowry.

Age 31 ~ Fulfilled Mom and Dad’s dream by finding some fool to marry me and take me and my kid off their hands. They actually would have preferred if I left Hank behind, but as it turns out, he was Jim’s dowry.

Age 32 ~ I spent most of this year with a baby either in my uterus or attached to a bosom or hip. How cute is George? And how enormous are my jugs?

Age 32 ~ I spent most of this year with a baby either in my uterus or attached to a bosom or hip.

How cute is George?

How cute is George?

And how enormous are my jugs?

And how enormous are my jugs?

Age 33 ~ I looked sexy in yellow.

Age 33 ~ I looked sexy in yellow.

And I inappropriately sat on Jesus' lap.

And I inappropriately sat on Jesus’ lap.

Age 34 ~ I continued the family tradition of getting your father drunk.

Age 34 ~ I continued the family tradition of getting your father drunk, and looking uncomfortable at the fair, and making sure to suck in when you stand next to a pregnant woman for a photo so you look extra skinny!!.

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Age 35 ~ 8th Grade reunion? Yes please! It's weird that I'm the only one in the photo holding a beer, right?

Age 35 ~ 8th Grade reunion? Yes please! It’s weird that I’m the only one in the photo proudly holding my beer, right?

And of course, we took this sweet shot with Brendan. Big dumb loveable jerk.

And of course, we took this sweet shot with Brendan. Big dumb loveable jerk.

Age 36 ~ Kayla and I got dressed all sassy and took photos and went out boozing. It was just like the decade before, only we came home at a reasonable hour because it's only wise to get a good night's sleep.

Age 36 ~ Kayla and I got dressed all sassy and took photos and went out boozing. It was just like the decade before, only we came home at a reasonable hour because it’s only wise to get a good night’s sleep.

Age 37 ~ The ladies of the Chick Shack visit the big cracked bell. Like you don't want to party with us. After George graduated I made him get a job, then I relived my younger days by driving to Kansas City on a whim for a ball game with Kayla. Where we again got a decent night's sleep so we would be refreshed for driving home the next day...

Age 37 ~ The ladies of the Chick Shack visit the big cracked bell. Like you don’t want to party with us. After George graduated I made him get a job, then I relived my younger days by driving to Kansas City on a whim for a ball game with Kayla. Where we again got a decent night’s sleep so we would be refreshed for driving home the next day…

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Age 38 ~ If there is one year where pictures show my endless battle with my weight, it's age 38. First I ran and drank.

Age 38 ~ If there is one year where pictures show my endless battle with my weight, it’s age 38. First I ran and drank.

Then I took more photos with this fatty.

Then I took more photos with this fatty.

Then we ruled the field at unafflilliated minor league ball park.

Then we ruled the field at unaffiliated minor league ball park.

And I mud raced! (this left quite an ass bruise)

And I mud raced!
(this left quite an ass bruise)

And I turned into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but at least I finally got to see Ireland!

And I turned into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but at least I finally got to see Ireland!

Age 39 ~ Determined to get my body back in a shape other than round. First I ran another 13.1 miles without even being chased.

Age 39 ~ Determined to get my body back in a shape other than round. First I ran another 13.1 miles without even being chased.

The I held hands with the KGB.

Then I held hands with the KGB.

Models became my besties for a brief moment in time.

Models became my besties for a brief moment in time.

I died.

I died.

I conquered!

I conquered!

So as you can see, I think I took advantage of all the things there are for a woman in her 30’s to take advantage of. I reproduced. I suckered a man into marriage fell in love. I got fat. I got less fat. I went places. I met new people. I exercised. I saw historical artifacts! I made Kayla take photos with me TWICE while pregnant so I looked skinny. I had just a few drinks.

And I managed this:

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Granted, this might be more meaningful at 46 or 51, but I was excited, yo. Because Fatty Marney didn’t fit in that a year ago.

So how did 40 start?

Eating breakfast take-out while checking out my new John Denver Greatest Hits album while wearing my Mrs. Kenny readers.

Eating breakfast take-out while checking out my new John Denver Greatest Hits album while wearing my Mrs. Kenny readers.

How. Hot. Am. I?

Looking forward to the next 40! Who wants to party with me?

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This MAY be the best month ever!

I’ve been absent this month. And Lord knows it’s not because I have nothing to say. Ask my husband. The talk is non-stop out of my mouth, particularly when we are having an argument and he wishes I would just shut up already.

But my absence here at my ultra fabulous blog is not for lack of anything to tell to you — my adoring fans. It is because I am clearly having the BEST MONTH EVER.

Let’s start by getting the bad parts out of the way. I’m still a fat fat fatty. I’m not getting any younger. And I still have to wash my face with anti-acne soap then follow it up by slathering on the anti-aging cream. Why, Lord? For real? My face goes in a cycle of month-long splotchery, clears for a day, then starts again. And I am pretty sure you could step into my pores. I think if I have any words of wisdom to pass on to the younger generation, they would be USE SPF 15 MOISTURIZER. Every. Day.

But seriously, bad skin and a big butt aside, my month has been GREAT.

First — it got warm.

And when I say warm, I mean WARM. Like, it was hot one day. Which I LOVE.

Of course, it hasn’t stayed hot, but the presence of a handful of stifling days in May is always encouraging.

Then, it was Mother’s Day. And while I appreciate the World’s Coolest Mom t-shirt that Jim got me because it was the last thing available 12 hours before Mother’s Day at WalMart he truly appreciates me, it paled in comparison to THIS:

HOW COOL IS THAT?

You’ll recognize this phone from the T-Mobile commercials with the girl so freakishly skinny you kind of wish someone would just give her a sandwich already. It’s one of those phones that came with the movie “Inception” on it, which is so incredibly unnecessary I cannot hide my giddiness. I haven’t even watched it yet. I just think it’s cool that it is there. Jim and I have now become those people we despise — the ones who play on their phones instead of talking to each other and “check in” everywhere on Facebook as if my old high school buddies give a crap where I am eating dinner. I have an endless array of mobile uploads on the face page already, and a game called Lightsaber that literally is just a lightsaber with sounds. I finally know what Angry Birds are. It’s SOOOOOO cool to be part of the hip crowd.

Then, there was this cuteness:

Good Lord the cute might actually kill me.

But before this, we had “touch a truck” day at preschool, where the kids got to climb up into garbage trucks and Bobcats and fire engines. Of course, I was only interested in the police car, and making my child do this:

Then this:

Because that’s just good parenting.

Of course then it was birthday time for Hank.

The child won’t eat cake, so I got him an ice cream cake. And since gluttony is my very favorite of the seven deadly sins, he got an ice cream cone too:

Not only did we stuff ourselves with ice cream, I think this is officially my favorite photo of the two of them ever (well, for now at least). We also took him to a White Sox game. And while Peavy had a great game and they won, it is the Sox. No need to assault your eyes with the photos from that game.

But wait, there’s more. I told you — best month ever!

Then it was time for our anniversary. Six years. Which is a record for Jim, way to go Pookie Bear!

*sidenote — I really call him Pookie Bear. Call him that some time. He’ll answer.

So we went to a restaurant called Grill Marx. We figured it was our kind of place, what being lefty liberal Obama lovers, anything with the word “Marx” in it must be good, right? Well let me tell you — it was:

This was called “Sombrero Chicken,” because it had a tortilla chip shaped like a sombrero in the middle of it And holy crap was it good. I didn’t think the garlic mashed potatoes would necessarily go well with it, but they were outstanding. This plus a bucket of beer and an appetizer called “drunken nachos” made for a truly outstanding anniversary dinner.

And as long as baseball has begun, we took a trip to see the Joliet Jackhammers. Only, seems the guy who owned the Jackhammers didn’t do important things like pay the rent. He even bounced a check to The Chicken after a visit late last summer. So he did the most fiscally responsible thing possible.. walked away from his debt like it was that girl he did after a night of partying only turns out she’s ugly, so the next day he pretends he never knew her. The Jackhammers were sold, but in their place…

The Joliet Slammers.

Same thing. Just a different team. And you know what’s awesome? Non-affiliated minor-league baseball tickets for $5 a piece on firework night:

New matching Slammers hats!

 

Fireworks!

Of course, fireworks also meant a big flake of something flew directly into my eye. And when Jim stopped at the WalMart on the way home to get me some eye drops, the clerk told him, “Oh, man, those have gotten me out of a couple tickets!” Stay classy, stereotypical WalMart cashier!

Another piece of awesome for the month of May (up to this point, at least). The school project of all school projects. The volcano:

I never got to do a volcano, so I was super excited about Hank’s. We went for color. And apparently, dripping blood? I don’t really know what the child was doing here. Truth is, the end result looks a little bit rated-R for some reason. But we used up every piece of modeling clay, and it is awesome. I used a smaller Pepsi bottle to do a demonstration for the kids, and George almost tinkled himself he thought it was so awesome.

One last thing.

Cementing why May 2011 has been the best month ever, my husband came home with this:

And let me tell you something, am I ever on the edge of glory, indeed. Because Ms. Stephani here and Justin Timberlake on SNL made my day. Some of this album actually creeps me out. But I still love it. LOVE IT. Plus, I know what to get my Dad for Father’s Day.

I suppose some of these things seem incredibly lame to you. But I’ll tell you, combined, they made the best month. EVER.

I can’t help how I feel about it, though. I’m on the right track baby. I was born this way.

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A dream come true

At last. At last at last at last!

It took me several weeks to actually get out there and purchase the light bulb, but I finally made my very first, truly awesome Easy Bake Oven masterpiece. Jim bought me an Easy Bake Oven for my birthday this year. Age 37, and I finally got that one item I whined and cried about not having for most of my youth.

I opened packets. I mixed with water. I used the push tool to carefully insert (hee hee) the cake and pull it out (hee hee) of the oven. I iced.

Follow my journey:

Pre-heating with a single lightbulb. Look at it glow!

Fresh out of the oven!

Here's what it looked like frosted.

Here's what it looked like when I dropped it on the floor.

Here's what it looked like when I picked it up, put it on a plate and fed it to my child.

And the verdict is…..

Delicious!!

Yay me!!!

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