I forgot where I was going with this….

Today is going to be the BESTEST EVER. I get to go to the dentist! Now before you go feeling all sorry for me, you might as well know, I’m a freak of nature. Never had a cavity. Neither has Steve. We have good teeth. Nevertheless, STILL. HATE. THE. DENTIST! We used to have one in California that Steve and I called Captain Hook. She was getting up there in age and when she used the hook thingie she’d slip and she’d cut us. Totally cut us, man. Going to try a new dentist today. My palms are already all sweaty and I’m practicing curling my toes while they poke at me and wedge my jaw open. Mmmm. Fun. Almost as fun as the gyno. Where the same thing happens with sharp objects, sweaty palms and curled toes but….Moving on……

So guess what? GUESS. WHAT?!?! *I* received my next belt in Hapkido last night! WOOO HOOO! I am now no longer the lowest belt rank! I was so giddy I had trouble falling asleep last night. I do have one complaint though. Whenever the senseis in the dojo decide they’ve got a problem area or ate too much over the holidays, somehow I end up paying. Last night Sensei says “We’re going to do crunches tonight because I need some ab work.” I couldn’t resist saying “So this is like when Sensei Yoda comes into sparring class and announces he has a muffin top and needs to spar?” Sensei laughed and said “Exactly.” That was the day Yoda broke Steve’s ribs, all because he ate too much over Christmas. In case you were wondering, *I* did not need the crunches as I’ve done my 500 for this week. At least it wasn’t push up night. I *HATE* push up night when Sensei decides his arms are flabby. No wait, “I’m going skiing” nights are way worse. I *HATE* it when he’s going skiing and says he needs to get his ski muscles in shape. Sigh.

Anyway, can you believe the train wreck that is Britney Spears?!?! Hasn’t slept since Saturday…Ok, I’ve gotta run. The dentist is waiting with his implements of pain….

Every now and then I glance at the internet search terms bringing people here and laugh my ass off. Then I’ll usually do a whole post on them. But today? Lemme leave you with just the one today….balls hurt after running. LOL!

Ok, ya’ll. I have HAD IT! HAD. IT. Son #1 and I are doing the “I don’t have homework” battle again. Actually he came home, sat at the table and after 30 seconds, yelled DONE! And picked up son #2’s iPod and starting playing games on it. OMFG ya’ll. GAHHHHHHHH! And for two God-Blessed hours I have been trying to get son #2 to do his homework packets. And ya’ll? Nada. Abso-fricken-lutely NADA.

Their teachers are leaving this battle, this fricken’ NIGHTMARE to me. And as of today? I wash my hands of it. All of it. I am not going to spend every damn afternoon fighting with my kids to do homework that there are no consequences for if they don’t do it! Forget it! Son #1 had a HUGE project due in November that I just found out last week that he never turned in. Were there consequences? No. Was there communication to me that he never turned it in? No. Ergo I am DONE.

Son #2 has missed more than a month of school total due to illness. As a first grader, my feeling is that if he missed it, they should toss the work. Instead his teacher wants him to do it all at home. Consequently, he has more homework weekly than my fifth grader. And I’m tired of trying to force a seven year old to spend hours every night doing homework. It’s not happening anymore. Done. Done. Done. DONNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEE!!!!! I ALREADY COMPLETED ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!

Just quietly back away. There’s no helping me at this point…. ;D

Ok, Whatever Wednesday last week was too hard because I made you leave me something funny and well, many of you were intimidated by the whole being funny thing. Sigh. I’m really not that hard to please. Float an air biscuit or drop an f bomb innappropriately and I’ll laugh. Trust me. I’m easy.

ANYWAY. Focusing on this week. I NEVER post anything religious. Not because I have no religion or am ashamed of my beliefs, but I’ve noticed that people become uncomfortable when you get all up in their grill about Jesus. No way to clear a room faster than to say “Is Jesus your Savior?” Seriously, I’m the first to start slowly backing out the room. I find myself feeling uncomfortable when people start talking about their religion, because I think that religion is so personal. I realize that God wants you to get out and spread the word, but anyone who is on the fence about religion tends to freak out a little when you start talking to them about religion. Which is why I start heading out the door. I just can’t bear to watch their discomfort. Growing up in a very religious environment and going to Catholic and Episcopalian schools, I can bible quote, and Jesus save with the best of them. But I don’t. Because it makes people uncomfortable. Why? I don’t know, but I can respect that. However, this week I found a quote online that made me smile and I thought it would be a good jumping off point for the first question. This is how Whatever Wednesday goes. Answer the question from the previous person and leave a question for the next person. Anything goes, as you can tell from last week with the whole giraffes and talking to dogs thing. lol. So here’s the quote:

Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving
safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid
broadside,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, “Wow! What a
ride! Thank You, Lord!”

And here’s my question: If you knew that you were dying shortly, what would you do that haven’t done yet but always wanted to do? And why haven’t you done it yet?  :)

The baseball season starts for me tonight. I’m managing son #2’s coach pitch team this year and the manager’s meeting is tonight. I am the only female that dares to manage or coach, (Bring it, Boys!) so I always hate this meeting. Steve is VP of this level of the league so he’s running the meeting, which I guess is some comfort. Last year I didn’t know anyone and the boys’ club did not take kindly to a chick. I’m totally going to wear pink. Hey, if you’re going to buck the system, you might as well do it in style. I might even bring the girls in so that the boys are focused on my cleavage instead of the fact that my team kicked their ass last year and will again this year. ;D

But really, for me it’s not about winning. It’s about good coaching. When son #2 quits sports, I want it to be because he doesn’t want to play that sport anymore, not because he had a lousy coach. Son #1 has quit every sport now after a bad experience with lousy coaches. I wish the men could leave their egos and failed dreams at home and remember that this is about the kids enjoying sports.

So even though there’s snow on the ground, the baseball season starts for me tonight….

I saw this on Melusine’s blog and after showing it to Steve and the kids, son #1 said “Mom you say ALL OF THOSE TOO! Especially the ‘don’t make me come down there’ and the ‘I can’t wait until your have kids of your own’ and ‘chew with your mouth closed’ ” Don’t even get me started about his father’s DNA. lol.

I’m pretty ambivalent about Politcs. I’m a registered Republican but voted for Ross Perot in the 90’s. Politcs pretty much disgusts me. I think everyone’s dirty and being bribed. Last election I didn’t even vote in protest. I didn’t vote because we don’t actually elect our president. I said I wouldn’t vote until we abolished the electoral college. Because if Gore won the popular vote, but Bush won the election, that means that the people did not elect our president. Ergo, doesn’t matter who I vote for, the electoral college is still going to do whatever the hell they please. Again, I’m disgusted with the whole thing.

I’ve only had one candidate in mind for the 2008 election. Drumroll please….that candidate is AnyonebutHilary. I hated the Clintons. I think Bill is the lowest of human beings on the planet. I don’t want him or his kind in the white house again. He sets a terrible example as a human being for the youth of America (Monica scandal) and it’s my opinion that he let Osama bin Laden get away. Soooo, in my AnyonebutHilary campaign, I hadn’t been really paying attention to the candidates or their issues. I found the following matrix on MSNBC where you compare how you stand on the issues with each candidate. So I filled that sucker out and was surprised to discover that my first choice is Mitt Romney and second choice is Barak Obama. To my surprise, I’m pretty indifferent to McCain and Guiliani, although Guiliani is the better of the two lesser of the evils.

So in my AnyonebutHilary campaign, I’m now hoping for an Obama vs. Romney showdown. And I pray to God that Obama selects AnyonebutHilary for his running mate. Because I could live with either candidate.

Ok. I’m done getting all political on your ass, go see how you fare…..

Have you ever noticed that when someone dies, you do/say the strangest things? I’m not talking about what other people say to the person grieving (those idiotic things are an entirely different blog post) but the things you find yourself doing and saying?

When Steve’s grandmother died, the paramedics left her in the middle of the floor. When we got there, I could not tolerate seeing her laying on the floor so I organized five of us to lift her onto the bed. And as soon as we got her onto the bed, which was extremely difficult, I said “Wow that was….” and my voice trailed off because I was about to say “like lifting a dead body.” Duh. Points for the brainiac.

And when his grandfather died? I brought clean underwear to the funeral home. How many dead people do you know need clean underwear? But somehow this was important to me.

Steve’s uncle used Pop’s cell phone to call me in the days after he died and when my caller ID came up “Pop” I caught myself cheerfully chirping “Hi Pop!” into the phone. I can’t count how many times I have picked up the phone to call him since he died, even though with his deafness, I had to yell through all conversations with an ear to ear grin and somehow I had forgotten he wasn’t here anymore….

I was in the bathroom getting ready for the funeral and Steve poked his head in and said “Stay out of the garbage!” Neither of us had slept in days and we both had dark black circles under our eyes. “Huh?” I said “You look like a raccoon!” he said when he was walking away. “Stay out of the garbage!” has been our catchphrase ever since when things are bad and no one has slept.

When my own grandfather died, I remember being concerned about leaving him all alone at the funeral home after the wake. Why? Because he might be LONELY? It truly blows the mind….

What got me thinking about all this was that my aunt called because her mother in law had died and I am reminded of the staggering grief and the ridiculous things you find yourself doing when someone dies. And how angry you feel at the sun for shining, people going about their business as if nothing has happened, and time for marching on oblivious to my pain. But alas……. I forgot to tell her to stay out of the garbage…. Mrs. Boudreaux will be sorely missed….

This morning we woke up to a new breed of dog. Steve let the dogs out of their kennel and discovered our 15 year old incontinent labrador had a shit stripe up her back like a skunk. In disgust, he said “We have a new breed of dog. It’s called the Seattle Shitback.” lol. I’ll spare you the picture. It’s disgusting. Trust me.

Three days ago, Pamprin was my bestest friend. What more could you ask for from a friend? Pain relief and no more bloating? Come on, it doesn’t get better than that. However, this morning I realized that not only was I crampy AND bloated, I had bloated to roughly the size of a beached whale. In fact, I expect people to start asking me when I’m due. I’m crampy, angry AND bloated all wrapped into one foul, foul package. I HATE YOU PAMPRIN! I’m going to go cheat on you with some other pain reliever, you inadequate Biotch!

This message was brought to you by you friendly-neighborhood, angry, irriational, hormonal, crampy, bloated whale. If you didn’t bring your uterus today, I make no apologies…..

I got an idea from Mandy for a fun little thing to do on Wednesdays and so I’ve been waiting since last Wednesday to do it. First, I want you to leave me a link to something that made you laugh until you cry (or tell the story.) This is my contribution and five years later still makes me laugh until I cry. Next you have to leave a question that the next commenter has to answer and answer the question the previous commenter left. Got it? 1. Leave me something funny. 2. Answer previous question. 3. Create new question. Violaters will be beaten. ;D If the comments and questions get mixed up due to comment moderation, all will be forgiven….maybe. ;D

Here is the question for the first commenter to answer: If you could be any person living or dead for a day, who would it be and why?

I am the mother of children’s nightmares. The son who is trying to get away with everything has a sub for the next 10 days. I had to work in son #2’s classroom this morning so I decided to stop by son #1’s classroom on the way out to see what he’s up to. I do this a lot but usually leave without him even knowing I was there because his teacher this year is very on top of it.

So I’m watching him through the window and he is NOT paying attention, although I can’t see what he’s doing. Fortune usually smiles upon me when I check up on him and the girl sitting next to him gets up and comes out of the classroom to take her coat off.

Girl: Hi, Mrs. Teixeira.
Me: Hi! What subject are you guys doing right now?
Girl: Math.
Me: MMMMMmmmm. Looks like son #2 isn’t paying attention very well, is he?
Girl: No. He’s playing with these little lego things.
Me: LEGOS?!?!?!

I am paying for a tutor right now because he’s struggling in math. Must. Not. Start. Screaming. And again I am forced to place my hand atop my head to keep it from blowing off as I try to maintain composure and resist the urge to throw open the door, stomp across the classroom and drag him out by his ear. So as I shift back and forth from one foot to the other and grit my teeth, she goes back into the classroom and tells him I’m standing outside. His head snaps up, and as we make eye contact the “OH CRAP!” look crosses his face as he hurries to the classroom door. He bursts through the door with a very breathless “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!” Barely able to contain my glee I say “I got a call that you WERE NOT PAYING ATTENTION! You are in big trouble! You are PLAYING WITH LEGOS?!?!?!?” He recovers from the shock long enough to sputter “They’re not mine! They’re Wesley’s” Oh. CUZ THAT’S SO MUCH BETTER! “Get your butt back in there and give those Legos back and PAY ATTENTION NOW!” He sulks back into the classroom and and gives the other child back his Legos.

I know full well he’s going to go back to the Legos as soon as he thinks I’ve left so I go into the Art room and start preparing for the lesson I’m teaching on Thursday. When I return to his classroom he’s out for PE. I check his desk and sure enough, there are Legos in it. I tell the sub and give her permission to confiscate them until the teacher comes back. I also tell her to inform him that she is going to call me if he steps out of line again. She also proceeds to give me A LIST OF WORK HE HAS NOT TURNED IN SINCE SHE STARTED!!!!!! ARRGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously. What is it with this kid?!?!?! GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! At least I’m his worse nightmare. lol. I can’t even imagine what life would have been like if my mother seemed to appear every single time I did something I wasn’t supposed to or found out about it….

Steve tried to kick me in the head. Then he had to hop around on one foot because I grabbed his foot and trapped it against my shoulder and ran around with it. Now THAT is Karma, Biotch! ;D

I am going to hang a child up by his toes around here. I tell you, there is a kid here, who since the day he was born, has been trying to get away with pretty much EVERYTHING he could possibly get away with. This same child, all school year, has been giving me the “I don’t have any homework” speech. This is also the same child who 48 hours later has six hours of homework in one night. And yes, this is very surprising to this child. He has NO idea where all that homework came from. It, like, totally came out of nowhere. And even, after having a conference with him AND his teacher last week, in which we made him squirm in his chair until he wanted to crawl under his desk, he comes home and says to me today ”I don’t have any homework tonight.” I calmly placed my hand on TOP of my head, as I felt it was about to blow off. Just so you know, this act is not helpful when the top of the head is about to come off.

And in a supreme act of intentional gettting-away-with-as-much-as-possible, he “forgot” (notice the quotes, please) all other possible work he could be working on tonight at school. O…..M…….F……G!!!!!!! GAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

I really find it hard to whore myself out promote my blog and I’m terrible about link love, when I know it’s so important. So today internet, I’m asking for your help. It usually takes me awhile once people start coming here regularly to get them onto my blogroll. Not because it’s hard, but I shall plead laziness. So I want you, my dear reader, to visit my blogroll and see if your name is on it. Also check to make sure that the link is to the correct place (sorry Melusine!) Because what happens is that I add people to my bloglines and then forget to add them to the blogroll or vice versa. If I have been a lazy biotch remiss, please leave me a link in the comments and I will add you. I promise not to cry or throw a tantrum if you don’t add me to YOUR blogroll, but I will stare at you with sad, woeful eyes until you do. ;D I also will stare longingly at you, perhaps drooling on occasion, until you add me to your technorati favorites. Feel free to also chastise me on my technorati favorites issues and then leave me a button or tell me where to go to add you. Realize of course, that this may require some significant DELURKING (You know who you are!) on the part of CERTAIN PEOPLE. Yes, I’m looking at YOU!

Also, Ethan’s Mama did not feel properly singled out on a meme because I pulled from my bloglines list. However, she should know that I belatedly found out that it only linked back to bloglines and not to the original websites so I had to go in painstakingly one by one and do it properly. I only wish I had a really long meme right now to tag JUST her with so she’d feel properly loved. Sadly, I do not. Oh wait. What about the 100 things about you? How about that? ;D

Ok, that’s about all the whoring blog marketing I can stand for now. I feel dirty. I think I need to go shower again.

Having lived my entire life without snow, when we moved here three years ago, we were SO excited about the snow! We LOVE the snow! We check the weather reports repeatedly all winter anticipating the snow. It crushes our very souls when the promised snow is not delivered and Steve and I run around like kids when the heavens rain down the sweet, fluffy whiteness and turn our world into a winter wonderland. I mentioned we love the snow, right? The first snow of the year, I lay in wait for the kids to get off the bus, then POW! I hit them with snowballs. Did I say we LOVE the snow yet?!?!

This love of snow is in stark contrast to my dear friend Ree, who is from Michigan and refers to snow by it’s more common name, suck-ass snow. Actually my day is not complete until Ree says suck-ass snow. Because it’s funny. Because I don’t think it sucks at all.

I was beginning to see her point last night though, when I stepped out the car and was hit in the face with a snowball by a child who does not wish to see adulthood. The thing about snow is that it’s cold and it dribbles all into your clothes and slips down your cleavage in a most uncomfortable fashion. However, I discovered something else that I really don’t like even more. It’s called SUCK-ASS ICE! Oh yes. Steve’s car slid out of the driveway last night and I almost died today slipping on black ice…..We do NOT like SUCK-ASS ICE.

You bring me the internet search terms, I answer with the wisdom of thousands of years. Bow before me. I will provide the answers for these poor souls searching for answers, just in case they come back. I was going to have the search terms etched into stone tablets, but they got all heavy…… ;D

SPANISH WORD FOR PANIC ATTACK: Oh! Oh! I got this one! P-A-N-I-C-O   A-T-T-A-C-K-O. Seriously. What were you expecting?!?! It’s like Dorito and Burrito. Sheesh.

smell of death out of your house: I recommend C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G.

kung fu leg sweep: Oh! Oh! I got this one too. Here, come closer…

I WANT ENGLISH SPEAK: I’m sorry. I can’t help you. No speaka english. Only Spanish. P-A-N-I-C-O   A-T-T-A-C-K-O. Dorit-O. Burrit-O.

exlax cookie and cake recipes: Really? You’d do that? Cuz I was kidding. But if you find one? Call me?

susan naked in the kitchen: Damned if people don’t just keep coming back for that one. Susan? Little help? 

ingredients for stewart’s diet drinks: Oh! Oh! I can help here too! C-R-A-P-O-L-A.

she cracks his nuts in karate: Actually, I didn’t thankyouverymuch. I cracked my kneecap on his nut cup. Now let’s not talk about that anymore….

m&m angry: Yes, those M&Ms suffer from severe anger isssues. You should just go ahead and eat them before they get all irate and talkie…

my dogs stomach is making weird noises: It’s called D-I-G-E-S-T-I-O-N.  Damn, people are stupid today. Can I get some peasants with some intelligent questions here?

EVIL HELL DEVIL JESSICA: Snirk. I know a Jessica or three, but don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I’ve never seen any of them perform satanic rituals. EVAH.

why does my wife push me to loose my temper: Because that’s what we do. We’re under contract to do that. The minute we take our vows. It has nothing to do with you not doing what we wanted you to do. Promise.

;D

I’m giving son #2 a bath tonight and I wanted him to wet his face. He was taking FOR.EV.ER. So I finally took the handheld shower head and squirted him in the face. And then he said “Patience Mommy. You’ll never be a Jedi without patience.” lol.

This morning I was all annoyed because Steve wouldn’t put away his laundry so I was getting all sassy. He was having trouble focusing on my anger because I’m in a bathrobe and he’s thinking about me being naked. He’s following me up the steps and says “You know, you’re a lot less hot when you’re all talkie like that…..”

Cuz that’s what you say to an angry spouse, right? ;D

OH. MY. GOD! I received my worst sparring injury to date. I discovered over the last few weeks that my roundhouse knee to the stomach is one of my strongest techniques. So I was sparring with Steve today and went in for a hard roundhouse knee but when I went to lower my knee, it hurt really bad. Somewhere in my brain something whispered “Holy Shit, that felt like I connected with a brick wall.” Then I remembered the argument in the sporting good store yesterday when I made Steve buy a cup for sparring. That’s when I realized my knee had solidly connected with his cup. OMFG. I have a HUGE lump on my knee and it started turning purple almost immediately. Wearing pants hurts and bending my knee. OMFG. You don’t even know. And Steve? He just keeps grinning and saying “Karma, baby!” PULLLEEEZZZZ. What Karma?!? *I* am the one who made him buy the cup when he didn’t want to wear it. Karma, my ass. I giveth the cup, I can taketh it away. Then we can talk about Karma, Biotch.

We also had another argument yesterday. I wanted Steve to go have a chest x-ray from the beating he took from the Yoda of Karate. I was concerned that if he sparred again and got hit in the ribs and it was broken, he would puncture a lung. He didn’t want to go. However I threatened to tell everyone in the dojo if he didn’t go so he finally agreed to go. He came home all smug and said the doctor said his ribs weren’t broken. However, five minutes after he got home the doctor called with “Ooops. My bad. There is a cracked one. But it’s in the back, so you can spar.” *I* said he should wear a rib guard today, but he claimed he wouldn’t get hit there again. Five blows to that area later, he’s breathing like I’ve got his nuts in a vice. He groans every time he moves. He’s trying to take a bottle of wine right now in the hopes of dulling the pain. Maybe THAT is Karma, Biotch! ;D

I forgot to tell you guys that I got invited to a bonfire by a nineteen year old friend of my cousin. It’s funny to even type that. Anyway when Steve called that night I told him about it and he flipped. He got ALL jealous and chit. I’m still grinning because it’s funny. Then he’s hanging up and calls me Sporto. We all know how I feel about being called SPORTO so I issued the following threat: “If you call me Sporto again or any other variation of Sporto I AM SO GOING TO THE BONFIRE!” Guess what? He didn’t call me Sporto for the rest of the trip. ;D So that’s my new threat. I’m going to the bonfire with a nineteen year old! Seriously! How many of you can say that? ;D Ok, maybe the nineteen year olds can. But I got T-shirts older than this kid!

Speaking of teenage boys, Dooooode. Auntie Cutsupalot has a sixteen year old boy. OMFG. Do you know how much a sixteen year old can EAT?!?!? OMG!!!!!!!!!!! They eat you out of house and home! And by the third day, Cousin Eatsalot managed to show up every time there was food around. He also had this uncanny knack for walking in the door everytime I took doberge out the fridge. Finally I said “What? Can you just hear it come out of the fridge?” Since he lives across the street, I suppose it’s possible……Maybe there was an alarm on the fridge? Seriously. Cousin Eatsalot can EAT and he apparently has the same junkie tendencies towards doberge that I do….

Cousin Smart Ass showed up on Saturday all sniffly. Knowing about my germaphobia, she said she thought it was allergies. However, about an hour after she got there, I found her in the kitchen, taking swigs from a bottle of Benedryl. Her mom rushed in all concerned asking “Did you read the directions on that?” She pauses with the bottle midway to her mouth and said something along the lines of “Yeah, it said take some until your nose stops running.” A few swigs after her mother left she leaned close and said “How much of this shit can I take before it kills me?” I said “I think 100 mg before it knocks you out.” She whispers “You think I had less than a 100 mg?” It’s unlikely with the way she was drinking it, but I didn’t want to tell her that. As it turned out, about an hour later cousin smart ass was HIGH. All stumbling around, drowsy eyelided, saying funny stuff. It’s why she couldn’t even be consulted about the green etoufee. As she’s getting ready to leave, she sees my aunt’s cat and says loudly “I AM ALLERGIC TO CATS! DO YOU SEE MY EYES? THIS IS WHY I HAD SNOT RUNNING DOWN TO MY KNEES MOST OF MY LIFE! IT WAS BECAUSE OF (HER SISTER’S) DAMN CATS!” Then she staggered out the door still trying to pretend she wasn’t sick OR high. I poked my head out the door after her “You aren’t going to drive in that condition are you?” All indignant she says “Of course I am. I AM FIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEE.” And she slams the car door and backs out the driveway all crooked. She called me two days later to confess that she really was sick and the cats only made her more snotty. lol.

My last day there I was supposed to go visit Cousin Smart Ass and Cousin Etoufee Fixer, but Grandma woke up in pretty bad condition. We had to make her stay in bed all day. And if you were wondering? If you call the on-call doctor with an urgent medical concern? In Louisiana, he doesn’t call back. They just pretend to have on-call doctors there. Like when Fry’s Electronics pretends they have merchandise on sale… She seemed a little better by nightfall but not herself.

The trip seemed a little too short and I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with everyone. We lit fireworks on our last night, but it was clear my children had never grown up around fireworks. Everytime one was lit, son #1 was rushing AT the impending explosion instead of AWAY from it with me screaming “GET BACK! GET BACK!” I swear that kid is determined not to live to adulthood. Sigh.

I had to have doberge for breakfast before I left, because it will be my birthday before I get any more. Uncle Fart stopped by to say goodbye on his way back from a hunting trip. The trip home was fairly uneventful although we did have to do the Houston Hustle again. We made it back in time on New Year’s Eve for me to slip into complete exhaustion and fall asleep at 10:30. I know. It was all the doberge…. ;D

I think I got side-tracked hiding bodies and forgot to tell you about the rest of my Louisiana trip.

There are certain foods I can only get in Louisiana. My absolute favorite is called doberge cake. Years ago you could ONLY get this cake at a handful of bakeries in the New Orleans area. Since hurricane Katrina, regional Louisiana foods have spread out a little. I even saw doberge at a grocery store. And being the sick, sick, doberge addict that I am, I had to try it. The cake wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t Gambino’s. I don’t think they quite understood the intricasies of making a good doberge. I’ve tried making a doberge cake at home and discovered that it uses every damn pan and dish in the kitchen and I still couldn’t quite get it right. Sigh. Every year for my birthday I have one flown in from Gambino’s instead.

So Saturday morning was devoted to acquiring doberge. I was edgy because I’d been there 48 hours already and hadn’t had doberge. I don’t get my doberge and I hide bodies. I stopped at Gambino’s and they have bite sized cakes and so I picked up a few squares of red velvet cake, another food I have trouble finding outside of Louisiana. However, I’m backing out of my parking space, slam on the brakes, throw open the door and let it all fall out my mouth onto the concrete. My aunt looks at me in dismay and yells “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” I wiped my mouth and said quite seriously “Life’s too short to eat bad food. It was dried out and chokey. Bleckkk. Hand me a doberge square.” Yes, I had to have some squares as a precursor to the two doberge cakes I just bought because it would be, like, a half hour before I could cut into the cake. I know. I’ve got a problem. Better than crack though….

One of my young cousins stopped by on Saturday. She’s in her very early 20’s, unwed and the mother of a 13 month old. Dad’s already abandoned them. (I’d start on a tirade here about what the hell is wrong with the world bringing all these children into it without two parents, but then I’d get side tracked and all, like I did with the cake. I’m still thinking about the cake, by the way. I like cake. Mmmmm dobergey goodness…..) ANYWAY, I was talking to her about her plans for the future and her plans to support this baby and herself. She was in nursing school when she became pregnant and I encouraged her to go back. She had already applied to go back but get this…..My UNCLE (her father! Not Uncle Fart.) told her not to waste her time going to school, to just find someone to take care of her and the baby. WTF?!?! Who gives that kind of advice to their children!?!?! Don’t be self sufficient! Find someone to depend on! OMFG!!!! I almost fell off my chair. I alternated between wanting to go over and kick his ass and..no….you’re right, I didn’t alternate. Just wanted to kick his ass. What kind of mentality is that?!?! LAWWWWDDD HAVE MERCY! This is what is wrong with the world! Sigh.

I think I forgot to mention that I’d been inviting relatives over every night and cooking. Grandma really enjoys the constant parade of people that make their way over when I’m in town. There was only one minor problem in that I made a huge pot of cuban black beans and certain unnamed relatives were um, banned by their spouses from ever eating beans again because of the um, reprocussions….or percussions as the case may be… No mo’ comment on the beans…

So on Saturday, I promised to make a huge pot of crawfish etoufee. I’d connect you to the wikipedia link on it, except the information in it is wrong. Etoufee means smothered in French (smothered vegetables.) Etoufee is a cajun dish that you used to really only be able to find in the Acadiana region of Louisiana. As the regional lines have blurred in Louisiana and cajun food has become more popular, you’re able to find cajun food in New Orleans. However, if you want a true etoufee, eat it in Acadiana.

The creole influence brought rich, tomato based dishes to Louisiana cuisine. Cajun purists will tell you that a true etoufee has no tomato sauce in it. But as I said, regional lines have blurred and some of the people in my family have started using tomato sauce in the etoufee while others use the “white sauce.” So before I even started cooking, the tomato sauce argument started. And it was a loud argument, lemme tell you. To be honest, I make it both ways. My grandmother made it with tomato sauce, and Auntie Cutsupalot makes it with tomato sauce, but my mother and another one of my aunts use the white sauce. I had intended on being a cajun purist that day and making it with the white sauce (which isn’t really white at all, you should know.) Now before I go on, the information vital to understanding what happened next is this: THE ENTIRE EFFIN’ FAMILY HAS SEVERE A.D.D.!!!! Seriously. The attention span of a gnat’s. And they all get distracted by bright, shiny objects. So with all of them flitting about the kitchen, still arguing about the tomato sauce, I started putting people to work. The Holy Trinity needed to come together. For those of you unfamiliar with the religion of cooking, the Holy Trinity is onions, garlic and bell peppers if you’re from Louisiana. Some people say onions, garlic and celery. All food in Louisiana starts with a roux and the Holy Trinity. I needed things chopped. And the rule about too many cooks in the kitchen in Louisiana? You just try and keep them out. A fricken’ stranger will go behind you and season your gumbo. Doesn’t matter. Everybody’s gotta fix it.

So I assign Auntie Cutsupalot to chopping. And I showed her the recipe sitting right next to her. Not that any of us usually cook with a recipe, but in this case, for so many people, I did not want any mishaps. I had to leave the kitchen for a minute due to hearing too many children in the bathroom and voices that sounded like MY children. When I returned Auntie had dumped it all in the pot and I dutifully began sauteeing veggies. One of the things Auntie was supposed to chop was fresh parsley. It was also the first time she’d ever seen it. How does that happen?! 

Another quality of Louisiana cooks is that we all cook by taste. We taste it, adjust it, and keep on cooking. So imagine my horror when I tasted it sometime later and OMFG! The. Worst. Thing. EVVVAHHHH. It was unbearably bitter! I mean, drag your tongue on the ground bitter with a horrible aftertaste. I bring in Auntie Cutsupalot and my cousin (sister to smart ass cousin cuz smart ass cousin doesn’t cook anything but cereal and milk) and as we’re all standing there with spoons in our mouth and making faces, another aunt comes in and says “It can’t be THAT bad….EEEEEEEEEEEEW! What the hell?!” We ended up concluding that someone had taken Grandma’s spice mix in her cabinet and put in some salt substitute stuff and that was the bitter flavor with the horrible aftertaste. *I* wanted to throw the whole thing out and start over but cousin and auntie were convinced we could save it. ‘Cept I didn’t see Jesus around, so I was still pushing to throw it all out. It also came out at this point that Auntie had not measured and just thrown everything in the pot, including WAY too much parsley which, in case you’re wondering, produces a GREEN etoufee. Sigh. Auntie flitted in and out of the kitchen over the next hour while me and my cousin didn’t leave the pot, trying to produce something edible. Evenutally we were successful. Never let it be said the natives can’t cook….We finally managed to make something that tasted good although it required a team of cooks. Everyone pronounced it delicious and…. green.

I promised the relatives I’d finish telling the whole story so I’ll be back with Tales from the Swamp later….

Sometimes the most bizarre things spawn a new age of phrases in our house. Last week we saw this and laughed our asses off:

“I hide body” has been the new catchphrase in our house. The other day when someone annoyed me I told Steve “Dun worry. I hide body.” This morning I get a text message from Steve that said: “ACKKK! Traffic backed up to (miles and miles of traffic). I hide body.”

Remember the movie Another 48 hours? Where Reggie Hammond says “All right, knock this shit off! I HAVE BEEN HAVING A VERY BAD DAY! I just got out of jail this morning! Already I’ve been shot at, I was on a bus that flipped over seventeen times, bitch tried to stab me in the back room, and somebody blew up my Porsche! I am in a BAD goddamn mood! Now I usually don’t step in on things like this, but this man Jack Cates is gonna help me straighten out the rest of my day! So I suggest you all back up, and let us go about our business!” That was Steve this morning.

On Saturday he sparred with the fricken Yoda of karate. And um, well, the thing you should know about Yoda, that I told him before we even went into class, is that if Yoda opens his eyes real wide and crouches down? Run away! But what does my brain damaged darling do? He makes a loud ki ai and scores a point on Yoda. Yoda answers with a mighty takedown. Sigh. And when Yoda opened his eyes wide and crouched? Steve backfisted him in the head. To which Yoda promptly answered with a kick to the ribs so hard son #1 heard it from outside the room. I shake my head at him. Me? When I sparred with Yoda? I was scared to hit him. He taunted “Hit me! Hit me!” So I did. He answered with a backfist to my head. I think I got whiplash. And when he crouched down? I took one look at that and backed the hell up. When the third degree black belts say “If he crouches down, run away!” You heed their warnings!

So anyway, due to his possibly severely damaged rib cage, Steve got up on the wrong side of the bed. I’m pretty sure he had 666 on his scalp. Hoooo boy. He was grouchy. And it got worse from there. The children were fighting, there were multiple cooking mishaps, but what sent him over the edge? The new espresso machine exploded. Lemme tell ya’, he really needed that coffee this morning!

So as we’re walking out the door to the bus stop, with Steve behind me closing the door to leave to work, I say “Don’t lock the door, I don’t know where my keys are right now.” 15 minutes later when I come back from the bus stop? The door is locked. That’s right, within 5 seconds of me saying don’t lock the door, he locked the door. He will claim he was distracted by his broken espresso machine, but really, I think he took too many backfists to the head from Yoda this weekend. So imagine how unhappy the already unhappy was when he had to drive back home to let me in? You think? No worse. He was all glary at ME. The nerve.

It doesn’t sound like his day at work went any better. I swear it will be a miracle if he makes it home in one piece. He should have taken 4 Advils and gone back to bed before someone blew up his Porsche.

The other day Steve came in and said that we needed to renew our passports although they aren’t expiring until June. He gets these annoying bees in his bonnet and then is obsessed with it. So he nagged me until I filled out the paperwork. Then he kept saying we needed to take our pictures every five minutes for two days straight. I wanted to go someplace and have them done because I know what’s going to happen. He takes the picture then *I* am going to have to spend hours of my life, that I will never get back, making our heads the correct size and the backgrounds white and such in a graphic design program. He insisted that we take the pictures at home. Naturally I’m less than cooperative. First I’ve got an attitude. As in WANNA A PIECE OF ME?!

I’m tired and already rubbed off most of my makeup.

Then he tells me to wipe the plastic smile off my face. I am tired and I do not want to do this! So I rebel.

“STOP THAT!” he yells. So I pretend to cooperate right up until he snaps the next picture.

“GAH! KNOCK IT OFF!” He’s losing his patience now. ”NO! I want to go to bed!” I whine. “FINE! Take mine then!” and he shoves the camera into my hands.

Now I want you to know that I’ve already done one annoying round of pictures to which he claimed that I needed to make myself taller to combat his hair. Because I couldn’t grow a foot while shooting, he has big hair.

Also he’s scowling like a terrorist. Because all terrorists scowl in the passport photos. So I tell him he has to smile. He smashed down his hair. Then he delivers the most plastic smile EVER.

Now if you’re thinking *I* am being uncooperative, let me assure you, that OTHER people were also being uncooperative and I have evidence.

It’s really not my fault I am so hilarious. Since he continued to whine about my photography skills, I adopted an Austin Powers persona, screaming “YEAH BABY! YEAH!” at the top of my lungs. He claims that *I* ruined more pictures by making him laugh.

Then he snatched the camera out of my hands and yelled “You’re impossible!” And walked away all annoyed and chit. What? Was it something I said?

In case you’re wondering, I think he’s going to cave and go someplace and have them done.