Monthly Archives: February 2012

WHAT is with fat chick pants?  Who in the hell is in charge of designing these things?  We’re fat, people, in our butts, our thighs, our waists…not our crotches! ( Can I tell you how much fun it was to bold and italicize the phrase ‘not our crotches’? That rocked!)

Why is it that fat jeans have these unbelievably long crotches?  Do they think that part of us really requires all that room?  Do they think if we are fat, we also become male?  Why do fat chick pants crotches go down to mid-thigh??

And what is with the super high waists?  We have so little choice.  We can either squeeze into low riders and have our back fat flop over it, or we look like Steve Urkel with the waist going to just below our boobies. And the legs are always about 2 inches too short on the ‘average’ length fat chick jeans.  They must think that we take away from our length to make our girth! Geezie Peezie!

Its like being fat is not punishment enough, the clothing industry wants to make us suffer more by donning us in dorky styles.

And lets talk sleeves for a moment, shall we?  ALL Big Women Designers, listen up!  We do not want sleeveless shirts.  We need something below the elbow.  It’s not about shame or vanity, it’s about the fact that we need something to rein in the bat wings.  Left to their own devices, we may just fly off.  Got to strap ’em down with sleeves.  No More Sleeveless Tanks.  Thank you.

And what is with the over the top multi-colored moo-moo shirts with all the sequins and rhinestones?  Do they think all fat chicks need to dress like Mimi on The Drew Carey Show?

WHO is in charge of this?  I need to speak with them urgently.  You know it is some half-starved waif of a super-model-wanna-be who hates her chubby mother, cackling maliciously while she draws up these ridiculous ‘big woman’ clothes.  If I ever meet her, I’m going to go all crazy ninja on her with some Super Sized Whopper Combos.

Until then, I’ll be the one wearing the flood length pants, with the crotch down to her knees, and rainbow-colored rhinestone decorated sleeveless tank top….

….sitting in the back drowning her sorrows with a McDonald’s Sausage Burrito….

or three.

I had such a crappy day today.  I won’t go into details.  We don’t have that kind of time. You’re welcome.

Unfortunately, poop rolls downhill. And by the time my Varmint and Critter got home, my last nerve was not only frayed, but had one hairwidth of a strand left to it.

The day did not end well.

Varmint was unwise enough to criticise, via tone, my burnt sloppy joe buns, and will now be making dinner for us tomorrow all by herself.

Critter had about two bites of supper, whined one too many times, and was sent to bed without getting to finish supper… at 7:00 PM.   (Turns out it was just what he needed since he fell asleep within minutes.)

I barked at my Mom for saying ‘I told you so’ at the absolute wrong time.

I bitched at my sister-in-law about anything that I may have left out while I was moaning about the rest of my day.

When I talked to my honey tonight to say goodnight (he’s on his shift at the fire station) I managed to complain about everything from the state of my laundry pile, to the travesty of world economics.  (Not really, but it makes a good story.)  And he had already had an incredibly hard day, with plenty of things to grumble about on his own end.  I was not a very good wife during that phone call.

I spread piss and vinegar all over today, and I’m not proud of it.  It’s like I left a trail of scorched earth everywhere I went.

Before I climbed into bed to write on the blog tonight, I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

And my day suddenly made sense.  My life made sense, actually.

I just wish I knew where I put all my flying monkeys.

Both of my babies play basketball.  They really enjoy the game.  And both of them are on teams with terrific kids and have Over The Top Fantastic coaches.  We’re not done with the season, but unfortunately so far, it’s been a real humdinger for losses.  This past Saturday was no exception.

It kills me to watch them play their little hearts out and lose anyways.  I want so badly for them to win…I love every kid on each of  their teams.  I see them struggling and making mistakes and learning from them.  And learning teamwork.  And being part of something bigger than just themselves.   I’m so proud of them…all of them!

Critter’s team:  (He’s number 14)

And Varmint’s team: (She’s on the left…with the pink basketball.)

Their coaches really are wonderful (read: PATIENT…as in herding cats patient.). They understand and teach that its more important to learn to be good sports, to learn to be good people on and off the court, than it is to win.   But while they get that winning isn’t everything, they also are doing their best to help their kids win! They are putting in an enormous amount of time and effort for these munchkins.  Our losses certainly have not been from their lack of trying!

We’ve just not had a great season so far, for either team this year.  It happens. The good news is that, more than anything, these disappointments are character building.  That has true value to it.

Yet, when I see the kids’ showing fatigue and defeat,

I just want to snatch them up and hold them close and protect them from any and all disappointment.  I’m not allowed to do that because 1) they would hate me for it and 2) I’d bust a gut….again.

I think about their peers.  Believe it or not, out of all of their friends, I enjoy the company most of the ones who have seen hardship and challenge.  The underdogs.  The ones who you just HAVE to root for as a mother and nurturer.  It gives them color, depth, facets that an easy life simply couldn’t.

There is something to be said for loss.  For character building.  For defeat.  No matter what your age or circumstance.  And the more they experience that now, the better prepared they will be to deal with it later on in life.

Somehow, though, I don’t think my babies would agree with me.

Motherhood is a real kick in the pants sometimes.

Obviously, I need to start seeking reimbursement for hocking Alexander’s wares, but I can’t help myself.

We went again today….Sunday Brunch.

We sat down to unbelievably smooth coffee, ‘on the house’ home-made cinnamon rolls, and leisurely perused the menu. The atmosphere was relaxing, the rooms very simply decorated, the wait staff pleasant and easy-going.  I LOVE starting out my Sundays like that….second to sleeping until Noon, that is.

Are you ready to be teased?

Right out of the starting gate, we took on the Crispy Pork Boudin Balls, made with shredded pork, rice, and herbs all rolled together in a love session of I don’t know what, and then coated and fried, and served with Tomato-Grain Mustard Sauce.  Holy Stinkin Moly, these were good.

For the main course, I ordered the Steak & Eggs: with pan-fried sirloin steak and a red-eye gravy that had chunks of bacon that sent me to the moon.   And this protein packed start to the day was accompanied with Southern Greens, and the Black-Eyed Pea Tomato Salad. Oh Baby!  I ordered my eggs scrambled because I’m childish like that, but when I stacked steak, egg, and greens all on my fork all at once and put it tenderly on my tongue, it was heaven!  Rapture!  Angels Singing!  White Fluffy Clouds with little cherubs sitting naked on them.  (I take eating seriously, folks.)

Troy chose the Crispy Southern Fried Chicken Breast with Cheddar Waffles and Black Pepper Cane Syrup.  He gave me a bite and I nearly snatched his plate out from under him.  No, seriously.  I have very little self-discipline that way. But you know what I DIDN’T want off his plate?  The scrapple.  He chose Scrapple for a side.  And not just any scrapple…home-made right there on the premises.  That got him all a-dither, (he would tell you that men don’t get a-dither) but it most definitely did not get my tummy rumbling.  For all you scrapple lovers, go and try it at Alexanders; for the rest of you sane folk, choose the fried green tomatoes instead!

Finally, we were ready to try Chef Chris’ sweet-tooth deserts… but check it out…. last night (Saturday) he was inundated to the point where the crowds cleaned him out of sweet treats!  All he had left was one lonely piece of Banana Cake, and a piece of Peanut Butter Pie.  I suggested we stack the two and make beautiful music together, but I what I really wanted was chocolate.  You know me, I wasn’t quiet about my unhappiness.  But Chef Chris wasn’t worried….he knew I’d be back.

Some of you have messaged me and asked what I DON’T like about Alexanders.  I get that realistically, you have to see the good and the bad.  In this case, I don’t see bad, but I see things I would change.

Firstly, I’d put a designated smoking area on the side porch of the building.  For some reason the patrons who have gone outside to smoke have done so right smack dab in front of the front door 2 out of 3 times we’ve gone there.  We had to walk the gauntlet of cigarette smoke just to get inside the restaurant.  I hate that.  I don’t necessarily see it as a ding against the Restaurant, and certainly not the food, but it does affect the over-all experience, and I do see it as something they could address if they chose to.

Secondly, the bathrooms are quite clean and tidy, but they do need to be updated.  It certainly won’t stop me from patronizing them, though.  Heck, if I thought about it long enough, I’d admit that my own bathrooms could use some updating.  But I don’t want to put that much effort into thinking about it.

And thirdly, and this is the MOST egregious…they took the Fried Catfish off of the menu.  WHAT?!  It’s a southern cooking restaurant.  Ya Gotsta Have Catfish! They used to have it, and apparently served it up the right way…in a cornmeal crust and with chow-chow tartar sauce, but someone somewhere decided to yank it from the menu.  There is no justice in this world!  I’m going to keep complaining about it until either they put it back on the menu, or they throw me out.  I don’t really want to speculate as to which one is more likely to happen.

You want to know what offsets all three of those minor infractions?  Take a look at this:

We ate like kings for thirty-six bucks!  It was a five-star meal, seriously high-class, haute cuisine…and it was thirty-six bucks!  I can’t get out of most greasy spoon diners for that price!

Alexanders in Buckeystown.  Go and tell them I sent you.   See what happens when you drop my name around…. snicker, snicker, snicker!

Here’s one for ya:

I’m doing the laundry.  Again.  And as I’m pulling clothes out of the dryer, (clothes, which by the way, were so stinkin’ hot, I burned my hand on a zipper.  Zipper…. What a great word!) I found one very, very clean rock that looked suspiciously like the gravel in our driveway.  My Critter has a zealous affinity for collecting rocks.  I also pulled out a now empty tube of Chapstick in the same load of laundry.  Pink-Lemonade Flavored….which immediately absolved Troy, much to his relief.

I had to chuckle.

Then I thought about how different the things I find in my dryer are now.  When I was a child, I would find my newly cleaned stuffed animal’s detached nose or eye.  When I was a teen, I’d find that note I’d been passed in class about the boy who I loved who didn’t even know I was on this planet.  In my twenties, I’d find the stub to a rock concert or movie.  In my thirties I’d find pacifiers.  And now, in my forties, I find gravel and chapstick.

I’m looking forward to my fifties.  I don’t know what will come out of that contraption by then.  But I can tell you what won’t come out of it.  All the left footed socks that have mysteriously disappeared in there over the years.  I’ve given up hope for them.