Working Woman's Guide to Dinner or If I Cook Chicken A La King One More Time I'll Kill Myself

Epic Fail!!!

2012-02-13T14:41:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Tuna is too busy with Itty Bitty Consulting and watching students sleep in the library. (This is an actual student who passed out next to me 10 minutes ago) Please don't hate me. I promises a new and exciting post this weekend!!!!!!! No recipe, just take yourselves out to a fancy dinner and toast your good fortune.

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

2012-01-28T19:47:00.000-08:00

That darn Gene Pool Diva tricked me when I wandered awayfrom my laptop and snuck an award under the doormat. That little sneak gave methe Versatile Blogger honor. I’m afraid to not pass it on, like those f*ckingchain letters. I apologize in advance to those of you who have successfully dodged the bullet until now. Welcome to the dark side of blogging.

You have to cough up seven interesting facts about yourselfto share with the masses. Since those ofyou who have been trolling this site know I share just about everything,including last week’s post where I confessed to using a maxipad to blot up coffee,who knows what ugly confessions might arise.

I was a vegetarian during high school and the first fewyears of marriage. It’s not because I’m anti beef eating, it’s a texturething. One little grisly beef makes megag. That’s why ground beef is okay because it’s pre-chewed.
I discovered at age 15 when I was on the horse show circuitthat if you drink beer through a straw it makes you drunk faster. Nothing worse than a bunch of teens and freerange alcohol.
My mom once woke me up while driving on Rout 287 because wewere skidding on black ice and just wanted to tell me goodbye in case she didn’tgain control of the car in time. Explaining why I now live in a climate where it never ever snows.
I grew two inches taller after I got married, raising me tothe attractive height of eleventy feet tall. This of course is because I waseight when I got married.
I will not ever use the phrase “New Boyfriend Syndrome”. I notice this is the term du jour at ASU thesemester. If I hear one more girl sayher BFF is neglecting her for a new boy toy I will absolutely scream. Man up soto speak and find your own damn amusement.
Vietnamese food will never pass my lips again . Severalyears ago, Sheldon and I got the worst case of food poisoning EVER. I was sopuny I lay on the bathroom floor praying for the Big Tuna to drive back 3 hours from the dunes just to bring me aglass of water. Bad cat or something I’m sure.
Final confession, this is a recipe blog. No, really, it is.Just read between the lines. In honor ofCharlie Sheen this week is a celebration of all things chicken.

Mexican Chicken Salad

2 cups diced cooked chicken

¼ cup sour cream

¼ cup mayo

½ cup onion finelychopped

¼ cup finely chopped carrots

2 tablespoons chopped cilantro

Juice of ½ lime

2 tablespoons capers

2 tablespoons pimentochopped

½ teaspoon cumin

½ teaspoon oregano

Lettuce leaves

2 avocados cut in wedges

2 hard boiled eggs quartered

Paprika

Toss all ingredients except lettuce, avocado, eggs andpaprika. Sever salad on lettuce, garnish with avocado and egg. Sprinkle withpaprika.

And here are my top 15 Team Tuna members. Oh, and don’t sulk if you weren’tpicked, maybe I picked you before and maybe I love you too much.

Mothers of Brothers

The Zadge at Blue Skies and Yellow Dogs

Meg at the Members Lounge

The Defiant Marshmallow

Val at Unbagging the Cats

Making Mommy Go Something Something

Martyr-hood

Amazing Australian Adventures

The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom

The Loaded Handgun

The Ginja Ninja

Mark at Our Simple Lives

Kernut the Blond

Frogs in My Formula

Counterintuitivity

I was tricked last year too; you can read all about my trueconfessions here if you want more random Tuna facts. Stop by and visit some of my favorite secretreading pleasures. Hopefully they are not composing their secret hate mailletters to me as we speak. Shhhhhh….I’mhiding.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Office

2012-01-13T16:23:00.000-08:00

I’m back in the grind with all those little candy assed kiddos at ASU. One week in and I’ve already had to drop one class that was supposed to be my “easy” class in Leadership. I mean I have mad guidance skill, I know how to use the carrot and stick approach, I am the Grand Poobah of Leadership. First quiz had questions like “A theory that identifies the essential behavior for a type of leader is best classified as prescriptive and universal, true or false?” Say what Willis? Isn’t a universal prescriptive like legal marijuana or something? Yeah, we’re just moving on to History of Popsicles instead.

Itty Bitty Consulting is limping along but in order to get clients I have to get out to those meet and greets to drum up new business. I’ve been a bit of slacker, whipping on mascara and calling it good. Now it involves eye shadow and lip gloss and hairspray. That translates into starting the day with Full Frontal Makeup. I’ve also been struggling with work shoes, for some reason they all seem too big. I’ve certainly not lost an ounce of weight in the last three months. Maybe the Big Tuna is a secret cross dresser, that would be a news flash after 30 years.

My new satellite office is housed in the front seat of my F150 truck. Join me in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Office won’t you? I feel like a freaking donkey lugging all my crap out. Dora Explorer backpack with textbooks, laptop, briefcase, flat shoes for driving, high heels for meeting, snacks, water, lunch bag etc., etc. etc. I’m compelled to make it all in one trip. I’m not sure why, I am woman hear me roar? I start my journey at the cheapest place for gasoline the little 4 pump Circle K at the end of the road. But WHY!!!! Pray tell, do you assholes pull up to the pump, text your all your buddies your plans for 10 minutes and THEN go inside to pay for gas. Maybe scrounging change from the floor dulls you to the extreme line of honking cars. F*ckers. Since we’re back to crazy schedules here’s an easy one for Team Tuna.

Easy Chicken Enchilada Skillet

1 Tablespoon oil

1 pound chicken breasts cut into bite size pieces

1 can chicken broth

¼ cup ranch dressing

1 tablespoon flour

3 flour tortillas cut into small pieces

1 cup Mexican style shredded cheese

½ cup salsa

Heat oil in large deep skillet on medium heat. Add chicken and cook for 7 minutes or until cooked through stirring occasionally,. Mix broth, dressing and flour until well blended, gradually add to skillet, stirring constantly. Add tortillas, stir to combine. Bring to boil. Reduce to heat medium low, simmer 3 minutes. Spike with cheese and cover. Simmer 3 to 5 minutes or until cheese is melted. Top with salsa

Not having a steady job has resulted in wolfing down granola bars and yogurt between these faux work gatherings. I have been known to be slurp down a Dannon with a plastic fork for Pete’s sake. I tell myself it’s to keep my girlish figure but frankly I’m too cheap to treat lunch for your business. But I will be happy to meet you at Starbucks and continue my little affair with the barista, Travis. I’m back to overdosing on my toast colored lover. And maybe I’m just a bit too jumpy with that extra jolt. Multitasking in my new office has a few drawbacks, including spilling my java lover all over my lap. As I reached into the glove box praying for a few napkins to blot my skirt all I could find was a maxipad. Let’s just say they really are absorbent and leave it at that shall we? Forget the Traveling Office I would have given my first born for a set of Traveling Underpants.

Mothers of Brothers

2012-01-05T13:52:00.000-08:00

Let’s face it Team Tuna, we all know I’m a sucker for free. So when my new cyber stalking follower MOV at Mothersofbrothers offered to send me a copy of her book of humorous essays I beat back my seething out of control jealousy, er I mean I replied of course my little darling, I would adore to read it. But she is a Virgo, the kind that embraces their self obsessions and unhealthy relationship with talking to inanimate objects in her house. Below are a few excerpts from our emails to emphasize our special quirky relationship.

Hi Tuna! (if this is indeed your real name, and your real email address, seems like a gmail account you just invented off the top of your head for the purpose of distracting would-be crazed fans/ stalkers)

Hey, if you didn't live so far away (I live in the DC area), I know you and I would be instant pals and go for starbucks or shopping and be horribly mistreated by snooty salesgirls who do not know why eyecream was invented and then we could gossip about aforementioned salesgirl and how one of us might just have to write a blog post about her and her attitude. But alas, we do not live down the street. But, lucky for me me, I discovered you and your delightful blog and I would LOVE to send you a freebie copy of my book because (dare I say) I think you are one of the few people who "gets" my wackadoodle sense of humor.

So, Phase 2 of the email stalk-a-rama is please give me an address (can be a PO Box if, you know, the restraining order against me has not kicked in yet) or work address or neighbor address or whatever where I can mail the book to you.

Oh, and your real name might be nice (said the woman who has kept her entire family's identity an ultra bloggy secret, as if I am the Kennedy Clan or Suri Cruise or some such).

Thanks, and Merry Christmas!
--

Best,

MOV

Dear MOV,

One of my sister’s name is MOV, not my favorite sister but one of them. She's okay I guess. She was a bit of a tattle tale though. Great, nowI’m having a flashback to my youth. Oh I have multiple emails to keep my secret blogging life separate from my personal email I get from my in laws and my work search email and oh right, the new business email. I just had a bottle of wine dropped off by FED EX for a review and it was actually addressed to me, aka Mrs. Tuna.

Be happy to read, always like humor stuff. I wish I could figure out how to get my dumb blog published as a book. It goes to prove you are way smarter than me.

Update

Hey! Just wanted to let you know your book came in. Since I read like a 7 year old it will let you know when I get done. Have a great new year.

Dawn

Dear Tuna,

Yay! (and what does that mean: "read like a 7 year old"? does that mean you have your head upside down draped off the couch while eating your leftover Christmas chocolate and watching re-runs of SpongeBob? because if that's the case, we might need to have a chat. And remember, the book arrived in a VIRGO SPECIAL ENVELOPE, i.e. a ziplock bag, to reduce those chocolatey fingerprints so you can sell the book to the Smithsonian later. Something to think about.)

Hope you like it!!!!! If you don't, let's never speak of it again. If you do, feel free to say a one-sentence thing on your blog about it (Potential idea: "MOV Is A Modern-Day Shakespeare" or "Most Talented New Author of the Universe: MOV", these are just examples).

best,

MOV

Dear MOV,

7 year olds read 5 pages, wander off, and leave the book where the dog will chew it up. Apparently not your 7 year old since he's working on your taxes or writing his thesis on magic tricks for dummies like us. Okay. I'm on like page 75 and I am seething with jealousy. I hate you. You are way funnier than me and now I feel completely at a loss about what to write for my new year's resolutions so in comparison my writing skills suck. I could talk about not eating my young maybe, clearing my Tivo list. Or.......maybe I could get you to be a guest blogger. Can you get cracking, just be sure and include a receipe? It’s due tomorrow, maybe the Tall one can crank it out.

Dawn

Mrs. Tuna

ohmygod, I totally want to be your guest blogger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is such an honor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! are you serious???????????????

ok, so for the guest post, do you want me to write as you or as me? and what is the topic? I can write it or Tall can write it, oops, he's working on his Master's thesis right now so he does not have time.

Let me know! I seriously would LOVE to guest blog!!!!!

Wheeee!!!! MOV

So without further ado, I give you MOV, and if you want genuine belly laughs buy her “Mom’s Had a Rough Day”.

Strike Fear/ 365

There are eight lackluster words that, when strung together, strike fear deep in the core of any normal American male. Those words are: “I’m going to Target, where’s your credit card?” I uttered those precise words yesterday morning while The Husband continued to pretend to be asleep. “You know I have to go right when they open,” I prodded, while nervously looking at my watch (7:30 AM), “I can’t deal with crowds.” He knew he wouldn’t win this one, so he merely grunted, “My wallet is on the dresser. Try to keep it under $100 this time …”

After more than a decade of marriage, I often suspected that he was mentally insane—this comment just confirmed it. Is it even possible to walk out of Target without spending $100? I was under the impression that they strategically placed their sales associates near the exit door to say, “You only spent $40 today? Did you not get all the way back to Aisle 23 to look at the After-Christmas Sale items?” As it turns out, I did happen to wander past Aisle 23, and was brutally assaulted by myriad bargains: laser-cut felt ornaments in red, purple, and turquoise; wooden gingerbread men decorations; glass snowmen with black fuzzy hats; faux candy cane ornaments; and thick lustrous bronze-colored ribbon—all for 70% off. These unnecessary items (and others!) just jumped into my ruby red cart when I wasn’t even looking.

I stood in line at the check-out area, glanced at my scribbled list, and suddenly realized I forgot the one staple I actually drove over here for: flour. I momentarily toyed with the idea of not making cookies this weekend after all, but I had been craving them for days while my unhelpful cupboard had been mocking me (“Still no flour, dummy!”). I had no choice: I got out of line and high-tailed it over to the baking supplies.

365 Cookies

· 1 stick butter (MUST be room temperature! Get this out of the fridge right when you get up and place it on the counter)

· ¼ cup granulated sugar

· ½ cup brown sugar (should be soft and fresh, not all hardened like Santa’s arteries)

· 1 egg

· 2 teaspoons vanilla paste (I said paste)

· 1 cup flour

· ¼ cup uncooked oatmeal (not instant)

· ¾ cup Rice Krispies cereal

· 8-ounce bag of chocolate chips (you might not use whole bag)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees (I highly recommend you invest in an oven thermometer because most people’s ovens are slightly off by 10 or more degrees which is make it or break it in the world of baking). Mix the first 5 ingredients in order (one-by-one) with a hand mixer until nice and fluffy. When you get to the flour, do the first half with the hand mixer and then switch to a good old-fashioned wooden spoon. All the rest of the ingredients need to be mixed with the spoon (no Kitchen Aid!). Trust me on this. Scoop out small glops of dough onto a good quality cookie sheet purchased from a high-end kitchen store. Bake for 8 or 9 minutes. Press on cookie with finger and the cookie should not be hard. I tend to undercook my cookies because I like them a little bit softer in the middle the next day as opposed to cement-like. Recipe makes about 24 diminutive cookies (not the super-sized cookies like they sell at the grocery store).

The best part about these cookies is that people cannot figure out what makes them crunchy (the Rice Krispies). They always assume there are nuts in the recipe. This is obviously a great recipe for people with nut allergies that like a delicious cookie with some texture to it. The name comes from my sons saying they could eat these cookies every day.

My sons take turns scooping the dough out while I marvel at all my new ornaments that I have laid out on the dining room table, like a Christmas bazaar, and I wonder to myself when exactly I can get back to Target for my next fix.

MOV

Resolutions of a 49 Year Old Muffin Top

2011-12-30T17:13:00.000-08:00

Itty Bitty Consulting has made a little bit of progress and landed a couple of teeny tiny projects this week. Fingers crossed Team Tuna that we will have a banging successful year. That will provide me an opportunity to get out of the cul de sac and new fodder for future posts. Otherwise I will have to continue to post pictures of Penelope the faithful Labrador.

As we know, it’s always important to set goals for the upcoming year that are reasonable and attainable. I mean shit, you’d hate to get the end of December and realize that you didn’t clean the lint out of your belly button or go to Newark if it were on your to do list. I will be ringing in the new year at Bebe’s house, that way if I get too sloshed I can stumble the 5 blocks home. Maybe the Big Tuna will give me a piggy back ride. Here are my promises to keep.

I WILL NOT get a tramp stamp. Not only am I a bit of a chicken shit about pain, I’m afraid it will emphasize my back fat. The last thing any of us need is a tattoo on a roll like paper towels.

I WILL give up vodka forever. Nearly 30 years ago, minutes before I met the Big Tuna and true love, I worked as a bartender. The bonus to serving booze in a small town is all other bartenders at all other bars serve you for free. Bad, bad, bad New Year’s Eve and unrestricted Stolichnaya’s on the rocks. I seriously could not drink any liquor for about 2 years. Any whiff of vodka makes me gag to this day. Naturally I was able to ease myself back in with wine over ice instead.

I vow NOT to start any craft projects that I will not finish. This should be pretty easy. I am not allowed to play with art supplies according to my family. I think they are afraid I might become a huffer or crazy glue myself to something completely inappropriate.

I WILL continue to do wine reviews. Last week my favorite wine supplier sent me a new sample. Wheeeee!!! Free Wine!!! Ahem, I mean an opportunity to write a critical review of a fine chardonnay.

I am currently sporting a freaking inner tube around my middle so you will all have to suffer with me and low fat fare. Hopefully it won’t taste like cardboard.

Honey Ginger Sweet Potatoes
4 large sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into half inch pieces
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon dark sesame oil
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon minced ginger
1 teaspoon grated lime zest
2 tablespoons lime juice
½ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup thinly sliced green onions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Toss potatoes with 1 tablespoon olive oil and place in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake until tender, stirring once approximately 30 minutes. Meanwhile whisk together remaining olive oil, sesame oil, honey, ginger, lime and salt in large bowl. Add hot cooked potatoes and toss gently to coat. Stir in scallions.

My final commitment? I WILL NOT spit out my wine at tasting events. I mean that’s like blasphemy right? What a waste. On the other hand asking for ice flunks me out of sommelier school for dummies too. Here’s to wishing all you in Tunaville a happy and prosperous new year.

Social Tourette’s

2011-12-21T07:26:00.000-08:00

So I know you’re all thinking, “what the heck, why only one lonely post by Mrs. Tuna this month”. For somebody on school break and unemployed I’m so ridiculously out of time. The final grades as an Urban Planning rock star are finally in. I ended the semester with a wait for it, wait for it, 4.33 GPA. As an unemployed somebody I had lots of time to do all those stupid extra credit projects.

Since I can’t land a full time job as an uncover recipe blogger I’ve decided to translate my mad skills into a new venture. That’s me, freelance engineer by day, blogger by night. But as you all know, I’ve got Social Tourette’s. My ability to fill vocal airspace is second to none, I can converse with the generally awkward and the smarmy sales forces. This is similar to Verbal Diarrhea except I shout things out rather than babble endlessly.

I’ve spent the last two weeks running around setting up an LLC, a business account and a fab webpage extorting my skill set.

Itty Bitty Consultants provides services to supplement your engineering and planning needs.(Hidden Meaning: since you’ve laid everybody who’s not upper management off, you might need someone who can actually produce work).

We have more than two decades in the public and private engineering industry and bring experienced staff to facilitate the success of your project. (Hidden Meaning: Yeah, I’m old, I’ve bit at this sh*t a long ass time. I would have accurately reported it at three decades but you would have viewed me as washed up and bitter).

Every project is important, whether it’s small or large, and its success hinges on the “behind the scenes” efforts which are crucial to ensure that projects run smoothly. (Hidden Meaning: We’re not proud, we’ll design your tiny teeny parking lot or your 9000 lot master planned community. Shoot we’ll pick your kids up from daycare if the price is right).

Here’s a little glaze recipe to go on your Christmas Ham.

Currant-Mustard Glaze

6 ounce jar red currant jelly (this can sometimes be hard to find, I’ve been successful at Safeway)

6 ounces Golden’s mustard

1 can pineapple rings

1 jar cherries

Cloves

1 Ham (this should be obvious)

Trim excess fat from ham and score. Place on rack in shallow baking dish. In small saucepan combine jelly and mustard and heat over low flame until simmering. Remove from heat. Put pineapple rings on ham and affix with cloves. Place cherry in center of each ring. Pour glaze over ham and cook according to weight. Save some of the glaze to put on the table like gravy.

I’ve organized Sheldon’s old bedroom into my corporate headquarters. If I could get the Total Gym out it would be the perfect space. Maybe Chuck Norris will stop by and show me the proper technique so I don’t end up strangling myself by accident. At least my new coworkers seem pretty nice and laid back.

The food orgy know as Christmas is this weekend. Me? I’ll be in Yuma, I’m sure a redneck post will follow. Have an amazing holiday everyone!!!

PS Don't forget to Like Mrs. Tuna on Facebook

The Stocking Box

2011-12-11T15:57:00.000-08:00

Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’ve been fixating on stupid things like Public Participation Techniques and Canberra-A New Vision of Urban Form. I’ve had no time to leave witty comments on your blogs and as we all know, if you don’t give you don’t receive. Fracking Finals are over, I’m just waiting for them to post my end of term grades to reconfirm that I too can be a card carrying smarty pants. Move over Sheldon, mommy has a 4.11 GPA. I completed my group projects with a minimum of bullying. One a-hole who missed every team meeting was snarky enough to actually say, “well some of us have jobs”. He’s lucky I didn’t give him a major wedgie and pull his tighty whiteties over his head.

But now it’s time to get into the holiday spirit, spending money I don’t have on crap no one really needs. As many of you may or may not know I grew up the middle of the pack of seven ruffians. There is only an eight year distance between the oldest mal content and the itty bitty Christmas baby. There was one year that we were all teenagers at the same time. Shudder. My parents swore they had electric shock therapy to block out the good, the bad and the ugly.

With so many of hooligans my parents devised a system of spreading their monopoly money around to make the day special. They invested their efforts in filling our stockings with a variety of doo dads. The rule was we could not go downstairs until the parents who toiled until midnight got up. To keep us busy they loaded up boxes to hold all our treasures rather than a simple stocking. It would hold the usually candy and underwear but it was filled with little personal things for each of us. Books and puzzles. Gold hooped earrings and new horse brushes. Little miniature animals to add to my growing collection.

As we got older, we passed this tradition to include our own children and spouses. But it’s officially out of control, the Big Tuna gets things like beer and slinky nighties for me to model and some wrench that is more like a Swiss army knife. We spend more money on filling the stocking box then we spend on actual presents. It’s a goal to fill them to the brim and bring squeals of joy . This week we have a special recipe, homemade Bailey’s. Yum!

Homemade Bailey’s Irish Cream

3 eggs

1 ½ Tablespoon chocolate syrup

1 can eagle brand evaporated milk

1 pint half and half

1 cup blended rum

½ cup dark rum

Combine ingredients and blend on high. Serve over ice. This receipe is a heck of a lot cheaper than the original and tastes just as good.

But it is a time of family, where we instantly fall back into our juvenile roles on days of our misspent youth. Playing endless games of remember when. The holidays always create flashbacks to embarrassing stories that we can trot out to various existing and potential in laws for maximum mortification.

Like the time 14 year old Marky Mark got busted for stealing the copper down drain off the church. Apparently, God forgives if the price of precious metals is high enough.

Or the time an underage brother got busted for carrying beer. When queried by the coppers he gave up an older brother pretty darn quick. This resulted in a $50 fine, my mom was so irritated for the tattling she made them split the cost.

Or the time an older sibling took me the movies to see Woody Allen’s “Everything you wanted to know about sex but were afraid to ask”. Well apparently I was asking lots of questions, in a very loud voice, not at all phased by desperate shushing pleadings. I’m lucky the men dressed as swimming sperm didn’t scar me for life.

Or the recent recounting of the Tooth Fairy. When going thru my mom’s things we came across a sweet letter from my Sistah addressed to Fairy Dust Lane.

Dear Tooth Fairy, I am sorry I lost my tooth. If you don't believe me you may ask one of your closest friends Mrs. Aldorf Smith. Yours truely, Ruth

As I recalled that she was always a bit of a suck up and wondered if I too had penned a begging letter, my brother Pauly said, “I bet it said Bitch, we need more dough” And sure enough further in the stack was mine.

Dear Tooth Fairy, I think we should have a raise in our tooth money. I think a half a buck would be all right. Sign, Dawn

No one ever said I was very subtle. Hopefully Santa will overlook my naughtiness and fill my Stocking Box with wine and cheese. Happy holiday Team Tuna! X0X0X0

PS Don't forget to like Mrs. Tuna on Facebook.

Ladies Wine Potluck

2011-11-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

Now that we’re almost at the end of the semester at Arizona State it’s time to take a bit of breather with the usual cast of drinking cohorts. The final birthing push for some classes included actively spitting on the young punks for group projects and writing a paper titled “Paris: The Effects of Segregation and Social Issues on Urban Form”. Ughh, yeah, makes me a little bit nauseous too.

I need to organize a little fete Post Turkey Day and Pre Candy Cane overdose. I have found that sending a smoke signal out for a Ladies Wine Potluck is the best way to bring out the Wine Tramp in all of us. Last time it brought out the Adventures of Michelle Little Black Sweater one of my all time favorite blog posts. The mission is to bring an appetizer and a bottle of wine to share.

We can tell our spousal units we’re doing Christmas shopping and surf instead for online opportunities. Since you can never ever go wrong giving wine as a gift I can recommend the ease of purchase in the UK at SerenataWines. They have a large collection of fine wines for you to partake in or even wet your whistle. Of course it would be even better to send a little something to me, I’m on Santa’s naughty list so I’m only expecting coal from the big fat elf. My contribution to the overeating event is below.

Sun Dried Tomato Cheese Spread

8 ounces cream chees

½ cup softened unsalted butter

½ cup grated parm cheese

½ cup drained dried tomatoes and 2 Tablespoons of the oil

1 tablespoons fresh basil

Run the whole gambit through the food processor and serve with water table crackers.

Wine goes back to 8000 BC years according to my main source of all information, Wikipedia. Who was the first caveman to realize leaving fruit fermenting would turn into nectar of the gods? Maybe we’ll spend a little time playing Wine Jeopardy, I’ll take Roman Empire wines for $200. We all know I’ve a steel trap for random facts like there are 43, 560 square feet in an acre. I can’t retain anything like Sheldon’s social security number for the tax accountant. Pucker up Alex Trebek, I’ m going for Double Jeopardy.

Thanks for the Spanx

2011-11-23T17:54:00.000-08:00

We are revving up for the holiday season. Technically, it starts with wolfing down our kid’s Halloween candy under the guise of “protecting” them from poison Snickers bars. But we know the real truth. We don’t have to count those calories, it’s like eating dessert off our significant others plate right? So break out the spanx, food gluttony is upon us.

Growing up these meals were a major female family affair. Mommy and my sister were large and in charge of anything involving taste buds. My job was peeling potatoes and being the general kitchen wench. In our early married lives my Sistah was forced to move to Texas for her job and all Thanksgiving Day we received pathetic phone calls regarding the recipe for stuffing, how long to cook a 16 pound bird, how much lemon in the hollandaise sauce. Oh we were having a good laugh about her skills until it came time to make the gravy. Crap she’d always made the sauce, we had to call her all humble and have her talk us through all those tricky whisking steps.

I once single handily ruined Thanksgiving for my family by naming our supermarket butterball Stephanie and cooing encouragement to it. “That’s right Stephanie, you’re going to make someone an amazing dinner, what a good girl you are, such a moist baby”. It got me permanently banned from cooking Thanksgiving by making our dinner a little too personal forever. This has resulted in my Sistah being that holiday hostel and the Tuna’s the destination for Santa. Below is a turkey leftover casserole for your viewing pleasure.

Sour Cream Turkey Casserole

4 cups cubed turkey

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 cup sour cream

½ slivered almonds

½ package Pepperidge Farm Herb Dressing Mix

1-1/2 cups chicken broth

Mix turkey, soup, sour cream and almonds well and pour into casserole dish. Mix dressing and broth together and pour on top of turkey mixture. Bake at 350 degrees covered for 45 minutes. I usually pick up a few extra bags of Pepperidge Farm dressing this time of year. That way when I get a Thanksgiving craving in July I can substitute chicken, throw in a side of cranberry sauce and tah dah!

My mom died on Thanksgiving Day 2009. The hospital calling at 5 AM to ask if I wanted her put on a ventilator, that she had slipped into a coma. No I whispered, she was terminal, no hope, no wish to suffer more. I drove to the hospital with my brother Pauly who flew in the night before to say goodbye. My Sistah arrived several hours later. She told us she had to get the turkey in the oven, Mom would have expected it. We spent the day telling laughing and wildly inappropriate stories about growing up. Our animated boisterous noise had the nurse in ICU close the door in order to stop disturbing other patients. We took a break for a feast midday, eating food we were not hungry for, toasting her with special wine we’d saved. Returning to the hospital as evening fell and surrounded by family she took her final breath.

I will forever be grateful to Bebe, she invited my entire family to her house last year to share the day in our fragile condition. Tomorrow, we will return to our time honored tradition. We will always associate Thanksgiving with the day our mom passed away, but it is fitting. Since we will always be thankful to her for making us recognize the value of family and a wicked sense of humor. As I lift my glass in a toast I will see her familiar eyes in Sheldon’s face and realize that our love of her will live on in all of us. Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Sheldon, A Year in Review

2011-11-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

As most of you know, I’m the parent of a grown ass woman. My beloved Sheldon turned 22 last weekend. To find out how she got her nickname go here. Sheldon is also going to ASU, but runs away from me on campus in order not to be embarrassed by her mommy recreating blog posts that she has been featured in. Complete with hand gestures and condor like arm flapping and snarky comments. I continue in her eyes to give her advice to only hear myself talk. There may be some truth, okay maybe a lot of truth, in that but mostly because I’m stuck at the end of the cul-de-sac with lack of work. So let’s recap what our nerdy daughter has done since Blackjack, Sheldon’s 21 shall we?

Shortly after her last birthday she gave up Facebook. How was supposed to spy on her activities and monitor, I mean celebrate all her little accomplishments via tagged photos. Thankfully she has rejoined the ranks of millions a few weeks ago so I don’t have to resort to befriending her friends in order to capture an awkward glimpse of her on party boats doing body shots.

Sheldon has a bucket list that she has been working hard at completing. My bucket list includes things like moving up from $3.99 Trader Joe’s Chardonnay and getting the dog hair out of the back seat of my truck. Her goals included running in a marathon, which incidentally caused her toe nails to fall off (Ewwww right?) and skydiving. What the hell, why would you jump out of a plane? Don’t you know you could be go splat like a pancake? This week is a bit of cheater, like every other week. Surprise!

Taco Salad

1 pound ground beef

1 envelope taco seasoning mix (this is why it’s a cheater, when I followed the original recipe it tasted exactly the same, why torture myself?)

Salad fixings (lettuce, tomato, cucumber, avocado, blah, blah, blah)

Spicy Mexican Dressing

½ cup vegetable oil

¼ cup sugar

¼ cup cider vinegar

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon dry mustard

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon chili powder

½ teaspoon ground cumin

¼ teaspoon dried oregano

¼ cup chili sauce

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

In medium bowl, stir oil, sugar and vinegar until sugar is dissolved. Whisk in remaining ingredients. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use. Prepare ground beef and taco seasoning according to directions. Slap salad fixings in any darn way you want, you’re all grownups, I shouldn’t have coach you through this part.

Our little Buttercup participated in the local beauty pageant run by “the Donald”. She looked amazing with her blond good looks and long legs but the giant crown tattoo that reminds me of the Burger King slogan on her hip knocked her right off her pedestal. Maybe he’ll ask her to participate in Celebrity Apprentice where she can show him her mad math skills.

And she has become addicted to the inked look. I remember vividly, the first one I found out about her habit. Sitting at my friend the Bad Bunny’s house, drinking wine and feeling all cool and sophisticated with Sheldon as my designated driver. Bunny and I were lamenting one friends struggle with having her 80’s rose tat removed and it looked like a gray blob half way through the process. “What would you say momster if I told you I have a tattoo” she queried. You? I snorted. You had to be tranquilized to get your ears pierced. You’d end up with a love dot chica because you can’t take pain. With that, she stood up, unzipped her pants and flashed a crown, still covered in saran wrap, a tattoo THE SIZE OF PERU. Her latest one running the length of her ribcage is a bible verse, WITH ONLY ONE TYPO. Apparently easily fixed with a poison apple or something. I think she’s got another one but I’m too scared to ask. At least she and Jessie James aren’t going steady. Happy birthday baby girl!!! Daddy and I love you mostest!!!

PS-The big winner for our free wine review contest is Angie at http://www.angie-uncovered.com/. Bebe and Miss Anonymous decided “Semi-pro sampler looking to go pro. Help a sister out?” was the best last night while we were getting drunk on the back patio. Congrats.

PSS-Don’t forget to follow Mrs. Tuna’s sorry ass on Facebook.

The Good Bra

2011-11-08T16:23:00.000-08:00

I have a little secret for all of you so be sure to carefully read the end of this blog for an incentive.

If I wasn’t busy having an online affair with Sandra from absolutelynarcissism.co I would be having a major girl crush on Alicia Florrick from the Good Wife. She is sleek and elegant, nary a hair out of place. I always arrive on the scene with what I fondly call “the Lassie look”. The hair doo that looks like I’ve been riding with my head out the driver’s car window at 50 mph.

With lack of employment, I have no reason to ensure I have pressed suits and starched shirts. My drycleaner sent me a Thinking of You card. But I find myself rationalizing that I should not save the Good Bra anymore. You know what I’m talking about. The smooth nude slightly lacey bra you bought at Victoria’s Secret. The one you wear under the chic dress with your FM (F*ck Me) black pumps. Not the formally white, now slightly blue, with frayed straps. Or maybe the gray sports bra that straps your double A’s to your boyish figure. Or the one where the seam now makes you look like you have skewed nipples.

I forget what it’s like to dig out pantyhose without runs and slap on more than mascara on my pale eyelashes. But today, I have a networking breakfast with all those awkward engineers without social skills. They only invite me because they know I can carry on a conversation that doesn’t have to use the term logarithm. Since it was early morning, let’s whip together breakfast fare today shall we.

Mexican Egg Dish
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
12 eggs, lightly beaten
4 cups (16 ounces) shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
2 cups (16 ounces) 4% cottage cheese
2 plum tomatoes, seeded and diced
1 can (4 ounces) chopped green chilies, drained
4 green onions, sliced
1/2 teaspoon hot pepper sauce
1 teaspoon dried oregano
2 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
Salsa, optional

In a large bowl, combine the flour and baking powder. Add the eggs, 3-1/2 cups Monterey Jack Cheese, cottage cheese, tomatoes, chilies, onions, hot pepper sauce, oregano, cilantro, salt and pepper. Pour into greased 13-in. x 9-in baking dish. Sprinkle with the remaining Monterey Jack cheese. Bake, uncovered at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees, bake 30 minutes longer or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Let stand for 5 minutes before cutting. Serve with salsa if desired.

There was one small upside today in that the firm that continues to interview me endlessly asked me if I were free this afternoon to perform a little contract job. Sure, just let me drop everything. I got nothing but time on my hands. Went fine, wait until I send them an invoice for $43, 972.

On to my other exciting news……last week Team Tuna reached 400 followers!!!! A milestone to say the least and I love each and every one of you. So I called Stephen, you remember Stephen of Flipflop Wines. He sent me free booze as carefully documented in our all time favorite blog post, The Vino Slut. Here’s how my voice mail message went.

Mrs. Tuna:
So um Stephen um you remembers me um the Vino Slut. Well um gosh I want to run a little reward program for my um peeps you know because now I um got so many. (Brain says, Abort! Abort!) Sorry, not communicating very well, you know what they say about bloggers, we are so articulate writing but have no um speaking skills. (Brain says stop babbling) Anyhoo um sorry I um missed you. I’m on my way to an interview, well not really an interview, just a company that wants to pick my head of free info (Brain says, stop it, stop it, stop it, you’re oversharing) So um call me when you have a few minutes and we can um talk about more. (Brain says, say goodbye) Kay now, toodles.

Ughhh, what an idiot I sounded like, not the suave professional I really am. Fortunately, he excused my brain fart. He has offered to send one of my uber special (did you just throw up in your mouth when I used the word uber?) groupies their own sample of wine for their review. So your mission Team Tuna is to write in 10 words why you should be picked for a review of Flipflop Wines Winners to be announced based on the most creative answer. Here’s mine

Team Tuna Gift, Candy is Dandy, but Liquor is Quicker

Occupy Elm Street

2011-10-31T06:06:00.000-07:00

Stuck at the end of the cul de sac I’m losing track of the comings and goings of the real grown up world. I have risen from my ignorance coma to watch with interest the Occupy Wall Street protests. Basically, people objecting to corporate greed and economic peril are camping in downtown areas. Am I smart enough to figure out the point or am I embracing my role as a faux domestic goddess and letting world news roll off my back?

As someone who formerly worked in downtown Phoenix and as a card carrying scaredy cat there is no way I’d leave the safety of my couch to save the world. I’ll just keep watching Judge Judy and looking for jobs at online websites. I’ve stepped over too many sleeping beggars and vomit in my time to want to actually pitch a tent at the city park. I hate camping anyway so it’s a victory anyway you look at it. I wonder if their solidary will survive the first frost and the end of Starbucks pumpkin spiced lattes. While the east coast is covered with snow, we are now congratulating ourselves on surviving another summer of Dante’s Inferno. The air conditioner only clicked on once today. In honor of the protesters here is a recipe to keep them warm and toasty with thoughts of super plums dancing in their heads.

Pumpkin Soup
¼ cup butter
½ medium onion sliced chopped fine
1 clove garlic minced
1 teaspoon curry
1/8 teaspoon coriander
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
½ teaspoon salt
3 cups chicken broth
16 ounces solid pack pumpkin
1 cup half and half
Sour Cream
Sliced green onion for garnish

Sauté onion and garlic in butter until soft. Add curry, coriander, red pepper and salt. Cook 1 minute. Add broth and boil gently for 15 to 20 minutes. Stir in pumpkin and half and half. Cook for 5 minutes. Serve with sour cream and green onions. I know you’re thinking pie right? Do I garnish with whipped cream? This doesn’t taste anything like Thanksgiving and if you like squash, you’ll love this soup.

In my personal Occupy Elm Street, I vacillate between boredom and fascination with happenings in the hood. There are strange goings-on during daylight hours. It’s not enough that one neighbor has determined that no emptied trash can should remain curbside and rushes out to return ours to its rightful place before the garbage truck has cleared the curb. Or the elderly corner neighbor who greets the mailman in his boxers and slippers every day to pass the time.

This week I was positively giddy when young lads left a landscape flyer announcing that they were in the market to buy mature palm trees. I’d been pricing having our oversized pigeon holding vegetation removed and it was going to cost a bazillion dollars. I was so happy to have them gone I stupidly tipped my hand and only got them to eradicate with no extra dough on my checking account. But pigeons are like flying rats and they have resorted to staring at me with homeless accusing beady eyes from atop our roof. Which reminds me of the creeper neighbor who has taken to smoking on his back patio when I’m doing my faux magazine workout. I’m sure he and his bare and hairy potbelly are just looking for exercise tips right? I wonder if rather than peering out my patio blinds my next home project should be adding a few rows of block to the back wall. This exercise shit is going to get me killed yet.

PS Don't forget to "like" Mrs. Tuna on Facebook, we all know what an attention seeking little tramp I am. Also, if you've been enjoying this blog, please follow, only a few more to reach the magic 400 members of Team Tuna.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

2011-10-21T11:56:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered why Mrs. Tuna picked a picture of a dog wearing reading glasses for my profile? Working at Giant Engineering Company I needed a disguise in order for them to think I was a serious and dedicated employee, blah, blah, blah. Interesting enough once I removed the superhero outfit I could reveal myself to a fellow employee/blogger that I’d been secretly following. Please visit Mr. Twintastic today since his wife is birthing those babies as we speak and wish them congrats. So glad Sheldon is all grown up, don’t think I could live through baby barf in my hair and the smell of poopy diapers overtaking the house again.

We got the lovely Penelope when she flunked out of guide dog school for being too timid to cross the street. I didn’t believe them until I was at a horse show with her and she balked at going up metal steps. After carrying 65 pounds of wimpiness up the stairs I pondered how this might be a tiny bit difficult if I was eyeless. She was what they called a “soft” dog, bred more for companionship then whack a doodle Labradors of old. They are happy to lie politely at your feet. The translation is she and Tonka the high functioning idiot savant mutt are all whipped up when you put your tennis shoes on for a faux run but are dragging at the leash by the time I hit the end of the cul de sac.

I’ve been doing my magazine workout in the backyard and when I start running in the yard the mongrels are convinced we’re chasing feline intruders running crazy, snarling, wrestling circles. They biffed me out yesterday by crashing into me. All of could think of is has the Big Tuna’s health insurance started covering me. Thought I broke my arm, but mostly bruised my ass. A freaking giant hawk flew down last week and snatched a pigeon off the birdbath and killed it in front of them. The little chicken shits wouldn’t even consider a romp to chase away, the hawk might have carried them off too.

But mostly I find Penelope to be passed out after those little 5 minute jaunts that seem to sap her energy. A few shots on how she spends her days, every day, every hour.

In the back yard

In the hall

Please note how the sofa cushions are turned up to prevent napping on the sofa

You little hussy

Recipe du jour? Something to celebrate the sluggish in all of us.

Lazy Dog Pot Roast
2-3 pound chuck or pot roast
1 package onion soup
1 large yellow onion, peeled and quartered
4 potatoes peeled and chunked
1-1/2 cups baby carrots

In large crockpot dump in onion soup mix and dilute with a few cups of water. Place beef in bottom and layer with veggies. Add enough water to cover. Cook on high for 4 to 5 hours and turn down to low for an additional 2 hours. The perk on this is that leftover beef can be sliced and eaten as sandwiches with mayo and hot peppers. YUM!

But the weirdest behavior is that any stuff dog toy we bring home she immediately gnaws off their eyes in order to fulfill her destiny to help the blind. Nothing like owning a working dog.

Enjoy reading this? Well this is a double header. After leaving me an adoring comment here, run over to In the Powder Room and read “Layoffs and Stroganoffs” where I figure out that labret is not Latin for labia and leave another amazing note there.

There’s No “I” in Team Tuna

2011-10-14T11:11:00.000-07:00

I’ve been pondering if I should change the name of my blog to Un-Working Women’s Guide to Dinner. Thoughts? Comments Team Tuna? Or perhaps Bitchy Women’s Guide would be more fitting. Been interviewing and applying for engineering jobs like crazy, but as of yet no takers for my mad skills.

But I am approaching midterms at ASU. The theme of the semester is “group” projects. I hate working in groups. I barely have patience for the little whiny thugs in class, now I’m supposed to complete hand holding projects in 3 of my classes. I’m wildly torn between taking over so I know it will get done, thus reinforcing my place as the most bossy, or watching in amusement while they flail around showing their raging emotional hormones. Somehow I’m evolving into the mom figure, well as the mommy of these dysfunctional groups anyway.

In one class, they have resorted to snarky emails presenting their opposing points of view for mediation. I told the two narcissistic queens that “perhaps if you see a different vision, you would be more suited to developing your own group approach.” Followed by tears and cyber bulling. It’s okay, as teacher’s pet I tattled on them and earned a gold star for leadership skills. You all need to man up and stop being filled with righteous indignation that we’re not using the correct color paper clips. Personally I will not be resorting to time outs, I will institute spankings and being sent to bed without Starbucks. This week is a new little ditty I tried, be warned, major dirty dishes operation.

Chicken Tetrazzini
5 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 boneless chicken breasts
Salt and pepper to taste
¾ pound mushrooms
3 cloves garlic
1 medium onion diced
1 teaspoon thyme
½ white wine (drink the rest of the bottle with dinner)
1/3 cup flour
2 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup chicken broth
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
12 ounces linguine cooked
¾ cup peas (you can leave out if they remind you of bloated ticks)
¼ fresh parsley chopped
1 cup parmesan cheese
¼ cup Italian Bread Crumbs

Grease 13”x 9” baking dish with 1 tablespoon butter. Melt 1 tablespoons butter with olive oil in frying pan with medium heat. Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper, add chicken to hot pan and cook until just cooked through approximately 4 minutes per side. Transfer to bowl and coarsely shred into bite size pieces. Add butter to same skillet and add mushrooms, onion, garlic and thyme. Once cooked, add wine about two minutes and add to chicken bowel. Add remaining butter to skillet. Whisk in flour for about 2 minutes. Add milk, cream, broth, nutmeg and salt and pepper. Cook over medium high heat until boil, reduce to simmer, uncovered until sauce thickens whisking often. Add pasta, sauce, peas and parsley to chicken mix and blend well. Transfer to baking dish. Stir cheese and bread crumbs in small bowl and sprinkle on top. Bake uncovered at 450 degrees until golden brown, about 25 minutes.

The zoning professor with major roots needs has also assigned groups to do a mock neighborhood meeting. The biggest challenge? We have to find our own faux neighbors. You all remember what happened during our last Public Service Message. Maybe I’ll lure them in with free cookies and beer. In closing while there is no “I” in Team, if you rearrange the letters it says look AT ME! Because we always know it’s about ME, ME, MEEEEEEEE.

PS Don’t forget to like Mrs. Tuna on Facebook.

Blogs, buddies and a whole lot of pasta

2011-10-10T06:40:00.000-07:00

Wheeeee!!!!!! Today I am guest posting over at In The Powder Room where I discuss my online affair with my favorite little hussy Sandra from Absolutely Narcissism. Don't forget to "Like" me on Facebook because I continue to need to be validated. So head on over there and comment so they ask me again since they pay enough per post to keep me in wine!

The Vagina Aisle

2011-10-05T17:33:00.000-07:00

First, if you love me Team Tuna you will like me on Facebook? There's a little button below my profile and above my followers. It's a work in progress, don't judge.

I feel for the Big Tuna, our entire married life he has been surrounded by women. Hormone producing, emotional, weeping females. As a burly blue collar guy, it reduces him to hand wringing, throwing flowers at us and escaping to the garage. Not only did he have to feel his way through our daughter “Sheldon’s” teenage years every household pet has had girlie parts. He is swimming with his floaties in the deep end of the estrogen pool.

I keep thinking I’m on the far side of menopause but that tricky devil rears its ugly head in an erratic fashion. Like the day before I got laid off from Giant Engineering Company it paid a little visit. It could have gone either way, sad mascara stained face or condescending bitch. I’m still not sure which personality I flashed that day.

I make him get in touch with his sensitive side from time to time by strolling down the vagina aisle for tampons and pads with wings. He does it because on the good days we all know vaginas have super powers. And that PMS stands for Punish my Spouse. Thank goodness Sheldon is living in her own place, any man worth his salt knows that a gaggle of females cycle together. Since we all need a little comfort food to soothe the savage beast here is this week’s recipe.

Aunt Lenore’s Brownies
1 cup butter
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
Dash salt
4 squares chocolate melted over hot water
1 cup flour
2 cups chopped walnuts
1 teaspoon vanilla

Cream butter and sugar well. Add eggs one at a time and stir well. Add the rest of the ingredients. Spread in a greased 9” x 13” baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Cut in squares when cool. Mmmmmm...I feel less bitchy already.

I wish I could take full credit for the term Vagina Aisle, but I saw it on Rescue Me and about shot wine out my nose. I’m not technologically smart enough to copy and crop so just watch the first 3 minutes and give up. If I was able to do it I’d be an engineer, oh wait I am an engineer. You’re welcome.

Desperate Housewives

2011-09-29T08:24:00.000-07:00

We are closing week three of forced unemployment and my house and I are becoming more intimate then I would like. One of the major drawbacks of not working is now I have all this extra time to do fun things but no cool money to implement. No wine socials, no horseback riding, NO cleaning woman. So Team Tuna, lets recap how Mrs. Tuna is amusing herself.

I’ve been amazing busy for someone who doesn’t have to visit a veal fattening cubicle every day. Urban Planning classes have been sucking up a fair amount of time. I have this one Zoning Law class that the instructor is much more interested in showing you that she’s in charge then in teaching you anything useful. There has been a minimum 5 to 10 page paper due every freaking week, not that she’s grading any of them. This week’s with the appendix is about 35 pages. Snarky Bitch, focus a little more time on covering your roots. Wait until I evaluate you on Ratemyprofessors.com.

What I have discovered is that I am now that annoying student who raises their hand and shouts out answers for extra credit points. I’ve become teacher’s pet, mostly this is due to the lack of adult conversation being home alone. I’m so starved for attention I strike up friendly conversations with 12 year olds at the grocery store about neat study methods.

I’m missing the cleaning woman, Kathy the Wonderful who been vacuuming up dog hair for almost 20 years. I was a little saddened how quickly she found a replacement gig and how I had to figure out how the washing machine works on the delicate cycle. I even braved the inner workings of the carpet shampooer for our bedroom. Gotta pace myself before doing the living room, I don’t want to run out of things to do. The Big Tuna pointed out the house is definitely tidier but he’s still waiting for the French Maid outfit. This week we’re making faux Chinese from Rachel Ray.

Sweet and Sour Chicken

Salt and pepper

20 ounce can pineapple chunks, drained with 1/2 cup juice reserved

2 tablespoons white vinegar

2 tablespoons soy sauce

4 teaspoons cornstarch

1 tablespoon ketchup

2 teaspoon finely grated fresh ginger

1 ¼ pound skinless chicken breasts cut into 2 inch pieces

1 tablespoon oil

1 red bell pepper cut into 1 inch pieces.

In small bowl combine pineapple juice, vinegar, soy sauce, 2 tablespoons of corn starch, ketchup and ginger. In separate bowl coat chicken in the remaining cornstarch, salt and pepper. In skillet, heat oil, add chicken and cook turning occasionally until browned. About 5 minutes and transfer chicken to plate. Add pepper to skillet and cook about two minutes. Stir in chicken and pineapple chunks. Add the pineapple juice mixture and heat over medium heat until sauce has thickened, a few minutes. Serve over hot white rice.

One of the perks I had at Giant Engineering Company was free gym membership, not that I was that familiar with the aerobic equipment but still. But since I have no reason to continue wearing control top pantyhose I need to do something to keep that mid roll of fat in check. Flipping through a magazine I came across a home workout, a few jumping jacking, free weights and crunches, I can do this. First day out I followed the pretty colored pictures and thought, huh I must be in better shape than I thought, I’m barely breathing hard. I dabbed my brow, had a shower, poured a cup of coffee and examined the text a wee bit more closely. Apparently I was supposed to do 3 reps, yeah maybe tomorrow. For now, bring on the cupcakes.

Will Blog For Food

2011-09-18T12:32:00.000-07:00

Giant Engineering Company broke my heart, I know it’s the economy, I knew it was a business decision, I know I shouldn’t take it personally. My boss had the nerve to give me my rock star performance evaluation in the morning and then do a meet and great with HR in the afternoon. I knew it might be coming, but I thought bought myself some time by winning a new project. They cut the middle and none of the top. F*ckers.

I had to go back and grab my four years of crap two days later. At first, security had to monitor my actions to make sure I didn’t run up and down the halls spraying graffiti and throwing computers or myself out the 30^th floor window. But they lost interest, wandered off and left me to wallow in self-pity. The survivors came by and were weepy, I spent my packing hours reassuring them that I would be fine, just fine and they should buck up and stop being big crybabies.

Okay, I’m always about a plan, it’s the engineering brain work. First step, set up a professional Gmail account. It’s not like mine was debbiedoesdallas@gmail. Or anything but still. Imagine my surprise when I discovered Dawn.Tuna@gmail was taken, it’s not like I have some common name. My first reaction was to send the bitch an email demanding her to relinquish my account, but opted to add my middle name rather than get the FBI involved with identity theft. Then hours spent putting in my contacts and a generic note giving my new contact information. Got lots of feedback saying “thumbs up Buttercup, you’ll be fine” or “when one door closes another opens”. Yeah, don’t let the door hit me in the ass.

The Big Tuna is being supportive, he says not to worry, and we’ll be fine. I think he secretly believes I’ll greet him at the door every night in a French maid’s outfit holding a Heineken. Snort, right, it will interfere with watching Judge Judy. But I may have a little more time to cook something a little more involved than our usual fare.

Hungarian Chicken

4 chicken breasts

4 tablespoons butter

1 small onion chopped

1 clove garlic minced

1 rib celery chopped

½ bay leaf

2 sprigs parsley

½ teaspoon thyme

2 tablespoons paprika

2 tablespoon tomato paste

2 tablespoons flour

2 cups chicken broth

Salt and pepper to taste

½ cup sour cream (more if you like)

In large skillet brown chicken on both sides in half the butter. Transfer to a large saucepan. Heat remaining butter in the same skillet and cook onion, garlic, celery, bay leaf parsley, thyme and paprika until onion is wilted. Stir in tomato paste and flour. Pour in broth and stir rapidly with a wire whish. Pour mixture over chicken and simmer over low heat for 20 minutes. Stir in the sour cream and heat throughout without boiling. Sever over hot egg noodles.

If writing blogs paid real dough we’d all be on the Real Housewives of Minneapolis. I did have a few meetings this week including a second call back interview for one place so fingers crossed. Worse case scenario, the world on freelance consulting is calling my name. I’ll have to change my profile from working at Giant Engineering Company to Itty Bitty Consultants. Anything to get out of the house and avoid trying to figure out how to run the lawn mower without chopping off my toes or squeezing into lingerie that accents my muffin top. Wish me luck Team Tuna!

Blog Hop Pick of the Week

2011-09-16T05:29:00.000-07:00

This week I am a guest link up at Peaches Reviews her fabulous words are below.

First off, smile with me :) You made it through another week and deserve a big smile. You've got the whole weekend ahead of you so make it a good one!

This week's featured Smiley Hopper is Mrs. Tuna from Working Woman's Guide to Dinner!!

I asked Mrs. Tuna a few questions about herself and her blog so you could get to know a little bit about her.

1) When did you first start blogging? Why?
All my life I've craved attention and the best way to find it was being funny. When you're eleventy feet tall and the most awkward thing you divert people's focus from your jolly green giant tendencies by making jokes about myself. I'd written short humor stories for friends and family and my daughter encouraged me to start a blog about 18 months ago. I tie a funny story every week to a recipe, I'm all about themes like Barbie Pink or toga parties.

2) What's your favorite part about blog hopping?
Ah the sweet adrenaline rush of a new comment.

3) What's your favorite hobby
Well prior to the break up with Giant Engineering Company last week I had be horseback riding a few days a week. Now I spend my day trying to figure out which dog snores louder.

4) Who's your role model?
In real life my role model was my mom, one of the reason's actually started blogging was to stay connected to her after she died on Thanksgiving 2009. She was an amazing cook and amazing professional writer. Many of the recipes are ones I got from her secret stash. She would have loved blogging. Miss her tons.

How it Works

* Follow Me and the Smiley Hopper of the week! (Spots 1 & 2) Leave us a comment with your blog/twitter/facebook url so that we can follow you back

* Grab the Smile With Me Saturday button then post on your blog to give your new followers a place to comment

* Add your blog/twitter/facebook to the list only once!- (NOT YOUR BLOG HOP or GIVEAWAYS PLEASE These entries will be deleted.)

* Follow as many people on blog/twitter/facebook as you would like, Make sure you leave them a comment so they know you stopped by. Then Follow Back everyone that follows you & comments.

You can link your blog every Saturday at 12am EST. Have fun!!

911!!!! 911!!!!! Emergency

2011-09-10T16:39:00.000-07:00

Well I've had an epic end, fricking got laid off this week, not unexpected but Giant Engineering Company and I have parted ways. Fear not Team Tuna, we've been hoarding our pennies and digging change out of the sofa so we'll be fine. Sniff. Really. Fine. I'm sure I'll whip up a hilarious post about security wandering off and allowing me to paint graffiti on the walls in all my spare time next week when its a little less raw. Instead, I'm going to run my September 11th Post from last year about Bebe, tomorrow's her 50th so lets all wish her a great one.

Bebe and I met over twenty years ago, innocently at a neighbor’s baby shower. There were six pregnant neighbor women at the shower, maybe something in the water. I certainly swore off tap water after that. Who knew at the time we’d end up being the sisters we never had. Well okay I do have sisters, but not one who wouldn’t steal my clothes or my boyfriends or eat the last Popsicle without asking.

Her little kiddies are only 14 months apart and Bubba was often out of town hunting and killing to fill their freezer. The Big Tuna often stepped in as the extra parent when we took our broods out to places like the State Fair or Sesame Street Live so we weren’t outnumbered. He began to spend so much time with us he said he felt like a polygamist and started calling her Wife Number Two. And thus became our life as Siamese Twins, drinking wine with ice cubes and play dates. I can honestly say I’ve never made a major furniture purchase that she didn’t sit on prior to writing a check.

One of the first things I noticed was that her birthday was September 11th, 911, 911. She claims to have never noticed until I pointed it out. My powers of observation are stellar. At least related to mundane unimportant things like whether someone’s socks match. She is the most positive cheerleader you can have, a direct counter point to my sarcastic but charming personality. Whenever she gets into her happy bubble, it’s my job to remind her of all those “special” moments that make 9/11 the perfect date for her.

• Remember the time we had the kids at the newly finished park and I said, “some little kid is going to walk up to that unfinished bench and get his arm stuck in that unfinished hole”? And Sean ran over and put his in and we almost had to call the fire department to get him out?

• Remember the time Bubba went elk hunting on your due date and you took a long hot shower? When you wouldn’t answer the door we boost Jim over the fence to peer in your bedroom window and catch you almost naked?

• Remember the time Nash broke his arm on the EXACT same swing his older brother broke his arm on the year before?

• Remember the time we went to the bar and I didn’t have my ID and they tried carding me at 38 years old and they insisted they carded everyone? When you offered yours up they said, no that’s okay madam?

• Remember Wally?

I could go on and on and on but I have to stop so as not to ruin the birthday moment. Here’s one of my fast and furious recipes that Bebe has come to enjoy.

Spicy Fettuccine
1 Tablespoon Butter
¼ cup minced onion
1/ teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 can whole tomatoes (Progresso Basil)
¼ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup heavy cream
¼ cup shredded fresh basil

Melt butter in large skillet. Add onions and red pepper flakes, cook over medium heat until onion is tender. Run tomatoes through food processor and add with salt to onion mixture. Cook over medium heat for 8 minutes. Stir in cream and bring to boil for 1 minute. Cook fettuccine according to package direction. Toss with sauce and garnish with basil

Bebe had a birthday this weekend. She spent it getting wild and wooly as you can get in Salt Lake City. Now that my BFF is living in BFE we satisfy ourselves with endless phone calls and Skype wine dates. She tells her family that she is flying in to see them but we both know it’s really to see me and Sheldon. So when are you coming home? I need to go shopping for new guest room furniture.

The Cool Girl’s Table

2011-09-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

Sliding into week three at Arizona State has not made me spontaneously combust…….yet. But the semester is young. As with the first day of school last year I carefully scrutinized my horoscope in What's your sign my Little Zodiac Killer on opening day.

“Your interest may be impractical, and that is part of the appeal. Claim your right to your own wonderful nonsense.” WTF kind of advice is that for a Taurus? We don’t believe in nonsense, if we did we’d be farting out rainbows and unicorns.

As someone who is 49 and ¾ years old I have never felt as uncool and unhip as I have felt in the new semester. Is it the fumbling around in my sensible backpack for my fancy Walgreen’s reading glasses that causes them to give me such a wide berth? Literally in one class every seat was taken except for a four chair gap around me. What, bad breath or body stench? Do I remind you of your GRANNY OR SOMETHING?

In last week’s post I shared I was taking five classes, but I have a tiny declaration, one of them is a cheater course. I’m earning credit for Interning at my own job, snort really. Seriously, why can’t you take a little pity on me and give me life experience credit, I’ve earned it damn it. Basically I had to get my supervisor to sign off and answer a few irksome questions. Is this a paid job……um yes. And how much does it pay? Ummm….way more then you Mr. Professor. Another demonstration of how ASU can suck every last dollar from my sad empty checking account, this had followed the $780 parking pass purchase the week before. Here’s a cheap ass meal to feed those starving college students who might trip over my blog after a rousing game of beer pong.

Beef, Beans and Dumplings
1 pound ground beef
2 envelopes mushroom gravy mix
1 ½ cups hot water
9 ounces frozen green beans
Bisquick dumplings dough

Brown ground beef in 3 quart microwave dish, approximately 6 minutes or until meat is no longer pink. Drain fat. Stir in gravy mix, water and green beans. Microwave on high 8 to 10 minutes or until sauce thickens stirring occasionally. Prepare dumpling dough according to box directions. Arrange dumplings around top edge of casserole in a ring. Microwave on high 3 to 6 minutes or until dumplings are firm to the touch. The bigger question is are the frat boys smart enough to realize they need milk for the dumplings. Uh, no, I’m sure of it.

In most other circles I’m considered the hilarious fun person, life of the party, the chick who will wear the lampshade. You could learn a lot from me you young punks, maybe I’d even let you cheat off my paper, but not if you continue to call me madam. Just remember suckers, I’ve over 21 and can buy beer.

Where's Waldo?

2011-08-25T20:07:00.000-07:00

Or more importantly, where’s Mrs. Tuna. Last we heard our caped crusader was boozing it up in California with her BFF.None of you even noticed in the last post the first picture was of La Tuna Canyon Road, they rolled out the carpet for us. And grand adventures they had, they even had a surprise visit from the first live, in person, blogger Kernut the Blond. While I was seething in jealousy on Kernut’s trip to BlogHer she offered to make the 6 hour round trip drive for dinner with a view. I didn’t even hate her when she told me how the weight was pouring off since she gave up eating dairy. There is no life without cheese so fat I shall remain.

One of the major drawbacks I have is that I have a tendency to leave chargers willy nilly wherever I go. Crap, left both the laptop and phone charger. If this was the first time it had happened we’d all have a good laugh. This translated into only logging on in 5 minute increments to check my facebook and my blog stats while waiting for the return of my lifeline to the internet gods. It should be noted that apparently the term Vino Slut apparently has offended some followers and they have removed themselves from my sordid little blog.

Now I’m engrossed in becoming more smarter back at ASU with taking 5 classes for 16 credits. What is wrong with all of you, why didn’t you crawl through your monitors and bitch slap some sense into me? So please, please, please bear with me over the next few weeks while I get acclimated to not ever sleeping again. It was hard enough wading my way through condom wrappers and digging up immunization records from the stone ages.

It’s all documented in my number one viewed post of all time, New Adventures of the Naughty School Girl. Interestingly enough the Google key word searches that steered those little perverts there are naughty school girl, kill chicken, kill school girl. I’m scared, hold me. Maybe if I get laid off at the end of the month it will leave me PLENTY of time to study stupid zoning law, planning methods and basket weaving.

This week lets whip together a little something that’ll keep me at studying rather than slaving away in the kitchen especially since we are experiencing extreme heat warnings with temps approaching 120 degrees. Pantyhose is not my friend.

Mint Pesto with Pita
1 cup firmly packed fresh mint
½ cup golden raisins
½ ounce walnut halves
3 tablespoons cream cheese
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 medium pitas cut into pieces.

In food processor combine all ingredients except pita and blend until smooth. Serve with pita. And look now I have minty fresh breath too.

One of my followers Carol at Facing50withhumour is an amazing blogger who is getting ready to have a novel, Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines, published. Color me jealous. But she is having an online launch party on September 16th, all day, all night. Lots of chances to win fabulous prizes. She promised to enter those followers who sent her pictures of themselves in miniskirts in a drawing for a Kindle. Ignore the man hands and flailing arms, it’s my attempt to distract you from my muffin top. Pick me, pick me, pick me. I need a little cheering up.

The Vino Slut Rides Again

2011-08-15T07:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, Mrs. Tuna is writing this blog after entirely way too much wine tasting in on her mini getaway with BeBe. Ignore any typos are perhaps a little too much oversharing based on her overindulgence of white wines not over ice. Actually I’m a little drunk right now so who knows what’ll come out through the magic typing fingers.

We opted to drive 10 hours to save 57 cents over airfare and have quality girl time. The Big Tuna rented Bebe and me a car. My truck has a eleventy million miles on the odometer, last thing he felt like doing was rescuing whiny/winey girls with a non starter vehicle.

I like to prepare for every possible temperature and social occasion and you can see my OCD (Overpacking Clothes Dilemma) tendencies.

Bebe is much more restrained……

The car is way smarter than me, I hate it. I couldn’t figure out how to start the little f*cker, it had a stupid button rather than a key (Apparently you have to put your foot on the brake). Had to ask the little chicky behind the counter for special instructions for remedial driving. Don’t get me started on the cruise control, it felt compelled to automatically slow down when I got too close to fellow race car drivers.

Overall, we had a pretty sedate drive until we hit LA, where we couldn’t get off because we were afraid the Bloods or Crypts would knife middle aged women for a dime. Bebe was the navigator, she should have stopped listening to my slutty stories which include Astro Glide and friction and focused on the directions. I literally had to drive across 70 lanes of traffic to make my exit. Nothing like the Big Tuna School of Nascar driving to make me understand the finer skills of cutting off peeps.

We are midway through our escape from the Dante’s inferno heat of Phoenix’s 105 degree heat to a chilly 71 degrees where we need Saint Bernard’s to arrive with caskets of wine to sustain us at Avila Beach. Not a problem, free wine tasting coupons from the resort that is within walking distance to downtown bars save us from those pesky DUI’s.

Since I’m too toasted to have my recipes at hand I’m cheating this week and figuring out how to wander into Trader Joe’s for all the ingredients.

Eggplant Roll-ups
Trader Joe’s Breaded Eggplant patties
1 cup shredded Mozzarella cheese
One container Premade pesto

Spread pesto on top of eggplant and sprinkle with cheese. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. There is no guarantee on time since I’m drunk and doing from memory. Good luck.

Today we went to downtown San Luis Obispo for a little retail therapy. Bebe, who is amazing in a blue short dress she bought. I am obviously not cool enough to know the difference between what is a shirt and a dress. If I wear it as a dress all my naughty parts will hang out and we know how we feel about that! Evenings here have been spent drinking ridiculous amounts of wine with some friends who are encouraging Bebe to get in touch with her wild side, which included a Wally story, a balcony fashion show with new said dress and going to bed with all her clothes on. As her true friend I will not post those pictures on Facebook, at least until I sober up
tomorrow.

Broken

2011-08-11T21:08:00.000-07:00

Most of my life I have considered myself to view the world as half full. When things are at their worst I am usually able to bring myself back to center with humor. But I am not feeling funny, only broken and sad.

Lately I feel completely worn out. The last two years have been some of the most emotional and difficult times I’ve ever felt. I am treading water, unable to make decisions, unable to move forward or back.

I never realized how much my job defines how I view myself and my worth. I have never been one to dread Monday morning, I am eager to mentor and encourage staff. Will I keep it through the next round of layoffs at the end of the month? I can only hope.

One of the things that normally help me find mental balance is the time spent on my horse. He suffered a hoof infection resulting in the last year stall bound. I’ve spent thousands of dollars I don’t really have hoping for a fix. It does not look like he will recover and will have to be put down, why does this make me weep, it’s just a stupid horse.

I’m missing my mom, her battle with cancer ending after a year long tough struggle on Thanksgiving 2009, she was my best friend. Always knowing the words to encourage me, make me shine, be the best. A trait apparently I can’t bring to my daughter, I fail her need for emotional support, something her Grandmother could give her in ways I cannot. She was a professional writer in her later life, she would have love blogging, I wish I discovered it sooner for her.

I am returning to California this weekend, to the place I scattered my mom’s ashes last summer. Perhaps that explains why my heart is feeling fragile. My life is not as hard as so many others, I feel guilty for complaining what seems insignificant by comparison.

My love stands at my side, steadfast, enduring in his place beside me. Only wanting me to be myself again. Waiting with open arms. I will recover, I will go on, I will be back.

Dawn

Vino Slut

2011-08-07T14:58:00.000-07:00

Imagine my amazement when checking my email to receive an invite to review wine. Well hells bells, where do I sign up for free liquor. But the suspicious chick I am began to wonder what could possibly be the trap. After all, I remember the days before the Tylenol safety packaging. Quickly, I did a Google search of Flip Flop Wines to ensure no wack a doodle was luring innocent bloggers to their death. No recent poisonings by people pretending to be wine merchants, whew, safe. Because besides Wikipedia, I get all my facts from Google, the Google Rapture notwithstanding.

First, a little background on Flip Flop Wines. Based in California, they produce affordable wine for approximately $7 a bottle. Certainly within Mrs. Tuna’s price range. Typically my criteria for selecting wine involves standing at Costco picking wines with more than 90 points or pretty flowered labels. The second measure is gotta be less than $10 bucks because I am a cheap date. The thing that appealed to the more noble me (no really, I can be noble sometimes without a payoff) was that for every bottle of wine sold they will donate a pair of flip flops to someone in need since they are paired with Soles4souls. This organization sends shoes to people often impacted by natural disasters or third world countries to improve quality of life. Besides, flip flops are the universal weekend shoe for those of us crammed into pointy high heels all week because they make our ankles look shapely.

The tall, dark and handsome Stephen (okay we are thinking of course he’s tall dark and handsome with amazing abs because he’s offering free booze) obviously read my blog since he knew I was only a white wine woman. I have to reject red wine, I seriously think I have some kind of weird allergy because 2 hours after drinking I wake up from a dead sleep violently ill. The same instant alert you get when you hear the dog getting ready to yack at 2 AM. Frick, I can drink gallons of white or beer so I know I’m not a pansy ass light weight. Maybe I need one of those medical ID bracelets, Do Not Administer Red Wine in Case of Emergency. Stephen, my new BFF committed to sending 3 white wine samples, how giddy was I when it turned out to be THREE WHOLE BOTTLES!

Since the Big Tuna is more of Bud Light kind of redneck beer drinker I recruited my cohort in booze fiestas Bebe to help with evaluations of Chardonnay, Riesling and Pinot Grigio. The bottles give descriptions of what they will taste like and food pairing recommendations along with their trademark flip flop label. This week’s recipe is seafood, always a hit with the lighter variety of wine.

Tom’s White Clam Sauce
4 tablespoons butter
1 small onion minced
2 cloves garlic minced
Black pepper to taste
2-6 ounce cans chopped clams
Handful parsley chopped
1 cup heavy cream

Drain clams but reserve juice. Melt butter in sauce pan. Add onion, garlic, pepper, clam juice and parsley to butter and simmer for 10 minutes. Add chopped clams and simmer for an additional 10 minutes. Add heavy cream and heat throughout. Serve over hot pasta with parmesan cheese. My Italian brother-in-law gave me this recipe after promising not to divulge it under penalty of mafia. When you don’t hear from me again it’s because I’m living in a South American Country.

All of you that know me know I’m a bit of a wine ho, hopefully I won’t come off too trite in my review. While I’m not sure I agree with the food pairings I have to honestly say I was really surprised on how tasty it really was for a table wine. Now that’s it’s been a steady 110 degrees in Phoenix, light and refreshing is the order of the day. So tasty in fact, I relinquished my standard ice cubes in order to not dilute the taste. If you are looking for a basic and affordable wine then I can certainly recommend Flip Flop wines. I wonder if since they support a Soles4souls I can get a tax deduction….if so, ship me a case.

Towering Inferno

2011-07-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

So Team Tuna must be wondering what the hey? She took the final exam and scored an amazing 95% so why hasn’t she posted every stinking day? Because her damn building has blown a major transformer and only has back up generator power since Monday morning. Mrs. Tuna had to hike down 30 flights of stairs clutching her lunch, gym duffle, and oversize purse like a bag lady in high heels to avert potential rescue by handsome fire fighters. She was wearing a very short dress and being hoisted over their shoulders and letting her naughty parts flash to the world didn’t seem like a high enough payout.

Giant Engineering Company does not sadly pay unless you play. Trying not to be too bitter about having to use PTO for down time, isn’t it equivalent to a snow day or something? Floors 20 to 31 are down for the count. Our computer geeks were able to scurry up to the upper tombs and snag our computer towers and set up shop on the eighth floor where most of us have been sitting ass to elbows, crammed into conference rooms and around lunch tables. But being nice to the IT groups has its perks, they liked me so much they set me up in an office by myself since they know I don’t like people in my personal bubble. Gotta buy them thank you Starbucks gift cards to keep the electronic love coming.

The property management company has managed to hook up one lone elevator to serve the entire building with thousands of workers. This means waits for sardine can like rides of anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes where you incessantly push the elevator button, willing for you turn in the cage. I’ve taken to pushing both up and down buttons and getting on for either direction just to get a chance for this fun house ride. Better to park on the upper floors of the parking garage and hike up a few stair flights. The trainer, Hitler’s little girlfriend Eva Braun would be so proud of my forced exercise but its making me too tired to create a new post when I get home from work. This week’s recipe was a new fish recipe that only took about 10 minutes.

Parmesan Fish
1 pound white fish like sole
1 tablespoon lemon juice
¼ cup parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons softened butter
1 tablespoon mayo
1/8 teaspoon salt
Dash Tabasco sauce

Spray broiler pan with Pam cooking spray. Place fillets in single layer, brush with lemon juice. Let stand 10 minutes. In small bowl combine cheese, butter, mayo, salt and Tabasco sauce. Broil fish 3-4 minutes under preheated broiler for 5 minutes. Spread with cheese mixture and broil for an additional 2-3 minutes. Watch closely!

The property management company has some balls that’s for sure. Instead of bringing us bagels and coffee to soothe the savage beasts that we have become, they send out flippant parking emails. “We have updated your garage parking passes to not allow you to exit the garage if you pull a ticket rather than swipe your badge.” Sure, right time to be parking Nazis rather than FIXING THE F*CKING ELEVATORS. As far as I can tell, elves in the Black Forest are hand crafting a new transformer, so heaven knows when I’ll return to the Crystal Penthouse. Wish me luck peeps.

Dog Days of Summer

2011-07-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

SweetbabyJesusthestatisticsclassfromhellisfinallyover. Listen, I consider myself to be a fairly decent smarty pants but man, taking this as an online class was a serious oversight on my part. Essentially it ends up being self taught because the teacher is boozing it up on her sabbatical sending only sporadic drunk emails. Sheldon, my personal math tutor, was supposed to help but opted to move in with her little wing men and avoid house rules like that pesky curfew. But……the agony is over, I have a few short weeks before I head back to ASU where I’ll be driving myself over the cliff taking 5 classes while working full time at Giant Engineering firm.

So many topics were swirling in my head while trying to determine if I should divide by the square root of “n” or the standard deviation, it was hard to decide on a subject. It seems like all everyone on Facebook and CNN can talk about is the weather. It’s hot, it’s humid, my thighs are stuck together, well man up the rest of the nation. It’s been over 100 degrees since May in Phoenix, I don’t care how much they say it’s a dry heat. Sure, we’re all high and mighty in February when you’re covered in snow and ice but it’s our reward for living in Satan’s cellar from June to October. This paired with my newfound hot flashes make Mrs. Tuna a tiny bit hostile.

Other strategies I employ are getting up at 3:45 AM (no that is not a typo) to ride two horses, take a shower to remove my helmet head before running into my office veal fattening pen by 8:30. This translates into going to bed at 8:00. I feel like a toddler, overwrought and overtired. Please, someone, anyone, put me down for a nap already. Of course I add ice to my wine to keep hydrated, I mean water is just silly.

In a former life I was a vegetarian for 7 or 8 years. It had nothing to do with feeling like it wasn’t moral to eat animals, it was all about texture. Any meat a little chewy caused instant gag reflex. That’s why ground beef is okay, because its pre chewed. Being married to Mister Meat and Potatoes causes me to create some veggie dishes to offset the clogging of my arteries.

Roasted Garlic Cauliflower
1 head cauliflower separated
5 cloves chopped chunky
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
3 teaspoons toasted pine nuts
3 tablespoons lemon juice
Parmesan Cheese to taste

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. On a rimmed baking sheet toss cauliflower with garlic and 3 tablespoons of olive oil and salt. Spread in single layer stirring occasionally until cauliflower is tender, approximately 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer to large bowl and combine with remaining oil, pine nuts, lemon and parmesan cheese.

We’ve been hit with two gigantic dust storms in last couple of weeks. The first, over 100 miles wide and over a mile tall was so thick it left a half inch of fine powder everywhere and full coverage on the weather channel. The chicken sh*t dogs clung to us like we were covered with bacon fat. Earlier this week we had phase two of operation permanent dust in our teeth. One of my coworkers caught it on tape from our 31st floor, pretty impressive. We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto.

Crash and Burn

2011-07-20T12:26:00.001-07:00

It's over, put a fork in me, I'm done, done, done. Lengthy blog to follow. I've missed you Team Tuna.

Ding, 5th Floor Ladies Shoes

2011-07-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

Still chained to my graphing calculator until next Wednesday so here is a repost of an oldie but goodie.

Recently I went to a professional development breakfast where the topic was perfecting your elevator speech. We practiced with each other in a format very similar to speed dating. What I began to realize after round two was I still keep talking, even as the elevator doors closed behind you. I bring this up since I’ve begun to notice this blog is running away with me, too many feisty words. The perfect blog length is between 200 to 300 words. (80 words so far)

I could tell you about the time I was about to be introduced to the US Secretary of Transportation and my co worker told me to keep it on a leash, but that would be 246 words.

Or the time I blanked out on someone’s name during an introduction and had to use his behind closed doors moniker, WBC, (Whine Bitch and Complain) but that would be another 157 words. So quick, out of the gate, this week’s microwave recipe. (164 words and counting)

Weekday Sheppard’s Pie
1 pound ground beef
½ onion minced
10 ounce package frozen green beans (I could go on and on about how I like extra green beans so I add more but that would be more words)
1 can tomato soup
½ teaspoon dried basil
1 tablespoon Worchester sauce
3-4 servings instant mashed potatoes according to directions
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Brown meat and onion in casserole dish in microwave. Add green beans, tomato soup, basil and Worchester sauce and heat for 8 minutes stirring once or twice. Scoop mashed potatoes on top, heat for 2 minutes. Sprinkle on cheese and heat until melted.

I pledge to fit this blog on a single screen, saving you from having to scroll down. Important to keep that index finger in shape. Length of articles are dependent on the amount of liquor consumed. (Akkk, so close, maybe next time I won’t actually count the recipe, 326 words)

All Hail Starbucks

2011-07-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

Stupid Midterm is over but spent the ENTIRE weekend studying for the next senseless test that had to be complete today. I’m finding my brain only has so much capacity, earlier chapters leak out to make room for new sh*t. We were allowed to take a tiny index card with info to the in person test center along with a photo ID for the midterm. Certainly no one was looking to card me. I was pretty skived out by the sweaty scholars and felt the need for a full body condom to ward off their cooties. Grrrrr…..3 more online tests and the final to go, make it stop.

But I have a secret weapon to keep me grinding away at the graphing calculator, Mr. Coffee. When I quit smoking about 20 years ago, I replaced it with eleventy million cups a day to keep that stimulate high necessary to keep this high maintenance b*tch in top performance mode. I’ve literally made three admin peeps quit over the tongue lashings they received for not keeping the office stocked with fragrant beans. But sadly, 2 years ago, I had to cut waaayyyyyy back from a pot a day to one lonely cup due to my blood pressure. But now in my hour of need I’m back at it with a vengeance. In addition to chugging away at the office, I’ve been taking a little stroll over to afternoon iced java at my neighborhood Starbucks, every…..day.

I’m spending so much time there that they start my ice vanilla coffee with 2% while I’m standing in line. I am not tricked by tall, grande and venti. Bring on the extra large…….trenta, pure 32 ounces of cold pleasure. And let me mainline a little lemon bars while I’m at it. I mean I’m already way over my calorie intake, let’s just shoot the wad. And while we’re all overspending our fat content, this week is my Mom’s Coffee Cake to round it out.

Sour Cream Coffee Cake
¼ pound butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
½ point sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Topping
¼ cup sugar
½ cup nuts (like walnuts)
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs, beat well. Add alternating the dry ingredients and sour cream. Mix well. Add vanilla. Sprinkle ½ topping in well greased 10” tube pan. Pour in half batter, sprinkle remaining topping, then remaining batter .Bake at 375 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes.

I’m finding the need to drink iced coffee even on my days off from the slave market and must venture into new Starbuck’s turf for my little fix. Saturday, I was the lone junkie/customer when little Travis queried my heroin/drink request. “And your name?” he probed. Ummmm….my name, isn’t this like an AA meeting? I mean I’m the only one at the counter. “Yes, your name” he insisted. Maintaining my incognito flair….Umm….Travis, my name is Travis. “Really” he squealed, “just like mine”. Whatever, just give me my crack and a lemon bar to go and nobody gets hurt.

Faux Camping and the Fourth

2011-06-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d do a little recap of how I spent celebrating our nation’s birthday last year. Sadly, everyone but Team Tuna is heading out of town leaving me and my statistics professor to continue our little online affair. Midterm is Thursday, wish me luck.

Let’s start off with, I don’t do camping. Who in their right mind would, all that nature gives me the heepy jeepies. I do all my hunting and gathering at Safeway, not the wilderness. My earliest memories of camping are not pretty. Picture a ton of kids, two adults and four wet dogs in a tent that needed to be put up in the pouring rain by an impatient daddy, Buzz. Nuff said.

But Bebe was coming back from Elko, Nevada for the 4th of July and how could I refuse to spend quality time with my BFF since she moved to BFE? When we went “camping” with our nature survivalist friends when the kids were preschoolers it showed what polar opposites we are. Team Tuna stayed in a travel trailer while the B’s stayed in a pop up trailer. The most fascinating difference is while we were practically hosing down the woods with liquid, their little family of four survived on a coffee cup of water. I am not cut out to conserve.

Bebe and Bubba have a little place in Show Low and the Big Tuna was giddy to take his new (at least to us) and shiny RV for its inaugural run. Riding shotgun in the big rig was a weird visual experience. So much windshield, it was like riding in a 1978 AMC Pacer, another stellar purchase my parents made in my youth. The interior was sort of an uncanny twilight zone experience. The upholstery was identical and I mean identical to a sofa we’d retired about 10 years ago. All the built ins and fixtures were ¾ quarter scale. I felt like Alice in Wonderland who ate the cake and grew big. So a quick and easy recipe for the Mad Hatter and crew.

Easy One Dish Tortellini
28 ounces chicken broth
9 ounces cheese tortellini
4 ounces onion and chive cream cheese
1 can undiluted tomato soup

Bring broth to boil, add tortellini and simmer for 5 minutes. Ladle out a little broth into a bowl, add cream cheese and whisk until blended, return to pot. Add the can of tomato soup and heat thoroughly.

Living in the west, wild fire capitol of the world, makes me a little nervous about lighting fireworks. We compromised by flicking lighters inside the RV. But in the end, RV, $30,000, filling it with gas, $300, not peeing in the woods…….priceless.

And Now a Public Service Message

2011-06-18T19:18:00.000-07:00

Statistics are creeping along in the usual ugly manner. I’m almost to the halfway mark for this stupid, stupid mandatory class. We all know the only thing this class will help me with is calculating horse betting at the track. I have however, discovered a secret weapon, the lovely online video professor, young and blonde, with a soothing and encouraging manner. Much like a 1-900 operator. “Math is fun! We can do it together!” If I survive the class, I will be sending her flowers or sex toys, whichever will score me the highest grade. I’ll keep you posted. Her assistance has allowed me a few extra hours to peruse your blogs and craft a new shiny post this week.

One of the random things I have to do at Giant Engineering Company is to go for little meet and greets with the public to explain how civic improvements will improve their little slice of heaven. I was roped into attending on Wednesday night to give local residents an overview of a new sidewalk along a major roadway due to my mad people skills, got those little clients fooled now don’t I. I mean, of course, I can be professional at every turn with my control top pantyhose. The meeting followed the typical format where a few souls with a little too much time on their hands wander by for free cookies.

But one elderly gentlemen was bound and determined to convince us for almost an hour that providing safe pedestrian access along a busy street was a waste of his hard earned tax dollars and by golly he’d never even seen even so much as a streetwalker out there. We should have instituted a safe word like “Poughkeepsie” to make me stop arguing about improving life for the greater community. He did halt at calling me honey, but that was likely the murderous look in my eye that held him at bay. Instead I offered him a chair and a comment card which he filled up on both sides and asked for a second.

Killing time, I resorted to telling my cohorts stories about growing up in my house with my daddy Buzz. You remember Buzz, the man who painted one side of the house every summer and was happy on the year had the short side. We had one of those giant tan station wagons where the last row rode backwards. Those 3 kids always had a completely different vacation then the rest of us. I got smart and barfed first time out and always got to ride up front next to a window. I always knew I was destined as management material.

Once Buzz thought it would be great to get in touch with wild animals and took us to a faux safari park to see lions, tigers and giraffes from the easy convenience of your car. We were no dummies, we knew it meant he only had to pay for the admission for the car not individual hooligans. But………small problem with Old Tan, no air conditioning and it was August. And you couldn’t roll down the window for fear of getting eaten by said nature. For the love of God, we shrieked at the cars in front of us, stop taking f*cking polaroid pictures of the emus and drive. When we got through the exit gate, Buzz compensated by stopping at a gas station, hosing us off with a garden hose and buying us grape soda to defeat heat stroke. The old coot was completely entertained by my mad description of growing up with a mass of kids, took two cookies and toddled away.

The Big Tuna made dinner last weekend during a major math meltdown. Thank you baby!

Prague Goulash
1 onion chopped
2 cloves garlic minced
¼ butter
1 pound beef stew meat
1 pound pork chops cubed
1 teaspoons salt
1 small can tomato paste
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon paprika
1 red and 1 yellow pepper, sliced
½ white wine
½ cup sour cream

Sauté onion and garlic in butter in a large saucepan. Add beef and cook over medium heat until meat loses its pinkness. Add salt, tomato paste, bay leaf, peppers, paprika, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Add pork and cook for one hour. Add wine, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. You can add a bit of water throughout to keep from sticking. Stir in sour cream and heat throughout. Serve over egg noodles.

After eating my own fair share of chocolate cookies, I’d held off so I wouldn’t have the hill billy black tooth look, we started to pack it up for the night. But who should return to get the last word in, only my own personal elderly stalker. He’d discovered that people could use walkways just one road to the south, would I come for a drive with him so he could show me? Listen gramps, Buzz always warned me not to ride in cars with strange men. Sadly, I thought I said this only in my head, but apparently not. I wonder if this will show up on my next performance evaluation. I blame it on trying to determine if a set of numbers will follow the standard deviation or binomial probability rule, stupid statistics.

Sangria and the Stand Up Comedienne

2011-06-13T16:13:00.000-07:00

Statistics are still sucking, big time. Spent an amusing time with my main homies this weekend between reckless study sessions so once again, a repost based on my girls.

My girlfriends call me the funniest person they ever met. The question becomes is that a compliment or a criticism, you be the judge. Maybe it’s the because I was scarred as the middle child of seven with only an eight year difference from the youngest to oldest . Perhaps resulting in snappy one liners that make them scream with laughter so as not to be ignored. My parents, in addition to raising a tribe of comics, breed standard poodles, not those yappy future coyote bait pups, but the great big ones. The trouble with poodles is that if they do something funny and you laugh they will do it continually to the point it is no longer amusing, I am Fifi, hear me roar.

Periodically, the Big Tuna gets tired of my endless babbling and encourages me to have a Girls Weekend in order to wear out my sharp tongue. I went this past weekend to a cabin with the usual suspects, naturally Bebe, Lady Godiva who cuts all of our hair and the Sitter, who not only watched our children growing up, but now keeps us under control so we don’t run with scissors. The more we drink the more outrageous things spew out of my mouth. I keep thinking , this will be the thing that makes them gasp in horror, but it never happens. The only quiet they got from me was on the forced nature walk/death march and that was primarily to keep from tripping over a rock by not paying attention.

It all starts with an innocent glass of wine, but Sangria, oh so much smoother going down.

1 Bottle White Wine
½ Cup Peach Schnapps
2 Tablespoons Orange Liquor
2 Tablespoons Sugar
2 Cinnamon Sticks
1 Lemon Sliced
1 Orange Sliced
1 Peach Sliced
20 Ounces Club Soda
1 Tray Ice Cubes

You can substitute other fruit for the peach, I’ve used strawberries or even blueberries. Perfect drink on the deck overlooking the wilderness. A few glasses and we all got a bit giddy. I’d heard from Sheldon that if you take shots from above it makes you look thinner, standing on top of the deck railing taking downward shots is filled with its own peril. I also did a fine imitation of Helga, the yoga instructor, “you there, tall girl, have you never taken a yoga class before? Widen your flamingo legs and get closer to the floor”.

Just remember, “What happens at girl’s camp stays at girl’s camp”. That is of course until I post it on my blog.

Statistics for the Not Rocket Scientist

2011-06-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

The summer statistics course is kicking my a**. I can’t figure out if I need to divide the square root of the average mean by "n" or "n-1". Or even what the heck "n" is. My math tutor, Sheldon has moved into her girlfriends for the summer. Likely to avoid that pesky curfew we impose. I decided to give some play to earlier posts that only got one or two pathetic comments in their day. I sadly will have no time over the next four weeks to crazily comment on your blogs Team Tuna but know I’m thinking of you. Now to figure out how to use this graphing calculator to do more then balance my checkbook.

What's the Skinny
Now that I’m officially the parent of an adult I’ve begun to notice a very ugly body issue that can only be contained by high waisted jeans. In my head I still feel like the slim waif of decades past, so when I drift by a full length mirror I think, there must be a body pod around with my real self. With Sheldon off a college it was time to take matters into my own hands.

I’d never used the gym membership provided by my office, I didn’t want to sweat with the people I worked with but it was after all free. Who would I possibly see at 6 AM? Just Hitler’s girlfriend, Eva Braun, the resident personal trainer? Ve vell vork out this morning no? Um sure…..the first work left my arms dangling at my sides. I couldn’t raise my limbs to blow dry my bangs and had to resort to using the hand dryer leaving me with more of a Lassie look. Where’s that darn Timmy when you need him.

The following is a true accounting of our company quarter group hug. Just as I sat down with my free sub sandwich and a Dr. Pepper, Eva strolled past 80 people, walked right up to me and asked, “What are you drinking, if you swallow that I’m going to make you regret it.” Uh oh. Apparently Gyms R Us was showing the exercise benefits to the troops.

The problem with diet cookbooks is by the time you’ve added a few innocent things to make it stop tasting like cardboard it’s no longer low cal.

Jambalaya
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil (so okay the original recipe called for cooking spray, off to a bad start already)
1 medium onion chopped
2 cloves garlic minced
2 stalks celery chopped
1 green pepper chopped (you could substitute yellow or red)
2/3 cup uncooked rice
2 cups chicken broth
3/4 pound Italian sausage cooked (are you seeing a substitute trend)
1 ½ cups cooked chicken
16 ounce stewed tomatoes
1 ½ cups frozen shrimp (that is of course if there is any left after the BP oil spill)
1 tablespoon jalapeño Tabasco sauce (it’s a bit more mild)

Cook onion, garlic, celery and pepper in olive oil until tender. Stir in remaining ingredients except for the shrimp. Bring to a boil, cover and reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes stirring occasionally. Add frozen shrimp and cook additional 5 minutes or until rice is done. The joy of this meal is it cooks in a single oversized skillet. If you cook it without the sausage, in theory, it’s less than 300 calories.

I thought this past week she’d tortured me so much I was having a heart attack. I even went so far as to drive myself to the doctor when the chest pains didn’t back down after the diet lunch. After telling me I was putting on weight nicely for a woman my age, with a little giggle told me I’d just pulled a muscle in my chest. I’ve decided if my double A bra could be revised to a double D, my stomach would look flatter since they would stick out further. I’m thinking it would just be easier to get a boob job.

The Future Mrs. Curtis Stone

2011-05-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

Now that Blogger has recovered from the Blackout of 2011, better known as the Google Rapture, I feel like I can move forward with our regularly scheduled format. I know you’re all thinking, thank goodness, what the heck we were going to eat all week without a recipe from our favorite cooking blog. Never fear, Mrs. Tuna is here.

Sheldon and I have a bit of an obsession with the hunky Australian chef Curtis Stone. His blond spikey hair, soothing Aussie accent, ability to cook with one hand tied behind his back. Sigh….. It was love at first sight when we first spotted him on Take Home Chef, a show he wandered around a fancy assed grocery store asking shoppers if he could demonstrate how to cook a perfect meal in your very own house, if you just let him come home with you. Come to Mama my little koala, I mean ahem, I’m a married woman, I’m not the least bit interested. We did however spend hours pausing the show trying to glean clues to the store’s name and location. Look, he smiled at me with his eyes through the television.

His current working gig is as the host of Top Chef Masters another cooking show I’m infatuated with. I made the Big Tuna sit on the couch and explained that I was only interested in what unique foods they would cook under pressure. I verbally chastised Curtis when he flirted with a participant, that’s not the way I want my future son in law to behave. My little flower Sheldon deserves all your attention. This week I’m going to post a dessert, something sweet and tasty like my man Curtis. We need to use up those bananas that your kids begged you to buy that are now are all mushy and brown.

Blender Banana Bread
3 ripe bananas
1 cup apple sauce
2 eggs
1 ½ cup sifted flour (use a sifter or two knives to fluff up, it makes a difference)
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt

Spray cooking spray in a 9” x 9” baking pan, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whirl bananas in blender, add apple sauce and eggs into a puree. Mix flour, sugar, baking soda and salt in medium bowl. Add banana mixture and stir well. Pour into pan and bake for 45 minutes. Confirm doneness by sticking a fork in, if prongs come out clean its ready.

About a year ago, Sheldon deactivated her Facebook claiming it took up too much time and she wanted to not be a hostage to technology. This is the same kid who gave up texting for Lent and we found lying in the fetal position until Easter. As we all sat around at afternoon wine a few weeks ago she wondered aloud if it would be creepy to resuscitate her profile but only “like” his Facebook page. Ummm….no…….I sure that would be fine, I wonder if he’ll dance with me at their wedding reception.

Blogger Hate Mail

2011-05-27T12:37:00.000-07:00

Blogger is having a crisis of epic proportions this month. Naturally this is occurring during the 47 minute break I’m having between the end of the ASU Spring session and before remedial summer school for those us trying to graduate in her lifetime. First Blogger wouldn’t let me leave amazing comments on your space, then I got stuck in a vicious circle of not being able to login and now it’s eaten my followers. You’re there, I can hear you breathing Team Tuna.

I am hoping it recovers before tomorrow but I’m holding off on a real blog post to see if Google can pull their head out of their ass or are they all liquoring up for the 3 day weekend. So alas, no recipe today. If you are a new follower over the last week or so, please, please, please put your blog info in the comment section so I can follow you back. The rest of you, please leave a solidarity comments so Mrs. Tuna does not do herself a typing injury writing hate mail to Google

Eeeeekkkk, Nevermore, Nevermore

2011-05-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had a totally different blog swirling around in my head but I had a bizarre encounter with wildlife that is preempting that post, the Future Mrs. Curtis Stone.

One of things I “inherited” when my mom died was her wacka doodle dog Tonka. She looks a lot like the mutt, Santa’s Little Helper, from Homer Simpson’s house. I like to think of her as a high functioning idiot savant, she will spend hours at the French doors, unblinking, unmoving during the daylight hours. Guarding us against killer butterflies and shrieking children jumping in the adjacent neighbor’s pool. But she has developed an ugly taste for blood.

The killer and her accomplice

Tonka has taken to bumping off baby birds learning to fly that land unprotected in the back yard. Now, every time she heads out all of the birds gather screeching warning from the treetops, enticing flocks from miles around. It is very reminiscent of Hitchcock’s movie, The Birds. As she stands proudly with feathers at the corners of her mouth, they dive bomb her presence to no avail. She is not afraid……or concerned……….swoop a little closer bird and I’ll give you something to squawk about. After the first few murders she is now under supervision like a toddler at the pool. I know you’re all feeling a little grossed out but here’s this week’s recipe. Naturally I picked poultry.

Sherried Chicken with Green Noodles
4 chicken breasts
1 ½ cup chicken broth
½ pound green spinach noodles
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons flour
Salt and pepper to taste
½ teaspoon paprika
¼ sherry or white wine
Grated parmesan cheese

Place chicken in a saucepan and cover with broth. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove chicken and reserve broth. Meanwhile cook noodles according to package directions and drain. Add a little melted butter to prevent noodles from sticking together. In a saucepan melt butter, add flour and stir with wire whisk until blended. Add boiling broth all at once stirring vigorously with whisk until smooth. Add salt, pepper, paprika and sherry to saucepan and heat throughout. Arrange chicken on individual beds of green noodles and cover with sauce. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

The weather right now is about perfect in Arizona. I’ve been sitting on the couch surfing the web with those French door open. The dogs were lying innocently at my feet, and a FREAKING GIANT BIRD FLEW RIGHT INTO THE LIVING ROOM AND LANDED ON A FAN. Pandemonium erupted, the dogs were so stunned they were slow to react. While the bird was flapping around my head I grabbed the collar of the Lizzie Borden of Dogs and crammed her and her wingman in the hall and slammed the door. The bird was now hunkered down behind the recliner hearing the warning cries of its mates a little too late. By opening my own condor like wing span and holding newspaper in my claw like hands I was able to herd the dazed bird to freedom. The whole exercise took less than 90 seconds, A bird in the house is worth two dogs in the hall. I consider it a victory that the damn thing didn’t crap in the house.

1st Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage

2011-05-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

As we revel in our yearly celebration of swapping 29 years of wedded spit I thought an open letter to my man might put things into perspective for all those newlyweds.

Dearest Big,

As I reminisce on our wedding day I thought back to all the little mishaps that could have marred our picture perfect day.

The evening before, we caravanned with the wedding party to my childhood church like lemmings for the rehearsal but wait, who was missing from our ragged crew? Why only the bridesmaid who lived three blocks away, she was out shopping for the perfect earrings. Are you f*cking kidding me? Either pack up you crap or I’m taking your dress and bouncing, it’s my day b*tch and I’m feeling a tiny bit high strung. With pastel blue fluff under my arm I bolted, squeezed the ring bearers mom into the frock as a backup. You negotiated with the little scene stealer to arrive on set with fake smile and good manners.

The service was beautiful, sun shining through stained glass windows, making those of us that had orange mimosas with breakfast a tad bit woozy. Hurry, hurry, hurry I willed the Jamaican pastor before I pass out. I jammed your ring on the wrong hand hoping to starve off fainting resulting in your finger swelling to 5 times its original size. Stellar pictures of you trying to wrench that little slave band off and break for freedom.

For those who don’t know, New Jersey is the east coast equivalent of Seattle, raining more days than not. It poured buckets the day before and the day after but our special day was clear and sunny. Perfect for taking a few pictures at the park. And with all bad weather residents, it was overflowing with people enjoying the 15 minutes of available sunshine. And who do we see casually tossing a Frisbee? Why our friend Fred, whose invitation was returned address unknown. Quick run home and change and join our little party, what’s one more.

With a little time to kill before the reception we opted to hoist a few drinks at the place of our first blind date, the Rock Bottom Inn. A hole in the wall bar was perhaps not the best place to wear white, but who really thought we’d pass for virgins. Ahem, I mean what a horrible place to take young innocents.

But the Pièce de résistance? Two days before the wedding the caterer died from a heart attack. How awful, but the entire kitchen and wait staff were weeping big gulping sobs the entire time they served. Instead of people congratulating us, they spent making sympathetic clucking noises. Here is one of your favorite meals my darling.

Hungarian Chicken
4 chicken breasts
4 tablespoons butter
1 small onion chopped
1 clove garlic minced
1 rib celery chopped
½ bay leaf
2 sprigs parsley chopped
½ teaspoon thyme
2 tablespoons paprika
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons flour
2 cups chicken broth
Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup sour cream

In large skillet brown chicken breasts in half the butter, and set aside. Melt remaining butter in the same skillet and sauté onion, garlic, celery, bay leaf, parsley, thyme and paprika until onion is wilted. Stir in tomato paste and flour, pour in broth and stir rapidly with wire whisk. Return chicken to the skillet and simmer over low heat for 20 minute. Stir in sour cream and heat throughout without boiling. Serve over hot egg noodles.

But my darling David, there a thousands of ways you’ve shown me you’re the man for me.

Letting everyone know how proud you are of how strong and accomplished I am, but letting me feel safe and protected by you always.

Stopping for little old ladies to change flat tires on the side of the road.

Pumping gas for me when I was pregnant since you knew it made me feel sick.

Holding my hand when I came home from the hospital when my mom was dying while I ate cold bowls of cereal before collapsing in bed.

You make me want to be a better person, you make me who I am, you make me whole. You are my love and my life, always.
Dawn

Whew!!!!

2011-05-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

Glad blogger is back up, I couldn't post my darn anniversary post. Tonight after work peeps, stay tuned.....................

Happy Cinco Moth-irth-sary

2011-05-07T19:38:00.000-07:00

Most people spread their personal little festivities throughout the year. I stupidly have crammed them all together within a 9 day window of opportunity. Starting on my birthday on May 4th and ending on my anniversary on May 12th it’s just a whirlwind cluster f*ck.

The Big Tuna took Sheldon and me to a new fancy pants restaurant that featured Nuevo Italian food to rejoice that I haven’t turned 50 yet, thank goodness. Someone pointed out that my birthday had a Star Wars theme, “May the Fourth be with your”. Great, I can remember when it came to the movie theater, pre DVD box set and Blue Ray. The ladies in the pack enjoyed the feast but the lone male doesn’t like any deviations from classic man dishes. It was like getting a toddler to try a new food group, not open to modification of the basic food pyramid of beer, beef and potatoes. In some ways I should be grateful, if he won’t try newfangled fare, it reinforces that he won’t trade me in for a shiny trophy wife.

Next, Cinco de Mayo overtakes Phoenix as the gringo Mexican Independence Day. Clogging the streets with happy hour seeking vagrants in search of cheap beer and tacos. Interesting enough, Mexico’s break from Spain occurred on September 15th and this date just marks some giant hissy fit they had with the French. Fighting my way out of downtown past road blocks for block parties afforded me the opportunity to observe the office tipsy office workers in their native habitat. Men wearing Bluetooth sets in their ears, looking like baby cows that had been punch tagged and ladies wearing sneakers clashing with business attire like eighties fashionistas. This of course mingled in with the religious fanatic who shows up and plays his accordion outside of Starbucks everyday. Trapped in my car, light after light after light. Grrrrrrrrrr……..move before I run your tostados over.

Today, Sheldon arranged to take me, my Sistah and Bebe for afternoon wine tasting to celebrate Mother’s Day. You know afternoon wine, the one you drink and still get home in time to fall asleep on the couch to get out of making dinner. Sheldon is fairly new to wine, last time we went out she ordered a glass of Sha Bliss. Sha Bliss I ask? Sweetie, I think you mean Chablis. This week’s recipe might win for the easiest recipe ever.

Spinach-Ravioli Bake
15 ounces frozen cheese ravioli
6 ounce bag fresh spinach
24 ounce jar spaghetti sauce
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
Optional
2 cups mushrooms sautéed in olive oil with minced garlic.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Combine ravioli, spinach, sauce and mushrooms in casserole dish. Cook covered with foil for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with mozzarella cheese and continue covered for additional 15 minutes. DONE! And only one dish to wash.

Thursday will mark our 29th anniversary, I will of course have a very special post outlining our years of swapping marital spit. And then…….my party boat will be over. I’ll have to move to all those community holidays, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Arbor Day…….At least I’m not a Christmas baby.

Update: It seems like I wrote my paid gig post eleventy weeks ago but the puppy is rolling out at www.inthepowderroom.com on Monday morning. Comment lots to make me look like a rock star and be sure and read my profile for secret personal information that I will have to kill you if you reveal.

Sheldon A.K.A. Speedy Gonzales

2011-04-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

It’s apparent that Sheldon is her father’s daughter. They both are addicted to the intoxicating high they get with the wind whipping through their hair when pressing the gas pedal to the limit. Sadly, her recent meet up with flashing blue lights were impervious to her blond cuteness and it added another 2 points to her growing count.

The first time she was pulled over was 1 month into her shiny new driving freedom pass. “Mom…..sniff, I just got a pulled over and got a ticket” she said in the high tight voice that only high strung Italian greyhound dogs can hear. “Dad is going to KILL me.” Oh honey child, when I first met your dear old daddy, his license was suspended for too many tickets. And so the circle of speed begins.

Last year was an avalanche of those pesky tickets. First, photo radar clocked her doing 47 mph in a 35mph zone. Off to traffic school you sweet you thing, no worries you can go once every two years and no troublesome points to rat to you out to the insurance company. A few weeks later I happened to be a hostage/passenger in her little Ford Focus. “My love, you seem to be driving a teeny tiny bit fast for Mommy’s liking, umm 78 in a 65 might get you pulled over.” Snarling as only an overly sensitive young adult can…..” its fine, I drive like this all the time.” Okie dokie Smokie, I just tightened my belt and checked that the airbag was poised to be activated. Not one week later a little someone got pulled over doing EIGHTY EIGHT in a SIXTY FIVE. Yes indeed, criminal speeding for our little drag racer. Fortunately, the judge took pity on her and reduced it to civil speeding and oops three points rather than shiny handcuffs.

Every conversation at her last trip inside the familiar courtroom started the same way. They all quizzically asked why she didn’t take the remedial driver’s class. In her mind she was traveling with the flow of traffic, not that she wasn’t eligible for an afternoon jail sentence. In the end, she lost, another two points to her pinball tally. This week’s gig will hopefully make her feel a little better.

Low Fat Bisquick Oven Fried Chicken
2 pounds meaty chicken pieces with skin
2/3 cup Bisquick reduced fat baking mix
1 ½ teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon butter

Place butter in 13x9 pan. Preheat oven to 425 degrees and place pan and butter in oven while it’s preheating. Combine bisquick, paprika, salt and pepper in a large resealable bag. Rinse chicken with water and place in bag one or two pieces at a time and shake to coat well. Place meat in pan, meat side down. Bake 35 minutes, turn pieces over and bake an additional 15 minutes or until internal temperature reaches 160 degrees.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was once pulled over by a cop skulking behind a tree when I was about her age. I told him he’d scared me hiding and I stepped on the gas instead of the brake. He laughed so hard he popped the button on his pants and told me to move along as he scurried back to his cruiser. Whew, dodged a bullet that time.

So on a side note, Mrs. Tuna has been have a pretty crappy month at work, so crappy she doesn’t even feel like blogging. So think good karma thoughts for improvement at the slave market, or she will have to rest her head on her keyboard since nothing funny will come out. However, getting more followers might perk me up.

Buzz the Birthday Boy

2011-04-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

Next week will be my dear old daddy’s birthday. His parents nicknamed him Buzz for being an incessant chatterbox…..or perhaps because his real first name, Alsdorf, was a tad unique they felt compelled to provide an alias. But he fancies himself to be a Mister Fix It but let me tell you how life was through the eyes of a child. Buzz likes to say his greatest accomplishment was that he raised seven children and none of us ever went to jail, at least that he knows of.

With eleventy million children my parents opted for an oversized jailhouse to keep us little hellions contained from roaming the streets. But, Buzz’s solution to maintaining the prison gray color was to paint one side of the house every year as his summer project. He was positively gleeful on the years he got the “short end of the house. His daytime gig involved working as an executive for a company that produced roof shingles. His came up with a winning solution for creating a basketball court for the little thugs to burn off energy. He would take the roof scraps, spread them in the backyard and they would compact into a hard surface. Ah no, it was like dribbling a ball in wet sand.

His mad skills translated indoors as well. A small plaster crack in the staircase turned into a bit of a cluster. Buzz accidentally bought outdoor stucco but thought heck, how different could it be. Very different. When it adhered like concrete, he opted to create a textured swirling circle pattern up the entire stairwell. If you brushed up against it you could actually draw blood. Dad likes nice hearty meal so here’s this week’s gig.

Beef and Ravioli Soup
½ pound sirloin steak cubed
2 tablespoons butter
Olive oil
Flour
1 rib celery chopped
½ onion chopped
1 carrot chopped
1 clove garlic minced
½ teaspoon thyme
2 cans beef broth
28 ounce can whole tomatoes chopped
½ teaspoon salt
9 ounces tortellini or ravioli
1 tablespoon cornstarch

Flour steak and brown in olive oil and set aside. Melt butter in Dutch oven. Add celery, onion, carrot, garlic, thyme and slat and cook on medium for 5 minutes. Add broth, steak, tomatoes and bring to boil. Continue cooking on medium for 20 minutes. Add tortellini and cook for additional for 10 minutes. Ladle out a bit of hot broth and combine with cornstarch to make a paste. Return to mixture and stir until soup thickens.

We could talk about the time he decided to paint his aged faded Cadillac, himself. He decided to use his old college colors to honor his alma mater . The body was red, doors, trunk and hood black. With a paintbrush, leaving big giant streaks. He was so proud, we were horribly embarrassed. It was better to walk home in the rain at midnight then be subjected to that little humiliation. One time, when he went to fetch his lovely bride from the airport, a gang of hoodlums laughed so hard that my mom refused to acknowledge him and¬¬ called my brother to pick her up.

The thing that attracted me the most to the Big Tuna was how incredibly handy he was, the polar opposite of Buzz. Something incredibility sexy about a man with a hammer and his own air compressor. But Dad’s the man, compassionate, volunteering in his community to help others. The thing I remember loving the most was riding in the giant station wagon singing songs with his deep bass voice harmonizing with ours. So here’s wishing you a happy day from far away, Happy Birthday Dad.

The First Supper

2011-04-08T19:13:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe I’ve reached the one year milestone. I had delusions of grandeur that I would faithfully post a shiny new blog post every week displaying my writing prowess, score an amazing book deal and quit my dumb job at the slave market. Well now I’ve falling a bit short of this lofty goal and I’ve even had a few reposts but crap, I’m doing the best I can for Pete’s sake. My first couple of posts only gleaned a few paltry comments, mostly from my family who felt only pity for my sad little project. But I feel since we’re all new BFF’s I would commemorate my one year anniversary with my very first post for you critique.

Hello blogger world! Welcome to my small corner of the universe. Why, even though we work all day, we are all faced with the age old question, "What's for Dinner" when we walk in the door. I suppose since I have never changed a flat tire, my spousal unit considers turn about fair play. The difference being I've only had about 5 flats my entire life and dinner is expected 365 days of the year. My goal is the same as many, to spend minimal time in the kitchen so I can spend my off time enjoying my life with the Big Tuna (same significant other).

My mom ran a catering business on the side, so my family members relegate me to peeling potatoes and washing dishes since they believe they are better around the stovetop then me. My friends however are the first to belly up to the table for seconds. I hope you find this blog helpful in pulling things together for a meal and make you a rock star with your family and friends without driving yourself over the cliff. The most important thing to remember is to enjoy the company and pour yourself a glass of wine before commencing. Let the games.

As we approach springtime in Arizona we are entering the calm before the inferno. Grilling now is perfect as opposed to July when you can just throw the food on the sidewalk and it basically cooks itself. I feel like the first official recipe should be a little fancier then the basic in and out of the kitchen. It will however follow the basic rule of minimizing my time in the least favorite room in the house.

Fancy Smanchy Salmon
Salmon fillet, no skin or bones. Typically, I buy a piece from Costco which will feed 8 main courses.
Dijon Mustard
3 Tablespoons capers 16 ounces mushrooms, sliced and browned
1 can artichoke hearts quartered 1 ruby red grapefruit
Place the salmon on a large piece of aluminum foil big enough to enclose all the ingredients. Heavily smear the top of the fish with Dijon mustard. Sprinkle the capers, mushrooms and artichokes over the top. Squeeze the juice from the grapefruit over the assembled dish. Roll the ends of the foil and enclose the fish in an aluminum pouch.
The joy of this particular dish is that you can cook it on the grill or in the oven depending on the weather and the crowd. Set the grill to medium high or the oven to 375 degrees for approximately 30 minutes. The way to tell if it’s done is to stick a fork in it and twist it. If the fish turns easily, you are good to go. A great side is grilled asparagus, just coat with olive oil and grill for 3 to 5 minutes.

And there you have it, my first attempt at public humor. During the year I’ve noticed the post that has had the most disturbing amount of page views is New Adventures of a Naughty Schoolgirl. Google search makes me feel a little bit dirty. Note to self, during the next year I will strive to pick post names that will raise me out of the gutter…….and perhaps score that book deal after all.

Punish the Wicked

2011-04-03T13:15:00.000-07:00

Spinning so many plates is actually making me a little motion sick. I’m not thinking that Dramamine is going to fix me up. I’ve had one of those inferior weeks where no matter how many chains of four leafed clovers or lucky rabbit foots I carried I couldn’t catch a break. On a scale of 1 to10, this was a minus 47.

First, I’ve acquired a new little stalker at ASU. Being late to lectures causes me to get there psychotically early, so early in fact I can’t even get into the lecture hall because the previous class is still sleeping in there. A slightly creepy middle aged, shoulder height, chain smoker has started to sidle up to me to compare reading assignments. I don’t want to hear you whine about how going to school full time is so hard for you, ummm….I’m doing the same plus working full time bucko. Stop blowing smoke rings at me or I’ll spray you with Fabreeze. Just because we can both remember the 80’s doesn’t mean I’m in the market for a new study buddy.

Next, I met an old boss for lunch to pick up a letter of recommendation for a potential scholarship. A five minute drive turned into a Beat the Clock episode. I literally got ever f*cking light, a construction zone and a blinking railroad crossing. I’m trying to make a good impression for Pete’s sake. On the way back to the slave market it was smooth sailing. Of course I couldn’t read how amazing I am at stop lights and had to wait until I was back in my veal fattening pen.

I stopped at Circle K for gum and waited patiently behind a well-dressed 5oish man. We exchanged pleasant smiles and remarked on the lovely weather. “I’ll take 20 Mega Picks, 20 Powerball, and 10 Pick 5. Oh and Slutty Magazine with the free XXX disk. “ Ewwwww……. This week’s fare is easy except it causes you to dirty every dish in your kitchen.

Gringo Spanish Rice
3 cups cooked rice
1 pound ground beef
1 green pepper chopped fine
1 small onion also chopped fine
2-16 ounce cans tomato sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan Cheese

Brown beef, onion and green pepper in a skillet. Combine beef mixture, rice, tomato sauce, salt and pepper in a casserole dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Serve with parmesan cheese. (Don’t ask it’s delicious.)

I pulled a loose thread from the cuff of my suit sleeve which led to an ugly unraveling and a droopy sleeve. It made me look like a sad neglected office gnome in need of some TLC. Thank goodness I had a stapler and knew how to use it. Hardly anyone noticed my sparkly ring of fasteners. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time I got into the mirrored elevator on the 30th floor and noticed my skirt tucked into my pantyhose, for WHO KNOWS HOW LONG. It was either April Fools or maybe the fates are just punishing the wicked this week. Hopefully you all fared better than me.

Far Flung In Laws

2011-03-20T06:39:00.000-07:00

We all know how Mrs. Tuna is distracted by shiny objects, losing her focus and misplacing her wine glass. Last week I had a post comment asking me to contact them for an interesting proposition. Since I am no longer the young nubile girl of my youth I knew it wasn’t going to be anything slutty. Imagine my thrill at being asked to be a regular featured writer on Inthepowderroom, a place to spew my random thoughts on life of over the edge. I will keep you posted on when the roll out begins but the most exciting part is they will pay me in vino. But…….that means that this week is going to be a bit of cheater. Rumors are swirling that a certain somebody is coming for their yearly visit.

Sesame Chicken and Phil (FFIL)
Many, many moons ago, the Big Tuna and I left the bosom of our families back east and moved to sunny Arizona. As a fairly new bride my cooking skills were at the kindergarten level but I managed to piece together enough of a meal to keep us from starving to death. I should at this point say that after more than a quarter of a century, between us we’ve gained enough weight to have added a 5th grader.

During cold and bitter months we are a favorite destination spot for long lost relatives. We have one Far Flung In Law (FFIL) or Phil who has a tendency to be a major critic of people for a little personal sport. On his initial visit he and the Big Tuna decided they’d go for a day of golf and we’d head out to a fancy dinner once I returned from my job at the old slave market. Upon my homecoming, the boys had been visiting the beer cart in the hot, hot sun and decided the little woman could hook them up with a bite to eat. So be it, bacon wrapped beef filet, broccoli, and Rice a Roni it’s a meal, or is it….

Me: Something wrong with the rice Phil?
Phil: Mrs. Phil never makes Rice a Roni.
Me: Well Mrs. Phil doesn’t work so she has time to grow her own stinking rice.

Okay, I said the last line in my head, not out loud.

The following day, the Big Tuna left on a business trip but the good sport I am, made another feeble attempt at cooking something to please this picky in law.

Sesame Chicken
4 chicken breasts
½ cup soy sauce
1 cup flour
2 Tablespoons Sesame Seeds
2 Tablespoons butter cut in pieces

Mix together flour and sesame seeds. Dip the chicken breasts in soy sauce and roll in the flour mixture. Place in shallow baking dish, dot with butter. Cover with aluminum foil, bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Remove foil and cook an additional 15 minutes.

Phil: This is the first good thing you’ve ever cooked for me.
Me: And also the very last. (Not in my head)

Phil staggers to town nearly every year, he stopped asking “What’s for Dinner” after about Year Ten. I will assemble a little meal for myself leaving them to forage for cold cuts and can openers. Sometimes he’ll even pop to take us out. The only thing I should mention here, is the best side dish with the chicken? You got it, Rice a Roni.

Keg stands and Mammograms

2011-03-10T19:48:00.000-08:00

Hello, hello, hello!!!! I have reached the halfway point in the semester, Spring Break and I’m like a Labrador puppy unrestrained from my crate. I’m so excited to be free I might even piddle on the floor. I feel like I’ve been neglecting all my followers, haphazard commenting on your posts, writing weak things like “good job, keep it up”, I know feeble. My last post regarding The Boy’s Birthday was dashed off only to meet the appointed deadline, just cribbing info from his Facebook page. But now Team Tuna, I will be dedicating this week to catching up with all of you, being witty and filled with snappy comebacks.

Attending school has certainly reaffirmed that being surrounded by girls in short skirts and Ugg boots with their naughty parts hanging out magnifies my muffin top. My sensible flat shoes clicking loudly in comparison to the soft soled Van sneakers of boys with pierced lips causing them move aside and call me Madam. Sh*t, when did I go from Miss to Madam, it happened in a blink of the eye. More importantly, remember when we were all a little creeped out by pierced eyebrows? I actually saw someone with pierced nipples, I couldn’t look away, and it was mesmerizing. Ouch, that’ll leave a mark.

Two of my classes are in king size lecture halls, I always aim for the aisle seat and in my anal retentive manner get there nice and early to ensure early boarding passes. But it also places me near the electrical outlets, one chick tried stringing her power cord across my chest in order to check her Facebook status, ah no, step away or I will b*tch slap you. I’ve been up since 4:30 AM and I’m mighty cranky.

I fortunately haven’t had any sobbing fests in the urban planning movie class, but did have one kid nod off and try and rest his head on my shoulder. I now spread my crap all over the chair next to me marking my territory, daring anyone to make me move it. The added bonus is it has also kept those coughing, hacking, phlegm and germy little slugs away. You’re all running for the hand sanitizer now aren’t you. This week lets aim for something a little less fast to make up for all the drive thru food.

Rock Cornish Game Hens
2 small game hens
1/3 pound ground sausage or pork
¼ cup chopped onion
1 clove garlic minced
2 cups Pepperidge Farm herb stuffing
¼ cup milk
Chicken Broth to moisten
½ rib celery chopped
½ teaspoon thyme
½ teaspoon rosemary
½ teaspoon basil

In skillet brown pork with garlic, onion and celery until meat is no longer pink. Drain off excess liquid. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Stuff hens and place on meat rack in shallow baking dish. Baste hens with butter and cover with foil. Cook in preheated oven at 350 degrees for 1 ¼ hours. Remove foil for last 15 minutes.

So while my little school chums are off to Cancun doing keg stands, I have scheduled myself for all those pesky appointments I have no time for. Hair cut, skin cancer check, pap smear and mammogram. I know, I can see your jealously, all sad and transparent. If I could have worked in a tummy tuck, I would have invited all of you over for body shots. Ah well, maybe next year.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

2011-03-04T06:00:00.000-08:00

Well that’s what they say little girls are made of. But boys, they are made of Axe cologne and sweaty hormones. My Sistah’s son, The Boy, is going to be 17 this weekend. Recently he quizzed me to find out if he’d been featured in any recent blogs posts, no worry Batman, it can be my present this year to ridicule you. Sheldon traveled in different circles playing her giant cello and doing the pageant wave. While I only have a daughter I also have four brothers and work with all men so I speak guy. The Big Tuna is surrounded by females, including the wonder dogs, swimming alone in the deep end of the estrogen pool.

Boys are just wired different, Sheldon and The Girl fixate about homework assignments, calculating how many extra credit points they need to keep up their obsessive compulsive grades. The Boy, like many male teens have lots of incompletes on their midterm reports, turning in missing assignments and acing their tests to attend the Disneyland field trip in the nick of time. In preparation of this post, I spent a little time scrutinizing his Facebook page for fodder.

The Boy Facebook Status:

SO apparently if I get staight A's in all my classes final semester I will officially own the .22 caliber bolt-action CZ rifle that I unofficially own!! I'M SO FREAKING EXCITED!! Now I actually have some incentive to get my work done instead of slacking! It's not final yet and my mother and father need to talk about it but I'm pretty sure that my dad realizes that I love that rifle WAY more than he does.

Really a gun, hold me I’m scared. Hopefully it won't turn into a Columbine incident. But also a more sensitive side.

The Boy Facebook Status:

At the midpoint in life I found myself in a dark forest for the clear path had been lost…..Dante’s Divine Comedy

How insightful, so mature, so alien from the rough and tumble man child he appears to the 10th grade population. I asked my Sistah for his favorite meal. He and the Girl were both adopted from Korea as babies, here is the recipe for Bulgogi, a Korean barbeque dish.

Bulgogi
2 lbs boneless beef (sirloin etc.) or chicken, sliced thinly; cut bite-size
4 cloves minced garlic
1 Tbs. toasted sesame seeds
1/3 cup soy sauce (I use low sodium)
2 Tbs. sherry
1/4 tsp. pepper
3 green onions finely chopped
2 Tbs. sesame oil
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. fresh ginger, minced (or 1/8 tsp. ginger powder)

Mix all ingredients except the meat to make marinade. Marinate the meat from several hours to overnight. Grill quickly or under the broiler. Serve over rice with Kim-Chee.

Last year we met up with some of his friends at my Sistah’s for his sweet sixteen. Clammy boys were focused on Sheldon’s awesome blondness and big boobs. I thought one of them was going to faint when she showed them her tattoo. I will leave you with another boy-ism,

The Boy Facebook Status:
Multiplication is like women. If they’re under 13, you just do them in your head.

Oh dear. Lock up your women, he’ll be driving before you know it.

Hoarders, Old Checkbooks and Diaries oh my!

2011-02-24T11:20:00.000-08:00

Getting my Bachelor’s degree in Urban Planning is part of a vague bigger long term plan to maybe shuffle outside of sunny Arizona to points east. But they say all journeys begin with a single step. Mine is to consider how the hell we were going to pare down all the junk we’ve accumulated over the last 25 years into something manageable. I started over winter break purging a closet here, a drawer there, I mean crap, I won’t graduate for two years. Surely I can get rid of my hoarder tendencies before then right?

One major task was to empty out our 4 drawer filing cabinet with all of our “important papers”. Do I really need canceled checks since 1985, owner’s manuals for the last three microwaves we’ve owned, and the Girl Scout Cookie Mom code of conduct? I certainly need to keep our first joint tax returns. We made $11,000 smackers, living large in 1982 (Ah no, not 1902). But I did discover a folder where I had inscribed funny musing regarding Sheldon’s upcoming birth. Now granted this was during the stone ages before they even invented that newfangled internet let alone blogs.

Excerpt from Labor and the Remote Control, circa 1989
Working in a male dominated field has caused me to realize that women’s liberation is considered to be just a blip in the road to the engineering workplace. Every Monday morning was greeted with an official waddle check, what saved me was that I was an Amazon height among my male patterned baldness peers. Then came the questions of when I would leave prior to the birth of our little bundle of joy. When informed I planned to work to the bitter end I was greeted with horrified gasps of “but we just had the carpets cleaned”. Stop it, surely I’m not the first employee to have a baby. Oh but I was, I was like a weird science experiment that went horribly wrong. I kept on cooking, after all I was eating for two. Oh yeah, Big Tuna too, wouldn’t want him to be hungry. Maybe a salad, I was 187 pounds when I popped after all.

Caesar Salad
1 large head romaine lettuce, washed and shredded into bite size pieces
3 Anchovies, minced
2 cloves garlic minced
¾ cup parmesan cheese
1 egg, coddled
1-2 lemons
½ olive oil, don’t cheat and use vegetable
Croutons to suit

Assemble lettuce, garlic, anchovies and parm cheese and toss slightly. Bring a small sauce pan of water to a boil, place egg in for no more than one minute, crack and place slightly runny egg in bowl. Add olive oil and juice from lemons. The amount of lemon juice is a personal preference. I like it sour, so I may not be the best judge, you can always add more, but never take back.

Fortunately I went into labor over a weekend so I didn’t damage anyone’s delicate psyche. I nudged my beloved and whispered my contractions were 10 minutes apart. Without opening his eyes he grunted I should let him know when they were more like 5 because he needed his rest in the delivery room. After jumping up and down on his body and whining I wanted company he staggered from our snug bed. This resulted in the dogs leaping up for breakfast and walks, so much for a sympathetic back rub.

Settled into a cheerful labor and delivery our nurse offered the usual ice chips and hospital gown. She helped me into bed, fluffed my pillows and gave me the remote control. A look of confusion passed over the Big Tuna’s face. In our house, he is the remote control king complete with rechargeable batteries and Lazy Boy recliner. “I am having the baby! I should get to choose!” I proclaimed. With quivering lips he released his tug of war grasp on his real firstborn. But it was 1:00 AM and the only stinking thing on was the ESPN Sportcenter loop so it was still a win for him. (At this point I will point out this was pre HGTV, Bravo, and the Food Network so it was this or CNN)

I, of course, was one of those weenie woman who never considered anything but maximum drugs, problem was, even though my contractions were a minute apart, I was only one centimeter. “Sorry Mrs. Tuna, gotta be at least a five before your epidural, just keep breathing.” “Yes honey breath”, said my baby daddy as he fondled the remote and started idle flipping though the channels. Give me my f*cking drugs and I’ll breath, otherwise, I’m going to hyperventilate and do myself an injury and take your hands of the damn clicker.

No one here needs all the intimate details, we all have our own memories of our special moments, depending on the morphine haze level. Epidurals……are a wonderful thing….sigh. My teeth were numb, I was in my happy bubble. However, the hospital staff referred to the Big Tuna as a “fainter”. Needles in the back made him wobbly, needless to say he got a chair during delivery and his own personal spotter. But he survived that and more, sweet sixteen parties, graduations and someday he’ll walk Sheldon down the aisle. After all, she has been Daddy’s little girl from day one.

Living in a My Little Pony World.

2011-02-16T18:49:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up, one of the eleventy million jobs my mom had was managing a 50horse hunter jumper show barn. It allowed her to bring the seven heathen children with her on days we were freed from our school prison to run like savages in the countryside. Once it was discovered that my long legs kept me stuck like glue on bucking two year old colts my fate was sealed. “Sure, throw the scrawny one up on Widowmaker, she’s young, she’ll heal quick if she breaks anything.” I rode 5 or more horses everyday all through high school as well as the East Coast circuit allowing me to mail my homework in from beyond the tri state area.

(No this is not a stunt rider, it is actually Mrs. Tuna)

I must secretly or maybe not so secretly be into S & M. As you know, I inflict myself on Eva Braun and her best friend Helga the yoga instructor on a sort of consistent basis. But I also have a much more regular relationship with my horse trainer, Attila the Hun’s cousin Sue the Sadist. Equestrians get all hot and dreamy when surrounded by whips and leather. Ahem.

Horseshow season is almost upon us in Arizona and my tormentor has accelerated to more of a frat house hazing phase. Umm, gee, that fence looks pretty darn big, I’m a little teeny bit concerned my horsie might stop and launch me from the fetal position on my head. I mean, I don’t want to have to take a bed in the Christopher Reeve Wing at the hospital. I will share here that Sheldon fell off in one of her lessons and broke her arm a few years ago. Nothing binds you to your daughter like having to shave her armpits for her. “Put your big girl panties on Sparky and get on with it, you’ll be fine”.

When we horseshowed our food needed to be easy access, today I’m sharing a chicken salad thing we ate on bread or crackers or even just a spoon.

Waldorf Chicken Salad
5 boneless chicken breasts, cooked and diced
1 cup chopped walnuts, big pieces
1 box frozen snow peas
1 cup mayo
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
3 tablespoons white vinegar
½ teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons sugar
2 apples, peeled, cored and chopped
4 celery stalks, chopped

Combine and chill. My misspent youth was before the days of sunblock, electrolyte drinks and bottled water. My mom did her best to ensure we had plenty of salt and hydration in our system by offering salt tablets washed down with Rolling Rock nips. I always thought I rode better with a bit of a beer buzz.

But sadly, my horse Lad (Yes as in boy), is off with an injury that will keep him stall bound for 9 to 12 months, 6 down, 6 to go. He’s a giant horse, his back as tall as my head and I’m almost 6 foot tall, stuck in his square cell. The vet has put him on a long lasting tranquilizer, when I looked it up online one of the things they treat with it is schizophrenia in people. It must be keeping the little voices quiet in his pea brain. The backup ride, while kindly lent by said trainer is a tad bit sensitive. Bordeaux’s eyes spin like pinwheels and leap sideways at imaginary cougars hiding behind jumping fences. My lessons are typically with the teen girls, explaining why most of my Facebook friends are under 18. I’ll be glad when my personal bully leaves for the show grounds and I can stop peeing my pants in fright. I’m too old for this sh*t.

Fatal Attraction

2011-02-08T18:59:00.000-08:00

Cupid is skulking around the fringes of February, causing me to reflect on the lure that bound the Big Tuna and me together. I read a scientific study, okay maybe I read it in the National Enquirer, that you tend to pick a mate that looks hauntingly like you. That’s because it’s like looking in a familiar mirror, great, nothing like being attracted to someone who reminds you of your brother. Okay, now we’ve all thrown up a little in our mouths we can move on. This was confirmed by our trip to the Big Tuna’s 20 year class reunion.

Honey, how about this black velvet skirt and fancy red top to wear? Sure, looks fine, pack that, whatever. We arrive at the big event, wanna guess the school colors, you got it, BLACK and RED. Dude, really? Even the name tags fit the color scheme, black for alumni and red for the spouses. My saving grace was the couple that stood up at our nuptials gave me someone other than the wait staff and chaperones to talk to. The same married man that had given me the impression that he should have starred on the Dukes of Hazard was strangely surrounded by a giant pocket protection crowd. I had him pegged as more of shop class kind of guy rather than chess club.

On my way to the bar for a refill of white wine over ice, I was accosted by a slightly weaving woman, who insisted we’d had home economics together. Girlfriend, you must be mistaken, see my name is written in RED. But I just talked to you brother, the Big Tuna and after all, you’re wearing the school colors. Arghhhhh. We could not have less in common perhaps that is the glue that has held us together for almost 30 years. He’s meat and potatoes, I’m faux vegetarian. Shoot he’d never even eaten broccoli until he met me. Starbucks has given me a gold card, he drinks Pepsi with donuts. He likes fast sand cars in the dunes, I had to take Dramamine when we visited Disneyland. In honor Valentine’s Day, here is a recipe from Cosmo magazine. The claim is if you make it, your man will pop the big question.

Engagement Chicken
• 1 whole chicken (approx. 3 lb.)
• 2 medium lemons
• Fresh lemon juice (1/2 cup)
• Kosher or sea salt
• Ground black pepper

Place rack in upper third of oven and preheat to 400 degrees. Wash chicken inside and out with cold water, remove the giblets, then let the chicken drain, cavity down, in a colander until it reaches room temp (about 15 minutes). Pat dry with paper towels. Pour lemon juice all over the chicken (inside and outside). Season with salt and pepper. Prick the whole lemons three times with a fork and place deep inside the cavity. (Tip: If lemons are hard, roll on countertop with your palm to get juices flowing.) Place the bird breast-side down on a rack in a roasting pan, lower heat to 350 degrees and bake uncovered for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and turn it breast-side up; return it to oven for 35 minutes more. Test for doneness—a meat thermometer inserted in the thigh should read 180 degrees, or juices should run clear when chicken is pricked with a fork. Continue baking if necessary. Let chicken cool for a few minutes before carving.

But my official arm candy has a few interesting sensitive secrets. He’s a sucker for musicals and plays, he stops for little old couples broken down on the side of the road and always offers me the last shrimp. Since I have never understood the ins and outs of haikus, something about so many syllables, with some many lines, blah, blah, blah, I will instead wish my sweetie, Happy VD!! Valentine’s Day, get your minds out of the gutter.

What’s Your Sign my Little Zodiac Killer?

2011-01-30T18:16:00.000-08:00

As a rule I don’t read my horoscope, sometimes vaguely checking it depending on how many stars they say my day was going to have. Never read anything less than a 3 star post, that would just be wrong. The first day of classes at ASU was ranked as a four star day, I chanced it.

Taurus-You are a learner, remember this, even when you feel like standing still in what you already know. Translation: Don’t spit on the 20 year olds, they may spit back.

But ASU f*cks you coming and going on random fees, parking permit…….$850 a year, Sheldon and I are sharing this little ransom pass. But it is the MOST amazing parking space. It overlooks the men’s diving team practice. Clap, clap, clap, clap, dive again my handsome Adonis, triple twist my young buck...ahem, I mean it’s important that the youth today exercise and not become couch potatoes getting fat right?

Wandering around campus made me feel like the uncoolest, unhippest, matronly woman on the planet. Usually when comparing myself to the same age plaintiffs on Judge Judy I think I’m holding up pretty well. Now I’ve gone from being the girl in high school that was eleventy feet tall to the woman who is eleventy years older. There is no way to compete with their player hair and bare midriffs. They just sucked all the pretty out of me. Gotta get me some spanks, that is a given.

My over control freak tendencies enabled me to show up with my color coordinated folders and sharpened number 2 pencils ready to roll. Glancing around I am easily the oldest of 450 students. As I had just driven straight from the salve market I was dressed as the middle aged professional that I am. I hiked up my control top pantyhose, mostly to hold in my fat, ready to absorb to finer points of Urban Planning. It’s an iPad versus iTampon world.

One class is an online adventure. Students are required to post their points of view on a discussion board about challenges facing third world countries. In every single post they were “shocked”. No one was surprised, upset , stunned, shaken, dismayed. Could it be that Mrs. Tuna is the only one who knows how to use a Thesaurus? Here’s a little something to hold you over until next week.

Microwave Spaghetti Carbonara
8 ounces spaghetti
10 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
3 tablespoons butter
¾ cup grated parmesan cheese
3 eggs

Cook pasta conventionally while microwaving bacon until done. In 2 quart casserole dish, microwave butter until melted. Mix in cheese, eggs and bacon. Drain pasta and add to casserole dish. Toss with cheese mixture. Microwave on high 2 to 4 minutes or until eggs are set, tossing every minutes.

I however am doomed. One required class is called “Cities and Cinemas”. Basically, you watch movies and write papers based on Urban Planning concerns. Really, Julie & Julia qualifies for this? I kid you not. My problem is I cry at movies and sad TV shows. I wept so much when George’s dad died on Grey’s Anatomy I gave myself a migraine. I cry every time at Homeward Bound when the dog falls in the hole, know he gets out, but nonetheless, big mascara stained tear tracks, this is going to be ugly. But I am a Taurus, I am not full of Bullsh*t, bring it.

Sheldon Does the Salsa

2011-01-22T16:42:00.000-08:00

First week in the hormone filled school zone was just ducky. I may whip up a blog involving my amazing parking space overlooking the men's diving practice but for now I thought I'd recap my little Buttercup's nickname.

Nicknames are a funny thing. When your little bundle of joy arrives you coo out little terms of endearment, Sugar, Sweet Pea, Baby Girl. My Dad embarrassingly saddled me with Pooh for my love of A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh. This was prior to them being trademarked by Disney and other forms of over animation and glitz. Here I’ll mention this was a man whose own mama called him Buzz until the day she died.

A little innocent comparison to someone evolves in to something that sticks no matter how much you try and shake it. I once knew a kid named Nimrod who tried to convince me it meant mighty hunter. Snort, yeah right.

So what about Sheldon? Why pick such a nerdy name for our strikingly beautiful daughter? She is a born and bred overachieving smarty pants. Her favorite day, March 14th, Pi Day (3.14159265), math geeks unite. She was the kid who was having lunch everyday with the guidance counselor in 6th grade to figure what she needed to do to get her hands on scholarship dough. When I was twelve, I was happy to find my classroom and a seat in the back of the room.

Sheldon and "The Girl"

When the television show “The Big Bang Theory” came out, the most intellectual guy was Sheldon. She thought we called her that since she was so smart, in reality it was his desire to have only order in his life and color only in the lines. Assigned seating and color coordinated food became our norm. Sheldon begged us for a Periodic Table shower curtain just like the cast. Actually snorted when they told funny inside math jokes. Who are you? Were you switched at birth?

But she makes a mean Salsa, I mean the stuff is like heroin, I can drink it from a cup, why bother with chips.

Sheldon’s Salsa

28 ounce can whole tomatoes
Juice from 1 medium lemon
4 green onions
1 cup cilantro
½ white onion
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
5 jalapeños
1 whole tomato, cut X on ends
1 ¾ reserved liquid.

Place 5 jalapenos and tomato in a sauce pan with 3 cups of water, bring to a boil for 15 minutes, reserve liquid. Seed peppers and skin the tomato and liquefy with reserved liquid in a blender. I should mention it should be done in a well ventilated area and those darn peppers should be handled carefully. I once thought I blinded myself when I scratched my eye while handling. Run the remaining ingredients in a food processor and place in bowl, pour in pepper combination. If you’re inspired you can cut up a few avocados and throw in. Serve with tortilla chips.

But the Big Tuna and I are proud of our little flower, she graduated 44th of 808 kids in her high school class with a pretty darn good scholarship to ASU where she is triple majoring in secondary education, math and Geek. All I got left for those of you in the Big Bang Fan Club, Bazinga!!!

The New Adventures of a Naughty School Girl

2011-01-16T07:08:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I documented my to Kool 4 Skool challenges on getting my ass in gear to get a degree in Urban Planning. The current economic climate made me realize I needed to put myself on my own pedestal. Since I have the social skills of a feral cat I know I need the technical edge to keep me from being eaten like a limping zebra. I was faced with the trials and tribulations of obtaining mimeographed transcripts from 1040 BC, getting my rabies shots and wading through used condom wrappers to get accepted at ASU.

But my personal life’s plate already shows signs of too many trips to the all you can eat buffet. What was I thinking? How can I crowbar in one more stinking thing? A typical week for Mrs. Tuna involves the following random acts.

I try and torture myself at 5 AM two or three mornings a week with Eva’s Braun’s best friend Helga the yoga instructor. You there, flamingo, spread your legs wider and get closer to the floor. This may be something I can let go, actually, I’m sure I can let go. I visit the invalid horse Lad an hour away once a week and ride the loaner horse 3 or 4 days a week. I sit on a variety of professional boards and lecture sweet young girls on the fabulousness of working in a man’s world. And oh yeah, a minimum 40 hour work week at Giant Engineering Company.

I also need to make time to wear my naughty girl school outfits, I mean make dinner for the Big Tuna. At this point in the blog Sheldon is poking her eyes with a sharp object to burn that image out of her head. Mommy and Daddy never did the nasty sweetie, we found you under a rose bush in the garden. Maybe honey child you should skip to the end of this post. Here is a fast during the week recipe so we’re eating more than drive thru next week.

Applesauce Pork Chops
1 jar of applesauce
4 medium thick pork chops
Cinnamon

Pour half the jar of applesauce in the bottom of a shallow square baking pan. Place pork chops on top and cover with remaining applesauce and sprinkle with cinnamon. Cover with foil and cook at 350 degrees for an hour. Serve with mashed or bake potatoes.

During the winter school break I sent an email, even using my real name to fellow blogger Mrs. 4444s about how to get more followers and comments. Her amazing counsel helped me grow from 25 to over 100 followers, over 50 comments and a tweet on my last post and meet up with a ton of amazing and way funnier peeps than me. It’s been wonderful to have other people besides my drunken friends tell me I have mad skills. But I’ve been devoting a lot of time to my blog this break and know I have to make a few adjustments with carrying a full time class schedule on top of everything else.

So here is my commitment to you my fellow readers, I will continue to post every single week, but I may cheat and repost some of my earlier silliness. I assure you, I was just as freaking funny six months ago when none of you knew I existed. Bear with me Team Tuna, don’t Unfollow me. (This is the Facebook equivalent of being Defriended) Same time, same place next week. Peace out. See I’m hipper and more of a sorority sister already.

The Chore Wheel of Death

2011-01-09T15:37:00.000-08:00

It always seems to be an age old struggle of Men versus Women. While I had been a child bride in the stone ages, my mom ingrained in me that I wasn’t allowed to be a fragile flower and needed to be my own financial sugar daddy. The Big Tuna came from a more traditional upbringing where the little woman would hook up a big post church Sunday dinner and birthing babies. It’s all about negotiating. But somehow there are a few kinks in our chore wheel.

Every Saturday I do the grocery shopping, pen poised in hand quizzing Team Tuna on needed items. I do not have ESP to see that you are out of deodorant or ketchup a vegetable I do not eat has run dry. This however translates into 27 phone calls while at Safeway for missing items and several loops back to the condiment aisle thus ensuring my exercises for the day. I have to go before noon, heaven forbid there isn’t anything in the house for lunch for the starving masses.

But I have been making this trip for over 25 years, I’m always gone for 47 to 53 minutes and yet………no one is available to lug in the 83 pound bags. Excuses range from I was in the shed, taking a shower, mowing the lawn, going potty. Didn’t you hear me kicking the door in the 500 degree heat shrieking that the Cherry Garcia was melting?

Why is it that recycles are left at the end of the counter instead of walking the THREE additional steps to the recycle can. I even bought a great big one so you can’t complain it’s too full. A side note, the recycle people don’t take dryer lint, it cannot be woven into a new sweater. It should go in the other can, RIGHT NEXT TO IT.

Laundry is the bane of my existence, pushing it through the washer and dryer and piling it a gigantic pile in the middle of our bed does not constitute doing the laundry big guy. Nor does washing my work blouses and bras with jeans. I don’t mind folding it but untangling the maze of wire hangers to drape up our work clothes I hate. I live for when Kathy the Wonderful comes to clean the house every other week. She even DOES MY LAUNDRY, neatly folded and put away. Let’s bow our heads in thanks for the cleaning woman.

In honor of the Sunday dinner here is what we’re eating out our house tonight.

Beef and Broccoli

1 pound round or flank steak cut in 1/8” strips
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons oil
1 clove garlic minced
1 medium onion minced
2 ½ cups beef broth
2 cups broccoli florets cooked
1 ½ teaspoon corn starch
2 tablespoons soy sauce

Sprinkle beef with salt and pepper. In large skillet heat oil, add beef, onion and garlic and cook until meat is browned on all sides. Add beef broth, cover and simmer for 10 minutes. Mix cornstarch, soy sauce and a bit of the heated broth in a small bowl. Add to meat mixture, add broccoli and stir until sauce has thickened. Serve over hot rice.

In all fairness I’ve never mowed the lawn or strung the Christmas lights. All that mechanical stuff gives me the willies. One day at work I was rushing out of the office to get home in time to prepare our anniversary dinner my boss asked, “And how many years of marital bliss is the lucky Big Tuna having?” At the time we’d been swapping wedded saliva for 15 years I answer 2. You see it’s not always rainbows and puppies, marital happiness happens in 10 minute increments Viagra notwithstanding. Just call me Vanna White.

And the Winner is…….Me

2011-01-05T17:09:00.000-08:00

Well, 1 Funky Woman picked me out of the eleventy million blogs she reads everyday for a Stylish Blogger Award and for that I thank her. There are a few rules in accepting the crown, no tattoos like Sheldon so I can be a winner.

a) Thank and link back to the person who awarded you this award.
b) Share 7 things about yourself
c) Award 15 recently discovered bloggers
d) Contact these bloggers and tell them about the award

No problem, I can share 7 things, the problem is that I have a tendency to over share. Sometimes I think I’m just saying it in my head, not out loud. Sheesh.

1. We did not own a television set until I was 12 years old. My parents thought it would turn our minds to sh*t. Okay they were right, it has. My dad Buzz, tried to restrict us to 1 hour a day, by putting a lock on the end. Little did he know Brother Marky Mark picked the lock and forced us to watch John Wayne movies every afternoon. He suspected something was up though since he felt the top of the TV every night but never caught us in the act.

2. Not having a TV forced me to read, when tested in high school they discovered I could read over 1500 words per minute. Shocking to all of us, but maybe explaining why I can speak 1500 words per minute. This only benefited me in reading Fabio like gothic novels and oddly enough Shakespeare. It also translated into reading a book a day until I had Sheldon. Now all I have time for is US Weekly Magazine while having a pedicure.

3. As many of you may not know, I am an avid horse back rider. When I was 17 years old I was the Junior Jumper State Champion and ranked 20th Nationally. Sold same said horse to the Japanese Equestrian team and he went to the 1984 Olympics. Maybe it was all the whips, chains and leather that appealed to me.

4. Again, my parents were all about improving our minds and not letting us waste ourselves. They forced all of us to take Latin and Typing in high school. It ended badly with missing my Latin final to sunbathe and typing 65 words per minute in my apology letter to my teacher.

5. When I was 16 years old my mother tried to run me over with her VW bug. In her mind she barely bumped me, it couldn’t have possibly been that this was the year all 7 of us were teenagers at the same time and she was on the brink. I’m sure I was the perfect, hardly any worries child, ah yeah.

6. As a child bride I actually grew 2 inches taller after I wed the Big Tuna. Thus recapping my youth as the tallest freaking girl in the Tri State area.

7. Finally, why blog? People have always said I’m the funniest person they ever met. But I started this in the Spring 2010 as a way to honor and remember my mom who had died a few months before. In addition to a world class cook, she made me and my family everything we are today. Every time I blog, it’s a way to keep her with me everyday. Miss you mom.

So here is the recipe that ties this little blog together so no one starves to death. I’m giving a quick recipe for sauce.

Hollandaise Sauce
3 egg yolks
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Dash salt
Dash cayenne pepper
½ cup butter, melted

Combine eggs, lemon juice, salt and pepper and pulse gently in a blender. Turn blender on high and SLOWLY add hot melted butter. You can use for eggs benedict, broccoli or asparagus. An easy way to impress people into thinking you can actually cook.

Gosh, I’ve read so many of your blogs and comments and feel like we’re all BFF’s so no one hate me for not making the list but here is my list of 15 bloggers.

Mrs. 4444 of Half Past Kissing Time

Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism

I’m so Fancy

Modern Mom at How to Survive Life in The Suburbs

Java at Never Growing Old

Missy at Is It Just Me

Mom of the Perpetually Grounded

Blue skies and yellow dogs

Dbs at think.stew

Not Blessed Mom

I would encourage all of you to visit and comment all the lovely ladies, and Dbs at think.stew. I’m sure he’s lovely too and pass it on peeps.

Resolutions of the Muffin Tops

2011-01-01T15:46:00.000-08:00

It was a big New Year’s celebration as it was Sheldon’s first since she turned 21.”Sweetie, will you please text us here and there so we don’t worry?” Absolutely, you betcha. When I texted her are 12:45 following radio silence I asked how she and her female wolf pack were doing, response, SO MUCH FUN! What I was really asking was what time were you getting in sugarplum, mommy is getting cranky past her usual 8 PM bedtime.

I could make the standard commitment to lose the post holiday15 pound fat layer but that would just be silly. Instead I will focus on the promises I know I can keep in 2011.

I WILL NOT eat my young. Mostly because now that Sheldon’s a grown ass woman, I can’t sneak up her anymore. I think I could still take her though.

I confess that I’ve been known to linger on stupid reality shows like Judge Judy and Teen Mom during idle TV surfing. I commit, I WILL NOT use the term Baby Daddy in any sentence. I might use Mama Drama, but definitely not Baby Daddy.

I WILL NOT eat the entire box of chocolate covered cherries. This has more to do with that Santa put them in the Big Tuna’s stocking and they remind me of cough syrup then any real willpower.

I WILL continue to cover the giant gray streak the only shows up on the right half of my bangs. The last thing I need is for Stacey London, host of What Not To Wear, to hunt me down for copying her hairstyle. Likely after she b*tch slapped me she’d turn me into a featured episode.

I WILL NOT update a Match.com profile. That has more to do with that I’m already married to the Big Tuna who I met the old fashion way on a blind date at the Rock Bottom Inn.

I WILL support the reestablishment of clam beds following the BP oil spill by not eating them. This has more to do with how raw clams remind me of eating snot then any real humanitarian process.

I WILL upkeep my nightly glass of wine. How else will Trader Joe’s stay in business? It isn’t that low class to drink it over ice is it? That’s how I stay hydrated.

Well maybe I’ll cough up a low calorie recipe since I might be feeling a bit of a January muffin top coming on rather than the comfort food I’ve been shoveling down.

Citrus/Avocado Salad
½ head Bibb Lettuce leaves washed and separated
3 oranges, peeled, white stuff removed and sliced crosswise
1 large grapefruit, peeled, white stuff removed and slice crosswise
2 avocados, peeled and sliced

Citrus Dressing
¼ orange juice
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons honey
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
2/3 cup vegetable oil

Line platter with lettuce leaves. Arrange orange, grapefruit and avocado slices as artfully as you can. I suck at this so basically I just try and make it look like someone out of 2nd grade did it. Drizzle Citrus Dressing over said platter right before serving.

I WILL continue to not make people do word verification. I have enough trouble myself reading those squiggly words that seem to be some kind of secret code I can almost crack. I WILL stop checking my blog status for comments and followers 24 hours a day. Primarily this has to do with that dumb job that I’m supposed to be doing. Here’s hoping all of you picked as challenging resolutions so that all your lofty goals can come true too.

Hey Soul Sistah

2010-12-27T19:07:00.000-08:00

How can someone you hate so much at 8 be someone you can’t stand to be without at 48? Once upon a time, long, long ago, my parents had the perfect nuclear family. A fine strapping boy followed in 2.3 years by a little girl, that would be moi (me for those of us that failed French). But the passing away of my aunt left her gaggle of kids as motherless children aged 2 to 9. Someone would take boys, someone would take babies but no one would take them all. My mom, the same woman who couldn’t stand the thought of anyone to be alone at any holiday including Arbor Day threw open the doors.

This created an instant Sistah mix. She is 49 weeks the elder. At the time, seeming so unfair, she got to do everything first, pierced ears, driving, dating. Nowadays it puts her 49 weeks closer to turning 50 so there. But a funny thing about her is once she hit 5 foot tall she never got any taller.

All the boys adored a tiny petite girlie, ignoring the nearly 6 foot tall awkward girl with condor like wing span she’d inherited from her dear old daddy Buzz. No, he is not standing on a box in this picture.

The girl who had to give up ballet lessons because the leading male dancer only came up boob high. My Sistah was one of the popular girls, pretending not to see me in the school halls dressed in her preppy Izod shirts while my shirts and pants were mandatorily too short on my limbs. Sadly her short stature had its drawbacks. In efforts to save dough my parents claimed her for the under age 13 price at amusement parks and movies well into high school.

But we were thick as thieves, one time Albert Garlotti starting teasing her and pushed her down, I ran up and kicked his a**. It was okay if I did It, but I was family. She was a scrappy fighter, but a scratcher. I still carry a scar on my collarbone, funny thing is she had a matching one my mom gave her to make us even. We covered for each other, mom would set individual alarm clocks for our curfews, we’d turn off one another’s ringers. We did however grow up in an Orthodox Jewish community and all our schoolmates had to be home by sundown so we were left to wandering around the Avenue after dark with nothing but trouble on our minds. Going to parties that newspaper reading frat boys invited us to, drinking too much and holding each other’s hair from the porcelain throne.

My Sistah has assumed the Christmas Eve event since my mom died last year. I’m still responsible for prime rib on the big day but she makes the traditional soup.

Fiesta Soup
1 large bunch cilantro
4 cloves garlic
1 jalapeno, seeded
15 ounces hominy, drained
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon cumin
1 ½ t teaspoon oregano
1 pound sausage
1 ½ pounds boneless and chunked chicken breasts, seasoned and floured
1 ½ large onion
1 large yellow pepper
6 cups chicken broth
1 avocado cut into cubes

Chop cilantro, garlic and jalapeno in food processor. Add ½ cup olive oil, cumin and oregano. Transfer half of the pesto to a small bowl and reserve the remainder for garnish. Add ¾ cup of hominy and set aside. Brown sausage, remove and brown chicken in sausage drippings. Heat remaining olive oil and add peppers and onions stirring until wilted. Add hominy mixture, remaining hominy and chicken broth. Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add chicken, sausage and 3 tablespoons plain pesto. Just before serving add avocado. Serve with remaining pesto and bread.

Once we moved out on our own and started having our own little hell raisers we stopped worrying about who ate the last ice cream sandwich or left the car without gas. Now we laugh about the ridiculous things we did and lived to tell the tale. Like the time Marky Mark took the copper gutters off the church when metal prices went sky high and got busted or Dad installed the stove hood so low only you didn’t have to duck under it shorty. Don’t worry Sistah, I got your back, just as I know you have mine. Happy New Year Ruth!

'Tis the Week Before Christmas and All Through the Food Court

2010-12-20T18:52:00.000-08:00

Monday started off on a bad note, must …..gain….. ability…… to step away from the holiday laden coffee bar at the office. I need to grow a little bit of will power, office treats are turning into my personal crack cocaine. One consultant brought me TWO boxes of chocolate today, I thought about pushing him down the stairs but that is not the customer friendly approach. The grazing began a few short days ago when I went back to the motherland for a wedding last weekend. I haven’t been able to put down a fork or a wine glass since I stepped off the plane.

The dogs, Penelope the Labrador and Tonka the ADD dog I inherited from my mother are getting into the act. They have almost killed me a million times leaping higher than the ceiling when I enter the house hoping to lick crumbs off my face. I would like to share that the gleam in her little eye is not Photoshoped in, that’s the same look she gets when she’s knocking me to the ground to rip open my grocery burdened hands or snatch food off the table.

I even managed to score a fat drenched Italian meal courtesy of my Mom’s best friends insisting on taking us out. Crème Brule was a cruel cellulite friend this morning. My Sistah’s husband and daughter, the Girl, tagged along. “What sweet cherub would you like your lovely auntie to get you for Christmas, a gift card or cooking lesson?” Ineedcash….. Ineedcash? Is that a website like Amazon dollars? No… my deranged and completely out of touch auntie, I ‘m going on a school trip to Disney and need cold hard cash. Okay, I feel like a complete dummy now. Her Facebook status even confirms her wild desire is to have only hot dollars. I’m trying not to feel like the Grinch, I generally like this kid but maybe I’ll get her coal this year.

I also ventured out to the mall, shudder, on the Saturday before Christmas to buy Sheldon’s major present. I of course won’t discuss it here, she might stumble across my musing and ruin what Santa’s little helper picked out for her. But I had to stroll past the darn food court, past Wetzel’s Pretzels another secret or maybe not so secret addiction. Butter, laden, soft pretzel nuggets, stop drooling on your computer, it will make the keys stick. Okay, here is a recipe to soak up all that sugar so you don't nod off from the rush at 2 in the afternoon.

Swedish Meatballs
1 batch of My Mother’s Meatballs
2 cans consume
1 can water
1 pinch dried dill
1 cup heavy cream
Package of Egg Noodles cooked

Mom’s Meatballs (Small Batch)
1 onion finely chopped
1 ½ pound ground beef
½ cup fine bread crumbs
1 clove garlic minced
¼ cup parsley finely chopped
1 egg beaten
¼ cup parmesan cheese

Combine onion, ground beef, bread crumbs, garlic, parsley, egg and cheese. Form 1” meatballs and place on cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until lightly browned.

Combine meatballs, consume, water, dill in sauce pan. Bring to boil and simmer for 20 minutes. Add cream and heat though, maybe 5 minutes. Serve over hot egg noodles. If you were all over it, you would have made an extra batch of Mom’s Meatballs when you read the post about our World Famous Pasta Party.

I keep saying, put down the cookie and back away. But I hear them calling me from my office, whispering sweet nothings in my ears, telling me how delicious they would be with my morning coffee, no one will know you’ve already eaten 27 and it’s only 8 AM. Ah well, I guess it’s back to the trainer, Eva Braun, Hitler's girlfriend, after the New Year. I’d better stuff myself so it will be worth it.

Nanook, Ice Princess of the North

2010-12-16T11:53:00.000-08:00

I confess, last year was an epic failure for holiday greetings. I could lay out my arguments about why I didn’t meet the appointed deadline, how I thought I’d turn them into New Year’s notes, Valentine Days sweeties, Easter greetings but Fourth of July cards just seemed so wrong. So let’s all pretend they got lost in the mail and just start anew and focus on blogs.

The Big Tuna and I returned to the motherland for our second nuptials of the year. I have unfurled my numb fingers and blue lips to craft my weekly adventures to the land of big hair and fake tans. As much as I love Team Tuna the months July and December do not strike me as the most amazing wedding seasons but I manned up with my mittens and earmuffs and headed East.

The first challenge was naturally to find a winter coat. You would think the layer of fat I’ve put on since my last frosty journey 10 years ago would have kept me cozy, but in the Valley of the Sun they only sell faux frocks. I had to pay bazillion dollars for a coat I won’t wear again until I’m too plump to buckle it. On the plane my sweet hubby offered to keep me warm by participating in the “mile high club”. Yeah, sweet. Except we both had aisle seats in the cattle car section and it would blocked the drink cart.

I anxiously watched the weather forecast and reassured myself that tennis shoes with a cocktail dress would be perfectly acceptable at a black tie event since I didn’t own real winter boots. It was guaranteed I would drape banquet table cloths around my legs if I felt any drafts. I fell into a full fledged panic attack when viewing Modern Mom’s 1st Vlog post showing 2 feet of snow. I officially hate her, she is so perky and adorable, and it makes me feel like a giant walrus on the ice. Okay, maybe I don’t really hate her it would be too much like kicking Bambi. I hope she didn’t have to resort to eating one of her young to survive.

Next I heard a rumor that two of our nephews had chicken pox. This would be routine, expect that are in their TWENTIES. As a full fledge germ phobic I refused to arrange a meet up dinner at their house much to their dismay. I am one of those people that carry around their own hand sanitizer and send staff home if they sneeze outside my office. Truth be told, my mom said I’d had the pox when Sheldon came down with it as a tot but since I couldn’t remember I wasn’t taking any chances. Fortunately their pediatrician cleared them to attend the wedding at the last minute. In honor of the Tuna family, this week’s recipe is Tuna Casserole.

Tuna Casserole
1 pound cooked medium pasta shells
2 cans tuna drained and flaked
2 cans cream of mushroom soup
1 cup peas-optional
½ cup bread crumbs
1 cups shredded cheddar cheese

Mix pasta, tuna, soup and peas in a casserole dish. I consider peas optional because I really dislike them; they remind me of bloated ticks. Sprinkle top with bread crumbs and cheese. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. We ate so much of this when we were first married because it was cheap that the Big Tuna has refused to eat it in 20 years.

I’d forgotten the excitement of driving on the Garden State Parkway, your 4 lanes of traffic spread out to 87 toll booth lanes where you throw you coins in a bucket and merge together on the backside. As a faithful Nascar observer the Big Tuna was in his element. He viewed the tailgating as drafting the toll booths as pit stops. Thankfully I had perpetual brain freeze since it was so cold and blocked it all out. As far as I’m concerned if I never see another snowflake it will be too soon.

Canaries in the Mine

2010-12-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

Once again my friends it’s story time for the whipped and abused worker bees. Many, many moons ago, okay maybe six months ago, Bebe took a job out of sunny Arizona to Bum F**k Egypt (BFE) in order to make the mortgage payment. She left behind Bubba who is now reduced to occasional conjugal visits when I’m not camped in her kitchen slopping down wine when she circles back to the motherland. Because she is a card carrying smarty she was not intimidated by moving out of the engineering industry into a world of mining where you need canaries strapped to your helmet. Little did she know it wasn’t the poisonous gas that would create peril, but the rise and fall of another Mean Girl Table.

The firm, Midas Touch Mineral, relocated their fancy pants operations and Bebe would be replacing the executive’s, executive’s assistant who didn’t want to uproot herself and move to Poketown, USA. The problem is that once Bebe arrived on the scene and showed her mad people skills the little backstabber wouldn’t leave. Bebe and I have much different interoffice people skills. She takes the refined approach of building consensus, team spirit, put on a happy face, blah, blah, blah. I lay it all out there, hey Sparky, get a move on.

In honor of My Best Friend’s crappy week, here is a recipe we’ve shared before over the grill.

Steak Fajitas Marinade
Steak
2 envelopes Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing
½ cup olive oil
½ cup water
2 limes

Fixings
Tortillas
Lettuce
Tomatoes
Jarred salsa
Sour cream
Shredded cheddar cheese
Avocado

Mix dressing, oil and water ingredients into a paste, you can add a bit more water if it’s not mixing well. Cut limes in half, squeeze in juice and throw rinds and steak in before you leave for work in stick in the fridge. Grill steak to liking, (me? Medium rare, otherwise you should just chew on old shoe leather). Slice meat, place on tortillas with whatever fixings float your boat.

But reluctantly the Prima Donna skulked out of the immediate vicinity but somehow was able to maintain a contract position from four hours away where she continues to poison the well with snide comments. “Donna” did have to give up her company email address which now trickles through Bebe inbox.

Hey Donna,

I was at the show and tell meeting last night with Dandy Don who sat across from me. We talked a bit and I told him you and I have been friends since the stone ages. He said they sure missed you and that the new gal Bebe just isn’t getting it. Haha

Happy Wednesday!!!
Your friend, the idiot who didn’t send to your new email address.

My suggestion:
Dear Idiot,
I’m sure you didn’t mean to be an insensitive b*tch. Please note Donna’s correct email address for your records to avoid future errors. Hope you have a pleasant and joyous holiday season.
Pollyanna.

But she is much more politically correct. Bebe sent the email onto Donna "this came to your former address" and sent it onto Dandy with a message "please help me be a better employee." The witch was "mortified" (more like afraid she was going to lose her contract job) .Argggg, as your true BFF, I can come up and kick their a**. But it might have to wait until the temperatures rise above the freezing mark, you know what a delicate flower I am.

True Confessions of an Ex Paperboy

2010-12-01T17:25:00.000-08:00

Several frosty mornings a week I have to crawl on my hands and knees, usually in my nylons and heels, to retrieve my daily newspaper from under my car. Yes, I know, I could turn the engine over, roll 10 feet out of my drive and pick it up but I am apparently a slow learner. I have left pathetic messages with the newspaper management but to no avail. Doubt Miss Throwing Papers in My Jammies From My Car Window will get a tip from me this Christmas. When I was a kid, delivering the morning paper was a time honored tradition for getting my hot little hands on cold hard cash to waste without parental control. My parents didn’t believe in allowance, we were on our own to scare up lawn jobs raking five foot deep tree leaves and babysitting Satan’s little children.

Even though my mom had her Master’s degree in math it was too risky to leave us at home during the day unsupervised for even a minute to go to work. Heaven knows what 87 thousand teenagers would do without someone to keep us under at least basic lock down. In order to bring in a few bucks to cover some extras she took a job as a district manager for the Newark Star Ledger. Basically she supervised young teen boys to pedal around the neighborhood throwing papers in the bushes and wresting their collection money out of their fingertips. In order to seek new virgins for the routes she would hang around school yards trying to seduce young boys into earning a little dough. Now a days she might have gotten arrested for trolling for young boys.

The problem was when a route went unfulfilled by an anxious young lad eager to earn cash to impress a certain young lady, my Sistah and I were stuck being the Magic Newspaper Fairy’s little helpers. Since she paid for our horse riding she felt it was a fair trade to get us up at O’f***ing clock early to thrown 50 millionity papers before school. Granted she drove and we slept in the 15 second increments that teens are well known for. Man I wish I could sleep like that now, as many of you know my king size bed and I aren’t seeing eye to eye lately. It’s been pretty brisk the last few days in Phoenix so here is a nice hot soup recipe.

Corn Chowder
1 pound ham steak cut into 1” pieces
4 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped onions
4 cups peeled and cubed potatoes
2-17 ounce cans creamed corn
2-10 ounce packages frozen corn
13 ounces evaporated milk
13 ounces water
13 ounces milk
Salt and paper to taste
3 tablespoons parsley chopped

Melt butter n large soup pot. Cook ham and onion for 5 minutes. Add potatoes and cover with approximately 3 cups water or enough to cover potatoes. Bring to boil, reduce heat and cook for 15 minutes or until potatoes are tender. Add remaining ingredients and simmer for 5 minutes, serve with bread.

Often my mom would send then nubile teen versions of my Sistah and me to the playground in hopes of scoring fresh meat and we were happy to do. If only to reduce the wear and tear on our throwing arms and glean a little extra sleep. But…….there was one route we were unwilling to give up and delivered well beyond our high school graduation. Fraternity Row at Rutgers University had, who knew, a group of good looking college boys who liked to view the literary world opinions with their morning coffee. We understood our viewing audience and we were well dressed in tube tops and daisy dukes during our weekly collections. Naturally we changed in our car since Mom would never let us leave looking like the little trollops we wanted to portray. Not only did we get great tips, we got invited to lots and lots of frat parties. Let’s just say that grain alcohol in Hawaiian Punch goes down like well, Hawaiian Punch. Hopefully, Sheldon won’t follow in her mother’s footsteps. RU rah, rah, RU rah, rah, Go Scarlet Knights!

Sheldon Does the Pageant

2010-11-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

I feel compelled to start out this week with a disclaimer so you don’t get my ass sued for my off center ramblings "Although inspired in part by a true incident, the following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event, except of course Sheldon." There, that should cover it.

The Big Tuna is on vacation with my brother for 10 days so tonight I will make us literally the simplest meal ever.

Tortellini in Cream Sauce
1 package refrigerated tortellini
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup heavy cream
½ cup parmesan cheese
While cooking tortellini according to package directions, melt butter in small sauce pan. Add cream and heat just below boiling, add cheese stirring until a creamy sauce, and add in drained, cooked tortellini. There done, less then 10 minutes in the kitchen.

A few months ago Sheldon announced that she’d started a bucket list, I’m not entirely sure why a 21 year old needs a bucket list but have at it. I’m personally afraid if I make a list, it may depress me if I don’t get to check items off so I’m happy to continue to wing it in my usual willy nilly way. She said, “I want to try out for Miss Fill in the Blank State, you know Ronald Rump’s pageant. (Hence the disclaimer). I need to attend the information meeting with a parental unit.” Not only did I have to attend, but apparently there is a dress code, had to wear heels and pantyhose, on a Sunday afternoon, in August, in Phoenix. That’s true love for you.

At the registration table our official greeter signed us in and introduced us to the sales pitch guru. He sized me up with my first firm, man handshake as a woman who wouldn’t be sucked into the Toddler and Tiara vortex. Waiting for the other “contestants” to be seated they ran an endless loop of the Miss Left Coast pageant with tons of spray tans and giant boobs. Two contestant names? Miss Tarzana and Miss Weho? Really, me Tarzan, you Jane?

Assigned seating placed us in the front row, nice and close to Joe Isuzu. (Joe Isuzu was a smarmy car sales guy from my youth.) Joe spent the entire time trying to convince me what a fabulous opportunity it would be for our daughters. He spent his time talking about family commitment, translation, hang on to your checkbooks mommy and daddy. I of course came up with real questions during the Q & A. What’s the gig with scholarships? This here literature shows a full scholarship only to Basket Weaving U, what about real accredited schools? How do the girls get their local titles? Not real contests, just the first to arrive with their entry fees. Hello Miss Fire Rock. I laid it out for Sheldon, all dough is on you honey child, I have to give her credit, she got enough sponsors to cover the cost.

The big weekend just ended and Sheldon looked beautiful but did have one fatal flaw that knocked our Little Miss Awesomeness out of the competition. She was tall, she was fit, she had the magic blonde hair and……..the giant tattoo on her hip. They were unwilling to waive the only bikinis rules which left it out for the entire world to see. Her tat is a big color in crown, in theory it means loyalty or something, but all I can ever think about is the Burger King slogan, have it your way. Bebe in BFE watched the live streaming and the instant messaging community lit up the bar like a pinball machine according to her. Ah well, one thing checked off her list, 99 more to go. Hooray Sheldon

You're My Favorite

2010-11-19T16:44:00.001-08:00

As we approach the one year anniversary of my Mom’s death I thought I’d repost one I’d written about her from earlier this year. Below is a picture of her on my christening day. While we miss her everyday we can find the love and humor in our lives because she made us who we are.

Don’t tell your brothers and sisters, but you’re my favorite

People wonder how I developed my sense of humor, you have only to look to my mom to know the apple doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree. My parents had seven kids with only an eight year difference between us. We had more of a frat house upbringing then a traditional June Cleaver rearing. I’m not sure which of is Beaver, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t me. There were two years where all of us were teenagers at the same time. My parents refer to that as the “Lost Years”, claiming they had electric shock therapy to block it all out.

Not only were there a gaggle of us, but our friends were allowed to come and go as they pleased. They had given up trying to keep the housed locked up since we consistently lost our keys and someone was home to tattle on anyone who dared any wrongdoing. She bravely rented a Jersey Shore house every summer and let us bring our silly friends with us while she and her best friend Dottie sat on the screen porch and drank gin and tonics.

Mom called us all “Honey”, easier then calling out 2 or 3 wrong names until she stumbled across the right one. She called all of us first thing in the morning of our birthday to sing her tone deaf version, expanding it to our spouses and grandchildren, never once missing. She always insisted on making our favorite meal on the big day, she told us all we were her favorite.

She has always cooked me Cheese Fondue. When I was a kid it seemed so exotic, made with wine, something reserved for the secret club of grownups.

Mom’s Fondue
1 clove garlic
1 pound swiss or gruyere cheese shredded
1-1/2 tablespoons flour
2 cups white wine
3 tablespoons cognac
Dash black pepper or nutmeg
Loaf French Bread cubed

Rub sauce pan with garlic, pour in wine heat until tiny bubbles begin to form over low heat. Toss cheese with flour. Add a handful at a time to wine stirring after each additional cheese is melted keeping heat low. Add cognac and pepper. Keep hot over sterno and serve with French bread. This is finally your opportunity to use those fondue forks you got as a wedding present.

My mom died on Thanksgiving 2009. This was the first Christmas, the first Mother’s Day and the first birthday without her. This weekend we gathered in San Luis Obispo to scatter her ashes in one of the places she loved most. The beach, the weather and the wine all things she loved about it. We ate, laughed and toasted her and agreed among us, that she was after all our favorite too.

Blackjack!!! Sheldon’s a Big Girl Now

2010-11-14T04:21:00.000-08:00

Time flies when you’re having fun, our little Sheldon is turning 21 years old. Of course I had her when I was 12 explaining why we get mistaken for sisters. Okay maybe not sisters but one can dare to dream. Last night she left the house at 11:30 to meet her friends for her “Power Hour”. I obviously need to watch more MTV’s Jersey Shore in order to be up on the lingo. Fortunately, in her mind it meant having her first drink in the first hour on her birthday, not 21 shots in an hour as defined by Wikipedia. She is such a different creature then the Big Tuna and me, below are some of my stand out memories. I tried to get Sheldon to play this game with me in the truck today, but she was having none of that. Perhaps nursing a little hangover, she denies it.

I remember the time she bit Bebe’s son on the hand. Sean had the toddler silent scream face. You know the frozen one before they take that big breath and a giant shriek comes out. Bebe immediately called the pediatrician making me feel like a horrible parent who let their rabid child roam the street without its shock collar.

Shortly after Sheldon got her driver’s license she called me in the small almost crying voice. “Mom, I just got a speeding ticket, Dad is going to kill me!” Baby Girl, we all got speeding tickets, when I first met your fine daddy, he’d lost his own license for too many points on his for speeding. That’s why he had to walk uphill both ways everywhere. We won’t talk about her criminal speeding ticket from last year.

Once when we went to the bath and lotion place perusing the shelves for a lotion to help with dishpan hands we discovered our most overused phrase. When I queried the shop girl about the benefits of one cream over another she described it as “more thicker”. More thicker I asked? Yes more thicker. This has led us to several grammatically incorrect discussions, more funner, most bestest, to the point where we really need to stop before people think we really are dumber than rocks.

When doing the potential grand tour for college, we made a little side trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. Don’t get me wrong, I like art but I have the attention span of a gnat. Look, admire, move one. Sheldon is of the same mind. The modern art exhibit was our favorite, we kept saying, This? Is Art? One artist painted twenty 4 foot by 6 foot canvases a different shade, it looked like paint sample sheets at Home Depot. We were also a little freaked out by the union elevator guy, I thought he was going to break my arm when I went to push the button for the third floor. No unions in Arizona. To commemorate her big day, here is one of her favorite recipes.

Bread Salad
6 thick slices French bread, toasted under broiler and cubed
½ cucumber peeled and cubed
½ red onion diced
1 ½ tomatoes cut in wedges
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste
6 ounces feta cheese crumbled
1 cup kalamata olives, no pits

In bowl, combine cucumber, onion, tomato, vinegar, salt and pepper. Let stand for a bit, stirring occasionally until juicy. Add remaining ingredients and stir well. Serve immediately. This is a great side dish to ho hum potato salad and lets you change it up a bit.

Most people would reminisce about highlights and accomplishments their children reach on this milestone. We are more than a little proud of our little buttercup but the family that laughs together stays together. Of course Sheldon continues to have curfew much to her dismay. She may not need her beauty sleep but as parents who get up at 4:30 we need all the help we can get in the good looks department. Happy Birthday Kimberly, we love you the most-est.

Sheldon's Turning 21!!!!!

2010-11-12T15:26:00.000-08:00

Sheldon's turning 21, crazy blog to follow..........

The Princess and the Pea

2010-11-06T18:10:00.000-07:00

I cannot sleep anymore, in my younger days, I could lay down and immediately pass out. I’ve had the most challenging year of my life to say the least but now that things are settling down why does Mr. Sandman elude me. The occasional sleeping pill just doesn’t seem to do the trick. I’ve decided an open letter to my star crossed lover may smooth things over.

My Darling Bed,
Why do you spurn me from your welcoming arms? I have always treated you with the utmost respect, never allowing the dogs to nap and shed on you. I turn you regularly to keep your figure in tip top shape. Even though on some nights when the Big Tuna snores me out and resort to cozying up to your cousin the Queen in the guest room, I always return. Was it your jealously with my short lived affair with the leather couch on Sunday afternoons? Insomnia is my new lover, but do not despair, I would welcome you back at the least inkling.
Sleepily yours,
Mrs. Tuna

In honor of the Princess in the Pea, this week’s recipe will be Pea Soup.

Easy Peasy Soup
2 cups green split peas, washed and picked over
6 cups chicken broth
1 ham steak, trimmed and cubed
Salt and Pepper to taste

Put the split peas and stock in large pot of medium heat, bring to boil and turn down to low. Add ham, partially cover and cook for approximately 45 minutes until peas are very, very soft. Mash peas with potato masher to smooth out. If soup gets too thick you can thin with a bit more stock or a bit of water. I personally won’t eat whole peas, they remind me of bloated deer ticks, but pureed they are disguised and tasty.

Who knows what the ultimate solution is, in the old says a shot of brandy was the prescribed treatment. My luck I’d end up with gout!!!

The Adventures of Michelle Little Black Sweater

2010-10-30T16:14:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I invited a bunch of girlfriends over for a ladies wine potluck, the price for admission? A bottle of wine and an appetizer to share. After guzzling 53 pitchers of Sangria my girls staggered off into the night. Well we actually did it at 2 o’clock in the afternoon so we could all pass out immediately following dinner. In addition to scoring a few extra bottles of wine, thanks to one friends Costco size bottle somehow I inherited a black sweater. Now as everyone knows, black sweaters and yellow Labradors are a bad mix. Since it’s a teeny tiny sweater, it can only belong to my drinking buddy Michelle. But I’ve been able to keep her sweater entertained.

Waking up in the morning

Having a little workout

Doing a bit of housework

Picking up groceries

Playing with the dog

Checking Facebook

Enjoying a glass of wine

Hanging with my new BFF

The next time she comes for the Ladies Wine Potluck I’ll make one of my Mom’s favorite appetizers.

Rum Raisin Spread
160 ounces cream cheese softened
8 ounces golden raisins
8 ounces rum
12 ounces chopped walnuts
8 ounces sugar

Mix above ingredients, refrigerate overnight. Serve with crackers. Nothing like carrying the alcohol theme forward to the food too. Enjoy!!

Geronimo!!!

2010-10-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve had the same performance evaluation for the last 15 years. Clients think you’re amazing. You can take those projects going down in the tubes, beat them into submission and get them out the door. But……perhaps you’re a teeny tiny bit impatient, please don’t hit me. I used to skulk back to my veal fattening pen and try and be more “sensitive” to my fellow worker bees. What would eventually happen is I would reach to point where my head would detonate like a ticking time bomb.

A few years ago I finally had a Kumbaya with my supervisor about what makes a successful project manager. I told him, “Look, the same personality that makes you pick me to do the dirty, ugly projects is the same thing that makes me a little more ummmm …….direct.” Here I gave an example. If the plane was going down in flames, do you want to be with that person over there wringing their hands or me, who’s saying, People, this way, put on your parachutes. Don’t be a hater.

Here is a little pumpkin recipe in honor of the upcoming Halloween holiday.

Pumpkin Soup
¼ cup butter
½ yellow onion finely minced
1 clove garlic minced
1 teaspoon curry
1/8 teaspoon coriander
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon salt
3 cups chicken broth
16 ounces solid pack pumpkin
1 cup half and half
Green onions diced for garnish

Sauté onion and garlic in butter until soft. Add curry, coriander, red pepper and salt and cook for 1 minute. Add broth and boil gently for 15 minutes. Stir in pumpkin and half and half. Cook for 5 minutes. Serve with sour cream and sliced green onions. I know you’re thinking pumpkin? Should I garnish this with whipped cream? This doesn’t take anything like pumpkin pie and if you like squash you’ll love this soup.

I have an issue with personal space. Early in my career when I was a lowly designer, there was a guy at the office that would always give my arm a squeeze and say, “Hey girl how are you doing today. “ His voice reminded me of a 1-900 service. With a few reviews under my belt I was striving for the easy going co worker they wanted me to display.

I made several attempts at getting him out of my little bubble. Really, please don’t touch me, I don’t like. No really it makes me uncomfortable. Don’t you think girl is maybe a little sexist? One day after a particularly colicky baby night I snapped. Dude, take your hand off me, and I haven’t been a girl since I had my period when I was twelve. If that isn’t direct enough I don’t know what is.

2 Kool 4 Skool

2010-10-15T18:57:00.000-07:00

It used to be when a company was having problems it would simply have a layoff. In our current world of sucky economics, they have developed a whole new lingo of fancy downsizing terminology.

MFT=Modified Full Time or…………..My Funding has Tanked

CCL=Company Convenience Leave or………………..Couldn’t Care Less

RIF=Reduction in Force or…………………………..Really Incredibly F****ed

We went through a major shake-up at the slave market earlier this year and they unfortunately axed a bunch of comrades in arms. It made me realize that I needed to ensure I was on my A game so I wouldn’t be eaten like that limping wilder beast. So I decided adding a degree in Urban Planning to my background in Civil Engineering would keep me as the lead pony in the race. I know I have to be way smarter than those darn 20 year olds, right?

But gathering all my proof that I wasn’t a dummy all my life to Arizona State proves to me why kids don’t go to school and just give up. It’s not the classes, it’s all the damn red tape. I’m exhausted already, so I’m making myself a little snack to build my strength.

Guiltless Guacamole
15 ounce can white kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 jalapeno pepper seeded
½ cup fresh cilantro leaves
¼ cup coarsely chopped sweet onion
Pinch salt
1 ripe avocado pitted and diced
2 plum tomatoes diced

In food processor puree beans and lime juice until smooth and transfer to bowl. Put jalapeño, cilantro, onion and salt in processor and pulse. Mix all ingredients together and serve with veggies or tortilla chips.

First obstacle, extracting my high school transcripts from 1040 BC. Look here at these college transcripts, do you think I would have been allowed to attend this other college without proof positive? Naturally I tried gathering during the summer when my tiny teeny high school was closed for the break. After digging in the bowels of the basement they sent their mimeographed copies. (If you don’t know what mimeographing is, stop reading this blog and check back next week).

Next, you didn’t take this dumb English 101 class. See here Bucko, they wouldn’t let me take English 102 class without it. They just called it something different in the stone ages. Needed special English department override from Professor Smarty Pants.

But the most annoying task? Ummm, you need to show proof of having your 2, yes 2, MMR shots before you can register for classes. Really? You’ve got to be kidding me! I can certainly prove that Sheldon had her immunizations but my Mom only kept random notes we wrote to the Tooth Fairy, no proof of injections. It seemed easier to take the shots over then to try and prove I had my rabies/measles shot. Today I went to the ASU health center for shot 2 and while killing time in the holding cell/waiting room and what do I see on the end table? A giant basket of condoms with paper sacks for the taking. Awkward.

Sheldon and I will wear the scarlet robes at the same time. But I’m game, if nothing else it will certainly give me more tales for this little blog.

SWEet!!!! Young Things

2010-10-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

One of the personal responsibilities I feel as a working engineering professional is to encourage engaging young woman to pursue careers in math and science. This week I had a chance to give a presentation to the ASU chapter of the Society of Women Engineers (SWE). Basically, your company pays to give a spiel about how fantastic your company is and how they should all grow up and be as lucky as you to work there.

Your contribution covers the cost of food, and as you might suspect , free pizza will bring out any starving college student. Since 99 percent of the time these little productions are given by men I thought I’d give a different spin and talk a little about my company and more about how to stand out from the crowd in the dog eat dog world. Here’s the type of food they should present at these events.

Artichoke Feta Dip
1 can artichoke hearts, chopped fine
1 cup mayo
½ cup parmesan cheese
½ cup feta cheese

Combine ingredients, mix well. Pour into a shallow baking dish and cook at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown. Serve with rye party breads or crackers. Artichokes are your friend, you can never eat too much of a good thing.

Good evening ladies, I’m Mrs. Tuna and I work for Giant Engineering Company, Inc. where I’ve been a big muckity muck for the last three years. We do tons of different engineering, some of which I don’t even know what it really is but I work in transportation. Our core ideals are peeps are our greatest advantage and getting bigger is essential. You can look up more info on our website, giant-engineering.com. Now I’d like to talk about how to get a mentor, how to be a leader and networking doesn’t mean updating your Facebook status.

They'd eaten their chow and were trying to gauge how long they’d have to stay before bolting back to the dorms for beer pong. Time to change tactics and go for the stand up comedienne routine during the question and answer phase. The few boys that showed up for food and perhaps to pick up girls began to avert their eyes and slouch in their seats. But one brave guy asked the first question so partial credit was given. I digressed into funny stories about competing in a man’s world.

When asked about sexual harassment in the workplace. I told the story about how at one place on Valentine’s Day while standing at the copy machine, the owner of the company offered to show me his special Valentine’s underwear. When I declined, he pulled up the corner of his heart adorned boxers so I could see the edge. I told him that he needed to put himself in timeout.

When questioned about interning, I explained my last intern was the son of a previous supervisor. My current boss queried me about his work ethic and I told him as a sophomore in high school he did a good job mowing my lawn. He ended up working for me for3 years after graduation.

When asked about my project team, I said they knew when I asked them how their weekend was, they need to tell me about it in three sentences or less. It’s not that I don’t care, but my head if swirling with all the tasks at hand. Spit it out already.

In the end, they said I was the best and funniest speaker they’d ever had and would I be the opening act every meeting. I said as long as when our competitors We Think We’re Better Engineers presented next month they’d tell them our company were the better Rock Stars.

Sheldon Plays the Cello

2010-10-02T13:28:00.001-07:00

I’ve been surfing the web lately looking at other funny women’s blogs, following them to inspire me to keep writing, writing, writing in my own corner of cyber space. One witty woman, Life As I Know It , wrote a sweet post on her 3rd grade boy’s new passion, the violin and his musical play dates. It caused me to wax nostalgia on Sheldon’s affair with the cello.

When she was in 4th grade, the junior high music program gave a hard pressed pitch to the little budding musicians for a bigger cello section. Surely, she’d want to play the sweet, portable violin? Or perhaps viola? But no, she dug her heels in because she wanted to be unique, like I should have seen that coming. This is the same girl who took French rather than handy Spanish living in a state that borders Mexico.

Entering the world where the leader waves a stick to keep the little ruffians in line was certainly a learning curve. Who knew that instruments came in sizes, half, three quarter and full? Or that they have to compete to be first chair? Or those private lessons are the norm? The most embarrassing part was that as unskilled classical music parents we were always clapping at the wrong place. If you’re new to the world, just because the music stops doesn’t mean they're done, it’s the end of a mooooooovement.

I had to upgrade to a pickup truck with a full size crew cab for Pete’s sake. Heaven forbid our new expensive baby rode in the bed unsecured by a seat beat. The plus of the bigger vehicle is it could also fit her stinking golf clubs. We were never so happy as when she got her own freaking car to cram her stuff in so we could actually put our own junk in the backseat. The first 500 concerts were painful squeaky affairs, but by the time they creep along to junior high you begin to almost enjoy it. I have to say she stuck with it and in her sophomore year began playing in the elite high school chamber orchestra.

Her talents did score her a trip to Russia to participate in a Music Festival in Saint Petersburg. As usual, I was focused on all the wrong stuff. The cello needed its own passport, too many snuck out of the country and we didn’t want Sheldon to be arrested by stealing a national treasure. The week before she went, eleventy zillion people froze to death in Moscow from the worst cold streak on record, but she refused to pack long underwear, it would involve too many panty lines. And finally, St. Petersburg has some weird bacteria in the water, Europe’s answer to Montezuma’s revenge. The kids ended up fighting like Survivor contestants over fresh bananas. After having eaten smoked and freeze dried food, she begged us to make her favorite meal on her first night back.

Beef Stroganoff
1 pound beef stew meat
½ cup flour
Salt and Pepper to taste
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 cans beef consommé
1/2 cup sour cream

Combine flour, salt and pepper in a bowl. Dredge meat in flour mixture. Heat oil in large skillet, brown meat on all sides. Remove with slotted spoon to saucepan. Add consommé to sauce pan and cook for 20 minutes over medium heat covered. Add sour cream and cook until heated throughout. Do not boil. Serve over hot egg noodles.

I could end this blog by attaching an audio clip as the proud parent, instead, I will default to my usual mode and make fun of my little flower. Attached is a clip of a little walk through the Russian snow where Sheldon biffs out, I’m thinking America’s Funniest Home Video material.

Ding, 5th floor, House Wares and Ladies Shoes

2010-09-22T15:55:00.000-07:00

911-911, Emergency, Emergency

2010-09-12T16:00:00.001-07:00

Bebe and I met over twenty years ago, innocently at a neighbor’s baby shower. There were six pregnant neighbor women at the shower, maybe something in the water. I certainly swore off tap water after that. Who knew at the time we’d end up being the sisters we never had. Well okay I do have sisters, but not one who wouldn’t steal my clothes or my boyfriends or eat the last Popsicle without asking.

Her little kiddies are only 14 months apart and Bubba was often out of town hunting and killing to fill their freezer. The Big Tuna often stepped in as the extra parent when we took our broods out to places like the State Fair or Sesame Street Live so we weren’t outnumbered. He began to spend so much time with us he said he felt like a polygamist and started calling her Wife Number Two. And thus became our life as Siamese Twins, drinking wine with ice cubes and play dates. I can honestly say I’ve never made a major furniture purchase that she didn’t sit on prior to writing a check.

One of the first things I noticed was that her birthday was September 11th, 911, 911. She claims to have never noticed until I pointed it out. My powers of observation are stellar. At least related to mundane unimportant things like whether someone’s socks match. She is the most positive cheerleader you can have, a direct counter point to my sarcastic but charming personality. Whenever she gets into her happy bubble, it’s my job to remind her of all those “special” moments that make 9/11 the perfect date for her.
• Remember the time we had the kids at the newly finished park and I said, “some little kid is going to walk up to that unfinished bench and get his arm stuck in that unfinished hole”? And Sean ran over and put his in and we almost had to call the fire department to get him out?
• Remember the time Bubba went elk hunting on your due date and you took a long hot shower? When you wouldn’t answer the door we boost Jim over the fence to peer in your bedroom window and catch you almost naked?
• Remember the time Nash broke his arm on the EXACT same swing his older brother broke his arm on the year before?
• Remember the time we went to the bar and I didn’t have my ID and they tried carding me at 38 years old and they insisted they carded everyone? When you offered yours up they said, no that’s okay madam?
• Remember Wally?

I could go on and on and on but I have to stop so as not to ruin the birthday moment. Here’s one of my fast and furious recipes that Bebe has come to enjoy.

Spicy Fettuccine
1 Tablespoon Butter
¼ cup minced onion
1/ teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 can whole tomatoes (Progresso Basil)
¼ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup heavy cream
¼ cup shredded fresh basil

Melt butter in large skillet. Add onions and red pepper flakes, cook over medium heat until onion is tender. Run tomatoes through food processor and add with salt to onion mixture. Cook over medium heat for 8 minutes. Stir in cream and bring to boil for 1 minute. Cook fettuccine according to package direction. Toss with sauce and garnish with basil

Bebe had a birthday this weekend. She spent it getting wild and wooly as you can get in Salt Lake City. Now that my BFF is living in BFE we satisfy ourselves with endless phone calls and Skype wine dates. She tells her family that she is flying in to see them but we both know it’s really to see me and Sheldon. So when are you coming home? I need to go shopping for new guest room furniture.

You’re not the Boss of Me….Am Too!!!

2010-08-30T11:52:00.001-07:00

My friends and I are all at that awkward period of our lives. Our offspring are chomping at the bit to make a break for it and begin their adventures as full fledged adults. We of course know better with our mama bear instincts and think they need a little more time to ripen before they operate without a net.

My Sistah and I often discuss how people at work commend us on our sharp minds, how we have excellent communication skills and never forget a thing. Our children however swear we never listen to them. “I told you I had to have that book for my summer reading list a thousand times!!!!!” they shriek. First of all, telling me the day before school starts doesn’t make it count as a thousand and two, back away from the Mama until you can rein in those hormones honey child. I only have Sheldon where My Sistah has a 13 year old girl and a 16 year old boy. Just about the time the Boy learns to be a bit more civil the Girl will be in the throngs of sweaty boys and stuck up girls.

School is back in session and one barn girlfriend is suffering from big time empty nest syndrome. Her baby girl is torturing her with the death of a thousand paper cuts, not taking her calls unless the baby is overwrought or out of money. The daughter’s Facebook pictures show her having entirely too much fun without mommy. I’ve been making sympathetic clucking noises reminding her that Sheldon still tries to escape like a crafty wild pony but sometimes will stick around for a few carrots and sugar cubes. Now days, Sheldon won’t reject my advice immediately, usually waiting at least 10 minutes. Sometimes she even, Gasp!! Says I was right. Not often but from time to time. Reintroduce yourself to those friends you’ve not been having enough time for and maybe even make a few new ones of your own. Here’s an appetizer recipe to have with your wine while toasting each other about what underappreciated parents you are.

Grilled Goat Cheese Peppers
4 red or yellow peppers
1 cup goat cheese
1 ½ cups Mexican cheese
¼ cup diced fresh basil

Cut and deseed peppers into 1” strips. Mix cheese and basil in separate bowl. Place peppers inside of pepper down on medium grill for approximately 3-4 minutes. Flip over and smear cheese mixture on inside and continue to grill until cheese is melted. If you’re uncoordinated like me, take the peppers off, stuff them and put them back on.

So what’s the difference between teenage boys and girls? The parallel universe of taking out the trash.

Boy, take out the trash. Right after I update my Facebook Status Mom.
Boy, take out the trash. At the next commercial.
Boy, take out the trash. Soon as this show is over.
Boy, take out the trash. Gotta finish my homework, I’ll do it in the morning.

Girl, take out the trash. Screw you, I hate you, you make me do everything!!!

End result, you're still taking out the trash yourself.

I know it’s hard, about the time the kiddies need you to stop holding their hands and are people you’d actually like to hang out with, they “de-friend” you. Just know that LOVE is a four letter word and the older they get, the smarter you will seem to them. If only we could lock them in their room until they see it our way, since after all, Mother knows Best.

The Big Tuna turns F-f-f-f-f-fifty!!!!!!

2010-08-24T20:09:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe but my guy has hit the half century mark. Eeeeekkkkkk!!!! I’m sure all of you just view me as his much, much younger trophy wife. I was a child bride, at least that’s what I want all of you to think. So what attracted me to my future mate?

Was it that he was taller than me? Was a guy with John Denver good looks? Opened doors for little old ladies? No the sexiest thing about him was that he was the handiest guy I’d ever met. A huge contrast from my own dear daddy who had an eclectic way of home repair. Prime example, Dad painted one side of our enormous house every summer so he wasn’t overwhelmed by a single giant job. He did his best work on the summers he got to paint the “short” ends of the house. Once he used outdoor house stucco to patch a plaster crack on an indoor staircase, when it hardened like a rock, he carried the theme through the whole alcove. I could go on, and on, and on, but this is about the big guy. I’m sure Dad will continue to be featured in upcoming blogs.

I lived in a tiny basement apartment in a rural house in NJ and one of his buddies was dating a girl named Crazy Mary who rented a room in the upstairs part of the house. Since the landlord had little kiddies, he had a firm No Evil Boys allowed in the main house, so Crazy Mary entertained her friends in my windowless apartment. It was truly so dark if I woke up I could never tell if it was 3 o’clock in the morning or afternoon. He tagged along one day, saw my picture in the apartment and just knew he had to meet me. They schemed to arrange a coincidental blind date at the local watering hole, the Rock Bottom Inn. Now that I’ve typed this out he sounds a little more like a stalker, but in a good way.

He grew up in a meat and potatoes Polish family. But he did bring to the marriage a fabulous soup recipe.

Dave’s World Famous Tomato Soup
1 ½ pound hunk of beef with bone in
2 beef bouillon cubes
3 -28 ounce cans whole tomatoes, crush was potato masher
2-16 ounce cans tomato sauce
1 teaspoon salt
5 medium potatoes peeled and cubed
3 cups cooked rice
Sour cream to taste

Put meat and bouillon cubes in a large pot and cover with water approximately 2 inches higher than the meat. Cook over a medium low heat for 1 hour stirring often. Add tomatoes and tomato sauce and continue to cook for another hour. Add potatoes and cook for another half hour or until potatoes are tender. Serve soup over cooked rice, if you put rice in the soup pot it gets too soggy. Add sour cream to taste. Tomato Rice Soup is the Polish cure for the common cold which makes sense since it’s loaded with vitamin C. When you get a scratchy throat coming on, whip up a batch and heal the whole family.

The thing that sealed the deal? I got a flat tire, he walked a mile in the snow, yes of course up hill. When he popped the trunk and the spare with flat too, he gave a little smile and said no problem. I’d literally known him two weeks and thought, that’s the man I’m going to marry. I’m going to be the future Mrs. Tuna. And so I am, hooray for me!

Welcome to the Cool Girls Table

2010-08-11T17:52:00.000-07:00

Hard as it is to believe I wasn’t always the outgoing over the top chick I am today. High school was a painful wall flower experience. My graduating class was only about 100 kiddies for which I weighed 105 pounds and was 8 feet taller then they were. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. I was never one of the cool girls, fortunately we lived close to school so I wasn’t subjected to the embarrassment of sitting alone at lunch with my peanut butter and mayo sandwich. Even my Sista, owner of 50 Izod shirts wouldn’t be caught dead with me wandering the halls.

But there were Mean Girls, the ones who would focus on you at opportune times, drawing attention to some small aspect of you that was already magnified in your own mind. Like the gigantic pimple, right in the middle of your forehead. “Hey, jolly green giant that is the biggest blotch I’ve ever seen. Muffy, did you see the ostrich’s zit?” I did get some minor satisfaction in highlighting them in my creative writing classes under secret names. But now I’ve got my big girl panties on, bring it on.

While not the victim, I witnessed a Mean Girl incident at the slave market this week. Challenges in this current economic market often lead to a realigning of duties, or the moon and the stars in extreme cases. Benito Mussolini has recently overthrown the Administrative Pool and leapt to the top of the heap. Why is it once you get appointed as the head cheerleader your bitchy gene breaks out in full force? The girls on the bottom of the pyramid are about to revolt and leave her without a spotter. What can I do to brighten your day? Feature your woes in a blog? Pick your favorite food and I’ll cough up a recipe to make you feel better. Pig, the other white meat.

Rosemary Orange Glaze Pork

This is a multi stop project that actually goes really quick on the grill. The first step is to brine the pork loins to make them really juicy and tender. Second you brush on the glaze prior to and while grilling. Last you prepare the sauce to put in a gravy boat or if you’re like me, just eat by the spoonful in the kitchen and hope there is some left for the guest.

Brine Mixture
½ cup kosher salt
½ cup sugar
Dissolve salt and sugar in a large bowl with about 6 cups of water. Submerge pork loins in brine and let stand for 45 minutes. Rise pork well and pat dry.

Glaze Mixture
¼ cup frozen orange juice concentrate thawed
1 teaspoon brown sugar
4 teaspoons fresh rosemary
In small saucepan bring OZ, brown sugar and rosemary to simmer. Simmer until mixture reduces to about 4 tablespoons.

Orange Balsamic Sauce
1 teaspoon olive oil
2 cloves garlic minced
½ teaspoon fresh rosemary minced
1/3 cup orange marmalade
4 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
Heat oil in small saucepan over medium heat, add garlic and rosemary and cook until fragrant and sizzling. Stir in marmalade and vinegar, heat until warm, serve in a gravy boat.

Run brined tenderloins all over with the glaze. Heat gas grill to high for 10 to 15 minutes, reduce heat to medium. Place pork on grill rotating every minutes for approximately 20-25 minutes or until the instant read thermometer reads 145 degrees. Slice and serve with sauce and mashed potatoes.

Now that I’m all grown up, I’m better at negotiating those waters. I will now share with you the words I always use in the politically correct environment. My mom shared this story with me.

Two Southern ladies are sitting on the porch sipping mint juleps.

Mary: “My Harry bought me these fine diamond rings”

Susanna: “Imagine that”

Mary: “My Harry took me on a Caribbean cruise”

Susanna: “Imagine that”

Mary: “My Harry bought me this fur jacket, what does your George do for you?”

Susanna: “My George taught me to say imagine that rather then F*** you. “

Welcome to the cool girls table.

Sheldon Does the Salsa

2010-07-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

Nicknames are a funny thing. When your little bundle of joy arrives you coo out little terms of endearment, Sugar, Sweet Pea, Baby Girl. My Dad embarrassingly saddled me with Pooh for my love of A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh. This was prior to them being trademarked by Disney and other forms of over animation and glitz. Here I’ll mention this was a man whose own mama called him Buzz until the day she died.

A little innocent comparison to someone evolves in to something that sticks no matter how much you try and shake it. I once knew a kid named Nimrod who tried to convince me it meant mighty hunter. Snort, yeah right.

So what about Sheldon? Why pick such a nerdy name for our strikingly beautiful daughter? She is a born and bred overachieving smarty pants. Her favorite day, March 14th, Pi Day (3.14159265), math geeks unite. She was the kid who was having lunch everyday with the guidance counselor in 6th grade to figure what she needed to do to get her hands on scholarship dough. When I was twelve, I was happy to find my classroom and a seat in the back of the room.

When the television show “The Big Bang Theory” came out, the most intellectual guy was Sheldon. She thought we called her that since she was so smart, in reality it was his desire to have only order in his life and color only in the lines. Assigned seating and color coordinated food became our norm. Sheldon begged us for a Periodic Table shower curtain just like the cast. Actually snorted when they told funny inside math jokes. Who are you? Were you switched at birth?

But she makes a mean Salsa, I mean the stuff is like heroin, I can drink it from a cup, why bother with chips.

Sheldon’s Salsa

28 ounce can whole tomatoes
Juice from 1 medium lemon
4 green onions
1 cup cilantro
½ white onion
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
5 jalapeños
1 whole tomato, cut X on ends
1 ¾ reserved liquid.

Place 5 jalapenos and tomato in a sauce pan with 3 cups of water, bring to a boil for 15 minutes, reserve liquid. Seed peppers and skin the tomato and liquefy with reserved liquid in a blender. I should mention it should be done in a well ventilated area and those darn peppers should be handled carefully. I once thought I blinded myself when I scratched my eye while handling. Run the remaining ingredients in a food processor and place in bowl, pour in pepper combination. If you’re inspired you can cut up a few avocados and throw in. Serve with tortilla chips.

But the Big Tuna and I are proud of our little flower, she graduated 44th of 808 kids in her class with a pretty darn good scholarship to ASU where she is triple majoring in secondary education, math and Geek. All I got left for those of you in the Big Bang Fan Club, Bazinga!!!

We’re Not in Arizona Anymore Toto

2010-07-20T20:15:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we were off to the land of big hair and spray tans. A return to the homeland, New Jersey for the Big Tuna’s nephew’s wedding. Fast talking, no nonsense people with lots to say and take no prisoner attitude. Boy I miss that.

The Big Tuna is the tallest Tuna for fifty generations. Sheldon and I feel like giraffes amongst the in laws or Dorothy and the Good Witch surrounded by the little people. Nothing like drawing attention to myself with my condor like wing span during the dancing rendition of Love Shack. In honor of the Polish Polka wedding crew, the national recipe…..Stuffed Cabbage with a few short cuts but still more of a pain in the a*** then the usual fare. But tasty.

Stuffed Cabbage
1 Large Head Cabbage
1 medium onion diced
1 clove garlic minced
½ teaspoon dill
2 teaspoons fresh parsley
½ bay leaf crushed
1 ¼ pound ground beef
1 cup cooked rice
1 egg
3 cans tomato soup
½ water
4 tablespoons sugar

Cook cabbage until done, I usually do a few leaves at a time in boiling water, hence the pain. While leaves cool, mix remaining ingredients except for two of the cans of soup, water and sugar. Fold the meat mixture into the cooked leaves and arrange in rows in a baking pan. Combine remaining tomato soup, water and sugar and pour over cabbage rolls. Cover with foil and cook at 400 degrees for an hour and 15 minutes.

One of the most glaring differences between the Garden State and the Valley of the Sun is here in Arizona we’re all about the personal “freedom”. Having a bit of time to kill between the wedding and the reception we invited some of the cousins back for a cocktail at the motel. I said, heck, we’ll stop at the grocery store and pick up some beer and wine. Apparently, that’s a big no no, you can only buy booze at an official liquor store. Say what? Shoot in Phoenix we can buy all the liquor, guns and fish sticks we want as a one stop experience. This leads to Sheldon sharing that she passed the concealed weapons test and once she turned twenty one they’d mail it right to her. Great, math teacher by day, sniper by night.

Faux Camping and the Fourth

2010-07-10T13:52:00.000-07:00

Let’s start off with, I don’t do camping. Who in their right mind would, all that nature gives me the heepy jeepies. I do all my hunting and gathering at Safeway, not the wilderness. My earliest memories of camping are not pretty. Picture a ton of kids, two adults and four wet dogs in a tent that needed to be put up in the pouring rain by an impatient daddy. Nuff said.

But Bebe was coming back from Elko, Nevada for the 4th of July and how could I refuse to spend quality time with my BFF since she moved to points north. When we went “camping” with our nature survivalists when the kids were preschoolers it showed what polar opposites we are. Team Tuna stayed in a travel trailer while the B’s stayed in a pop up trailer. The most fascinating difference is while we were practically hosing down the woods with liquid, their little family of four survived on a coffee cup of water. I am not cut out to conserve.

Bebe and Bubba have a little place in Show Low and the Big Tuna was giddy to take his new (at least to us) and shiny RV for its inaugural run. Riding shotgun in the big rig was a weird visual experience. So much windshield, it was like riding in a 1978 AMC Pacer, another stellar purchase my parents made in my youth. The interior was sort of an uncanny twilight zone experience. The upholstery was identical and I mean identical to a sofa we’d retired about 10 years ago. All the built ins and fixtures were ¾ quarter scale. I felt like Alice in Wonderland who ate the cake and grew big. So a quick and easy recipe for the Mad Hatter and crew.

Easy One Dish Tortellini
28 ounces chicken broth
9 ounces cheese tortellini
4 ounces onion and chive cream cheese
1 can undiluted tomato soup

Bring broth to boil, add tortellini and simmer for 5 minutes. Ladle out a little broth into a bowl, add cream cheese and whisk until blended, return to pot. Add the can of tomato soup and heat thoroughly.

Living in the west, wild fire capitol of the world, makes me a little nervous about lighting fireworks. We compromised by flicking lighters inside the RV. But in the end, RV, $30,000, filling it with gas, $300, not peeing in the woods…….priceless.

Grandma and the Iron Curtin

2010-06-27T19:30:00.000-07:00

A recent sibling weekend brought to mind how differently you remember your childhood. Those nearest and dearest are happy to burst your bubble, usually in front of your husband and children and recount those discrepancies with glee. Of course Mommy never broke curfew, why she even came home early so as not to worry her own dear parents. Underage drinking? She wouldn’t think of it, that would have just been so wrong.

When I was in 4th grade, my Aunt passed away suddenly. Overnight we went from a family of four to a family of eleven. My parents adopted my five cousins and brought in my grandparents for reinforcements. We moved into the biggest house in a nearby town with a small separate apartment. Grandma and Grandpa moved into the apartment and put the two littlest boys in the connecting dining room.

My folks were young adults in the sixties, let’s just say they had a pretty laid back approach to kids. The innocent grandparents never knew what hit them. As retired schoolteachers they expected us to use our indoor voices, never run in the house and clean our plates. We of course behaved like we were raised by wolves playing wild made up games involving danger. The favorite was Dark House, a warped game of hide and seek. You’d turn off every light in the house and wait to be found. Best hiding places, the top shelf of the linen closet, and the built in clothes hamper, that is if the seeker didn’t lose interest after the first hour. Those spaces seem impossibly small now, I have no idea how we squeezed in.

If we wanted to go over to the inner sanctum of their side we had to knock politely and wait to be invited in. We referred to this as going behind the Iron Curtin. We had to show our passports and our clean hands in order to cross the border. The little boys seemed impossibly polite and tidy, the five oldest looked like we’d been running wild in the neighborhood, playing in the creek and rolling in mud. Likely we had been. My grandparents had to protect them from those hooligans, hmmmm….I think they mean us. It goes to show it nurture versus nature. The boys have grown up into fine sensitive men, essentially ads for tall-dark-handsome-with-big-white-teeth.com.

Grandma baked fresh bread every week for the family. My parents didn’t do dessert, but the grandparents liked a little sweet after dinner.

Grandma’s Apple Crumble
Fill a shallow, buttered baking dish with thinly sliced apples. Blueberries, peaches are other fruit may be used instead. Sprinkle lightly with a tablespoon brown sugar mixed with a dash of cinnamon. Combine:
½ cup flour
½ cup sugar
½ quick oats uncooked
1/3 cup butter.

Mix until crumbly and spread over fruit. Bake at 350 degrees until apples are tender. Serve warm with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream. Blueberries, peaches are other fruit may be used instead.

But we know they loved us, admired our crummy art projects, came to our off key choral concerts, made sure we didn’t burn down the house when our parents were at work. Taught us that thank you notes and hard work will take you everywhere. So thank you Grandma and Grandpa for being just the way you are.

What's The Skinny

2010-06-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

Now that I’m officially the parent of an adult I’ve begun to notice a very ugly body issue that can only be contained by high waisted jeans. In my head I still feel like the slim waif of decades past, so when I drift by a full length mirror I think, there must be a body pod around with my real self. With Sheldon off a college it was time to take matters into my own hands.

I’d never used the gym membership provided by my office, I didn’t want to sweat with the people I worked with but it was after all free. Who would I possibly see at 6 AM? Just Hitler’s girlfriend, Eva Braun, the resident personal trainer? Ve vell vork out this morning no? Um sure…..the first work left my arms dangling at my sides. I couldn’t raise my limbs to blow dry my bangs and had to resort to using the hand dryer leaving me with more of a Lassie look. Where’s that darn Timmy when you need him.

The following is a true accounting of our company quarter group hug. Just as I sat down with my free sub sandwich and a Dr. Pepper, Eva strolled past 80 people, walked right up to me and asked, “What are you drinking, if you swallow that I’m going to make you regret it.” Uh oh. Apparently Gyms R Us was showing the exercise benefits to the troops.

The problem with diet cookbooks is by the time you’ve added a few innocent things to make it stop tasting like cardboard it’s no longer low cal.

Jambalaya
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil (so okay the original recipe called for cooking spray, off to a bad start already)
1 medium onion chopped
2 cloves garlic minced
2 stalks celery chopped
1 green pepper chopped (you could substitute yellow or red)
2/3 cup uncooked rice
2 cups chicken broth
3/4 pound Italian sausage cooked (are you seeing a substitute trend)
1 ½ cups cooked chicken
16 ounce stewed tomatoes
1 ½ cups frozen shrimp (that is of course if there is any left after the BP oil spill)
1 tablespoon jalapeño Tabasco sauce (it’s a bit more mild)

Cook onion, garlic, celery and pepper in olive oil until tender. Stir in remaining ingredients except for the shrimp. Bring to a boil, cover and reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes stirring occasionally. Add frozen shrimp and cook additional 5 minutes or until rice is done. The joy of this meal is it cooks in a single oversized skillet. If you cook it without the sausage, in theory, it’s less than 300 calories.

I thought this past week she’d tortured me so much I was having a heart attack. I even went so far as to drive myself to the doctor when the chest pains didn’t back down after the diet lunch. After telling me I was putting on weight nicely for a woman my age, with a little giggle told me I’d just pulled a muscle in my chest. I’ve decided if my double A bra could be revised to a double D, my stomach would look flatter since they would stick out further. I’m thinking it would just be easier to get a boob job.

Don’t tell your brothers and sisters, but you’re my favorite

2010-06-15T19:17:00.001-07:00

People wonder how I developed my sense of humor, you have only to look to my mom to know the apple doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree. My parents had seven kids with only an eight year difference between us. We had more of a frat house upbringing then a traditional June Cleaver rearing. I’m not sure which of is Beaver, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t me. There were two years where all of us were teenagers at the same time. My parents refer to that as the “Lost Years”, claiming they had electric shock therapy to block it all out. Not only was there a gaggle of us, but our friends were allowed to come and go as they pleased. They'd given up trying to keep the house locked up since we consistently lost our keys and someone was home to tattle on anyone who dared any wrongdoing. She bravely rented a Jersey Shore house every summer and let us bring our silly friends with us while she and her best friend Dottie sat on the screen porch and drank gin and tonics.

Mom called us all “Honey”, easier then calling out 2 or 3 wrong names until she stumbled across the right one. She called all of us first thing in the morning of our birthday to sing her tone deaf version, expanding it to our spouses and grandchildren, never once missing. She always insisted on making our favorite meal on the big day, she told us all we were her favorite.

She has always cooked me Cheese Fondue. When I was a kid it seemed so exotic, made with wine, something reserved for the secret club of grownups.

Mom’s Fondue
1 clove garlic
1 pound swiss or gruyere cheese shredded
1-1/2 tablespoons flour
2 cups white wine
3 tablespoons cognac
Dash black pepper or nutmeg
Loaf French Bread cubed

Rub sauce pan with garlic, pour in wine heat until tiny bubbles begin to form over low heat. Toss cheese with flour. Add a handful at a time to wine stirring after each additional cheese is melted keeping heat low. Add cognac and pepper. Keep hot over sterno and serve with French bread. This is finally your opportunity to use those fondue forks you got as a wedding present.

My mom died on Thanksgiving 2009. This was the first Christmas, the first Mother’s Day and the first birthday without her. This weekend we gathered in San Luis Obispo to scatter her ashes in one of the places she loved most. The beach, the weather and the wine all things she loved about it. We ate, laughed and toasted her and agreed among us, that she was after all our favorite too.

Sangria and the Stand Up Comedienne

2010-06-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

Statistics are still sucking, big time. Spent an amusing time with my main homies this weekend between reckless study sessions so once again, a repost based on my girls.

&%#^&*^%^, Whew, Glad I Got that Off My Chest

2010-05-28T12:34:00.000-07:00

We all have those awful days, you know the one, husband backs the new RV into the restored 1968 Pontiac Firebird (this week), dog devoured a sofa and a paycheck, (in one sitting) or you get on the mirrored elevator on the 30th floor and realize your skirt has been tucked into your pantyhose (for who knows how long). Sadly these are all stories that have happened to yours truly. After days like this you want to open the refrigerator door and inhale anything that doesn’t have scary fuzz on it. But we all have our special comfort food that soothes the savage stress beast. My go to food is macaroni and cheese, with extra, extra cheese, Aiken’s Diet be damned. The following was forwarded to me by a NY Times cookbook junkie, my mom.

NY Times Macaroni and Cheese

2 Tablespoons of Butter
1 cup Cottage Cheese
2 cups Whole Milk
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1 pinch cayenne pepper
1 pinch nutmeg
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
1 pound shredded cheddar cheese
½ pound elbow macaroni, uncooked

Heat oven to 375 degrees, grease casserole dish with butter. In blender, puree cottage cheese, milk, mustard, cayenne, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Reserve ¼ cup cheese. Combine rest of cheese, milk mixture and uncooked pasta. Pour into prepared pan, cover tightly with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Uncover pan, stir, sprinkle remaining cheese and cook uncovered another 30 minutes.

While this is baking away, sit down, pour a GIANT glass of wine. It will restore your good humor and bring you back to center. Big breaths, tomorrow is a new day, hopefully Saturday so you can recoup and start the new week with a carbohydrate high.