dailydiatribes

Monday is dance night.  I have to wrestle Anna into her dance clothes and drive over to Cahaba Heights, which is very near the snooty hamlet of Mountain Brook, but the roads make more sense.  Anna's friend Mary Margaret is in her dance class, so while the girls are in class, Margie and I usually go and have coffee.  The Summit, a very upscale shopping mall, is just up the street and they have a freestanding Joe Muggs.

Margie is always very well turned out, since she has a real job and has to change out of her pajamas before noon.  I usually show up in my hausfrau uniform because I am unwilling to do the whole hair and makeup thing just to hang out for an hour.  Last night was no exception, and I showed up in paint-stained, navy blue sweatpants, my favorite forest green t-shirt emblazoned with the legend "It may be my attitude but it's your problem", and sky blue, knock-off crocs.   The color combo alone should send you screaming, but I felt I looked good enough to chauffeur children and then hang out at a coffee shop. 

Well I did until Margie told me she needed to go to Coldwater Creek instead of Joe Muggs.  Even with my boundless self confidence, I was a little uneasy about hitting an upscale clothing store.  But in the end, I figured "why not" and went along for the ride.  After all, I was wearing my nice leather jacket on top of the God awful ensemble, so I looked like a fairly prosperous homeless person.

We walked in the door and Margie gave a little gasp of delight and immediately began pulling clothes off the racks.  I hunched into my jacket, feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only my hair is worse and Tim does not look anything like Richard Gere, no matter how much I've had to drink.  As we moved to the back of the store, I saw a couple of nice leather armchairs and a couple of copies of USA Today.  Perfect!!  So I sat down and whiled away the hour, while Margie tried on clothes. 

When it came time to pay, I walked up to the register with her and I noticed a basket of rocks emblazoned with inspirational messages like "Faith" and "Believe".  Well, I have "Faith" that Coldwater Creek is ripping people off by selling rocks and I can't "Believe" people are stupid enough to buy them.  I picked one up and it had a nice heft, perfect for beaning a would be mugger in the head.  I turned it over and to my disbelief, it was stamped "made in China". 

Now the state of the American economy is pretty darn bad when we have to outsource our rocks to China.  Coldwater Creek is sending a message that American rocks are too expensive and our highly trained work force would demand not only a high wage for picking up these rocks, they would also want health and dental, paid days off, and worker's comp in case they injure themselves while picking up the rocks.  So instead of hiring American workers and using American rocks, we have sent the whole thing to China where, when it's not rice season (and when exactly is rice season anyway???  I'm sure Don knows!) the Chinese peasants pick up rocks instead.  It's a win-win situation for them.  They are guaranteed an income year round; picking rice or rocks, it's all the same.  Plus they get to snigger about the stupid Americans who buy rocks whey everyone knows there are tons out of doors, yours for the taking, absolutely free.

"How much are these rocks?" I asked the cashier.  Margie rolled her eyes at me, knowing where I was going with my question.

"They're $4.00 apiece," came the reply.

Then I asked the nice cashier "So, how many rocks have you sold out of that basket?"

She said "Since I've been here?"

"Yeah, what do you figure your average rock transaction is per week?"

At first, she tried to put a good spin on it, quoting, I am sure, from the Coldwater Creek Training Manual:  "Oh, I probably sell 2 to 3 a week.  You'd be surprised, they make really nice...teacher...." she trailed off, then looked around, leaned forward and said conspiratorially "I've always thought I could go outside, pick up some rocks and get my kids to paint them and they would look better." 

Ah, the truth comes out; even the employees realize the utter stupidity of selling rocks.  Rocks made in China at that.  These are Communist Rocks people!!!  Yes, they are not even a product of a democratic country, they have comrades picking these things up and YOU ARE BUYING THEM!!!  That's what's wrong with this country; it's not George Bush at all, it's COMMUNIST ROCKS WITH INSPIRATIONAL MESSAGES!!  Probably, there is some sort of subliminal message cunningly hidden in the lettering:  "BELIVE" that the party is the true way of the people; FAITH that the revolution will make us free; HOPE that america will fail and China will rule the universe.

So the next time you feel an urge to buy a rock, remember you are undermining democracy and subjecting people to the bonds of communism, comrade.

This morning did not go as expected.  It being Monday morning, I fully expected the blonde goddess to cling to her bed, (well, mine since she appeared in it sometime during the night) and start the "I'm not going to school" mantra.  Instead, she bounced out of bed, chipper and cheerful, got dressed, ate her breakfast, LET ME BRUSH HER HAIR, and skipped down to the bus stop.  If I live to be 137, I will never understand that child.

Abby was her usual delightful self, snarling viciously and snapping at anyone who came too near.  Only the turquoise undershirt would do this morning, and I had to throw it in the dryer for princess.  At 7:03 a.m., while waiting for the undershirt, she discovered she had somehow forgotten to do her homework over the weekend.  A frantic scribbling ensued as she raced the clock in an effort to get it done before the bus came or I beat her.  The shirt was not dry enough for her and she was growling as she left the house.  Buh bye Sunshine!!

But Josh was the one who left me scratching my head, because he was such a maniac this morning and usually, he is the easy one.  At 6:47, he hollered down the stairs that he had no clean jeans, so he would be wearing shorts today.  I believe the expected high today is 40, so I nixed that idea immediately.  I also reviewed with him the procedure of bringing dirty clothes down to be washed instead of stashing them behind his laundry basket in the bathroom. 

He skulked down the stairs five minutes later in yesterday's dirty pants, with wet hair and a sneer on his face.  He has adopted a sneer lately, sort of a James Dean look, and it drives me crazy.  I am assuming the hormones are hitting and at any moment, like the incredible Hulk, he will shoot up, bursting out of his clothing and start lusting after girls(we hope!).  But for now, he sneers.

So he sat at the table, sneering at me and I asked him to find his coat because it is so cold today.  He looked at me like I was insane and said "Mom, puh-leeze....I don't need a coat."

"Fine," I told him, "why don't you go take the garbage out, He-Man, and let's see how you feel afterward."  He looked a little worried, but he went and got the garbage and headed outside.  Five minutes later, he came swaggering back in and said "I can't believe you think it's cold outside!"  I cannot adequately convey the-all knowing, you- are-so-stupid tone of voice he was using.

He sat back down at the table and was staring off into space and I remembered I wanted to take a picture of him.  He got his braces last Monday and I meant to take a picture then, but I got busy and it slipped past me.  So I got the camera and requested he smile for me.

You don't need to have much imagination to guess how well he responded.  He refused to open his mouth, or he would open it, and then just as the camera clicked, he would close it again.  I finally threatened to beat him and I caught him with his mouth open in shock.  Then he got mad and huffed around the kitchen, so I sent him into the living room to play piano.  He gets ready so quickly in the morning and then he hangs around and irritates me.  I'm not sure which is better; Anna resisting right up until the last second, or Josh with too much time on his hands.

I still had the camera in my hand, so I went and took a picture of Abby sitting on the floor, scribbling frantically as she tried to finish her homework.  Then I thought I would catch Josh at the piano.  I snapped the picture and he rose in a fury, chest heaving, eyes flashing.

"Why do you keep taking pictures of me??" he screamed.  He slammed the piano shut and stomped out of the room screaming "I hate it when you take pictures of me.  Why can't you quit?"  What, is he afraid I'm going to capture his soul???  Afraid that I will post them on the internet with a caption like "SEE THE AMAZING BRACE FACED BOY PLAY PIANO!!!" 

I charged after him and read him the riot act for slamming and stomping, then, when he left the room, I snickered.  Because he is so funny.  If I am the worst thing in his life, he's got it pretty good, don't you think?  I'm not going to worry about him making the talk show rounds and telling Montel "And then, when I was 13, my mom kept taking pictures of me and it was so embarrassing and I can never forgive her!!!" 

Well, the last picture was the last straw, and he grabbed his backpack and huffed out the door and down the hill to the bus stop to enjoy the balmy, spring like weather.  He was wearing a coat though, which I consider to be proof I am not quite the idiot he likes to think I am!

I really like watching my birds at the feeder.  With this little cold spell, the traffic has increased dramatically and there are tons of birds.  I was standing there yesterday and I got to see a bird fly at the window, realize he was heading for disaster and pull himself out of it at the last possible second.  I could see little dialogue bubbles over his head screaming "danger, danger...abort!!"  Between the computer and the bird feeder, I waste a lot of time.   

The bird feeder is a lot like the steam tables at the Golden Corral.  The bird seed is plentiful, much like the fried okra and creamed corn.  But when I watch my little birdies, they flit to the feeder, grab a seed, maybe two, and then they fly away.  Even though the food is plentiful, the birds do not feel the need to sit there at the bird feeder and stuff themselves silly.  Honestly, have you ever seen a fat bird???  Have you ever seen a bird who couldn't fly because he ate too much seed, so instead of flying, he lounges around in the nest, watching Dr. Phil and eating bon bons?

I conjecture it's because birds stop eating when they're full.  They are programmed to eat until they are satisfied unlike humans who, when faced with a buffet full of food swimming in butter, will eat until they have to be rolled away on a gurney as they try to stuff one last pork chop in their mouth. 

People lose all sense of perspective when faced with an all you can eat smorgasbord.  Their brains go haywire and they start eating rapidly and compulsively, afraid someone else will get to the last piece of fried chicken before they do.  I don't generally overeat because I instinctively understand I am not personally liable for world hunger.  Children in Africa will continue to starve whether I gorge myself at the buffet line or not.  There's no reason for me to try and finish all the food because me getting fatter is not going to solve anything. 

Squirrels, unlike birds, will jump on the bird feeder, hang upside down and shove their little rodent noses right up into the opening and gorge themselves until they fall off or I slam my hand against the window and scare the hell out of them.  Consequently, all the squirrels in my yard are fat as cows and are probably really good eatin'!  Squirrels certainly exhibit the Golden Corral syndrome, as I have dubbed compulsive over eating.

I know if squirrels lived like we do, they would circle the parking lot for fifteen minutes, burning up valuable fossil fuels and destroying the ozone layer as they look for the spot closest to the front door of Wal-Mart.  Once in the front door, the squirrel would find one of those motorized carts in an effort to avoid expending any precious energy by walking.  If forced to use a regular cart, the squirrel would leave it right next to his car after he unloads his Wal-Mart bounty, because God forbid he should walk an extra 25 feet to put it away in the cart holder thingy. 

Birds on the other hand, are stoic creatures.  Their tiny little brains contain just enough information to keep them flying.  There is simply not enough room in there for extras like "let's see who can eat the most bird see and still perch!" 

So that is my theory regarding why birds will never be obese like squirrels and people.  They eat until they're full!  Now if you'll excuse me, I need a snack!

I have been in my pajamas all day.  As I write this, it is 5:30 pm and I am still not dressed.  I have not brushed my teeth or my hair.  I have not changed my socks or my underwear.  The dogs are now avoiding me, their muzzles wrinkling when they walk past me.  I don't care because I have been comfy all day!!  I didn't have to go anywhere or do anything or see anybody, so why get dressed? 

I have whiled away the day in my bedroom, but not in bed.  No, today was the day I confronted the scope of the disaster that is the master suite.  No hurricane in recorded history could have left more debris in its wake than Tim and I.  I never nag at my kids to clean their rooms, because I would be a.........I cannot think of the word!!  What is the word???  Is this the early onset of Alzheimer's?  I need an intervention!!!!!  It would be wrong for me to tell them to clean their rooms since I don't keep mine clean, so what's that word that means it would be wrong???  Wait, let me make a phone call....THANK YOU LAYTON BAUER....I WOULD BE A HYPOCRITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I decided it was time to deal with the dust sculptures and the mounds of bank statements in the corner and the piles of clothes that never seem to get put away.  My bedroom is always the last room in the house to get cleaned.  Whenever someone comes over, I lock the dogs in there so I have a legitimate excuse to close the door.  Even though my dogs are harmless, together they sound like a trio of slavering pit bulls, ready to tear out an innocent throat at a moment's notice!  So they are a good deterrent to the thrill seekers looking to investigate the contents of my medicine cabinet. 

I started my cleaning binge by going through the cheap, yet classy, plastic rubbermaid three drawer unit where I keep lots of important papers, like the owner's manual for the washing machine we got rid of ten years ago and tax returns from the 1980's.  Mostly, I needed to clear the dust off the top.  My house seems to be significantly dustier than everyone else's house and I don't know why.  The dust fairies seem to give our house extra attention, making sure to sprinkle it good and thick.  So I started to clean, grimly determined to clear a path by evening, so I can make it back and forth to the bathroom at night without risking life and limb.

Cleaning like that is cathartic, and pretty soon I was throwing things into a garbage bag with reckless abandon.  Goodbye newsletter from Abby's third grade teacher; I need you no more!  Farewell bank statements from 1996 and goodbye receipts from Christmas gifts purchased two years ago.  I felt like Marley, casting off the chains binding me to this earthly life. 

But pretty soon I had a pile of those things that you can't throw away but cannot be easily categorized either.  In my house, this is usually Legos, cords (extension and otherwise), screwdrivers, and various plastic pieces I am sure belong to something, although I am not quite sure what.  I hate it when you find a piece of rectangular plastic and you know it's important but you can't remember why and after you finally throw it away, you realize it was the key component to some expensive electronic thingy that no longer works because you threw away the most important piece.  So you hoard it forever, positive if you hang on to it long enough, you can stage a loving reunion between electronic thingy and its long lost important piece.  

So I made a pile out of that stuff and I started bulldozing it toward my bedroom door, operating under the premise that as I continued to move it through the room, more and more stuff would get put away.  Not necessarily sound science, but you also have to move all the crap out of the way so you can vacuum.  I vacuumed under the bed and behind my bedside table and even behind my fabulous file cabinet.  I was on fire!

As the day wore on, my garbage bag got fuller and the dust swirling around in the room lessened somewhat.  I even put my clothes in the drawers!  I have a tendency to pile the clothing on the floor next to my dresser because I hate trying to cram clothes in drawers.  Besides, if they're all right there in a pile it's easier to get dressed in the morning.  I am telling you, I would have no problem living in a frat house; I like the way those guys operate!  

I also decided to tackle the three laundry baskets of the apocalypse that are always lurking around in my bedroom, filled with clothing to be folded.  WE NEED A BIGGER LAUNDRY ROOM!!  I turned on the TV so I would have something to do while I was folding and I caught "Titanic" at the very beginning!!  

I realize this is going to cause me to lose some serious face, but I LOVE that movie!  I love a good, sappy love story, even if Leo does turn into a human popsicle at the end.  There are a couple of scenes I could do without, though.  I hate the spitting scene.  It's so disgusting listening to Jack instruct Rose on the proper techniques for hocking (hawking, harking????) a loogie.  I hate mucous, as you all know, and that little scene does not further the story line in my opinion.  "Oh Jack, you're so romantic...spit some snot again darling!!"

And then there's the sex scene in the ship's hold.  You know, they're in the car, doing the dirty, but all you see is the steamed up window and the handprint.  Well, I want to know who in the world sweats that much???  I'm sure the sex was good and all, but honestly, I doubt they worked that hard at it!  Leo's character is pretty young, so I have a hard time belieiving he was up for a prolonged session, if you know what I mean!  But when they show them after the fact, they are both drenched with sweat and heaving like they've just run the Boston Marathon.  I find that scene to be a bit excessive, but then again, maybe Jack and Rose both had undiagnosed glandular disorders and it was relevant to the story line. 

At this writing, the Titanic has sunk, Rose has tossed the necklace (daffy old broad!)my kids are in bed and my bedroom is almost clean.  All in all, it was a nice Sunday.  Now I guess I have to go put on some clean pajamas so I can go to bed!       

I love community cookbooks because by and large, the recipes in them are submitted by people who cook for a family every day.  So the ingredients are usually simple and easily obtained at the Winn Dixie.  Over the years, I have accumulated quite a collection of cookbooks and one of my favorite things to do is page through them.

It becomes readily apparent that there are only five recipes in the world, but each person who cooks one of them alters one ingredient slightly and then claims ownership.  Chicken and rice, for example, has more personalities than Sybill.  The basic ingredients, chicken and rice, are the same.  But from there, the variations are endless.  Do you use cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, cream of mushroom and chicken, cream of celery, golden mushroom, cream of broccoli or cream of tartar?  Do you use one can or two?  Water chestnuts or celery?  Milk or water?  Paprika on top or cornflakes?  I'm telling you, google it and you will be amazed at how many different variations there are.

So I opened up the Ladies of Harley cookbook today, looking for a recipe for Santa Fe soup.  I have not made Santa Fe soup since Anna was 11 months old and had a huge bowl for dinner one night.  Then a terrible stomach virus struck our family and it's amazing how the soup came back out in her diaper, virtually unchanged by its brief trip through her intestines.  This is really no surprise since the primary ingredients are beans and corn.  I could have put it in a bowl, garnished it with some cheese, and no one would have been any the wiser.  But it's a good soup, and easy to make and so we will try it again tonight, five years later, and hope for the best.

In the cookbook I opened, it's called Milwaukee Soup with a Roar, but it has the same ingredients.  I started paging through the book to see what else sounded good.  How about SpaghettiO Surprise?  Yep, someone submitted this gourmet delight, sure to please the three year old in all of us.  Here's the recipe:  1 Big can of spaghettiO's and 1 pack Ritz crackers.  Open can, microwave and crush Ritz crackers and sprinkle on top.  Enjoy!  Wait, I had to buy a cookbook for this??  I think Anna could have created this recipe on her own! 

How about Twin Cam Tuna?  Mix tuna, mushroom soup, milk and potato chips and bake together until done.  Mmmmmmm....I'll have second helpings please, with some extra pork jowl on the side!  I know that's an old and respectable recipe, but puh-leeze....tuna and milk and mushroom soup???  Throw in some green peas to up the vomit factor!!  I would rather eat Spam!

Next, we will move to the Heritage Recipes From the Heartland which I picked up in Wisconsin several years ago.  How about this tasty treat from Evelyn Schnell....Liver sausage??!!  Take one hogs head, tongue, heart and liver.  She wants to make SURE you don't forget the liver, hence the italics.  Now the fun part:  have the head cut up and cook it in a large container with tongue and heart.  May also add a kidney if you wish....hey I'm all in...everything tastes better with a kidney!  Cook the liver in another pot, then chop it all, mix it up and bake at 350.  Bleccchhhh!!!!!!!!  I am definitely a city girl, and I prefer to pretend my pork chops never had a head or a liver or any other organ and certainly not a kidney.  This recipe definitely makes me think twice about eating sausage or anything else made in Wisconsin.

Midwesterners are big on tortes and this cookbook has a recipe for Twinkie Torte, submitted by Carol Meiselwitz.  You slice the twinkies in half and line the bottom of a dish with twinkies, cream side up...duh, cream side ALWAYS goes up!  Then sprinkle with heath bars, top with pudding and whipped cream and then repeat layers.  Cover and refrigerate.  The twinkie was enough for me; I don't need the pudding, candy and whipped cream. I am reminded of Gina's comment, when she came to visit me up in the Heartland: "I've never felt so skinny in my life."  There is a similar recipe with Ho Ho's and chocolate pudding.  I'll have to make them both and see which one causes the diabetic coma first.

How about minted beet pickles, which I am going to serve at my next party?  Two tastes I never want to experience together would be beets and mint.  The ingredients are enough to send me screaming for a nice, bland, chicken and rice recipe:  1 can beets; 1/4 c vinegar; 1/2 c brown sugar; mint extract; salt; and horseradish.  You had me at the beets....

Here's one I just don't get.  It's called "Mehl Beutle (Rolly Polly)".  You take eggs, sugar, salt, milk, baking powder, flour and lard.  Apparently you mix it together, pour it on a wet towel and tie it into a bag.  Then steam it for a couple of hours.  Then you cut it into wedges and serve it.  But it doesn't answer the basic burning question of WHAT IS IT????  Animal, mineral, or vegetable? 

French Fry Casserole sounds like a tasty treat.  You put french fries on the bottom of a casserole dish, then top them with ground beef, cream corn, cream of chicken soup and cream of mushroom soup.  I don't like cream corn because I think it looks exactly like vomit.  Add a couple of cream soups to it, and you have vomit deluxe.  And wouldn't the french fries be a soggy, nasty mess on the bottom of the casserole?  I like my hamburger and fries separately, not mashed together with cream of mushroom soup!  But that's just me.

I would be remiss if I didn't touch on one final recipe in the Heartland cookbook:  Camel Droppings.  This is a cookie made with 1 cup of pureed squash and whole dates.  Yummy!  Why would anyone want to eat a cookie made with squash and dates?  When I eat cookies, I am shooting for as much sugar and as many trans fatty acids as I can; I don't want health food masquerading as junk food!!  

So next time you make the Veg-All casserole, just remember cooks everywhere claim that one as their own.  You'll have to change it up a little more than just using Keebler crackers for the crumb topping instead of Ritz to really make it yours.  Why not add some liver sausage and a couple of french fries?  Cooks everywhere will worship you! 

Note to male readers:  this will make you cringe.

One of my friends, Andrea L., sent me an email this morning because she felt it was her duty to report to me that an iguana with an erection is facing a penis amputation.  Here is the link:  http://www.24.com/news/?p=tsa&i=399560.  I find it interesting that after telling me about Mozart and his monster boner, she went on to relate her son was on his first date.  Hmmmm, hope there's no connection there....

It has been an interesting week in the reptile world.  First there was the komodo dragon who reproduced asexually and has been hailed as the savior of the lizard world.  Now we have an iguana who has had an erection for over a week and the zookeepers are planning on chopping it off to put an end to it!  Talk about adding insult to injury!!

Most men, upon hearing the news of a week long erection, are high fiving each other and going "dude....way to go!!"   The article does not mention whether the iguana eats a special diet or whether he did anything in particular to achieve the permanent erection.  It simply states the boner must go.  Apparently, however, a week-long boner is not desirable in reptiles. However, the article does go on to reassure readers that iguanas have, not one, but two penis's, so Mozart has a back up boner with which to please the ladies!!  Well, thank goodness!

So it's good to be an iguana.  You can get a stiffy without the aid of Viagra and it lasts for days on end.  Then, if you start having problems with that one, you can just flip a switch, and presto, you have a backup engine!!  But woe betide if you should fail to ejaculate in a timely manner because the zookeepers have no patience with a woody that lingers too long, leading to the expression "no drain, much pain".  The zookeepers reassure the public that it won't interfere with Mozart's sex life at all to only have one penis.  I wonder what Mozart has to say on the subject. 

So the moral of the story is a boner a day keeps the doctor away, but a boner that won't go away means the doctor is going to CUT IT OFF!!!  So guys, be careful what you wish for!! 

Today I was on the phone with Kiki, commiserating on a number of different subjects, but mostly about girl scout cookies and how we loathe cookie selling.  As we talked, I noticed a "rumbly in my tumbly" as Pooh would say and our conversation turned to food, or more specifically, donuts.  I'm not sure how we segued from girl scout cookies to donuts; I guess it was sort of a natural progression from one sugar laden, trans fatty acid, artery clogging, heart attack causing treat to another.

The more we talked, the hungrier I got, and finally I told her "I am going to get some Krispy Kremes and come over right now."  This was not a statement made lightly.  The Krispy Kreme store is over on Hwy 31 and Kiki lives off of Hwy 280 and I am situated almost equally between the two.  So you see the depth of my craving and what lengths I was willing to go to for relief.  By now, the siren song of warm glazed donuts was too much to resist, so I ran downstairs, flung myself into the car and I was off like a shot, in search of the holy grail of donuts.

Not everyone is susceptible to donuts, and I don't understand why not.  How can anyone resist the warm, melting, sugary goodness of an original Krispy Kreme?  Here is the ingredient info; try not to drool on the screen:

INGREDIENT INFORMATION
The only animal byproducts used in our doughnut are eggs (whites and yolks) and dairy products (including milk, butter, yogurt, whey, nonfat milk and nonfat whey). Our doughnuts are cooked in 100% vegetable oil shortening (partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil). All monoglycerides, diglycerides and enzymes are vegetable based. The lecithin we use is soy based. We also use wheat in our doughnuts, including bran, germ, gluten, starch and flour. Our products may contain allergens. To get further information about our products call us at 1800 4KRISPY.

ARE KRISPY KREME DOUGHNUTS KOSHER?

All of our doughnuts are ingredient Kosher. Our mix plants in Winston-Salem, North Carolina and Effingham Illinois, where the mix is made have been certified Kosher. In addition, some of our stores, but not all, have been certified Kosher. To get a complete listing of our stores that have been Kosher certified please call us at 1800 4KRISPY.

And they're kosher....what more do you want??  Notice they contain bran, germ, and lecithin, so they are a good source of fiber and vitamin B.  Really, eating Krispy Kreme donuts is like eating health food.  I'm surprised GNC doesn't sell them.  This is a high quality food!

After a few minutes of deliberation, I chose the chocolate iced custard filled, chocolate iced cream filled, chocolate iced and the cinnamon buns.  I figured there was a wide enough range I would make someone happy!!  And according to Kiki's husband, cinnamon has potent health properties, rendering the donuts even more healthful. Then, to add to my joy, I bought a double chocolate frozen Krispy kreme drink.  If you have never had one, you are missing out!! 

According to Ken Hoffman, the drive through gourmet, who is my most favorite columnist (you see how shallow I am???), it took the brainiacs at KK over two years to perfect the liquid donut.  It was two years well spent in my humble opinion, because a frozen double chocolate tastes exactly like a liquid, frozen chocolate Krispy Kreme.  An orgasm in a cup!!

I sped back across town with my haul, sipping my frozen drink and generally feeling in synch with God and man.  But by the time I got to Kiki's, I was feeling a bit sick from too much sugar.  This, before I even touched a donut!  Still, I managed to pull out a warm, soft, sugary glazed original from it's nest of glaze and prepared myself to eat it.

First, I closed one nostril and huffed the scent.  You can actually get high from sniffing a Krispy Kreme donut.  The sugar races up right into your brain and kicks it up a notch!  After huffing the sugary goodness, I took the first bite and closed my eyes as the warm donut melted in my mouth.  I let the donut trickle down my throat and I savored every sugary particle.  

After the donut was gone, I opened my eyes.  Kiki was in the throes of her own donut induced ecstasy and wasn't paying attention, so I snitched another one.  The second one was a chocolate, cream filled donut and it was better than the first.  Kiki opened her eyes and looked at it and said "is that whipped cream in there?"  

I looked at her, offended.  "Hell no, this is filled with 100% lard, sweetened with sugar!"  Whipped cream, my butt!!  She agonized for a moment, and then, purist that she is, went for the classic chocolate glazed.  

By now, I was feeling quite ill and regretting my donut indiscretion.  Why is always that way?  It seems like such a good idea when you start out to eat two dozen donuts, but you quickly come to realize God did not give us four chambered stomachs, so we cannot eat like cows, even though it is our heart's desire.  I picked up a cinnamon bun, took two bites, then put it down and admitted defeat.  I was licked.  I couldn't even finish my frozen donut drink.

So ends the tale of my day with donuts.  There really isn't a moral, or even a point, other than Krispy Kreme donuts are Damn Good!!  And I bet half of you are ready to rush out right now and buy a dozen for yourself!      

I just spent the morning at Josh and Abby's school at the awards assembly.  I was so excited and proud for both of my kids because I knew they were both getting honor roll awards.  Josh went on to win two subject awards and Abby won one.  When I realized his total was higher, my heart fell.  Let the jihad begin!!  Those two are so competitive they worry about who got to use more toilet paper! I did point out to her that she got "A" honor roll and he only got "A-B", so maybe that will keep things civil.

I am very proud of Abby and we actually embraced, which was amazing considering I beat the hell out of her yesterday.  I use the term "beat the hell" loosely, because I am not convinced I was actually able to get the hell out of her.  I am considering sending her to one of those boot camps where they have to get up at 5:00 a.m. and make their own beds and grind their own wheat and learn how to appreciate their mothers.  Abby is a wonderful child, really she is, as long as she is getting her way.  According to her, we should all be grateful she has lowered her standards and is living with us.

Yesterday she was fine all afternoon, because she was playing outside with Anna and her little friends.  But as soon as she came in, the attitude began.  I was cooking pork chops for dinner.  Both she and Josh, being the brain surgeons they are, thought I was making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.  I can see how someone could get the odors of pork and grilled cheese confused because they are so remarkably similar in molecular make up. 

When she found out the delicious odor was not grilled cheese, but was in fact pork chops, she went a little nutty.  "That is so gross," she trilled.  "Why do you always have to cook gross things that are unedible."  This is a direct quote; I committed it to memory.

I looked at her Junishly and asked a stupid question.  "Well, what do you think I should cook Abby?"

"Grilled cheese!!!" was the reply, "or anything that doesn't have stupid meat in it."  Abby desires to be a vegetarian, but I will not allow it because for her, it just means eating a bunch of carbohydrates and nothing else.  She won't drink milk, she hates mac and cheese, and when she recently discovered yogurt is made up of live cultures, she nixed that too.  Now I am not denying the appeal of the all carb diet; I personally would love to try and live my whole life eating nothing but bread and pasta, but it doesn't work if you are not committed to finding alternative proteins, which Abby is not.

Well, the conversation went downhill from there, and finally I sent her to her room to do her homework so I could finish cooking the gross meat in peace.  Well, she came back downstairs and said something ugly to me and then something to Anna and I finally snapped and hollered "get back up to your room right now and don't come back down until I call you."

Have I ever mentioned Abby has no sense of self preservation whatsoever?  She looked at me and sneered at me in a most unspeakable fashion and waved her hands in a very insulting way.  Well, my eyes rolled back in my head and I started toward her, rage clouding my very being.  I think she realized she had gone a bit too far, because she started the backward skip toward the stairs, hoping to get away.  You see, I had morphed into Psycho Mom right before her eyes and she realized she was in grave danger.

I stalked up the stairs behind her, breathing heavily, fists clenched and shouting "come out and take your medicine..." well, ok, not really, but it sounds good.  I did, however, yell "don't you DARE run away from me, it will only be worse if you do."  I hate it when they run and you have to chase them, because the more you chase them, the more homicidal you become.  

You know how all the new parenting books say don't spank your children in anger?  Well, I thrive on spanking mine when I'm mad.  It's very therapeutic for me.  Why would I want to hit them when I'm not mad at them?  Isn't that actually abuse when you hit them for fun?  

Well, I got her on the bed and whacked her on the butt a few times and then she LAUGHED AT ME!!!.  I actually can't spank very hard because I have carpal tunnel syndrome.  There's a good reason to go and GET IT FIXED!!!  So then I popped her across the top of the head and that got her attention.  I told her to stay in her room, she was grounded from TV forever and a few other threats I don't even remember, like maybe deportation and something else.

Now here's the weird, sick part; after I whacked her, she came down for dinner fifteen minutes later, cleared her plate, and was a delight for the rest of the evening.  She chattered all the way to basketball practice, she didn't complain about being there, and when we got home, she went straight to bed with no arguing.  It's like she wants to see how far she can push me and as soon as she pushes me over the edge, she's happy again.  So in the end, even though I get to hit her, she wins because she made me hit her!  

By now, I am sure many of you are reaching for the phone book, ready to dial DHR and turn me in for child abuse.  But I think if more children these days were given a good pop upside the head once in awhile, the world would be a better place!!

I am fond of saying what is on my mind, so here goes:  enough is enough people!!  How on earth have I gone from being a happy, suburban soccer mom of three, to being your hobby??  I have ceased to be an individual and I am slowly, inexorably, being consumed by my blog, fed it to it bit by bit by my readers.  Are you willing to continue sacrificing me to the blog until I exist no more and can think only in paragraph form, with lots of exclamation marks and ellipses???

If I go one day without writing something, someone yells at me, as if their life's happiness depends upon reading about my latest trip to Wal-Mart. Someone stop the madness!!  Pick up a Time magazine and see what the politicians are doing!  Pick up a People magazine and see how Angelina is tumbling from grace (and boy her stock is falling fast!).  There is a great big world out there and you have got to break free of my diatribes and see it for yourselves!

You must give me breathing room, so that I can actually have experiences to blog about.  Sometimes I do leave the computer for a few minutes, to use the bathroom and eat lunch and remove bird carcasses from underneath the window.  I am starting to feel pressured, like I have to report every burp, fart and toenail clipping to the world.  I feel like Truman!!  Why are you all looking at me??? Stop, please stop, or the voices will make me hurt you!!

I want each one of you to examine how you are spending your free time and see if you think it might be time to make a change.  Perhaps you could take up origami, or curling or learn how to french braid your nose hairs.  I am sure there are more worthwhile ways to pass an hour than to hang out on this blog, waiting for me to say something meaningful. 

Why are you all waiting for me to tell you about how I thought I was getting carjacked on Monday night while I was leaving Anna's dance studio?  I had dropped her off and Margie and I were heading to Starbucks to get some coffee and when I stopped at the traffic light someone came up and tapped on Margie's window.  We both freaked out and being the quick thinker I am, I rolled down the window to see what the lady wanted.  She was holding something in her hand (a machete?  a hacksaw?) and she said "I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but these were on your bumper." 

In her hand she clutched, not an instrument of torture, but Josh's brand new glasses we had just picked up that very morning!!  I thanked her gratefully and rolled up the window, glad to be alive and in possession of Josh's new glasses.  I promptly called him and the idiot actually denied it, saying "I'm wearing my glasses."  Stupid, stupid boy, they were the old ones, the ones so bent out of shape and scratched that they had been condemned by the American Association of Optometrists as being hazardous to his health.  Alas, Abby's glasses had also been on the bumper and they have not surfaced. 

It's bad enough I thought I was being carjacked, but why do you want to know??  Why do you care that I cleaned out Abby's closet today and found an entire family of pygmy marmosets living at the bottom, beneath the Barbie shoes?  Or, more seriously, that while I was hanging up her expensive Abercrombie shirts, I was led to wonder why the shirts these days have such abnormally long sleeves?  I guess all those hormones in the milk are causing children's arms to grow longer, because every single shirt I've seen has sleeves that hang an addtional three feet past the tips of their fingers.

The point is I must insist you all find a hobby and devote ten minutes a day to knitting cuff links for children in orphanages.  Or at least do a crossword puzzle occasionally so I can go to the bathroom and not feel guilty!!

Beep....

You have reached the voice mail of Jennifer's brain.  Due to the extraordinary success of her last post, Jennifer is now suffering from writer's block and is unable to post.  Please do not pester her with requests for new material until she has recovered from her mental constipation.  Please do not offer suggestions for new topics, because that only makes it worse.  Just wait patiently and continue checking in because the laxative will work sooner or later.  This should be a temporary condition and should resolve itself shortly.  If not, Jennifer will take herself to Wal-Mart or to the emergency room, as either place offers much mental fiber with which an impaction can be loosened.  Thank you for calling and have a nice day.