Return of the Naughty Schoolgirl

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

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

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

Penne with Ricotta and Bacon

1 pound penne pasta

8 slices of bacon

½ onion minced

15 ounces whole milk ricotta cheese at room temperature

10 fresh basil leaves chopped

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

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

Going for Gold

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

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

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

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

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

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

Texas Corn Bread Casserole

½ pound ground sausage

½ pound ground beef

1 medium onion chopped

½ medium green pepper chopped

1 can tomato soup

1 tablespoon brown sugar

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon chili powder

1 package cornbread mix

1/8 teaspoon paprika

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

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

The Boss Whisperer

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

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

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

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

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

Lemon Salmon

1 pound salmon fillet

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cloves garlic minced

1 teaspoon garlic seasoning

3 lemons

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

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

99 Bottles of Beer

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

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

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

The numero uno commented on post was my nervous first day back at Arizona State and my amazing parking spot overlooking the Men’s Diving Team practice with “Zodiac Killer”. Clap, clap, clap, dive again my handsome Adonis, triple twist my young buck…..ahem. I mean it’s important that the youth today exercise and not become couch potatoes getting fat right?

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

Spicy fried corn, Sweet Onion, and Red Pepper

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

½ cup chopped onion

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

1 red pepper dice into 1/ 4 inch pieces

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

2/3 cup cream

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/8 teaspoon chili powder

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

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

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

xoxoxoxo Dawn

Words with Friends

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

Wild

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

Intensity

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

Nurturing

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

Elfin

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

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

Hot Crabmeat Appetizer

8 ounces cream cheese

1 ½ cup crabmeat, flaked

2 tablespoons minced onion

2 tablespoons milk

½ teaspoon horseradish

1/3 cup sliced almonds

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

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

What Not to Wear

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

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

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

Peach Sangria

One bottle White Wine Spritzer (Love Pomula Wine)

3 ounces Peach Vodka

5 ounces Peach Schnapps

2 Tablespoons Triple Sec

1 Orange sliced

2 cups strawberry sliced  

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

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

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

 Whoopsie

Please note Sheldon trying to exit stage right.

 Well it certainly wants me to get MY sexy back.

My cup runs over. 

50 Shades of Beige

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

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

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

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

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

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

Split Second Cookies

2 cups flour

2/3 cup sugar

½ teaspoon baking powder

¾ cup butter softened

1 egg

2 teaspoons of vanilla

Your favorite jam or jelly, try strawberry or raspberry.

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

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

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