Naughty or Nice?

I have been distracted from posting about the triumphant Tuna graduation by last minute Christmas shopping.  Fighting my way through mall crowds and supermarkets doesn’t make me super sparkly. As you may recall, the tradition of the Stocking Box involves an overflowing of holiday cheer filled with doodads from socks to booze.  Mrs. Tuna has consistently bought a little slinky something, something for the Big Tuna’s box since he is always on Santa’s good list.  Normally I would order something online, but with gifts arriving daily for Sheldon and the Brit’s wedding I was afraid it might be opened by young love by mistake. Awkward.

I opted to make a stealth trip to the local smut store. It has a reputation for not making you feel like you need to wrap yourself in saran wrap to avoid creepy cooties.  At the driveway entrance stood a sad, middle aged, Santa hatted,  female employee holding a “Got Naughty” sign, adorned with garland.  My shiny new sensible car did not look out of place with the mini vans and four door sedans with baby seats.  The ding dong announced my entrance and eager young assistants bustled over with cheery offers of help.  I mumbled a bumbling “no thanks”, avoided eye contact, sidled over to the sale rack.

The most awkward part was how the people milling around were in my middle aged demographic. They were all entirely too comfortable in these surrounding, some were pushing around overflowing SHOPPING CARTS. A burly man holding a set of garters up against his waist, the man in the suit and tie reading the back of the DVD’s for I’m sure the story line.   The Deck the Halls Christmas music seemed completely inappropriate against the dialog of the instructional vibrator videos.  I have the perfect recipe now that we all feel a little dirty.

Dirt Cake

8 ounces cream cheese

1 cup powder sugar

1 large instant pudding

1 ½ cup milk

12 ounces cool whip

1 pound Oreo cookies

Grind Oreos is food processor and set aside. Mix cream cheese and powdered sugar until  smooth.  In separate bowl, add pudding with milk. Mix well. Combine cream cheese mixture with pudding. Fold in Cool Whip.  In flowerpot, layer Oreos then pudding mix. Top with Oreos, add silk or edible flowers (don’t trust me, I’m not sure qualifies as edible). Serve with trowel.

As I stood with my purchase clutched in my hands, I already felt reluctant to use my debit card since it would leave a paper trail. The clerk asked if I wanted to join their frequent shoppers club, it was FREE! Stopitstopitstopit.   Fortunately, they packed me up in a black bag to hide my booty and I skulked out the door, slithered into my car and drove away.  So here’s a little gift to you my band of followers.   A Merry Christmas Team Tuna, happiness and love to all. 

The Big Day

Today marks the end of school for Sheldon and I. Please ignore how crooked my dumb stole is! Post for stage spotters and crazy hats to follow.

Death Becomes Her

So there Mrs. Tuna was, whipping along the freeway in the super-fast lane, when she heard the little “poink”.  A seemingly innocent little sound spelled the end of my fateful steed.  As power faded away, I used my Nascar instincts to bolt to slow lane, frantically dialing the Big Tuna of my demise. Literally, choked, curled into the fetal position, and died in less than a mile at the bottom of the off ramp in under 2 minutes.   

My truck, with 166, 567 miles, had given up the ghost.  Apparently, when your oil pump craps out at 75 MPH it causes your engine to seize in an irreparable way within seconds. With all the expenses of the ASU, Sheldon’s wedding and the Big Tuna’s new business launch we were hoping old Bossy would limp along until spring.  It was a spite death; we’d put brand new tires, rotors, brake pads, and spark plugs in only the week before.  She could sense her days were numbered until she went to the big trade in lot in the sky.  I would have been even more pissed if I’d actually run it through the stupid car wash over the weekend.

My man drove the 20 miles, tow rope and in hand and pulled me to the nearest parking lot.  We jumped in his man mobile and dropped my pretty little ass off at Endless Engineering. She looked so sad and abandoned as we drove away.  I was only 45 minutes late and still beat Boss 1 and Boss 2 into the hood by 7:20 AM.  Its days like this that make you want to inhale an entire desert, so let’s shall we?

Texas Sheet Cake

2 cup sugar

2 cup flour

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup water

2 tablespoon butter

½ cup sour cream

2 eggs

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon vanilla

4 tablespoon coco

Place sugar, flour, salt in mixing bowl. Boil water, butter, coco. Pour boiling mixture over dry ingredients. Mix well. Add sour cream, eggs, soda and vanilla. Bake in greased jelly roll pan for 20 to 25 minutes in 375 degrees.

Cake Frosting

6 tablespoons canned milk

4 tablespoons coco

2 tablespoons butter

1 pound powdered sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup chopped nuts

Mix milk, coco and butter and cook until fluffy. Pour into mixing bowl and beast in sugar, then adding vanilla and nuts. Frost immediately.

I.hate.car.shopping.  Even more than my mammogram, which is infinitely more painful when you belong to the itty titty club. I will pause to give you a moment to reflect on the enjoyment of squashed boobs over the horror being held hostage by the lounge lizards of car sales.  The first dealership introduced me to Hayseed Hank. He spent the entire time talking to me with a toothpick in his mouth. When the Big Tuna arrived on scene, he completely ignored anything I had to say and began “man to man” bromance bullshit.

If one more of them had said, “my, what a firm handshake you have little lady” I would have beat them with my stiletto.  While Sheldon and I test drove options,  she got on her smarty pants phone, price compared and found the identical model for $750 less.   Bam, done.

In the twilight hours of the delivery, Wyatt, the 12 year technology geek from Ford patiently showed me all the hands free gadgets.  He called me madam. Punk, just show me how to turn on the headlights so I don’t have to punch you. I am almost able to rationalize the cost since I cut my gas bill in half in my new little tiny Ford Focus. All I can think now when I hear the tick tock tick tock of the blinker is car loan car loan car loan.  Ah well, just remember in the future, the lady in the grey economy car with her blinker on trying to get in your lane may be me, just give me a break. It’s been a rough week. Good week Team Tuna. 

The Poisoned Pen

Mrs. Tuna’s writing ability has been held hostage by a variety of counter intuitive actions that have kept her from writing fun and amusing anecdotes about life in Tunaville.  I am squeezing every ounce of creative writing for the powers of evil rather than good. Here are some shining examples of how I’m wasting my 65 word per minute typing skills.

For my Movement and Motion Planning class I penned:

"The dialogue of the story depicts the unsettling and uncivilized continent of Africa. The wandering of the main character Marlowe, reflects how he changed his perception and outlook on cultured society versus the untamed world. "

Instead of writing about Sheldon’s near impersonation of a Lindsay Lohan panty flash at her Wedding Shower.

Or my rewriting of an employment cover letter for a friend:

“I believe I would be a great fit as I have the experience to effectively connect from a customer and contractor perspective. While my inside sales background is limited, I have been actively involved in undertakings that parallel these tasks. “

Instead of describing Bebe giving us a pole dancing demonstration in the Bat Cave.

Or creative proposals for Endless Engineering to be considered for big ass projects:

“Endless Engineering has a proven record of success completing hundreds of miles of roadway projects through both public and private infrastructure improvements across the State of Arizona. “

Rather than the new marketing chick who was more of a penis hire whose previous experience was medical sales and Budweiser promotion, fondly denoted as “Beer Girl”.

But my neglected followers, the end is in sight. Mrs. Tuna and Sheldon will be graduating from Arizona State in a mere four weeks.  It’s down to one term paper, two exams and a formal presentation of the horrors of Food Deserts and I’m all yours.  While I’m not actually cooking due to my crazed schedule, I will provide a bit of nourishment for your starving masses.

Pesto Sauce

2 cups fresh basil leaves (cheap date a Trader Joe’s) Rinsed and dried

2 cloves garlic crushed

1 ounce pine nuts

2 ounces grated parmesan cheese

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and pepper

12 ounces Pasta cooked per directions.

In food processor, add basil, garlic, pine nuts and parmesan cheese, pulse for about 30 seconds. Keep motor running and slowly add oil. Add to cooked pasta and toss to mix and serve hot.

Oh the places we will go in a few short days. All the scoop on Sheldon and Brits wedding plans with crazy hair fascinators, the adventures of Beer Girl with her manicured nails,  and those whiny college punks in Ugg boots and with shorts so tight you can see the outline of vagina lips.  Admit it, you’ve missed my smutty ways.  Good week peeps.

Blogging is never having to say you're sorry....

I know, I suck. School, work, wedding, work, riding, work, husband, work, homework, work. Mrs. Tuna is about to turn into a cheater. Here is a repost so that you don't think I've died on the vine. I've lost 5 followers in the last week. Likely due to neglect. Blogging is never having t say you're sorry. But I am, really. xoxoxoxoxo


The Chore Wheel of Death
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.

Return of the Naughty Schoolgirl

And we’re off!!!! Back on the gerbil wheel now that ASU is back in session. But I should be wary given the short life span of rodents. When Sheldon was a kid, her hamster Phoebe had looked a little peaked. When I called the vet they said they didn’t treat exotic animals. Since when was a $5 hamster considered an endangered species?  As the oldest chick in class, does that make me endangered or just dangerous? I floss freshmen out of my teeth.

As usual, I carefully scrutinize my horoscope on my very first day of class each semester.  As a 4 ½ star day, how could I go wrong?  “Ordinary aspects of your life seem to shout out for extra attention.” (Well Duh, who do you think you’re talking to?) “Someday you’ll be really glad to look at the pictures you took today.”  (Uh oh, did they follow me to the Wine Bar/Bat Cave after class?) I can see the end of the road in December when I hop, skip and jump to the Bachelor of Science.  Of course now I’m toying with solidering on for my Masters because I am a glutton for punishment like that. What are another two years and twenty thousand dollars?

In my History of Flip Flops class, the teacher called me a rock star for knowing all the answers. I don’t care if the 12 year olds hate me; I want to be the top of the heap.    I also can’t tell you how ECSTATIC I was that stupid couple from last semester isn’t in any of my classes. As you recall, they were the ones who were more focused on boinking like bunnies then actually doing any work.  If I were “disrespecting” you I would have called you bitch. Hope the little fuckers failed out.   Since we’re back to only having 14 seconds to cook, this week will be fast and furious.

Penne with Ricotta and Bacon

1 pound penne pasta

8 slices of bacon

½ onion minced

15 ounces whole milk ricotta cheese at room temperature

10 fresh basil leaves chopped

In large pot of boiling water, cook penne until al dente. Reserve one ladle of cooking water, then drain the pasta and transfer to serving bowl. In medium skillet, cook bacon until crisp. Remove bacon and add onion. Cook until golden about 10 minutes. Stir the onions and ricotta into pasta along with the reserved pasta cooking water. Crumble the bacon and sprinkle it over the pasta with basil.

Sheldon’s wedding plans to the Brit are moving along. I found a secondary dress. She rejected the first one, thinking the seams looked like it was inside out. Like you never woke up and put your shirt on backward before running to Starbucks.  The wedding colors are navy and silver, originally they were dreaming of orange and blue. All I could think about was the receiving line would have Denver Bronco cheerleaders with pompoms cheering Gooooooooo Marriage!   Hopefully, since she has once again deactivated her Facebook she won’t read this. Sheldon Honey.....tact is for people who aren't witty enough to be sarcastic. Wishing you a fab week Team Tuna!!!! 

Going for Gold

As  Mrs.  Tuna creeps from the dark recesses of her Bat Cave, blinking her eyes against the harsh sunshine she wonders where the last few weeks have gone.  Her back and thighs have the permanent marking of the sofa embedded and blending with newly formed cellulite from lack of exercise.  Where have you been demand her family, friends and followers?  She has spent the last 17 days with the remote control firmly grasped in her fingers watching……..the Olympics.   Warmly hypnotized by the Olympic rings,  wrapped with an American flag,  she has watched it all from Sir Paul McCartney's slightly off key opening to the reuniting of the somewhat weathered and used up Spice Girls.  I’m pretty sure those ladies can no longer be considered “girls”.

It is always fascinating to see what is actually considered a sport. Trampoline? BMX Racing? Really? But as usual, I am not intrigued by the usual things like the world record breaking relay races.  Instead I will be giving my own personal highlights of the big games.  

Is it just me or did the Women’s gymnastic team act like frin-enemies? Little fake hugs, oozing jealousy mean girl faces, like they were smelling poopy diapers.  Sweet Gabby was the big winner and the other girls couldn’t stand it.   Bitches.

 Or that the underwater cameras show unflattering “adjustments” of the athletes following the platform diving.  Every single one of them groped themselves in a very graphic manner, just airing out the boys so to speak as they broke the surface of the water.

How about Ryan Lochte’s mom selling him out as a Man Whore. Too busy for girls except for a love them and leave them one night stand. We’ve all had similar Mommy missteps where our parental unit has sold us out in front of peeps we’re trying to impress.   Like the time my mom told everyone at Christmas dinner that my tube top slipped off since I didn’t have boobs, like my Sistah, to hold it up.

Here is a little ditty that you can whip together to not leave your seat on the couch.

Texas Corn Bread Casserole

½ pound ground sausage

½ pound ground beef

1 medium onion chopped

½ medium green pepper chopped

1 can tomato soup

1 tablespoon brown sugar

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon chili powder

1 package cornbread mix

1/8 teaspoon paprika

In 8” x 8” baking dish combine sausage, ground beef, onion and green pepper. Cover and microwave for 3 to 5 minutes or until meat is no longer pink. Drain, mix remaining ingredients except cornbread mix and paprika. Microwave on high 5 minutes. Prepare cornbread mix according to package directions. Spread over hot meat mixture. Sprinkle paprika evenly on top. Microwave for 6 to 7 minutes or until cornbread is set. Let stand 2 to 3 minutes.

I wish the future British son in law had been available to explain all those English oddities to me. Like what’s up with the zigzag striping on the pavement (apparently, never, ever parking there).  Hair fascinators, why do they all look like a bird threw up on their head?  And the easy one, why do they all drive on the wrong side of the road? Ah well, I guess that make me Snarky Spice.   Have a good week Team Tuna. 

The Boss Whisperer

As usual, our favorite postings are from when Mrs. Tuna has had way too much liquor. She has happily spent the entire afternoon/evening drinking peach sangria with her friend the Bad Bunny. Ignore all bad grammar and typos, it's the booze typing. It's possible it could end in a nip slip or something if we're not careful. Not that Mrs. Tuna's double A's have much to show for it. Likely tomorrow she will go back and make all the necessary modifications so as not to embarrass herself. 

What I should really blog about is this picture of my Future British Son In Law’s first 4^th of July. But that would be wrong. Very Wrong.

Instead, I thought I’d give a bit of an update at the new slave market, Endless Engineering.  Who knew I’d be the voice of reason. One of my major assignments is Business Development. That’s a fancy way of saying beat the bushes for new work. Boss 1 and Boss 2 are polar opposites in business strategy. This is not to be confused with Thing 1 and Thing 2 of Dr. Seuss.  Instead of pulling the Cat in the Hat out of my ass, I am literally feral herding cats.  I speak Boss. I don’t even listen to what they say for the first 20 minutes of the meeting, they are certainly not listening to my amazing words of wisdom. And then getting everyone to compromise, sing Kumbaya and have a freaking group hug.  

Somehow I’ve gone from quiet engineering assignments to the queen of marketing mayhem. We keep trying on assistants to “help” me but they are such a collection of whack a doodles.  The last one came with a stripper name and a ridiculous reason for not being able to make it to the office. Sharing all of her personal secrets, like having to marry her baby daddy when she was 6 months pregnant (she included a verifying instragram as proof) within the first 3 days. I am a horrible coworker, I don’t even want to listen to your kiddie’s T Ball game or results of your pap smear. La la la la la, I can’t hear you, stop talking.  

Boss 2 slinked past her desk over to my veal fattening pen to ask if I knew what was wrong with her, her head was down on her desk. Dude, ummmm….you can’t quiz her, you’re her supervisor, I just took the job? The chicken thought I should talk to her “woman to woman”. The final straw was borrowing the company truck to get home and joyriding it all the way to Tucson.   One of their former employees shared by text, her weaving all over the freeway before getting pulled over the men in blue.  When confronted the next morning, a string of verbal diarrhea excuses.  My dad’s formula buddy was going to fix it, my husband was texting for a divorce, the dog ate my car. Whatever, we’ll miss you Bambi, Not. This week’s fare is a simple one, created by my beloved Sheldon.

Lemon Salmon

1 pound salmon fillet

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cloves garlic minced

1 teaspoon garlic seasoning

3 lemons

In shallow bowl sprinkle salmon with salt, pepper and garlic seasoning.  Cover with garlic and juice from one lemon. Let stand for 1 to 2 hours.  Slice remaining lemons and place layer on medium heat grill, place salmon on top and cover with additional slices. Cook approximately 6 minutes, flip, replacing and askew lemons. Cook until done. The way to tell if salmon is cooked is you can twist a fork in the fish and it flakes. Sheldon did this on her George Foreman girl which would likely keep those lemons in line.  

My "part time" job has been logging full time hours. No time to exercise, thus resulting in slapping back on the 10 pounds I'd lost. What is really need is for Cesar Milan to bring me one of those giant dog cones to separate me from my lover Mr. Vending Machine. I'll just gobble up my kibble and hope the diet restriction works. Sigh. Good week Team Tuna. 

99 Bottles of Beer

I thought I was on a roll, recommitting to weekly words of wisdom and food gorging recipes. Reached the two year and 500 follower mark, and was feeling pretty darn filled with self-importance. But my little followers, you have let me down. Dead comment zone last post, was it weak writing, poor friend choice?  Sigh.  You know how sensitive bloggers are and how we need constant validation.  At this point our heroine, Mrs. Tuna, kicks the ground with her scuffed sneaker and a sulky aw shucks routine.

But today is a big day.  This little blog is hitting its 100 post mark.  Sometimes it feels like I’ve written 100,000 posts sometime 10. My original goal was one post a week, I’m not too far off the mark and only a few redundant reruns.  So today will be a little bit of a recap. Link arms with me for a stroll down memory lane Team Tuna.

A strong contender held the number one most viewed spot until recently was the "New Adventures ofthe Naughty Schoolgirl”. The key Google search words were naughty schoolgirl, cooked chicken, kill chicken, kill schoolgirl. What the hell was in that post to merit that.  It was an innocent recounting of returning to college of a middle aged woman, not some remake of Bridget Jones eating puppies for brunch.  It was knocked out of the running by “Resolutions of a 49 Year OldMuffin Top”. I am happy to report I still have not gotten a tramp stamp, had vodka or started any craft projects, so my New Year’s promises are intact.

The numero uno commented on post was my nervous first day back at Arizona State and my amazing parking spot overlooking the Men’s Diving Team practice with “Zodiac Killer”. 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?

Today I tried a new vegetarian recipe that amazingly took me way less time than I would have figured.

Spicy fried corn, Sweet Onion, and Red Pepper

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

½ cup chopped onion

Cut kernels from 5 big ears of fresh corn (just cut down the sides with a sharp knife, it was pretty quick).

1 red pepper dice into 1/ 4 inch pieces

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

2/3 cup cream

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/8 teaspoon chili powder

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Heat butter and oil in large skillet to very hot. Add onion and cook for 2 minutes stirring. Add corn, red pepper, salt and sugar and sauté until vegetables have browned lightly or 5-6 minutes. Resist the urge to over stir so it browns.  In bowl, whisk together cream, mustard, chili powder and red pepper flakes. Pour liquid over corn stirring often until liquid is absorbed about 3 minutes.  Literally, the whole thing took me about 15 minutes to make.

But the bigger question is what even made Mrs. Tuna blog in the first place?  A few months after my mom passed away from a lengthy battle with cancer I was missing her terribly. She was a world class chef and had reinvented herself as a professional writer in her retirement.  I was afraid if I didn’t share our funny stories and her recipes I would forget all the things that made her so special to my siblings and me.  And so Team Tuna, every time you cook something from this blog, remember the inspiration of my heartfelt words and cook it with the same love it was prepared for me by my mom.

xoxoxoxo Dawn

Words with Friends

Things have been settling down in the hood allowing Mrs. Tuna to spend a little more time with her wine drinking peeps. She forgets how they make her laugh so hard that peach sangria shoots out her nose. Sacrilege, I know.  But let’s delve a little deeper into her drunken posse’s quirks and idiosyncrasies shall we?

Wild

Miss Anonymous and I go way back, pre kids, pre Bebe.  Way more um…. open than me. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything but she can make me blush all the way down to my lady parts. Not an easy task considering how smutty I can be with my VinoSlut and Vagina Aisle posts.  She and the Big Tuna used to work together and many a fine work happy hour we spent drinking cheap beer and appetizers.  I did make her flinch one time when I showed up at her house with Sheldon in tow for a kiddie birthday party. A week early.  The look of panic at the thought of 15 little girls arriving in the next ten minutes is one I have yet been able to recreate. But I made it up to her by introducing her to the 12 year old in the Cold Dark Wine Cellar.

Intensity

I met C3 at work where we hid in the bathroom, standing on the toilet seats, at Giant Engineering during the massive rounds of layoffs. Surely they wouldn’t find us in here. She recently treated herself to a long weekend in New York City for a milestone birthday. Upon her first day back at the slave market, the ex husband started frantically texting her wanting to know if she’d seen their teen son, he’d found a giant bag of pills, and couldn’t get the boy to pick up his phone.  Her mind racing that her normally good kid was lying unconscious in his bedroom, she sped frantically the 50 miles home, burst through the door with ex in tow. To find him playing ear shattering video games with his buddies.    As his father confronted him with the danger of drugs, swinging the offensive Ziploc, C3 felt a pang a familiarity. The dreaded bag, was marked with careful instructions, take 1 tablet with water before meals.  Her handwriting, vitamins she’d bought for the kid. What drug dealer writes instruction on their heroin sales? Let’s just say her heart rate is finally back to normal 3 weeks later.

Nurturing

Bebe, my bestie. My sister from another mister. Bebe went through a long phase of teaching senior citizens aerobic classes. Made her feel like she made a difference and a free workout for her.  But those frugal sliver sneakers always paid her in exact change, $3 a class.  This results in shopping expeditions where it feels like she’s paying in stripper money.  Shake it Bebe, shake it, make those tassels spin. Ahem.  With a birthday of 9-1-1, bizarre things always seem to be happening to her. Recently,  she and her freshly shaven man Bubba went to a small wedding reception.  Upon pulling a piece of toilet paper from a nick, he began to gush blood and refused to head in because he didn’t want people “to stare at him.”  After much pleading, he sulkily made the rounds, as they headed back to the car, he admitted that all in all he had a pretty good time.  She suggested that next time he didn’t want people to stare at him he should pull up his zipper.

Elfin

A new friend. Pippa is adorable, tiny perky, witty. We want to hate her but are powerless to resist. Met her at Miss Anonymous’ 50^th  birthday bash.  Started comparing dating tips. Told her the success is dating someone with whom you have nothing in common.  Her response, maybe she should date her Brother-Husband.  Snort, funny girl. I’m sure she will merit her own post in the very near future.

Since it’s all about us girls, I picked a recipe from a previous Ladies Potluck bash.

Hot Crabmeat Appetizer

8 ounces cream cheese

1 ½ cup crabmeat, flaked

2 tablespoons minced onion

2 tablespoons milk

½ teaspoon horseradish

1/3 cup sliced almonds

Mix all but almonds, spoon into 9” pie plate. Sprinkle with nuts. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.

Words, words, words. Was Team Tuna clever enough to realize that Wild, Intensity, Nurturing  and Elfin spelled WINE. 857 points for the Win!!!!!!

What Not to Wear

I have an ugly little confession. Well I have a lot of little crazy thoughts, many of which for the sake of family harmony I say only in my head.  Don’t even get me going on story telling at my Sistah’s house at the Father’s Day barbeque today.  Filter people, filter. The future son in law is sitting RIGHT THERE, WE ARE STILL IN THE HONEYMOON PHASE WITH HIM. Ahem.  My dirty little secret? I have a What Not to Wear photo album on my personal Facebook with several hundred special  Kodak moments.

I take random snapshots at all the best places like Costco and the Tempe Art Festival. It started so innocently. Hey, look at that guy wearing high tops with a leotard. Oh wait, the lady with the two tone mullet at Trader Joes.  I often took Sheldon with me as a decoy to “fake take” her picture and get the real object of my desire in digital history.  She will no longer play this little game with me, making it more awkward to be stealth. But Awkward is my middle name.

I had a few of my own uncomfortable clothing issues in my lifetime. This is not to be confused with the time I had my skirt tucked into mypantyhose and didn’t realize it until I was in the mirrored elevator on the 31st floor.   Since I’m a little liquored up/scarred from today’s lunch, this week we’ll do Peach Sangria.

Peach Sangria

One bottle White Wine Spritzer (Love Pomula Wine)

3 ounces Peach Vodka

5 ounces Peach Schnapps

2 Tablespoons Triple Sec

1 Orange sliced

2 cups strawberry sliced  

Mix alcohol together in a pitcher and add sliced fruit. Serve over ice. It goes to pretty damn easy so be careful peeps.

My addiction has gotten so bad that some of my friends like CT and Miss Anonymous feed my crack habit by emailing me their random finds. Thank you ladies!  Rather than fill today’s post with lots of silly words, I will let a small sampling of my subject matter captivate you.  If you desire to have a peek at a larger sampling, go here to Mrs. Tuna’s Facebook page  and view the Photo Album. While you’re there freaking  Like Mrs. Tuna.  This is only a teeny tiny glimpse into her personal ummm….art collection.  Good week Team Tuna!

Step away from the crochet hook and back away.....

 Whoopsie

Please note Sheldon trying to exit stage right.

 Well it certainly wants me to get MY sexy back.

My cup runs over. 

50 Shades of Beige

All this wedding planning for Sheldon is bringing self-reflection of three decades with the Big Tuna.  That’s a long ass time to spend with anyone. Ms. Anonymous gave me 50 Shades of Grey for a birthday gift. She also gave me a professional cordless ah…….wine opener. Get your filthy minds out of the gutter, this blog is supposed to be rated PG. Okay, maybe not.  Essentially, its sex text for those frustrated mommies who have a secret S & M desire.

The young married Tunas (note we are waiting for the Polaroids to dry)

But truth be told, my advice to Sheldon is that it’s not always about unicorns and farting rainbows.  It’s about the little things that make or break you.  And having absolutely nothing in common. That’s right you heard me.  Essentially, we have our own friends and hobbies and just meet up for our conjugal visits. Unless of course you are Sheldon reading this post, and then Mommy and Daddy are just watching Sportscenter and playing Scrabble in the evenings.  So let’s discuss our differences shall we.

The Big Tuna likes steak and potatoes, tapping into the mighty hunter role. He never even ate broccoli until he met me. He shudders at the thought of avocados.  I was seriously a faux vegetarian when we met, I didn’t do cow.  He also rejects all cheese except for mozzarella. I mean, what civilized person doesn’t have a daily affair with cheddar?

And don’t get me started on NASCAR racing.  All those counterclockwise circles just make me dizzy, I had to take Dramamine when we went to Disneyland for Pete’s sake. Stop trying to tell me that Jeff Gordon, all 5’-2” of him, is a real athlete. I might however, give you that Tony Stewart is yummy, I mean interesting to watch. Big Tuna is always a much more assertive driver during race season. I call it reckless driving and tailgating, he calls it drafting.

Let’s end with the big one. He doesn’t like wine. Blasphemy I know. I mean I’m so high class with my ice cubes but seriously, how could you not like vino. He drinks, yuck, Gatorade and Diet Pepsi.  This week’s recipe is something sweet for my sweetie.

Split Second Cookies

2 cups flour

2/3 cup sugar

½ teaspoon baking powder

¾ cup butter softened

1 egg

2 teaspoons of vanilla

Your favorite jam or jelly, try strawberry or raspberry.

Sift together dry ingredients. Blend in remaining items except jam and place on ungreased cookie sheet. Divide into 4 parts, shape each into role, 12” long, ¾” think. Make a depression ¼ to 1/3 inch deep, lengthwise down center with the back of a knife. Fill with jam. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes. After it cools slightly, slice into 1 inch pieces.

But, he has a heart of gold. Stopping for ladies with flat tires on the freeways and lost puppies. He even got a little misty thinking about walking Sheldon down the aisle next winter.  Watching TV in bed last week, an online dating commercial came on, he snuggled up and said, “if I die first I want you to sign up for Match.com so you can be happy.” I don’t even know where to go with that. I’m not wishing anything bad to happen, but do you think Curtis Stone will still be available?

PS-I only need three more followers to reach the magic 500. You all remember when we had a free wine giveaway at 400. So if you read this blog and don’t follow, GET ON IT!  I need validation. Good week Team Tuna!

Little Black Book

May has been a whirlwind month as it is every year. It is a combination of Mommy’s Day, congratulating ourselves on another year of swapping Wedded spit while dancing around in my Birthday suit holding glasses of sangria.  What? Like you never do that.  The next gift opportunity isn’t until Christmas, a very, very, very long way away. Feel free to send me a little something to sustain me if you wish, I can be quite the sulker if not placated with random presents.

Combined with accepting a job with Endless Engineering, flogging those whiny students and Sheldon’s upcoming nuptials I am slacking at this blog.  Fortunately, Ms. Anonymous filled in last week and things are settling down so I am back at it. I have a tried and true method for keeping track of my friend’s and family’s faux pas in order to revisit in a more ummmmm…. sober state.  It’s my little book that I jot little notes for future blogging posts. Granted it’s paisley, not black, but you get the idea. Let’s crack that puppy open and share a few late happenings in Tunaville shall we?

I finished the semester strong, despite more of those f*cking group projects. Man how I hate them as a rule, but I had one particularly challenging team with whom I was handcuffed the entire semester. I got stuck with “the couple”. It was obvious he was there on an athletic rather than merit scholarship. More interested in lazy days doing the nasty then working on their share of our 100,000 page report.  

EVERYTHING uploaded 10 minutes before class overwriting other people belabored words.   This included the final PowerPoint presentation.   My overly vocal complaints were met by HER “Don’t you disrespect me.” Really, let’s talk about disrespect, it’s a noun, not a verb girlfriend.  If I was really disrespecting you I would have called you bitch.  

Peach Breakfast Shake

1 banana

1 cup orange juice

½ cup plain yogurt

1 cup frozen peaches.

Throw in the blender and whirl. Not as good as the Peach Sangria I drank with my Sistah and Bebe last week. But I’ve been on a feeding frenzy since my birthday bash and need to get back on the diet train.

In other news, Sheldon and the Brit’s wedding plans are moving along. Date set, dress bought and venue selected. My work here is done I believe.  I don’t remember my mom helping me with this stuff, I just blindly swam along.  Sheldon calls it delegation. But they are focused on the oddest things.

Sheldon:  Mama, why can’t we throw rice at the wedding?

Mrs. Tuna:  Because the rumor is that birds eating will explode, some stupid PETA thing.  How about bubbles?

Sheldon:  The Brit and I wear contacts, we don’t want it to get in our eyes.

Mrs. Tuna: As opposed to a giant piece of rice? Chica, I’ll just buy your safety goggles you’ll be fine.

Sheldon’s fiancé understands our little flower so well.  When explaining her nickname, he exclaimed that she was pedantic.  Pedantic? Can you use it in a sentence? Sheldon is pedantic.  I consider myself pretty smart but there is something about the British that makes me feel uncouth. Before you know it I will start saying things are super cute. My IQ is dropping daily

Good week Team Tuna!

Kittens Gone Wild

Sooo, Mrs. Tuna ask me to do a guest blog for her since she is slightly overwhelmed with the past few weeks of turning 50, getting a new job, flogging students for group projects and all that wedding planning. Since I am MUCH younger and will not turn 50 for another 50 days I said I would adore helping. 

Funny thing about writing this blog is I planned on putting it on word and sending it to Ms. Tuna for editing. It was then that I discovered that I do not even have Word on this computer. I have had this laptop for 7 months and never knew that. One would assume correctly that the extent of my computer use is now social media and stalking old high school boyfriends. Understand please that of the boys I dated in HS-95% are now gay. This is not a good average and I am not proud of this. Don't know if I turned them gay or I just liked handsome men.

Not sure how the new job thing is going. It involves engineering and when they start to talk about it I tend to zone out and mentally start my grocery list. I am quite content to be blissfully ignorant when it comes to civil engineering. Just make all the lights green when I am late for work. 

Her big birthday bash was great, awesome food as you can imagine. For some strange reason she got enough bottles of wine that she could open her own tacky dark wine cellar to lure 12 year old boys (or did you miss that blog?). FYI-she only drinks white so she will be re-gifting a lot of the extra reds. Me please!! And yes, I did see her add ice a few times but it is Arizona and chilled wine does not stay frosty long. The birthday party was a big occasion in Tuna town. She even went out clothes shopping which she hates to find "clothes that did not make her look fat" (she never looks fat btw).

Our nearly famous blogger has an extreme case of sticker shock about wedding venues. She has resorted to looking at settings like the Dog Park for the reception. I think her theory is that if she feeds them enough good food and wine that they won’t notice. Since I still have two kids to send away I am waiting to see how that works out. Bet she keeps some of the reds for that. 

Recently, someone left a gaggle of kittens on my porch and I knew surely no one else would bring her such an awesome half century gift. Guess I must have teased her a little too much because as of 5 minutes before the party was about to start I was still getting calls and texts threatening me with future  booze abandonment if I brought the little fur ball. Probably didn't help that Bebe brought her a gift wrapped litter box.

I did take a photo of Mrs. Tuna at the party that she actually likes. Makes her look thin and she is thrilled that she was not holding a hair ball hurler. Tastes like chicken she said.  Since the birthday party was actually on Cinco de Mayo and we are in Arizona I am going to share one of my favorite Mexican recipes. Not exactly authentic but I am a Caucasian.

Tortilla Flat:
2 can cream of chicken soup
2 (4 0z) cans of green chilies 
1 doz corn tortillas
1 large onion: diced
obscene amounts of grated cheese
cooked chicken or turkey

Mix the soup and chilies together. Lightly grease a large baking dish. Layer in this order:
Soup, tortillas, onion, cheese, meat, top with onion and cheese. Bake at 325 until bubbly and cheese is melted

Ms. Tuna will be back soon with lots of news to share now that she is older and more mature, about to be a mother in law and is now back at the slave market. Thanks for your patience!
Ms. Antonymous