Because it really is personal…

A bartending book, slam full of all kinds of recipes for oddly named beverage blends. So, once in a while, when I don’t have anything else to say, I’m going to post a recipe.

Northern Girl, this one’s for you.

Zombie
3/4 oz light rum
3/4 oz dark rum
3/4 oz Gold rum (highest proof available)
1 oz sweetened lemon juice
1/2 oz cherry brandy
Blend the rums and lemon juice together with ice.
Strain into a collins glass with 2 ice cubes.
Float the cherry brandy on opt.

My psychiatrist would SO disapprove.

Well the dinner last night with SD prospective new hire went well. A certain person of relative note within the corporation also came, which was a source of mild anxiety for me, as he is notably crude, prone to drinking too much then making hamfisted sexual advances to the youngest female member of the group.

And yet, he behaved. Probably because I was the youngest female in the group and not exactly the hit-on-able type, even if SD (who’s taller and outweighs him by 60 pounds) hadn’t been there.

SO it was pleasant, other than the lousy service. If you’re paying roughly $45 a head for dinner, you expect decent service. Actually, we personally weren’t paying for it- the Company was. Which is why I didn’t look too hard at the prices on the menu.

The other irritating thing (this Country Club needs to do something about the management of it’s dining rooms, and train the wait staff better) was the children in the dining room.

Rootie! You love children! You have 4 of them and probably think the Childfree Movement’s a bunch of sad cases! Not true. Yes, I love children, if they’re my own. And if someone wants to be childfree I think I have enough experience with kids to understand their position.

The place where we ate has 2 dining rooms. One is for families with children, and the other is for Adults Only. Our table was (theoretically) in the Adults Only room. Only, there were kids. One table had 2 extremely well behaved little girls, you didn’t even know they were there except they were in my line of sight. Another table had 3 rather noisy, squealing girls, throwing rolls and running around. And these girls were 8-10 ish. Old enough to know better. Their fathers just smiled indulgently on their happy antics, while I (and the other 2 women with us, and the table full of Well Seasoned Matriarchs) glared and made disapproving noises. It was irritating, but they eventually left and we sat at our table, waiting for the inexperienced waiter to offer dessert and coffee (he never did), and closed the place down.

I got to wear my white pants, always a questionable move when you have 4 dogs and as many children, yet I felt cool and summery and as elegant as someone so Zaftig** can feel.

In about an hour (I need to go do my hair and check my nose for zits), I go pick up one of the women we ate with, and take her for a tour of the town. First stop- or maybe after a bit of riding around-The Daily Grind for a hot drink (it’s cool this morning. Little Martha’s top will stay up)and maybe a muffin, and a tour of the (ambitiously named) historical district. A swing around the college campus- it’s pretty- and maybe a drive through the Neighborhood Where The Pretty People Live. You know, McMansions bought with low-rate teaser loans that balloon to 14% after 2 years. How people can trade houses like cars is beyond me. And no, I’m not bringing her to the house. It’s a mess, there will be boys in their underpants until noon, socks everywhere, empty dishes crusted with ketchup from last night’s tater tots. Nope, the Toot Household is closed for public viewing.

*update*
It was fun- she had a list of things she wanted to see, and insisted on buying me coffee and biscotti at the end of it all. Would that all people are as organized. I’d make a great Chamber of Commerce Cheerleader, as insincere as Sheryl Crow on the enviroment.

**Do you know where the term ‘zaftig’ comes from? It was originally yiddish ‘zaftik’ meaning ‘juicy’ or ’succulent’. Now it means Pleasingly Plump. Yeehaw!

Today

can u die if u mix bleach and toilet bow
showgirl dance costume size 20
Home Remedy for hands shake only when w

Yesterday

speedos embarrassing aunt
insomia contest
“Vintage Camping Equipment”
how to clean a formal dress at home poly
daddio´s big boobs
power drill spinning yarn

75% of the fun of a project is the planning. I fitz around with ideas, try this and that, see what fits and what doesn’t. It’s fun! And, since I have a couple of years to think on it, I have all that time to come up with a concept that’s clean, classic, and suits the personality of the household.

I’m talking about a kitchen. My current kitchen is functional, dark, and not terribly inspiring. It has plenty of cabinet room, adequate counters, but it just isn’t *me*. So, I’ve been plundering through e-catalogs, finding stuff that would fit (due to the way the house is built, our habit of ripping out walls to enlarge the kitchen will have to go unsatisfied), and would please my delicate sensibilities.

The first picture is of the existing kitchen, then the second is of my desired replacement.

The cooktop and Harvest Gold fan

To be replaced by a downdraft dual fuel range, and upper cabinets/fan removed

1967 wall ovens and somewhat useless cabinets

All ripped out and replaced with a vintage (looking) hutch

Cabinets replaced with flat panel creamy-white laquer cabinets, brushed nickel hardware, black countertops, and the walls a somewhat darkish (but not really dark) crimson red.
From this

to this.

And, I’d like a fancy-schmancy butcher block workstation, too.

Here’s how it all looks. Behind the curtains on the right is a small pantry. That’s coming out, and a work desk opening into the office is going in. Clear glass shelves above, so I can whine about dusting, and can see what’s going on in the office.

Behind the curtains on the left are the washer and dryer. They’re going into the utility room at the other end of the dining room. I want to put these:

in there, and make it the (much larger, more efficient) pantry. Or maybe not. SD has mentioned an interesting option that I’m willing to explore.

I like this light fixture:

So, that’s it so far. I am considering a rubber floor- very easy on the back and hips, emminently cleanable, comes in black. I am also considering wood laminate in a light maple. SD can install it with a thick pad underneath, so it has plenty of spring and give. What I do know, without a single doubt, is that the wall will be red, the appliances black, and the cabinets creamy white. And yes, I know it will look like a Steak and Shake.

When someone I have come to (sort of) know, and care about, is threatened , especially when that person is someone quite private, this is…I don’t know…disturbing, I guess. Certainly not a behavior that inclines me toward the proclivities of the threatener, if they’re looking for converts or something.

I mean, no big deal if I’m exposed. I have nothing of interest to anyone.

But really y’all, radfem types so strident with your causes and all,

Shame on you. You have dishonored yourselves and your cause. I am, sadly, not surprised.

My hope is, one day, you’ll grow up.

Give her a head massage with something that smells like peppermint and thyme, then cut her hair short and summery, and give it a fresh coat of blonde.

It’s my one real selfish indulgence. I have pretty hair, and I like to keep it that way.

Post topics have been bubbling through my head this morning. Unfortunately the ability to choose and form something coherent is being….um….problematic.
Here’s what I’ve thought of so far:
1.Guns (ooo…that could be sticky)
2.Capitalism and why it’s a good thing (hm…I don’t know if I’m that brave right now)
3.Latest Reads (booooring)
4.An Upcoming Event Where I Must Squire Someone Around Town and Try To Sell Her On Moving Here.

Ok…#4 it is, thanks for the input.
SD’s company is considering hiring an individual he used to work with elsewhere. He and his wife are coming tomorrow, and saturday morning I’m supposed to pick her up at the hotel and take her around town, to show her the sights. I’m supposed to spend all morning doing this. I don’t mind, as she’s a pleasant woman, and maybe it will be warm enough and she will be sufficiently relaxed about her hair that I could put the top down on Little Martha.

The problem is this…There just isn’t an entire morning’s worth of stuff to see. Ok, so we could go out 301 and see the AgriSupply place with it’s tanks and tractors and stuff. Then we could see the technical school. Then we could go out 67 and see the Kiwannis Fairground, being saturday there might be a livestock auction going on. We could take a drive on Pretentious Road and see the subdivision where all the McMansions are. Then, we’ll turn around and go down Savannah Ave and see the 5 Really Fine Houses built in the ’20’s when this was a resort town famous for it’s clear spring water and healing properties. To get to Sav. Ave we go through downtown, 3 blocks long and 4 blocks wide with a wedding cake of a courthouse in the middle. I’ll show her both Baptist churches, the Dunkin Donuts, and The Blue Moon (a surprisingly sophisticated restaurant). And there we are. All that should take about 2 hours, if I keep it under 25 the whole time.

(Yes, that’s a statue of a confederate soldier. Deal with it)

And, I’m supposed to put a positive spin on all this largesse. The only way I can do that is if I’ve got a martini in me, and doing that at 9 am is inadvisable, especially since I’ll be driving. How do you make a town look good who’s Social Event of the Season is County Fair, with tractor pulls and carnival rides? When the Satuday Night Fun involves the KMart parking lot, how do you put a positive spin on that? When you’ve lived in a town that sees an influx of 120,000 people for the football games, how do you make the local college games, where traffic is backed up 15 minutes at 1 intersection and who’s game attendance tops out at 12,000, into an Event?

I can do it. I should have been a travel agent because I can make any place look charming and interesting. I’ll emphasize the proximity to Savannah and Charleston. Tybee Beach is only an hour away. Boring Little Small Towns are Safe Little Small Towns. And, thanks to the internet (which we have here now! Huzzah!), shopping is a non-issue. We even have a Lowes.

People that live here are almost defensively enthusiatic about it, as if they’re afraid they made a wrong choice, but refuse to admit it. In it’s defense, there is alot here that most towns this size don’t have- like The Blue Moon, and this pottery place where you can paint it yourself, and they glaze and fire it for you. There is a nursery with a small selection of unusual herbs (blue catmint, anyone?), and I highly approve of the school system. But, one can ony plant so much blue catmint and paint so many coffee cups before one runs out of ideas.

So here’s the game plan. I’ll pick her up and drive very, very slowly, showing the sights. I’ll be cheerful and sparkly and ask lots of questions about the kids and how’s her work going, is she ready for the school year to be over. Then I’ll drop her with her husband, all cheerful-like, go home, and do the balloon-let-go thing phphphphhphhttttt all over the back yard. At noon it will be 5 pm in England, maybe I’ll have a drink to unwind, because forced cheer is exhausting.

But! I’m doing it willingly, even though I think The Boss’s Wife ought to be the one doing this.

Summer’s a-comin’, and with it come summer fashions. Some of those fashions are travesties. I, Arbiter of Fashion Taste, will voice my opinion, because it’s Right.

Why do men wear speedos on the beach? I can see wearing them at the Olympics, where being streamlined is important. But on the beach? Why do they think I’m interested in the most intimate details of their anatomy? I am not. It is not sexy, I do not admire their manly form squeezed into a spandex pouch. I have never seen a man worth admiring in a speedo. Not a 2 yr old, or a 20 yr old.

Well, honestly, right now that’s the only thing I can think of that qualifies as a travesty.

Muppet Show- Peter Sellers

To Renegade Evolution and the Mr.

The Muppet Show – Mister Cellophane