The Boss Whisperer

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

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

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

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

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

Lemon Salmon

1 pound salmon fillet

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cloves garlic minced

1 teaspoon garlic seasoning

3 lemons

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

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

99 Bottles of Beer

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

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

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

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

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

Spicy fried corn, Sweet Onion, and Red Pepper

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

½ cup chopped onion

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

1 red pepper dice into 1/ 4 inch pieces

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

2/3 cup cream

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/8 teaspoon chili powder

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

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

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

xoxoxoxo Dawn

Words with Friends

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

Wild

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

Intensity

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

Nurturing

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

Elfin

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

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

Hot Crabmeat Appetizer

8 ounces cream cheese

1 ½ cup crabmeat, flaked

2 tablespoons minced onion

2 tablespoons milk

½ teaspoon horseradish

1/3 cup sliced almonds

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

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

What Not to Wear

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

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

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

Peach Sangria

One bottle White Wine Spritzer (Love Pomula Wine)

3 ounces Peach Vodka

5 ounces Peach Schnapps

2 Tablespoons Triple Sec

1 Orange sliced

2 cups strawberry sliced  

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

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

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

 Whoopsie

Please note Sheldon trying to exit stage right.

 Well it certainly wants me to get MY sexy back.

My cup runs over. 

50 Shades of Beige

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

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

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

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

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

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

Split Second Cookies

2 cups flour

2/3 cup sugar

½ teaspoon baking powder

¾ cup butter softened

1 egg

2 teaspoons of vanilla

Your favorite jam or jelly, try strawberry or raspberry.

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

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

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

Little Black Book

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

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

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

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

Peach Breakfast Shake

1 banana

1 cup orange juice

½ cup plain yogurt

1 cup frozen peaches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good week Team Tuna!

Kittens Gone Wild

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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