tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8794234444396677112024-03-04T21:14:19.277-08:00Working Woman's Guide to Dinner Or........If I Cook Chicken A La King One More Time I'll Kill MyselfMrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-47335559380461781092017-01-03T18:36:00.001-08:002017-01-03T18:36:34.245-08:00What up?<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7f8tm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7f8tm-0-0"><span data-text="true">What the hey Tuna Nation, getting a flurry of likes this month. Did I say vagina, vagina, vagina or something?</span></span></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-30791738830574437622016-02-28T19:32:00.001-08:002016-02-28T19:32:28.111-08:00Focus Grasshopper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As much as I
love Super Boss, he has the attention span of a gnat. He is the first to confess that he is easily distracted
by side conversations, email……….donuts. Just about anything. And he retains only about half of what I say
since he brain drifts off, the female voice must operate at too high an octave
or like a dog whistle. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I had a
meeting with him and New Engineer, super shiny and smart, to discuss a
particularly challenging design issue in his paper crammed office for which we
didn’t have the project background. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Let’s call
Joe, he has all the info”. Picks up his phone, gives a little laugh as he reads
a text from his wife, and commences to tell a cute follow up story about his
daughter. Puts the phone back down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
New Engineer:
“Now I know what you’re talking about.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Super Boss: “What?”
Call Joe, like ET phone home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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During my
annual review as we were ticking through my previous development goals, it
dawns on him that 99.9% of my action items were preceded by something <u>HE</u>
was supposed to do first. During this same
group hug, I pointed out he had never sent me the job requirements for the
fancy job promotion. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I didn’t? Let
me do it right now.” And embarks on looking through his email and then starts
reading client emails to me. 2 months
later, I’m still waiting to receive. He
compensated by giving me a nice raise and a little bonus. Scared I’ll leave and he’ll have to depend on
himself again for all his organizational shortcomings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Coconut Lime
Chicken<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
4 skinless
chicken breasts<o:p></o:p></div>
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3
tablespoons olive oil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Zest of 1
large lime<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon
cumin<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2
tablespoons soy sauce<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 ½ teaspoon
kosher salt<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
3
tablespoons sugar <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 teaspoons
curry powder<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
¾ cup canned
coconut milk<o:p></o:p></div>
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Juice of 1 lime<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
¼ cup chopped
cilantro. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Put chicken
breasts in a ziplock. In a bowl, combine oil, lime zest, cumin, soy sauce, salt,
sugar, curry, coconut milk and lime juice and pour over chicken. Marinade for
at least 2 hours or better overnight.
Grill chicken until done. If you save the marinade and cook in a small
sauce pan boiling for 4 or 5 minutes to kill the bacteria it is worth the
effort. You can either serve over rice
or better in tortillas with lettuce and tomatoes. Garnish with cilantro. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The big
galute is also like having a teen boy who speaks before thinking the whole
thing through. One of our goals in 2016
is to work more on the marketing efforts. I am trying to not channel the spirt
of Beer Girl, I certainly don’t have her giggle or boobs. I’d set up a meet and greet with a
particularly short architect we’d like to do a little business with. They were hitting off famously, talking about
San Diego and golf games. I zone out at this point since golf is a ridiculous
game, the same response when it comes on TV and I fall asleep to their droning
stiff upper lip voices. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And then Super
Boss launches into to a funny golf story involving a side bet that his buddy
could drive a ball from he’s knees further that the MIDGET that was doing a golf promotion. Snapped me right back into
it. He knew it was wrong as soon as he
said it but couldn’t help himself, he didn’t know how to stop, he said midget 5
more times. Stop. Talking. Now. As we stood up and said goodbye, I couldn’t
help but notice said architect only came up to my armpit. No hard feelings I’m
sure. I’ve got three more potential client
meetings scheduled with Super Boss this week. Focus Grasshopper, snatch the
pebble from my hand. Wish me luck Team Tuna.<o:p></o:p></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-25625577059484668182016-02-07T18:53:00.002-08:002016-02-07T18:53:49.369-08:00Hello. It's me.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Hello. It’s me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to hear me.
(Adele)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Okay, maybe it hasn’t been years. But it certainly has been more than
45 minutes. Long enough for a beer run
certainly. But truth be told Team Tuna, misery is what sparks the snarky part
of me. Since leaving Endless
Engineering, it has been coasting along. I did hear that Beer Girl with her
long blond hair extensions and fake boobs left, no doubt once I bailed she was over
faced with having to do her own freaking job. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
But my Facebook page has been suddenly getting a little action including
a few new followers in the last week, thanks Kathy and Marion. We’ve never met but I am a bit of a follower
whore. The daily views could be by someone who recently defriended me, I wonder
if they think I might write a post about them. It could happen. Blocking me
from you Facebook is the equivalent to an electronic restraining order. And very tempting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Things however been a bit jammed packed with buying a house, selling a
house, packing and lugging our shit across town. The same faithful friends showed up on moving
day but it only served to show that not only are we 15 years older, so are our
friends. The Big Tuna and I had a Thirty
Three and a third wedding anniversary party to celebrate the new digs. A third of
a century, that’s in real time, not dog years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qYNCwfmGi9iY8pZmMNZcJHoi4NF2y-Gvn5n0p7GYRpfO18d4jlVv_j8pgcTlSR0aXwap2xavCkNPSV67QjiHcfKwvlgqIrYXcHRPMVDy_8I0yT68limeABi8fPjYhOB3YTU5mR4okPs/s1600/backyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qYNCwfmGi9iY8pZmMNZcJHoi4NF2y-Gvn5n0p7GYRpfO18d4jlVv_j8pgcTlSR0aXwap2xavCkNPSV67QjiHcfKwvlgqIrYXcHRPMVDy_8I0yT68limeABi8fPjYhOB3YTU5mR4okPs/s320/backyard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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New House View</div>
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<br /></div>
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Additionally, I did a cross country trip with Sheldon to move her from
the icy east coast since the Brit got a fab job in Seattle. Word to the wise,
never, ever, ever, get off the Texas interstate during an icy storm to drive on
the frontage road because it might appear it would be faster. Never. Ever. Mommy’s imaginary brake pedal was in
overdrive. At least now we’re on the same time zone to talk on the phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Better Engineering is still pretty entertaining. I mean it
still has its challenges with the 12-year olds, Grumpy Guy and Super Boss but
meh, its fine. The other Project Manager stole one of my
12-year olds and replaced him with an Autistic Engineer, Augie. The sole reason they assigned said engineer
to me was to document him to be fired with my amazing way with writing words. Something
all of you already know if you’re reading this blog. It didn’t bode well for
him when he tried to awkwardly flirt with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm… Augie, I’m old enough to be your mom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not possible, how old are you” as he fidgeted and wrapped
his arms around his own waist to give himself a little self-hug love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“52” I shared.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s WAAAAAY older than my mom! I mean WAY older.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This is
going on your permanent record for sure. Fortunately I made him go through
enough flaming hoops to make him quit rather than having to fire him. Sigh, everything
I learned about managing staff I learned by being the parent to a teenager. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Since I am
still working a zillion hours a week, I did stumble upon an easy crockpot
meatloaf. This is after all a recipe
blog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Slow Cooker
Meatloaf<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2-pounds
ground beef<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ pound
ground Italian sausage<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 onion
finely chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
3 large
carrots halved<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 eggs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 ½ cups
ketchup divided<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
¾ cup
seasoned breadcrumbs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
¼ cup light
brown sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2
tablespoons Worcestershire sauce<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 teaspoons
salt<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon
garlic powder divided<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon
pepper<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ teaspoon
yellow mustard<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Place
carrots in the bottom of your crockpot. Combine beef, sausage, onion, ¾ cup
ketchup, breadcrumbs, eggs, ½ teaspoon garlic powder, Worcestershire, salt, pepper,
mx well with your hands. You won’t die from touching it, do it. Form meat into a loaf and place gently on top
of carrots. In same bowl, mix remaining
ingredients and spread over the top of the loaf. Cover and cook on low of 8
hours. If you felt inclined, you could
serve over some mashed potatoes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Maybe this
little post will inspire me to crank out more posts. I could write about the
drunk employee I just fired, Super Boss’ major ADD, world domination of the volunteer
organizations or my brand new horse I just bought for a dollar. Dealer’s choice. So show me a little love by
commenting so I know I’m not in the dead zone. Good week Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-85014198938278387972015-09-16T18:14:00.001-07:002015-09-16T18:14:16.166-07:00Tuna in the House?Hmmm....Mrs. Tuna had two new Facebook looks this week, is this a sign she should write something new?Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-26643797956472964872015-01-30T19:55:00.001-08:002015-01-30T19:55:45.699-08:00Mommy Dearest<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Better Engineering is well, better, way better. I can’t believe I’ve been there for almost
nine months, almost enough time to birth a baby. No more Endless Engineering,
no longer being made to feel dumber than a rock, and best of all no fantastically
fake Beer Girl. My new manager, Super Boss, tells me that I’m freaking amazing
and allows me to run with scissors through the halls. They
even hired me a couple of 12-year old engineers to do a lot of the heavy
lifting who are practically peeing their pants in their giddy excitement of
being on a grownup team. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
But recently I have noticed a shift in how the professional world
perceives me now. I had a field meeting for a roadway design
project that is located on tribal land with official state transportation oversight. A major requirement for the visit where you
play in traffic is to wear an attractive safety vest and hardhat. Stunning
visual, me and helmet hair. One of our
sub consultants, Little Kenny, was far from that. Not only did he have to
borrow a vest, we practically had to zip two of them together to straddle his
massive girth. The tribe gracious
invited us to lunch at their casino where Little Kenny visited the buffet,
three times to the point where the waitress offered him a bib. Burp, I was afraid he was going to swallow me
whole like a boa constrictor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
As we were saying our solemn goodbyes with steady handclasps, Kenny leapt
upon me with a sweaty embrace declaring he just “gotta hug all the ladies”. Awwwkkkkk, stop it, I am 15 years older than
your target demographic. I know I’m the
only female here but hug Joe, my co-worker, if you need to feel the love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The following week, on the way to another meeting, I recount the tale
to Super Boss explaining that I work hard at radiating my super personal space
bubble and my firm man handshake. Then as I provide the introduction to an old
client, I stick out my hand, only to get, “we’ve known each other a long time”
hug. What the hell is going on? Am I in an alternate universe? I usual nip this
shit in the bud. I once told a guy to stop calling me girl since hadn’t been a
girl since I got my period at twelve in front of six coworkers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Been feeling the need for less bread and more veggies in my diet so
here is a little salad gig recipe my Sistah gave me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Cashew Broccoli Salad<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
2 bunches raw broccoli cut into bite size pieces<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
1 pound cooked and crumbled bacon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
¼ cup raisins<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
½ cup cashews<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
1 cup mayo<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
½ sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
½ teaspoon white vinegar <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Mix broccoli, bacon, raisins and cashews in a bowl. In separate bowl
whisk together mayo, sugar and vinegar and pour over other. Chill several hours
before serving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
At my husband’s holiday soiree I had an epiphany about all this free
love as a young sale rep moved in for a little squeeze. My thirties and forties flashed before my
eyes. I have transitioned from being the Hot Chick to the comfortable Mom Hug.
Ughh. Come here you widdle baby, didum have a no good horrible day? There, there, come a little closer, so I can
whip you with some wire hangers like Joan Crawford. I am now going to go gargle with a little Botox
and rest my weary head. I’d sign this
with XOXOXO but I don’t want to give any of you any ideas. Good week Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-58045175913220994832014-11-09T15:48:00.002-08:002014-11-11T05:29:48.406-08:00Party Pooper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to. Shit, now
that little ditty is stuck in my head, yours too now I suppose. You’re
welcome. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Sheldon is turning, gasp, 25 years old! This is simply not possible, I
cannot be the mother of a grown ass woman.
Like really grown up, not the young adult that tries to insist you can’t
tell them what to do because they are over 18. As you make their cell phone,
tuition, and car insurance payment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIuagVlj-kVM_jJJ7aDxylJLuopja3Xd9hFj7uCpmBmu2UzPRLmpVGh0CbPq7BgWMxjlOxdGFghwMAxMkkqDT1hN-rtnwst2TBItvmWqhDQEICd2HvctubUc4ChiHbtzel8FAFiHD_-o/s1600/img009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIuagVlj-kVM_jJJ7aDxylJLuopja3Xd9hFj7uCpmBmu2UzPRLmpVGh0CbPq7BgWMxjlOxdGFghwMAxMkkqDT1hN-rtnwst2TBItvmWqhDQEICd2HvctubUc4ChiHbtzel8FAFiHD_-o/s1600/img009.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
In my head I am still that thin, happening, young mom of thirty five.
So essentially, I had Sheldon when I was 10, no problem, I can accept
that. Until I walk by a mirror and see
the wrinkled neck line and cellulite that has now turned doughy. Maybe I’ll just dim the lights and take off
my glasses so I look a bit softer and more fuzzy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Sheldon and the Brit are still living away from the mother ship of
Arizona in far, far away Pennsylvania/Maryland but I’m jetting in for her big
day. I’ll get to see their new
adventures on the east coast including spending the day at her new job as a shiny
new middle school math teacher. I am Show & Tell. Since everyone should have their favorite
meal on their birthday below is hers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Beef Stroganoff <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
1 pound beef cubed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
½ cup flour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Salt and pepper to taste<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
3 tablespoons olive oil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
2 cans beef consume<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
½ cup sour cream<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Combine flour, salt and pepper in a bowl. Dredge meat in flour
mixture. Heat oil in a large skillet and brown meat on all sides. Remove with
slotted spoon and place in a saucepan. Add consume and cook on medium heat for
20 minutes covered. Add sour cream and cook until heated throughout. Do not
boil. Serve over hot egg noodles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
As a big surprise, I’ve created a Prezi presentation that shows our
little flower 25-year evolution. Shhhh….I’m not telling her until her actually
birthday. It’s like fancy Microsoft PowerPoint, a little exposure tip from Beer
Girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://prezi.com/n_vft481qxy2/kimberlys-birthday-no-music/" target="_blank">https://prezi.com/n_vft481qxy2/kimberlys-birthday-no-music/</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://prezi.com/gpazf2jd_g4n/kimberlys-birthday-musical/" target="_blank">https://prezi.com/gpazf2jd_g4n/kimberlys-birthday-musical/</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Above are two links, one with and one without music played by our baby
girl while she was in Russia. I did two because the musical one might make your
computer choke and die since it’s so big. In the lower right corner of the
presentation, there is button that
allows you to run it on a loop, pick 4 second interval. Do It. Now. Please, no
snarky remarks about Mrs. Tuna’s polygamist hair or said scrunchies. Heart
you Team Tuna!<o:p></o:p></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-57388632826654620572014-09-30T19:31:00.001-07:002014-09-30T19:31:27.556-07:00The Simple DaysAh, the simple days....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWPhemawsGPdPNSNw_Y4ez8ecQGOC4AwqkrAPNp8C8vgP9U7OMhq-CBqCAKuRVcuuP29m6yjdi9LTBjB1Pb_1By3Z-qKiTfvQc252if3bbFl1rTbd_NBe_zf89hMH75IOkJ9EMk1rYw8/s1600/simpleblogging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWPhemawsGPdPNSNw_Y4ez8ecQGOC4AwqkrAPNp8C8vgP9U7OMhq-CBqCAKuRVcuuP29m6yjdi9LTBjB1Pb_1By3Z-qKiTfvQc252if3bbFl1rTbd_NBe_zf89hMH75IOkJ9EMk1rYw8/s1600/simpleblogging.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-78905546181681382582014-05-18T20:29:00.000-07:002014-05-18T20:29:02.207-07:00Fantastic!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It suffices
to say that Endless Engineering was sucking the life out of me. For the first time in my career, I felt like
I could not engineer my way out of a paper bag.
What was there to blog about, Beer Girl using boobs and hair setting
women’s rights back about 50 years? And
when she giggled and used her pageant pose when shit didn’t get done they
giggled too and thought she was adorable? It was more like Toddlers and Tampons then Tiaras.
I.Was.Over.It. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I began to
realize that the favorite marketing word was “Fantastic”. The blond bimbo sat
right outside my office, every other sentence included this gem. “You got the
message I left you, fantastic!” “I have a fantastic marketing idea that includes
Vegas showgirls on the sponsored golf hole!” “You had the admin person pick up
my dry-cleaning? Fantastic!” I made it a
little mental drinking game. Every time she uttered her favorite word I took a
mental tequila shot. The only problem was that I was punch drunk by 9 AM. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But……I have
escaped and we will never speak of it again. Except in snarky and amusing ways.
Boss 1 couldn’t be bothered to set up time for an exit interview. He wants to
know if we can have lunch in a few weeks and do it then. Ummm…..Pass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
My new
project manager job starts tomorrow. Company name to be decided upon suitable
reflection time and personalities are developed. Since I don’t want to be sued
for slander by Endless Engineering, I will move on….for now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpnTr6wyZpC551V5kadaU_Pww-t157YeH33q7deo_18Q6nmRK9tj2mHVXCHHBUFmr9vgrP37hWHde6d7u9uMddvzS4yX5qfStHPKr3hqXt5zlzYXbx3IUy7jBLyh6MZe6cFGTu1nknx8/s1600/husband-shopping1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpnTr6wyZpC551V5kadaU_Pww-t157YeH33q7deo_18Q6nmRK9tj2mHVXCHHBUFmr9vgrP37hWHde6d7u9uMddvzS4yX5qfStHPKr3hqXt5zlzYXbx3IUy7jBLyh6MZe6cFGTu1nknx8/s1600/husband-shopping1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Instead I
will share the joys of home improvements in the form of bathroom
remodeling. The Big Tuna and I only have about a 90 minute
shopping tolerance. Making it very
difficult to compare color swatches and textures when so overwhelmed but the
choices. But the Man has a fatal shopping flaw. HE CAN’T STAY WITH THE
CART!!!! A prime example was once when I
had my gallbladder out, I invited him to come help me with the heavy lifting. He would drift off to miscellaneous aisles to
return with armloads of snacks and treats. I could hardly push those $268 in groceries
to the checkout stand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the tile
store I was trying to work with their in store consultant only to spot the Big
Tuna wandering in the wood floor aisle. “This
is why after 30 years, I shop alone, come here, come here, come here”, I shriek
across the warehouse of wholesale tile using the front office megaphone. Price check on marital sanity. This week I tried a new casserole. Yum. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sausage-Green
Bean Casserole<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2
Tablespoons olive oil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
12 ounces
frozen green beans defrosted in microwave<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 small
onion chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 pound
ground Italian sausage<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ cup
roasted red peppers chopped <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 cloves
garlic minced<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1-16 ounce
tube cooked polenta (found at Trader Joe’s) cut in ¼ inch rounds<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ cup
chicken broth<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ cup
shredded parmesan cheese<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Heat olive
oil and brown onion and garlic until translucent. Add ground sausage and brown.
Stir in red peppers and green beans and cook 2 minutes. Layer polenta, sausage
mixture, polenta, sausage mixture. Top with chicken broth and parm cheese. Bake
at 425 degrees for 20 minutes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I
figured out what many women before have used to tether their escaped
convicts/husbands. Hey baby, will you
hold my purse, I’ll only be a minute.
Have Fantastic Week! Now drink up. <o:p></o:p></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-1483636432481107522014-05-10T05:55:00.002-07:002014-05-10T15:16:25.930-07:00My Big Fat Secret BlogSoooooo........someone had potentially ratted me out to Endless Engineering about not being as kind as I could on evil Facebook. It scared the bejesus out of me so I made all my rantings secret and private here and there.<br />
<br />
But yesterday I gave my notice to Boss 1 and Boss 2 that next Friday will be my last day. I feel like I need to keep it on the down low until after next week. At that time, I will regale you tales of hilarity, including how the Big Tuna can't STAY WITH THE CART, even after 30 years. Stay tuned, same time, same place, same Tuna Channel.Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-66160437550705009072014-02-03T14:28:00.002-08:002014-02-03T14:28:53.519-08:00Snow-mageddon<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In looking
back, I can’t believe it’s been 3 months since I last posted. What a lazy bitch I am. Perhaps this is a
guilt post since <a href="http://designsbymeg.com/blog/" target="_blank">Meg from Member’s Lounge</a> dropped me a plea. Well while the rest of you are enjoying day 57
off from work due to inclement snow, some of us are curled up on the couch with
the flu. Oh you might say I deserve it
living in 75 degree weather every day, but I am currently stuck watching Teen
Mom 2 since it seems like too much effort to get the remote. Okay, maybe I like it. A little bit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I can
tell you whose fault it is for the Polar Vortex, Sheldon and the Brit. Oh they
were so hoity toitey about their perfect weather in southern California. Because………the day after Thanksgiving they
moved to FREAKING PENNSYLVANIA for some amazing job offer. They poo poo’d the change in climate saying
the most snow they ever got in York was a mere 20-inches a year. Except they got
all of that in the first 20 minutes they were there. By angering the weather channel gods, they
have brought the wrath of an Armageddon winter to the I-95 corridor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFSG_ndkOmPVE2nmt84GMpr3v6L47ndGJygup8VFs8BRXd4KtwAVUMgI1zH8KFC0quBcRr6aNVG0fQNAP5CbVkqUuXPET2NDcVDEskqDLHqbDVm1HkNvB2k9pB-NW1TdDWVdGDL9WmHk/s1600/IMG_3720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFSG_ndkOmPVE2nmt84GMpr3v6L47ndGJygup8VFs8BRXd4KtwAVUMgI1zH8KFC0quBcRr6aNVG0fQNAP5CbVkqUuXPET2NDcVDEskqDLHqbDVm1HkNvB2k9pB-NW1TdDWVdGDL9WmHk/s1600/IMG_3720.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<o:p>Christmas via Skype </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But it is
sooooooooooooooooooooooooo far. Waaahhhh, our first Christmas apart. My baby girl’s distant from the bosom of
Tunaville. But at least she is near to
our extended family, frankly closer than she was to us living in the land of
milk and honey. Sniff, sniff, I’m sure she’s fine, learning to drive on black
ice, and chip ice off of her windshield with the edge of her credit card. In
her first snow call home she shrilly announced that snow wasn’t soft and delicate,
it positively melted when it landed on her. The major reason I fled New Jersey
30 years ago was because I knew I’d melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This week is
a deep fried something, something to take away my pain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Crunchy
Honey Garlic Pork Chops<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 pound pork
chops<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 eggs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
4
tablespoons water<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 cups flour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon each
salt, pepper, garlic powder<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oil for
frying<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Glaze:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2
tablespoons butter<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 ½ cups
honey<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 tablespoon
minced garlic<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ cup brown
sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ teaspoon grated
fresh ginger<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
½ cup soy
sauce<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whisk eggs
and water together in shallow dish, mix flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder in
separate bowl. Dip chops in flour first,
then egg mixture and again in flour mixture.
Heat oil on medium high heat and cook chops for 6 minutes each side. Don’t
turn or it will lose its coating. Next
melt butter in small sauce pan and add minced garlic for a minute or so. Add
honey, soy sauce, brown sugar and fresh ginger. Heat glaze ingredients for about 5
minutes. Pour half of glaze into a 9” x
13” glass baking dish. Place pork chops on top and coat with remaining glaze.
Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. Frankly, I couldn’t get over how moist the
chops were, I was convinced they’d get all dried out and nasty from
frying. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The
newlyweds were all hot to purchase a house before they even arrived on the
scene. Not the most practical approach to
Sheldon’s overly practical parents. Why
not wait until you are actually on the scene since you have no idea where
anything is relative to anything else. They were falling in love with pictures
of adorable cottages, ignoring homes in the floodplain or missing roof tiles. Fortunately, they finally opted to rent for a
year and didn’t end up in a bad neighborhood of Amish Crypts and Bloods. Ouch, I just felt a snot bubble pop in my
brain, must rest my weary head. Good week Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-54124621697322600692013-10-13T18:34:00.001-07:002013-10-18T05:33:39.723-07:00Girl Interrupted<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I remember when I use to have a blog, you remember when I had it too
don’t cha? Oh the casual rants of a middle aged woman seeking to show the world
that she was the biggest, baddest, smarty pants of them all. Balancing job
layoffs, full time work, full time school, marrying off her beloved daughter,
what the shit happened? <o:p></o:p></div>
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After birthing my graduation and Sheldon’s royal wedding, I somehow
ran out of words, hard to believe. I see
dead people, okay not really you fraidy cats. Stop it. The quick brown fox
jumped over the lazy dogs. See, all the letters of the alphabet at least are at
my fingertips. But I’m going to just
throw up on paper what swirls in my head.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEBBhMl5ELwhoDfzLIHd1wVWoCfI8a7aKXsJv-StcRfVbuVbXQmXPOosaiMn4baX02FQYdCMpnHGeGBYHL49qJl43LgbAM9n2ZT4sAaGLnVsZ5MQd3sO4eL3pQtiHQ2aGlbYUOQlDbRk/s1600/geek03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEBBhMl5ELwhoDfzLIHd1wVWoCfI8a7aKXsJv-StcRfVbuVbXQmXPOosaiMn4baX02FQYdCMpnHGeGBYHL49qJl43LgbAM9n2ZT4sAaGLnVsZ5MQd3sO4eL3pQtiHQ2aGlbYUOQlDbRk/s1600/geek03.jpg" /></a></div>
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I had the opportunity to revisit ASU last week under the guise of
promoting the Engineering Career Fair. Sweaty palmed males wearing suits purchased
for their sister's wedding clumped together like geeky future colleagues. The wafts of Axe Body Spray alternated with
overwhelming body odor that could kill a pyramid of cheerleaders. Every
moist and limp handshake made me feel compelled to gargle with hand sanitizer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Apparently I am not considered booth babe enough for the raging male
hormones and Beer Girl was assigned to “help”.
Her long flowing tresses and fake boobs certainly enticed the shy awkward
boys in but instead of asking questions about their career goals and GPA, she
quizzed them about the best spots for 2 for 1 shot night. They gobbled her up like trick or treat
candy. This week's (or frankly this season’s)
recipe is a simple avocado salsa that Sheldon fed me on one of my trips to see
my beloved baby girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Avocado Salsa<o:p></o:p></div>
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1-Jalepeno seeded and chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
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3 tablespoons cilantro chopped<o:p></o:p></div>
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4 tablespoons red onion minced<o:p></o:p></div>
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3 to 4 avocados cubed<o:p></o:p></div>
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Juice from 2 limes<o:p></o:p></div>
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Throw it all in a bowl and stir. Done. Easy as pie people. We ate it on top of grilled fish and then the
leftovers with a spoon. That way we
could convince ourselves we were all noble and diet like because we didn’t use
tortilla chips to scoop it up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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How I’ve missed the campus life. It seems like a hundred years ago
since I graduated but in truth, just a mere 10 months ago that I had fodder for
this pathetic blog. Seeing girls wearing
shorts with their lady parts hanging down and Ugg boots have invigorated me. Let’s hope the inspiration continues, next
week maybe I’ll tell how I didn’t key that guy’s BMW and instead resisting the
daily urge not to swing my car door into his for a well-deserved door ding. Go Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-87194732023100158872013-07-07T19:26:00.002-07:002013-07-07T19:28:35.795-07:00King of His Castle<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Bah, Endless Engineering and Beer Girl have been using up all my
fictitious spare time. You would have thought once I completed college I’d been
rolling in time. Basking by the pool and the swim up bar. But no, that would
have been simply way too silly to consider. Instead I am resisting the urge to
mainline No-Doze at 9 PM when trapped at the office working. Yes working after
getting in at 6 AM. I am reading some of Beer Girl’s best work. A recent write up she is submitting for a
potential award.<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Placement of the channel was also critical. In order to preserve the natural beauty of the area, the channel was placed behind the trees along Rabbit Road, so no trees were harmed during this process. The squirrels were very pleased to have their trees." </div>
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<u>I.Am.Not.Kidding</u>. Needless to say it hasn’t left me anytime to post
fabulous updates on my life. Because basically, I no longer have one. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibamc1zEXALMjsjbpnWyugv6tsaVcYj72TlrMtWnoACL4YB5kqd7jqPLEOUkRmEb200qf8AZKoAlH8qlI97QeyV7hW6IJ6JlmGWr4D4QqTo2oarrOjKWA_3gHV77s8M8FEymrCeWtyaAQ/s1600/IMG_3501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibamc1zEXALMjsjbpnWyugv6tsaVcYj72TlrMtWnoACL4YB5kqd7jqPLEOUkRmEb200qf8AZKoAlH8qlI97QeyV7hW6IJ6JlmGWr4D4QqTo2oarrOjKWA_3gHV77s8M8FEymrCeWtyaAQ/s320/IMG_3501.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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Instead I will go back to my lovely vacation a month ago to
California. The last time I had any fun at all. We stayed at our time share in
Avila Beach, right on the ocean and simply fab.
We had a neat ocean view if we carefully leaned out over the balcony and
looked to the right. But they waited on
us hand and foot. Our fridge was crapping out, no worries, they just wheeled in
another. Heaven forbid I couldn’t chill
my wine and freeze ice cubes. Everything else is incidental. Sheldon used her new job sales skills and
scored us lots of extra free wine tasting tickets. Sniff, so proud I raised her
with her priorities in the right place. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We decided one day to make a field trip up to Hearst Castle. In
retrospect, taking the Brit with us emphasized the how uncouth and uncool
Americans really are. Earlier in the
year we did the Birthday Cake Castle in Phoenix. He was a bit horrified that he had to wear
shoe booties inside so as not to mar the floors. He pointed out that he’d spent
his youth climbing all over the strongholds of Europe without so much as a
guide. Yeah, well, we have only a teeny tiny history here Bucko so we have to
add hoopla. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hearst Castle was pretty darn cool but a bit of a racket. After
reserving your tickets, you are limited to see only certain rooms and for the
love of God, STAY ON THE CARPET
PATHWAYS! Practically armed guards to make sure you don’t wander off willy
nilly. But they had cool wild zebras on
the property. We practically crashed the rental car in our attempt to stop and
take pictures. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsG0ZKT-jZXZQvzrp3N3CCJ3Mv_2iNpJ2iTlAAxmvJYwxPe9GnhFMqMR0uS0lUN3OuewSS5y_xf3TtCPGCFp54uzWZ6MossMXsDxy0Xe-xfS_hbABo1iiVrpVROM4kMO-oSklCPl2FR0/s1600/IMG_3532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsG0ZKT-jZXZQvzrp3N3CCJ3Mv_2iNpJ2iTlAAxmvJYwxPe9GnhFMqMR0uS0lUN3OuewSS5y_xf3TtCPGCFp54uzWZ6MossMXsDxy0Xe-xfS_hbABo1iiVrpVROM4kMO-oSklCPl2FR0/s320/IMG_3532.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now my baby girl has started her own blog, <a href="http://themissyg.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">the New Mrs. G,</a> to discuss
all things Pinterest. The same as crack for crafters. I sneeze at glitter and
glue sticks make me dizzy. Please go over and leave her a little comment love
and encouragement. In her honor I’m
posting one of her favorite recipes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Popovers<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup four<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ teaspoon salt<o:p></o:p></div>
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3 large eggs<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup milk<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 tablespoon melted butter<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shortening <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sift flour and salt into bowl. Beat eggs and add milk and butter. Pour into flour mixture. Beat until smooth for
2 minutes with electric mixer. Important that it is smooth and not lumpy. Pour
batter into shortening greased muffin tins. (Cast iron, THE BEST!) Bake at 375
degrees for 50 to 55 minutes. No peeking or it will cause them to fall. Serve
with butter and jam. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My Sistah, husband and the Girl met us there as well. An interesting
twist was the Girl changed her Facebook status to “In a Relationship” while
there. But I am obviously blocked since
only Sheldon could verify. Not to worry, we tortured her appropriately. That’s my job right? <o:p></o:p></div>
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The Girl, Day 5 of Captivity<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngAPGY8soqQke2-2FyaEi4akhbe4ngTf-X6SD6yogT3fJgteKmVo1mO4ZSe6-T0SNSMq_CtMwiNx2KbIVTcmuyR_F2Smx2sfJeQes9ebwPFhrTMP1nTCFwCathGLkvMv8WW_BQY9okKI/s1600/IMG_20130605_105126_625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngAPGY8soqQke2-2FyaEi4akhbe4ngTf-X6SD6yogT3fJgteKmVo1mO4ZSe6-T0SNSMq_CtMwiNx2KbIVTcmuyR_F2Smx2sfJeQes9ebwPFhrTMP1nTCFwCathGLkvMv8WW_BQY9okKI/s320/IMG_20130605_105126_625.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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As you put yourselves to bed, please think of those of us chained to
our desks at midnight. Good week (or month at this rate) Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-71064685081401509262013-06-06T19:51:00.001-07:002013-06-06T19:51:55.716-07:00Home Is Where the Heart Is<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This past week I
spent with my Sistah’s family and the newlyweds. As always when I go to San
Luis Obispo, I have pangs of nostalgia. It was my mom’s favorite place, where
we scattered her ashes overlooking the Pacific Ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When you are
young, your parents document your life’s achievements and moments to create
your personal history. Given all of the technology available, they snap digital
cameras and movie clips which they assemble in impressive scrapbooks and
Facebook posts. It reminds them of your accomplishments and how proud they are
of you. Their children are, in fact,
their shining star, illuminated, and center stage in their lives. I confess that I am somewhat guilty of
recording much of my daughter’s life in a similar manner. My own mother, with whom my daughter and were
very close, passed away after a long battle with cancer three years ago. I know
we were the shining light of her life as she was of ours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWhVCfWE8RIDrsgvS_KSs9ZnCM1-Wfu9cPJZCmQ2ma9ShkSkOgRrzLRNpKVqWlsemuGst4fK2ieS4vjZHWzduJmGlhh11qBTmkNnLAOJPfJaXFwi9elrJLiKQSnRtnAxMjkS843GiJ70/s1600/mom01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWhVCfWE8RIDrsgvS_KSs9ZnCM1-Wfu9cPJZCmQ2ma9ShkSkOgRrzLRNpKVqWlsemuGst4fK2ieS4vjZHWzduJmGlhh11qBTmkNnLAOJPfJaXFwi9elrJLiKQSnRtnAxMjkS843GiJ70/s320/mom01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In going through
her things, we were surprised at what she kept as mementos. It was difficult to
decide what to save and what to donate as my daughter didn’t want to depart
with a single thing. Many of the items had no real dollar value and were only
for my mom’s sense of wanting to mark a distinctive moment in time. There was a beautiful aquamarine ring that
her father had brought back from India. He told her the blue green color
reminded him of her eyes. My grandfather was a single parent for most of her
life who passed away when I was in kindergarten. She wore it only on special
occasions and always told us funny stories about him when she did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was also a
colored pencil sketch that someone did of her in her early thirties on lined
notebook paper. It was stuck in a folder to keep the edges from curling yet
never framed. It was lovely, but we don’t know why she didn’t display it. Buried
amongst the scraps of paper were letters that my sister and I had written to
the Tooth Fairy. They carefully outlined that our mother could vouch for a lost
tooth and could we please have an increase in pay as well. I’m not sure why she
picked these communications over notes or love letters from her youth. There are still notes stuffed in a drawer I can't bring myself to read. I think it was another demonstration of how
she chose us over herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Every Christmas
Eve, my mother organized a Jack Corner prize where each child pulled an early
gift with a string to occupy them for the evening. It was highly anticipated
that we would receive a much coveted book or game to keep us upstairs while my
parents helped Santa wrap and assemble. It is a lasting memory and tradition we
continue even today as adults. Christmas
remains our closest family tie to her and each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mom was, and
still remains, the guiding light on what it means to be a family. Her life is our framework on remembering what
is important to reminisce over. But our lives remain an open book, which we
continue to add to the back pages as an ever expanding story. A photo can capture the inner soul of a
person and above</span><span style="font-family: Candara, sans-serif;"> is a picture of her on my christening day. I didn’t notice until months after
her death, the necklace she wearing is one of my favorite things I kept rather
than give away. While we miss her every day, we can find the love and humor in
our lives because she made us who we are now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-72582339483389109462013-05-31T10:25:00.002-07:002013-05-31T10:27:03.223-07:00A Few Short HoursA few short hours until I am in this place with these people XOXO<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTXyY6OKIaOqWLLtASESRusWp4O6_RWDJqkYyqqKFOEmmuFMPxY5I4eq07XAfAYmxc-L4CaZU4Pgb4pB5ofMVXchOTRjEqwOkx98aLQrBdWMIGoJLZuNwbAIeb1MSVToKnMI82Xaau_M/s1600/2012-1016+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTXyY6OKIaOqWLLtASESRusWp4O6_RWDJqkYyqqKFOEmmuFMPxY5I4eq07XAfAYmxc-L4CaZU4Pgb4pB5ofMVXchOTRjEqwOkx98aLQrBdWMIGoJLZuNwbAIeb1MSVToKnMI82Xaau_M/s320/2012-1016+040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><!--3-->Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-28711070482729027712013-05-12T20:13:00.001-07:002013-05-12T20:13:08.576-07:00Sheldon in the House<br />
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We have been lucky to have back to back weekends with our little baby
girl. Sheldon and the Brit made the long
trek to Phoenix this weekend for Mommy’s Day. Hooray!!!! It’s about Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I
mean, so wonderful to see the kids. The
added bonus was it was the Big Tuna and my anniversary. Yup,
that’s right, I shoot the whole wad of celebration in a 8 day period time. Nada
for me until Christmas. Feel free to
send bottles of wine in order to drown my sorrows. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcahJStxG-UYP436ycTMguXJiCHoNkPTvYeCnS22eMC3ml1xzOpXnD4z07iXehPBGIMCGVMIHYoDQOsDywHQerBDbNw0VMSvcO8pDJIYYBkloJg8cjn7elCiYjFUF8oU-fA-StycBqa8/s1600/IMG_3354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcahJStxG-UYP436ycTMguXJiCHoNkPTvYeCnS22eMC3ml1xzOpXnD4z07iXehPBGIMCGVMIHYoDQOsDywHQerBDbNw0VMSvcO8pDJIYYBkloJg8cjn7elCiYjFUF8oU-fA-StycBqa8/s320/IMG_3354.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last weekend, the Big Tuna and I trekked our way to Palm Springs to
meet Sheldon and the Brit at the sort of halfway mark between Phoenix and
Orange County for my birthday. The real center meet up is a little more like
Blythe, trust me, you don’t want to get to know Blythe. Picture a truck weigh station, police
barracks and a sad Burger King, Facebook check-in marks it as “at Middle of
Nowhere AZ”. Believe me there isn’t diddly squat between here and there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bw3FiLS3iF9sScbLTM85NVE5O3ceVyT1Lr8SnqLZWjcOWvlXvMRUUFeo-vIFk1ozNZlQL3YKqDnxigmLYuGwSysvaCYKGCAY2g1laS0CjoiYP4lRxXtMZFCbFnU-1qGep1r0M75cjgU/s1600/nothing.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bw3FiLS3iF9sScbLTM85NVE5O3ceVyT1Lr8SnqLZWjcOWvlXvMRUUFeo-vIFk1ozNZlQL3YKqDnxigmLYuGwSysvaCYKGCAY2g1laS0CjoiYP4lRxXtMZFCbFnU-1qGep1r0M75cjgU/s320/nothing.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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It had been over a month since we’d last saw the newlyweds, naturally
I wanted to have a girls sleepover with me, leaving the men to share a king
size bed. Those meanies weren’t having
any of that. Sniff, likely because they
both snore and didn’t want to keep each other awake. I’m sure that’s it. But
that’s not to say they didn’t have bromance time. While Sheldon and I went
shopping, they caught the 10 AM Ironman 3 movie. They made a little confession at lunch, they’d
eaten Burger King Whopper’s rather than traditional popcorn when watching the
movie with all the other 12 year olds. Here is a special salad my Sistah made for us
today.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Spinach-Basil Salad<o:p></o:p></div>
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6 cup spinach leaves washed<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup fresh basil washed in ripped in ½ inch pieces<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ cup olive oil<o:p></o:p></div>
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3 cloves garlic minced<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ cup pine nuts<o:p></o:p></div>
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4 ounces prosciutto<o:p></o:p></div>
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Black pepper to taste<o:p></o:p></div>
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¾ cup parmesan cheese<o:p></o:p></div>
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Toss spinach and basil in large bowl. Heat oil in sauté pan, add
garlic and nuts until nuts brown. Stir in prosciutto and sauté one minute, add
pepper. Add warm dressing to spinach and basil. Sprinkle with cheese and serve
immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The four hour drive certainly brings interesting conversations…..and
interesting personal hygiene observations. As I sat with my feet propped on the
dash with the sun beating down on the windshield I notice a few golden hair
patches missed on my legs. Ah well, I scoffed, they’re very blond, I’m sure
just easily missed since I can’t wear my reading glasses in the shower. No
biggie right? Until I notice that apparently, I haven’t been doing such a swell
job on the back of my legs for who knows how long. Frick, you could braid that shit. I got a god
damn mullet on the back of my legs. Ughhhhhhh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-30230006159829085702013-05-04T15:20:00.001-07:002013-05-04T15:20:30.207-07:00It's my party and I'll cry if I want to....The Big Tuna and I are meeting up this weekend in Palm Springs with Sheldon and the Brit. Waaaahhh....never want to leave.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-Sk9eHZRGSMTA7glu1VbLbrlrO24o0GfyN2YAUl_iswjcCrBkQAZ_GnaZR73xzfqjdzZXLUAfZbck11xrjhTzSfMxIkZ1ZOoU4lLkPKxUbyWW8_FWhemWiR8VQR1cMecpUDD6fqv_IM/s1600/lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-Sk9eHZRGSMTA7glu1VbLbrlrO24o0GfyN2YAUl_iswjcCrBkQAZ_GnaZR73xzfqjdzZXLUAfZbck11xrjhTzSfMxIkZ1ZOoU4lLkPKxUbyWW8_FWhemWiR8VQR1cMecpUDD6fqv_IM/s320/lunch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-87581992360210780542013-04-07T08:07:00.000-07:002013-04-14T12:29:12.347-07:00We Got Game<br />
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Every spring blossoms the Annual Transportation Conference, where geeky engineers break free of their HP calculators and kiddie
soccer coaching duties. They shove their fancy mechanical pencils and titanium
pocket scales into their book bags, distanced from their hen pecking wives to
drink free flowing booze and stay up past their bedtime. But they are out of
shape for wine, women, and song instead, awkwardly palling around with other
social misfits, exchanging business cards and snazzy conference apps. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtI9I2Jy7bMlnnJeXUfYrCTlU3mY1Od0u0DWWT8YUb3aWghF3j9eAQhY50hzwtwSg3wJs6EfWgHLcKN8UbVUoYbeZ96sxmcjMT7CtCiUoWLRf03KbLDFyptaYoYiPG4eKK6u2cgMbI47g/s1600/hunger+games.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtI9I2Jy7bMlnnJeXUfYrCTlU3mY1Od0u0DWWT8YUb3aWghF3j9eAQhY50hzwtwSg3wJs6EfWgHLcKN8UbVUoYbeZ96sxmcjMT7CtCiUoWLRf03KbLDFyptaYoYiPG4eKK6u2cgMbI47g/s1600/hunger+games.jpg" /></a></div>
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You might even remember I was <a href="http://workingwomansguidetodinner.blogspot.com/2012/04/hot-chick.html" target="_blank">the Hot Chick</a> last year. <a href="http://workingwomansguidetodinner.blogspot.com/2011/11/good-bra.html" target="_blank">Endless Engineering </a>was oozing with jealously when they saw me
making out with other attending consultants. It finally brought them to the table
with an actual job offer instead of vague promises of permanent employment. Six months ago it was decided we needed to
GET SERIOUS and hire a person to drive the marketing train. It came down to two
candidates, in theory so I could get back to doing actual billable work. I
would like to point out that this goal has not reached fruition. The first was
a shy, soft spoken girl with experience in the industry; the second……was Beer
Girl. Tiny and petite with long blond
hair, permanent white tipped nails and big, big, boobs. Even though her previous background was
medical sales and Budweiser advertisements, they were smitten. Even on my best day I can’t even convince
myself I am a measly B cup. Welcome to
the itty bitty titty club. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Beer Girl came up with a scavenger game for those
of us that had to babysit the exhibitor space and entice peeps to our booth. The theme started off as the “Hunger Games”,
great, let’s kill and eat other consultants so we can get ahead. I was supposed
to say, “may the odds forever be in your favor”, but I kept fucking it up and
saying “may the force be with you.” Thus showing my age and uncoolness. Naturally
she couldn’t join us because she was too busy doing origami birds or something.
Boss 1 and 2 think she is amazing, so
clever and smart. I Googled the exact same marketing ploy, not exactly unique. Well played Beer Girl, well played. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Since we’re focused on beer, here is a recipe to
match our theme.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u>Crock Pot Beer Chicken<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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2 pounds chicken breasts<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 can or bottle beer<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon salt<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon garlic powder<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ teaspoon pepper<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have one of those fancy ass grill racks but I’m
not coordinated enough to figure out how to balance on the grill top. I’m much more of a throw stuff together and
hope for the best. Combine all ingredients in crook pot and cook on high for
4-5 hours or low for 6-8 hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
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While at the conference I began receiving frantic
text messages from the cleaning woman.
She requires cold hard cash for services rendered. I’d left it smack in the middle of dining
room table, with a paperclip the same as every time. The Big Tuna bounced to the dunes five
minutes after I bolted to the conference, so no emergency backup. Please, please, please clean my house, I’m
good for the dough, I’ve faithfully paid for almost twenty years. I’ve got 12
people coming for dinner this weekend and I can’t let them see the tumbleweeds
of blond dog hair. On my drive home I called
the man expressing dismay on the missing money. In the brief moments left alone in the house,
he thoughtfully put the money in a drawer “because he didn’t think we should
leave cash lying around”. He’s lucky Kathy the Wonderful came through or there
would have been Labrador Retriever hair in the potatoes. Here’s wishing you a good week Team Tuna. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-7410769981836760282013-02-24T16:48:00.001-08:002013-02-24T17:48:52.763-08:00The Real Sheldon of Orange County<br />
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Now that the Royal Wedding and mingling with the malcontent students
is over, I feel like I have nothing entertaining to spill. I peruse your blogs wishing I had two or
three quips to string together into something that resembles an amusing blog
post. But I have an excuse, my horoscope
told me to wait. “There is something satisfying about a good rant, and you
might let yourself go on and on, especially in writing. But don’t deliver this
in writing to anyone, sit on it awhile. “<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFptpSm1mifnsyPBUqq1psaJrXwqIU3v6B9omQQDWnZKfKUbbbVzV9tuGPNROoWcZn5aj8NrGP7XrTc_nGuDFEYDm8l5WvsY4lmhW14aJchuU9MAsTWJX_k9M-pl7QjOpg3UUp7Nlb1DE/s1600/2013-02-17_06-42-03_226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFptpSm1mifnsyPBUqq1psaJrXwqIU3v6B9omQQDWnZKfKUbbbVzV9tuGPNROoWcZn5aj8NrGP7XrTc_nGuDFEYDm8l5WvsY4lmhW14aJchuU9MAsTWJX_k9M-pl7QjOpg3UUp7Nlb1DE/s320/2013-02-17_06-42-03_226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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See, I have a note to the principal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Last weekend, I drove from Phoenix to Sheldon and the Brit’s new hood
in Orange County. No spotting of Lisa Vanderpump or Adrienne Maloof. Not that I,
ummm know about those housewives or anything. It’s an
adorable two bedroom closet for a mere king’s ransom every month. Rather than sunning and funning, Sheldon and
I splurged and purged all their co-mingling crud. It was a combination of his apartment, her
storage unit and all the wedding gifts including an unassembled dinette set. Sheldon was pretty handy and finished putting
together the chairs because as a woman, she knows how to read the directions. The
son in law had to conveniently work all weekend to avoid the pitching/organizing
fray. Mostly, it made everybody like
cranky overtired toddlers who needed to be put down for naps. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I arrived Friday night I parked in the designated permit only
space, querying Sheldon who assured me I had permission from property
management. Let’s just say when I wandered out Saturday morning with several unpacked
“borrowed” items to take back to Phoenix, I wasn’t stunned to discover it had
been towed away. A mere $310 buckaroos later,
my little Ford Focus was sprung from car jail. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I love Southern Cali, so beautiful with soothing ocean waves and
glorious flora. But it is filled with all those annoying athletic and fit vegans
sipping their soy lattes. Fuckers. It
made me feel frumpy and lumpy, like someone who eats sticks of butter for snack
time. Thank goodness the ritzy Starbucks has a wine and cheese happy hour to
drown my sorrows. I’m embracing it, so
here’s a nice fatty meal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fettuccine with Scallops with Lemons<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 pound green <o:p></o:p></div>
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1 pound fettuccine<o:p></o:p></div>
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5 Tablespoons butter (yes five, feel it adhering to your thighs)<o:p></o:p></div>
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¼ cup fresh lemon juice, about 4 lemons<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 pound scallops<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cloves garlic<o:p></o:p></div>
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Salt to taste<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Cook green beans as 1-inch pieces. Cook pasta per directions. Sauté
minced garlic in 1 tablespoon butter. Add scallops and cook for two minutes.
Add beans and pasta. Simmer until scallops are opaque. Add lemon juice and remaining
butter. Serve with parmesan cheese. </div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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The newlyweds are putting off babies for the time being. Instead, they
have their rescue kitty, Awesome to fulfill their parental desires. It’s like a
test run, we’ve all done that. “Getting a puppy is great training for kids”. Snort,
right. Besides, we all know the second bedroom is for me to visit. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You are welcome to pet me now. #youaremyslave</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>P.S. I might try a new format or two. Perhaps random ridiculous one
liners or a monthly What Not to Wear feature.
But always, always a recipe. Let me know what you think peeps. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-35564385633361229992013-01-13T14:09:00.001-08:002013-01-16T11:32:59.385-08:00Sheldon Takes the Plunge<br />
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Our baby girl, Sheldon, did the deed and wedded the
Brit last weekend. Once I raced to the finish line running purely on
adrenaline, my body retaliated by giving me a crappy cold to punish me. Thus the delay in my recounting of this tale.
At first I thought I was losing my voice from endless conversation and perhaps
a teeny tiny hangover. But no, I have spent the whole week chugging orange
juice like a frat boy and grain alcohol gone bad. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHajq7PGrOQHoBEilmKuMdLZnQqJf_fVzYtpkaaobbj2Ldkak5raHyYN0pi_YT22lKDqcq6oC1wzyZF_5VahRSYszFjxoYWaYLzFc6Y1QglJrhu8PA6MISCi1kASkK5bBRI9ygvC5-uo/s1600/IMG_3126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHajq7PGrOQHoBEilmKuMdLZnQqJf_fVzYtpkaaobbj2Ldkak5raHyYN0pi_YT22lKDqcq6oC1wzyZF_5VahRSYszFjxoYWaYLzFc6Y1QglJrhu8PA6MISCi1kASkK5bBRI9ygvC5-uo/s320/IMG_3126.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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The royal event was the culmination to a topsy
turvy season. Nerdy Sheldon had been having a sucky time with a particular
class that she was taking for the FOURTH time that she needed to graduate. She would return red eyed and blotchy from
advising appointments without resolution. I called for a parent teacher conference with
the ASU counselor for my 23 year old weeper.
I forced the advisor, who was a theater rather math major, to bring in
the head of the department. They shared
that they understood they were having an “issue” with this class since 50
percent of the little geeks failed. The
heavily German accented math head said it was because they didn’t do enough
proof classes in high school. Well Toto, she had all A’s before this and she
ain’t going back in time. After 15 weeks
of tearful tragedy, she passed and we walked together from ASU. Thankyoubabyjesus,
mommycouln’ttakeanymoredrama.</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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The reason I share this side story is to demonstrate
what a crybaby Sheldon is. She cried at the wedding rehearsal, walk down the
aisle, during her vows, during communion, hugging me on the way out of the
church, daddy-daughter dance. I am a sympathy crier, if you turn on the
waterworks; I am snatching tissues out of your hands to blot my own tears. At
this point I was immune; I did not shed a single drip. The Big Tuna was a bit more misty, the next
day when the newlyweds packed up for their move to California he had a bit of a
breakdown. He started crying and
laughing uncontrollably, I thought he was having some kind of weird stroke, it
scared the dogs. Here is a new recipe I
tried this week, not bad or hard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Easy Chicken Pie<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cups cooked chicken breast<o:p></o:p></div>
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10 ounce package mixed vegetables-I found one with
green beans and corn<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 can cream of mushroom soup<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon Italian seasoning<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ cup water<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ parmesan cheese<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 package refrigerated biscuits<o:p></o:p></div>
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Preheat oven to 400 degrees. In skillet, combine
all ingredients except for biscuits and heat until bubbling. Transfer to 2
quart casserole dish. Cut biscuits into quarter and place on top of meat
mixture. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A few young ladies claimed to have gotten a stomach
bug, I’m thinking it was the bridesmaid flu.
The cheerful little one shared that they didn’t get to bed until 4 AM
and didn’t really drink too too much.
Only one puked in the bushes. This freaked out my friend Nurse Nancy who
works at the CDC. She spent the entire
weekend verifying health stats and picked up preventative anti nausea medicine
for the flight home. She practically
curled into the fetal position when she spotted <a href="http://workingwomansguidetodinner.blogspot.com/2011/04/buzz-birthday-boy.html" target="_blank">my dad Buzz </a>kissing ladies
hands. Planting one on old ladies wrists
at the senior center must be proving advantageous, he could hardly wait to
play that move at every vaguely eligible lady at the reception. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I, of course, can hold my liquor. Just me and my
drunk girlfriends on the dance floor spinning flower girls like tops. But I
know the love call of my man. Once Love
Shack starts thumping, it pricks the Big Tuna’s primal senses and he bounds
onto the scene like a love sick moose. It is his personal mating call, works every time. Good luck baby
girl, we wish you and the Brit the same love and adoration we’ve shared for 30
years. XOXOXO, Mom and Dad<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-3498523174393847092012-12-24T07:50:00.002-08:002012-12-24T07:50:24.973-08:00Naughty or Nice?<br />
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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 <a href="http://workingwomansguidetodinner.blogspot.com/2011/12/stocking-box.html" target="_blank">Stocking Box</a> 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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBKN627FShG_uIPYlH_Y6t1wKem15xuMl-Gxj9uYplCef0WeMlWIWIpg0V3b5ySicjQm-Z7flE-h5fBVmnWsP_lHIjW58ssftaJDcvDc8P2_e3cfZ_HeUxay7N_WSjBk2Mn0AmeGCiUI/s1600/fascination.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBKN627FShG_uIPYlH_Y6t1wKem15xuMl-Gxj9uYplCef0WeMlWIWIpg0V3b5ySicjQm-Z7flE-h5fBVmnWsP_lHIjW58ssftaJDcvDc8P2_e3cfZ_HeUxay7N_WSjBk2Mn0AmeGCiUI/s320/fascination.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dirt Cake<o:p></o:p></div>
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8 ounces cream cheese<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup powder sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 large instant pudding<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 ½ cup milk<o:p></o:p></div>
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12 ounces cool whip<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 pound Oreo cookies<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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 <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=178100038997449" target="_blank">here’s a little gift </a>to you my
band of followers. A Merry Christmas Team Tuna, happiness and
love to all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-56711751242844032902012-12-21T10:34:00.000-08:002012-12-21T10:35:00.439-08:00The Big DayToday 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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuultPFhRqMTkqE_0ZN2qrdkp_Fok8pe5DrSxj4d-Yss0xTKmLpF85XVB0cevu12EETgvUsDEgH3PmSf6_JeVu1jDQQxgtLMyYPSpf-ndJlitO5SPII6LiXiv8xaESItr6STEDfkI4QY/s1600/2012-12-21_08-21-03_328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuultPFhRqMTkqE_0ZN2qrdkp_Fok8pe5DrSxj4d-Yss0xTKmLpF85XVB0cevu12EETgvUsDEgH3PmSf6_JeVu1jDQQxgtLMyYPSpf-ndJlitO5SPII6LiXiv8xaESItr6STEDfkI4QY/s320/2012-12-21_08-21-03_328.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-72686330298033038852012-12-15T07:46:00.001-08:002012-12-15T17:21:27.945-08:00Death Becomes Her<br />
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgOqPdqc54NGL64bUcJscU8sCJKNq6hqF24K8CvjtlL3zicZ4Pd21aFokJcCk84kQe2GBwWdFK4f6cfOoHGN-mk3ssD060hDh1ByEUbHvSkPsKPAdCmZ6Q8oshrwOgyvQeoEwcOMsnIk/s1600/truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgOqPdqc54NGL64bUcJscU8sCJKNq6hqF24K8CvjtlL3zicZ4Pd21aFokJcCk84kQe2GBwWdFK4f6cfOoHGN-mk3ssD060hDh1ByEUbHvSkPsKPAdCmZ6Q8oshrwOgyvQeoEwcOMsnIk/s320/truck.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Texas Sheet Cake<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cup sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cup flour<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ teaspoon salt<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup water <o:p></o:p></div>
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2 tablespoon butter<o:p></o:p></div>
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½ cup sour cream<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 eggs<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon baking soda<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon vanilla<o:p></o:p></div>
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4 tablespoon coco<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Cake Frosting<o:p></o:p></div>
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6 tablespoons canned milk<o:p></o:p></div>
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4 tablespoons coco<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 tablespoons butter<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 pound powdered sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 teaspoon vanilla<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 cup chopped nuts<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Mix milk, coco and butter and cook until fluffy.
Pour into mixing bowl and beast in sugar, then adding vanilla and nuts. Frost
immediately. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-75249936769912944492012-11-21T19:49:00.002-08:002012-11-22T14:45:26.699-08:00The Poisoned Pen<br />
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For my Movement and Motion Planning class I penned:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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"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. "</div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;">Instead of writing about Sheldon’s near impersonation of a Lindsay Lohan panty flash at her Wedding Shower.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp-ppynL4Ri84ClFRHTyG_5cj6J0YtVwBxjagtU5lwrbiY6iOW6VAUiQvO00lFtEz38yusIuTQMMkw6D-S-7RP_lWs0dDCajizA-T0bJRrMFHNYz3nO0sAuS-vxUzqpRJJxxEVpWM_X0/s1600/2012-1027-shower+033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp-ppynL4Ri84ClFRHTyG_5cj6J0YtVwBxjagtU5lwrbiY6iOW6VAUiQvO00lFtEz38yusIuTQMMkw6D-S-7RP_lWs0dDCajizA-T0bJRrMFHNYz3nO0sAuS-vxUzqpRJJxxEVpWM_X0/s320/2012-1027-shower+033.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Or my rewriting of an employment cover letter for a
friend:</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“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. “<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;">Instead of describing Bebe giving us a pole dancing
demonstration in the Bat Cave.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUYitrSpTILBrFVY8c4JZ_SBC-wPBtiw86Oqn1S4jaBEFBIG3wbtraeQbTuZSGZbNlnSgbdpSqpZRWaQihAKPrrZ-w7qPyBfKEMIRjrouDooeO65A0TgeGqYsz_R36IS0nvJrLfIwPx8/s1600/IMG_1354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUYitrSpTILBrFVY8c4JZ_SBC-wPBtiw86Oqn1S4jaBEFBIG3wbtraeQbTuZSGZbNlnSgbdpSqpZRWaQihAKPrrZ-w7qPyBfKEMIRjrouDooeO65A0TgeGqYsz_R36IS0nvJrLfIwPx8/s320/IMG_1354.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Or creative proposals for Endless Engineering to be
considered for big ass projects:</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“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. “<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;">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”</span>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaBNI-JwFWWN6dIYUqmzpy4bNyLfYbTzieAeia85sLjwONuZx8sx8CA6Gsa8Tc1hAzy9wHjdtBqCFmtoDtZWg3zSKHfRvQoB6X1i0ugvpAVgW2JcNXJPFZbh0cZ-pN08Ee8aeocifN0k/s1600/beer+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaBNI-JwFWWN6dIYUqmzpy4bNyLfYbTzieAeia85sLjwONuZx8sx8CA6Gsa8Tc1hAzy9wHjdtBqCFmtoDtZWg3zSKHfRvQoB6X1i0ugvpAVgW2JcNXJPFZbh0cZ-pN08Ee8aeocifN0k/s320/beer+girl.jpg" width="177" /></a></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Pesto Sauce<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cups fresh basil leaves (cheap date a Trader Joe’s)
Rinsed and dried<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 cloves garlic crushed<o:p></o:p></div>
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1 ounce pine nuts<o:p></o:p></div>
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2 ounces grated parmesan cheese<o:p></o:p></div>
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2-3 tablespoons olive oil<o:p></o:p></div>
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Salt and pepper<o:p></o:p></div>
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12 ounces Pasta cooked per directions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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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.</div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-57848636028072276752012-09-30T11:25:00.000-07:002012-09-30T11:25:12.701-07:00Blogging 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<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>The Chore Wheel of Death</u><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xzTCPEttztRZuJVtyyKyfgA9Sms2k_t1Ib_qTKIoXOgyj6BcY757bMykhP8TxaqHDgDLYzpPXbyriaAGMEUhx6dLzL8T3-JbGnK35qvhLTSUdvD80c1EWF2xVMSTnCosWarF1XDz2ZQ/s1600/woman_with_shopping_cart.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560336445063585570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xzTCPEttztRZuJVtyyKyfgA9Sms2k_t1Ib_qTKIoXOgyj6BcY757bMykhP8TxaqHDgDLYzpPXbyriaAGMEUhx6dLzL8T3-JbGnK35qvhLTSUdvD80c1EWF2xVMSTnCosWarF1XDz2ZQ/s320/woman_with_shopping_cart.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
In honor of the Sunday dinner here is what we’re eating out our house tonight.<br />
<br />
Beef and Broccoli<br />
<br />
1 pound round or flank steak cut in 1/8” strips<br />
Salt and pepper<br />
2 tablespoons oil<br />
1 clove garlic minced<br />
1 medium onion minced<br />
2 ½ cups beef broth<br />
2 cups broccoli florets cooked<br />
1 ½ teaspoon corn starch<br />
2 tablespoons soy sauce<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-879423444439667711.post-73596568761813226422012-09-03T17:39:00.001-07:002012-09-03T17:39:25.279-07:00Return of the Naughty Schoolgirl <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOIj1UFNrW7u7aVq4Pyd3kY8Lsm0F04HVpQyrtgDWBVdt_g6XO22kZM8i7P5UxqifqCnPo_xbMMVkhbHt2uTyUshaDCPI0aOjXgEDNM2epbgh6-pUMxQnJ9ayBHekwmh2pE-aoMFonLQ/s1600/hamster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOIj1UFNrW7u7aVq4Pyd3kY8Lsm0F04HVpQyrtgDWBVdt_g6XO22kZM8i7P5UxqifqCnPo_xbMMVkhbHt2uTyUshaDCPI0aOjXgEDNM2epbgh6-pUMxQnJ9ayBHekwmh2pE-aoMFonLQ/s320/hamster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Penne
with Ricotta and Bacon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">1
pound penne pasta<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">8
slices of bacon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">½
onion minced<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">15
ounces whole milk ricotta cheese at room temperature<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">10
fresh basil leaves chopped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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!!!!</span> <span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Mrs. Tunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04547957015150000116noreply@blogger.com25