There's a United Nations Meeting In My Belly

So my thankful week of gut busting is over and I find myself left with two things to show for it, leftover pie for breakfast and this little post to bring insight into the “melting pot” of a feast that my family calls Thanksgiving.  Okay…in all actuality, if it were my mom talking, she would put a slight Filipino accent spin on it and say Thanksgibbing.  My dad would abbreviate it with that southern drawl and call it Thanksgivin’.  Either way, you’ll be full when it’s over.

I was the host this year for the evening meal, so we DID actually have a traditional American meal, but my parents did not want to pass on the opportunity to host a few friends (and myself, of course) for their own “traditional” occasion during the lunch hour.   It was an eclectic mix of friends and food.  

It was a Melting Pot of Goodness...MmmmmMmmmm

So here you are…the menu at my parents Cajun Asian Turkey Day:

-Seafood Gumbo

-Cornbread Dressing
-Potato Salad
-Turkey (purposely not listed first because it is more obligatory than anything else)
-Spring Rolls
-Fruit and Vegtable fusion salad with sesame ginger dressing
-Miscellaneous assortment of store bought pies (whatever ones were on sale that day)
-left over Sinigang (Filipino broth-based soup with pork, radishes, green vegetables, etc.)

Was there gravy?  No.  Dad forgot and mom began her anti-gravy coalition when I was around 5 years old.  Mash potatoes?  No.  But there was a fresh pot of jasmine rice available.  Is that a giant bag of popcorn in the background?  Yes it is.  That’s what is known as the random “WOW factor” food item of the feast.  You never know what you’re gonna get.  And this year…we got popcorn.  You’re welcome.

MAID OF disHONOR

My sister Alysson is FINALLY getting married this weekend, and I was forced asked to participate in the ceremony as her bridesmaid, along with our other sister Annie. It’s really a no-brainer. I mean, of COURSE I’ll be there to support my favorite sister on her special day as she freaks out and murders everyone in a bridezilla rampage joins in matrimony with that poor sucker the love of her life, Miah.

The bride was blissfully unaware that her bridesmaids
had already abandoned her for a sale on designer shoes.

So last night, the bride and I were discussing last minute details for this weekend…on speakerphone so her fiance’ was included in the conversation:

Me: Okay, so things are falling into place now. Annie went yesterday and got her tan and I have an appointment to get my nails done on Tuesday. Did you confirm our appointments with the hair stylist for Friday? I’m a little worried about Annie’s bridesmaid dress fitting properly, but just in case, I’m packing a necessities bag to bring to New Orleans this weekend. You know, important things we may need like bobby pins in case Annie or I need them for our hair, safety pins in case our dresses malfunction, duct tape…well, we won’t talk about what the duct tape is for...

Bride: WAIT! What exactly are you packing for ME? Helloo! You’re supposed to be making sure that I’m taken care of the day of my wedding. Thank goodness I have a new sister-in-law, my only sister who actually CARES about what MY needs are.

Me: Oh! Well, I guess we just assumed you had it all together on your end. We all know Annie can be a hot mess sometimes. Hahaha

Bride: I’m gonna need snacks, drinks, a fan, all kinds of things and I’m going to count on you guys to make sure I’m eating and getting enough water and not sweating too much and that kind of stuff.

Me: Well then what kind of snacks do I need to pack for you? Don’t you like those chewy chips ahoy cookies?

Bride: No

Me: the crunchy ones?

Bride: No. I want Oreos, I like Oreos. And anything with peanut butter or chocolate would be good.

Me: Oreos? Um…no, they will turn your teeth black on your wedding day. I’m banning the Oreos. See? I got yo back gurl!

Bride: Then just get the blonde ones.

Me: Ooooooooh the GOLDEN Oreos. I really like those! They are soooo yummy!

Groom a/k/a Peanut Gallery: Great, now she’s gonna eat all your Oreos, too.

FAIL. Okay, so I’m not the best bridesmaid in the world. Realistically, we were BOUND to find SOMETHING I couldn’t do perfectly right? And hey, at least I’m not the worst! I’m pretty sure my other sister will prove to be the worst.

The Dangling Chad of Vending

Yesterday was a long day at work, extended an extra couple of hours beyond the normal 5pm by a real estate closing. I decided to keep a positive attitude about the whole working-late-to-accommodate-clients thing, and treat myself to the yummy goodness that can only be found in a bag of Peanut M&Ms.

I climbed 2 flights of stairs to the vending machine instead of taking the elevator, in order to justify the extra calories.  But let’s face it, I really didn’t need to do this because we ALL know that Peanut M&Ms are a solid source of protein, and that makes them health food. BONUS!

85 cents for a bag of M&Ms?!?! OMG since WHEN are M&Ms a high priced commodity? I remember when you could get a bag of M&Ms for…oh wait, we just won’t go there. I fork up the dough and put in the code and then WHAT?! So disappointed…I was trapped in some parallel universe where my every happiness for the next 2 hours was driven by the outcome of a scandal equivalent to a “dangling chad” of vending!

Isn't it amazing how even the most non-violent of people can so quickly become the incredible hulk against an inanimate object witholding sweet treasures? Why?  Why?!

 So I did what any other rational human being would do. I Googled for an answer to my problem. Needless to say, the answer was less than desirable. And yes, there were many articles offering advise on how to properly dislodge candy from a  rigged rebellious machine.   I thought I was gonna get some kind of insider information like secret codes to punch in, or the location of a hidden rest button that would refund my money.  I was left slightly disappointed with the advise that I found.  You can read one here ~ How to Free a Stuck Item from a Vending Machine

Oh REALLY? You mean if I pay an extra 85 cents and purchase ANOTHER bag of M&Ms it will inevitably push out the first one? Well why didn’t I think of that? Oh what’s that you say? It may NOT work? So another viable option would be to find someone with a key to the vending machine for assistance? Really? What a revelation!

Despite my sarcastic mutterings in response to the advise-for-people-with-no-common-sense-whatsoever, I chose to follow that advise, and I purchased a second bag of candy. Today as I snack on these unwanted M&Ms, I cannot help but be left with a somewhat bittersweet taste in my mouth. No, not because of the combination of chocolate coated by a candy shell encompassing a rotten peanut, but because I did not choose this second bag of M&Ms…it chose me. And I can’t help but question its motive.

Lobsters, Shared Toilets and Stairs – Oh My!

So my parents recently returned from a trip to New England, Portsmouth to be exact. I stopped by their house on Monday morning to get a free cup of coffee visit for a while. Up until that day, the only news I had received from their trip was my mom’s random calls from New Hampshire.

Me: Hello?

Mom: Abby! You HAVE to see this BEAUTIFUL car we rented! It’s a Crown Vic. We are riding in style girl! The scenery is so beautiful here! And the Crown Vic has leather, and lots of cup holders, GPS…

Me: So I take it you arrived safely?

Mom: And it has the climate control too! Such a nice car. Crown VIC.

Me: Okay, have fun mom! I gotta go! Love you!

Mom: Oh, Abby, I wanted to ask you something…ummm..what was it I was gonna ask you?

Me: I don't know, mom.

Dad: (barely audible in the background) Joji, get off that phone and tell me where the next turn is on that map there!

Mom: Charles! Just listen to the GPS

Dad: I can’t understand what that thing is talking about! Just look at the map!

disconnected

So anyway...back to the coffee conversation.  I asked my dad how his trip went and he began describing basically the parts that were important to him.

Dad: Your mom must’ve ate lobster for every single meal. She can EAT some lobster. She put them things away like they was crawfish. We was at this one restaurant where they had them 1.5 pound lobsters. An your momma tells the waiter, ‘Ooooooo the lobster is only $12?! I’ll have TWO!’ They looked at her like she had T-total lost her mind, ya know. Cuz normally people only eat one.

Me: Yeah I know. So besides eating lobster, what all did you guys do?

Dad: Well, your momma wanted to stay at one of them bread and breakfasts.

Me: I’m pretty sure it’s called a BED and breakfast, Dad.

Dad: Well, whatever it is, them things ain’t nice at all. First of all, they have these narrow, steep old staircases. An’ you have to haul ALL your luggage to the 3rd floor. But worse than that, they only got ONE BATHROOM for three guest rooms. You have to knock on the door to make sure nobody is in there. An’ lemme tell ya, you can FORGET going to the bathroom in your underwear in the middle of the night. You have to get fully dressed just to take a piss in the middle of the night! Now that’s just ridiculous! I wouldn’t stay in one uh them bread and breakfasts again for all the tea in china. They’re for suckers.

Me: Is that it?

Dad: Yeah, pretty much. We mostly just drove around lookin’ for more lobster.

Yeah, my parents will not be writing for travel book companies any time soon.

Communicato NOT-oh Mr. Roberto

So yesterday was my ladies’ life group meeting and every meeting each person is designated a food item to bring based on that week’s chosen theme. Last night was Mexican Delight! I was assigned the chips and queso. Easy, right? WRONG.

I decided to save time by going to a local Mexican restaurant to pick up my contribution for that evening’s dinner instead of making it myself. So I walk into the restaurant and greet the man at the counter, for the sake of this story, we will call him…Roberto. So enthusiastically I greet him by saying, “Hola! I would like to order chips and queso for 10 people please.” And he’s all, “Cheeps ahn kehsoh?” And I’m like, “Yes please, for ten people.” So Roberto is like, “You spek Spahneesh?” I get asked that A LOT, so I’m all, “No only Eeengles.” Don’t ask me why I was speaking English with a Hispanic accent at this point. I guess it was my attempt to communicate in the grey area of our nationalities. And at this point I’m thinking…Man, I shouldn’t have said ‘hola’, it gave him the wrong impression.

So now I’m realizing that Roberto doesn’t understand what I am trying to order. He’s all, “Okeh, Cheeps ahn kehsoh?” And I’m like, “Yes, for TEN people.” He still looks confused, so a VERY obnoxious helpful elderly woman behind me yells, “She means for several people…like a PARTY! Chips and cheese for a PARTY!” Apparently she believes that by speaking louder, he will suddenly learn English and have a better understanding. So Roberto replies, “Diez?” And I’m like, “Oh yeah! Diez people!” And he’s all, “No problem…Fife meenutes.” I breathe a sigh of relief. We did it! We communicated. My order is on its way!

A couple of minutes later a petite Mexican server walks over to me with FOUR LARGE BAGS of tortilla chips and a separate large bag filled with containers of queso. He says, “Ten orders of chips and queso?” FAIL

It was enough to feed 40 people...literally.

I explain to the man (who spoke English) that it was for ten people, not ten orders. He apologized for the miscommunication and allowed me to take what they had prepared but only charged me for what I had ordered. When I got to life group, the girls were laughing at me for bringing enough chips and queso to serve the entire Mexican armed forces. But you KNOW they ate it all up anyway!!! Just kidding, we had 3 bags left.

I had one of the girls take this photo so you could see the queso containers were nearly the same size as my head.

I should have listened to my parents as a teenager when they suggested I take Spanish instead of three years of French. Cheeps and Kehsoh anyone?

Doomsday Dumplings!

With all the news lately being centered around tsunamis, tornadoes, flooding devastation, economic collapse, sasquatch sightings and the world ending a few weeks ago, I thought I may entertain this idea by examining just how prepared my household would be for such an event. Don’t get me wrong…I actually don’t believe I need to prepare anything other than my soul for when my Savior comes, but for the fun of it…let’s explore this question carefully…Is my pantry prepared for an apocalypse, world-wide catastrophe, or alien invasion? What does one store to sustain themselves and their family for the years following an “earth-shattering” event?

I began with a brief inventory of my pantry. For those of you who know me well…I pretty much am a minimalist in the grocery department, and am therefore doubtful that our survival would be guaranteed with the supply I currently maintain: ½ jar of peanut butter, one unpopped bag of Orville Redenbacher’s kettle corn, ½ box of stale Honey Bunches of Oats cereal , 2 slices of wheat bread (the heels…we don’t like them so we just let them rot before throwing them out) and a sweet potato with roots growing in 4 different directions. My first thought…”I wonder if it’s too late to start a sweet potato garden with that thing.” My second thought…”Who am I kidding, I’ve managed to kill every plant I’ve ever cared for, including a cactus. It would be best to let the potato die an honorable death in the pantry.” Needless to say, I was lacking proper supply, and so I began a list of things I would probably want to have in case of emergency: (In case you haven’t noticed from reading my blog…I L-O-V-E lists!)

1. Peanut butter – it’s protein, it’s sweet, and you can spread it on anything!

2. Bisquick – umm HELLOOO!! You can make all KINDS of things from Bisquick like biscuits, dumplings, and PANCAKES!!! (Hopefully the disaster will have destroyed all of the weevils so they do not invade my Bisquick supply)

3. Vienna Sausage – this will be my treat for Brandon…he LOVES those things and I won’t buy them because of how bad they are for you. But in this case, I’ve decided to make an exception. I could potentially use them to bribe him into building on additions to our shelter or growing me a post-apocalyptic sweet potato garden.

4. Tony Cachere’s creole seasoning- it makes everything taste a little better. Besides, just because we are in survival mode does not mean we cannot enjoy a meal every now and then right?

I think that’s it. Don’t judge! I know it’s not much, but I think my bartering skills will get me pretty far. Think about it. If it were the rapture, I would be gone to take my place in heaven, having left a nice little supply for those suffering the end of days. If I’m attacked by aliens or angry terrorists, I could slow their attack by throwing Tony’s in their eyes. In the case of economic collapse, I could develop some form of Vienna sausage currency with which to buy other items. Fresh pancakes every morning would help me maintain my current figure, not to mention the fact that they would adequately appease the sasquatch appetite and keep him from trying to eat me. We could come up with games to play on my elliptical machine (because let’s face it, I couldn’t be so lucky as to have workout equipment destroyed in the end). And surely peanut butter could protect my skin from exposure to radiation!

Feeling good now! My plan is in place! Anybody up for some Doomsday Dumplings?

Do NOT Touch the Girl's Cookies!

Brandon is currently attending cotillion. For those of you who are not familiar with this program, it is one in which children (usually pre-teens or teenagers) attend classes where they learn patterned social dance or “ballroom style” dance (i.e. fox trot, waltz), in addition to learning gentlemanly\ladylike manners, etiquette, and formal dining. For those of you who are familiar with cotillion because you too were subjected to this humiliation as children…my son sends his sympathy. The students are “rewarded” for their efforts with two or three formal balls held in the fall, winter and spring.

So as I impatiently wait for Brandon to adorn himself with the suit I had purchased at the last minute before his first class, I began to wonder what exactly I had committed myself to as a parent. The responsibility begins as follows: spending an obnoxious amount of money on formal attire for a child who has grown 5 inches and 2 shoe sizes this year alone and will probably surpass that by Christmas, chauffeuring service to several 3-hour lessons, chaperoning 3 formal balls, purchasing proper attire for myself to wear to said formals, constant negotiation and threats directed to my uncooperative 11 year old, etc...etc…etc.

As I pondered the mess that I had gotten myself into, I glanced at the clock on the mantel and realized quickly that we were on the verge of being tardy (a violation of rule number 3 of the manual for proper etiquette). The obsessive compulsive in me, who is NEVER late for ANYTHING, began barking orders in the direction of the house from which faint grunts and grumbles were resonating. “I’m Coming!” he said in a voice of defeat.

Then there he was…emerging from the hallway… a stranger…a young man with whom I had not yet made acquaintance. Where was my little boy who used to let me call him “baby bear” and give him public displays of affection? Where was the child who would yell “Mommy, watch this!” from across the room and I would hold my breath in anticipation of another trip to the emergency room?

As I drove to the class I was suddenly saddened with my realization of how quickly time was passing by. My impromptu pity-party was abruptly halted when we arrived and Brandon told me to just “drop him off near the front”. Apparently having me watch while he was forced to dance awkwardly with random girls would only multiply the intensity of his embarrassment. As I loitered near the front entrance concocting a plan to spy on the class, I was joined by 15-20 other rejected parents with peaked curiosity. We devised a plan to come back 30 minutes early (by accident) in order to catch the last part of the class.

Once I returned, I found my place among the eager onlookers, poking my head ever-so-carefully around the corner of the room. There he was…Brandon was dancing with the tiniest little girl. Unfortunately, he was paying no attention to his dance partner at all. Instead, my son, along with several other boys, were snickering and whispering to their friends as they passed on the dance floor. Then I watched as the music ended and the children were all seated. The instructors muffled voice echoed from the speaker system. “Okay gentleman. It’s time to escort the ladies to the refreshment tables for cookies and punch. Remember to escort the lady on your RIGHT arm and hold the plate for her as she chooses her refreshments. Remember gentleman!! DO NOT…TOUCH…THE GIRLS’ COOKIES. The girls do not like it when the boys touch their cookies.”

It was at this moment that the crowd of adolescent boys began giggling and chattering amongst themselves. The instructor, apparently unaware of her double entendre, continued to guide the kids to the refreshment table, then dismissed them for the evening.
On the drive home, I inquired of my son as to what part of the evening he enjoyed most. The cookies, was of course, his absolute answer. It was then that I realized he was not so grown up after all…and when I tucked him into bed that night, his Scooby Doo pajamas confirmed my conclusion.