"From the Window to the Wall"

I like to save money in sections. I have a retirement section or two. I have a section that I haven’t designated yet, but probably something important like my unborn child’s private school tuition. (Oh wait, we don’t have those in Edgewood.) Guess I’ll use that section to pay off something important… like a hit man, maybe. I have a section for next summer’s vacation. Most importantly, I have the cosmetic surgery section. Some people think cosmetic surgery is vein, I deem it imperative. Unfortunately, my salary doesn’t allow much contribution to the cosmetic surgery fund and my procedures are behind schedule.

On the agenda:
Liposuction on my thighs
Botox on my forehead
Collagen in my lips

Since, however, age is getting the best of me and my almost-nothing income is struggling to keep up with the advancement of my body’s deterioration, I have to use affordable remedies;

Anti-wrinkle day cream
Anti-wrinkle night cream
Eye cream
Restorative facial serum
A cream for eliminating dark spots
Vitamin E cream
Mayo in the hair
Weekly masks

“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” –Mark Twain

Sadly, I do mind and it does, indeed matter. I’ve been a runner since middle school. Just this year, I have to endure hip pain post-run. I have bouts of arthritis in my elbow. I forget important stuff, like putting ingredients into complicated recipes. I don’t like aging. I don’t want to grow old.

Some things make me feel especially ancient.

My dad and I have a few things in common. I’d like to say “all our exes live in Texas,” but that’s false under two accounts. One, they don’t all live in Texas. Two, it would be better said, “all of Texas is our exes.”

One of my dad’s exes used to make a delicious recipe of breakfast pizza. I like to call her Window. Obviously I had to live in my dad’s house to eat breakfast there, which means I was in high school… 2003. That’s 7 years ago, I think I’m going to throw up. Time flying is not a preference of mine!

I don’t want to think about that anymore, moving on. My darling little sister came to stay with me for a few days. We saw Wicked, went to the Ranger game, rode motorcycles, you name it! We reminisced about the week she came to Norman for a few days when I was in college…5 years ago. Again, vomiting, surely it hasn’t been 5 whole years. While she was there, we made a homemade pizza for dinner… sprinkling it with entirely too much cheese. That’s when I put two and two together… make Window’s breakfast pizza recipe with Kelsey. Oh how fun!

We made a midnight trip to Wal-Mart to purchase ingredients, not foregoing candy for the trip home. As old as I’m getting, I needed the sugar rush to make it safely back without falling asleep on the way. Wah-lah! The last morning of her visit we made delicious breakfast pizza. Thank you Window for the recipe. Thank you Kel for the memory. Thank you science for cosmetic surgery.

Lesson learned: Age may be inevitable, but I’m inevitably going to fight all physical indications of it.

"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves." -Albert Einstein

“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” –Coco Chanel

I am blessed with the most fabulous girlfriends of anyone on the planet. My favorite times are times spent with these lovely ladies who always ensure an incredible experience. One of those friends, is the lovely Mrs. Benjamin. During one of her visits to Edgewood, we were poolside bound when our tummies began to rumble a bit. Rather than continue on the path of anorexia, which we’d been traveling for three hours since breakfast that morning, we decided lunch was in order. We knew we were hungry for something in particular, but we just couldn’t put a finger on it. So we did what any girls we do, we went with our hunch, “I bet we’re hungry for something that begins with the letter ‘p’.” And so the trek began, we went through the list of all of our favorite things that began with ‘p’ in hopes of satisfying our midday craving.

Pitchers (the baseball kind)
Pictures
Pic-nics
Pools
Prada
Pearls
Platinum
Pottery Barn
Paris
Phones
Pals
Pink
Pilates
Parties
Pickles (especially the sweet ones)
Pony tails
Pedicures
Play dates
Planning
Passion
Position
Porsches
Plastic
Plaid
Pie
Parking
Pumps
Purses
Pigskin (BOOMER!)
Pinot noir
Plyometrics
P90x
Peace
Peaches
Pecks
P. Diddy
Paul Walker
Primping
Popsicles
Projects
Pop, lock, & drop it
Paradise
Palm trees
Perfection
Pat Green
Patrick Swayze
Pure Country
Polished nails
Pleasantries
Pink promises
Perfume
Poker faces
Pillow talks
Post-its
Payday
Pineapples
Puppies
PIZZA!

You guessed it, we made a healthy fare of pizza; whole wheat tortillas, tomato sauce, sun dried tomatoes, spinach, garlic, topped with cheese made from 2% milk.

Lesson learned: I’m not the best thing that begins with the letter “p.”

Lucky for Me, There Are More Fish in the Sea

Fishing Blooper Number 1:

I worked for weeks trying to set up a time of bonding atop the waters of Lake Halbrook for my dad, my beau at the time, and me. Bad plan. EPIC FAIL. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don’t jump to conclusions. First, we didn’t come prepared with fishing license. Second, my beau didn’t know how to drive a standard nor back a truck... obviously not from east Texas… possibly no testosterone. Currently, I hope he is eat up with chiggers. Savvy me took over and backed the trailer so my dad could get the boat in the water. At last, time to wet our lines. I baited my hook, not perfect, but sufficient nonetheless. That’s the extent of my fishing wisdom, I can’t cast worth a flip. My self esteem wasn’t shattered though, because as I looked over and discovered that my beau didn’t even know how to bait a hook. I mean, really. What did he do as a child? I fear dress up and Barbie were a significant part of his growing up. Then my terror began to reign in casting; I caught a tire, a huge blob of moss, the boat, and finally a big catch… my dad. Thanks to me, there are still fishies in the sea.

Fishing Blooper Number 2:

Next, I had a handsome young beau who lived on Eagle Mountain Lake. One of our very first dates was… yes, fishing. I was too proud to tell him of my casting nightmares, but smart enough not to cast my line. Instead, I laid out on the dock and simply dropped my line into the water using my calf to hold the reel. I knew I couldn’t catch a fish this way, but it was better than casting a fish hook into my date’s eye socket. It wasn’t five minutes later, that my rod and reel about fell in the water. I accidentally caught a fish. Excitedly I spun the little twisty thingy and brought my fish safely to the dock. Then something came over me and my heart absolutely broke to see a poor, helpless fish stuck to a hook that I couldn’t detach. I had a panic attack. I screamed and cried as my date came to the rescue and freed Willy, or Nemo, or whatever that little fishie’s name was. Again, thanks to me, there are still fishies in the sea.

Fishing Blooper Number 3:

Just this year, I spent time fishing again on Eagle Mountain Lake (I think). By now, I’m wise enough to swear off any fishing activities that include hooks. I would hate to succumb to fuddy dud and not fish at all, so I learned how to fish with a net for this time. My teacher was excellent and I had the best time catching fish without injuring them… unless dropping it onto the dock by accident hurt it. I caught a whopping 3 fish. They were all HUGE, definitely the largest I’ve ever caught, and they each fit neatly into the palm of my hand. I’m now a professional. Of course, thanks to me, there are still fishies in the sea.

My life is comparable to my fishing. Since I don’t have a hook, all the little fishies end up back in the sea.

Since I can’t keep the stubborn fish out of water, I figured the only way to keep them was to cook them. Mrs. Alice gave me a few pounds of locally caught fish so I used a recipe for “pan seared fish” hoping the meal would be relatively healthy. So much for that, ‘pan seared’ to Better Homes & Gardens really means ‘pan fried.’ I don’t think it hindered the consumers too much as the picture indicates what was left over.

Lesson Learned: If you finally keep a fish out of water, you have to train it, I mean cook it, just right for it to be worth anything.

We're Just Like You, Only Prettier

I don’t do fast food. It’s not because I’m a diva, but because I feel like I’m going to die at an early age if I put that stuff into my body. It’s subjecting yourself to a long, slow death. I guess I’ll start with McDonald’s, where fries are worth 500 calories or about a quarter of what you’re supposed to consume in a whole day. Then on to Wendy’s where you can order a sandwich with 640 calories/ 35 g of fat. I’d keep going, but I’m going to be ill if I think any more about artery clogging, hip sticking food.

There are times in life, however, when we have to “quit crying on get back on the horse” as my friend Katie says. A prime example of this took place when I was on the way home from Durango. It was a beautiful Independence Day. We’d decided to leave a day early and break the drive up into two days rather than tackle the 17 hour commute in a single day. The plan was perfect. We’d reach Amarillo by 8 p.m. at which time we’d have a nice, relaxing dinner followed by watching the fireworks celebrating another year of American freedom.

Then the nightmare began. My chauffer says to me, “I feel pretty good, I think we can drive on in to Wichita Falls before we stop. Then we can be home by lunch tomorrow.” I had mixed emotions about this, which were clarified moments later when Jeeves added, “we can just stop in Amarillo eat, then head on.”
“Not a bad idea,” I think to myself. I can just watch the fireworks in the car; killing two birds with one stone (I've never liked that expression, its cruel, but you get the point). I even began to sing (in my head), “Oooooh, life’s so sweet right here in the passenger seat.” –SHeDaisy, I think.

I need to be real clear right now. “STOPPING to eat” leaves no room for miscommunication in my mind. I eat like a man, and I have to be fed or I get all cranky. Now, when you STOP to eat, that means you pull the car crookedly into a parking space and don’t even straighten up because you’re so excited to get inside and get some grub. You speed walk to the door so that not a single other person gets seated before I’m served with water and menu in my comfy booth, preferably with dim lighting. That’s what happens when you STOP to eat. On this particular day though, it didn’t work quite like that. You see, my chauffer and I communicate a tad bit differently, and that’s how I ended up in front of a talking sign inquiring “Welcome to Taco Bell, would you like to try our cheesy beefy gordita?”

Teehee! What a funny boy! I laughed so hard. That’s a good one. Driving through a Taco Bell drive-thru before taking me somewhere without a lard infested selection. I tried to play along so I’d seem low-key and easy going. Then he placed his order and after a good 7 minutes of ordering the entire menu, turned to me sweetly and asked, “what do you want?”

I can remember only one other day that I felt this shocked and speechless, it was the day my pet hamster Trixi ran away in 2nd grade.

“It’s okay, I don’t want anything,” I said, still in shock with eyes as wide as my hips. “Are you sure? Its going to be a long time until we stop again.” I refuse, under all circumstances, to write in a public forum how this story turned out. The point is, sometimes we find ourselves in real sticky situations, so we make do. We put our big girl panties on, and we don’t let a little bit of "death in a paper bag" ruin our attitude, especially not when fireworks are to be seen.

With that being said, I have great coping skills. I’ve learned select items on various fast food menus that I can eat without feeling like my health is tainted. There is even one in which I’ve grown quite fond and its even found at the dynasty of fast food; McDonald’s. For only $1.00, you can indulge in the delicious fruit and yogurt parfait. Mine is just like theirs, only prettier.

Fiction: You can’t judge a book by its cover.

Fact: In all reality, you can learn a lot just by looking.

She's Bossy

"You don't have to love me. You don't even have to like me, but you will respect me. And you wanna know why? Cuz I'm a boss!" -Kelis

Apparently nobody smacked my mouth nor washed it out with soap when I was a defiant child proclaiming “YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” In fact, it might have been an expression they found ‘cute’ coming out of the mouth of a three-year-old. At age 25, however, it’s not cute anymore when I let friends and family know, “I’m the boss of this!” It now comes across as witchy… or something along those lines.

Join me in traveling down ‘poor, pitiful me’ road. Since 1984, I’ve assumed I was born with the inherent personality trait of ‘plum bossy.’ For non east Texas readers, the term ‘plum’ is defined “utterly and completely, with no room for question.” It wasn’t until a fateful , summer project day that I learned the truth about who I really am; a sweet, soft spoken, innocent little girl who has been corrupted by the headstrong, outspoken, bossiness of the one and only… ANNA!

She’s molded me into the monster you know, and done such an impeccable job of doing so that I have NEVER been accused of being sweet, soft spoken, nor innocent. Bummer, oh well! You know what they say, “well behaved women rarely make history.” And so two misbehaving ladies, Anna and me, set out to make history in the form of homemade jelly.

One thing leads to another, that’s how this jelly project came about.
The lovely Sister Cannon at church made some blackberry jelly and shared it with Anna. I was fascinated that people actually make jelly. I think many of the jewels of yesteryear are being lost in my generation. I have a great appreciation for ‘old’ things. My good friend Jeremy teases that my living room feels like walking into an old granny’s home. It’s clad in antique furniture and old black and white photos of my relatives who have passed away. I’d like to preserve the past as best I can, especially the parts that mean something to me like family heirlooms and things of the such. I’m 25, and I can tell you that my girlfriends and I have never sat around and canned fresh vegetables, made jellies, nor baked bread from scratch. Sad, but true. Thanks to Sister Cannon, I decided I too could be a maker of delicious jellies.

That’s really how this summer project idea came about. On a sheet of scratch paper, I quickly scribbled “Summer to-do’s: Make jelly.” As said above, one thing leads to another, and now I’ve made over 20 new recipes this summer. Early in the summer, I spent some good, quality time with Sister Bossy, I mean Anna and made jars upon jars of three different flavors of fruit jellies. Anna hand picked the wild plums, we searched high and low throughout east Texas for fresh blackberries (stopping at the peach orchard for homemade peach ice cream), and I’ll admit we had to buy the mass amounts of strawberries from Wal-Mart. I hand crushed fruit for so long that I suffer from arthritis in the elbow, but we’re left with wonderful memories together and the best jelly this side of the new millennium.

Lesson learned: Do NOT, under any circumstance, try to dip sugar out of the original bag at Anna’s house. Pour it into a big bowl first, then measure it out to the T and scrape the excess sugar off the top with a knife. Don’t think I’m kidding. She will blow a gasket.

So Long Self Control

From the time Sister Winfred Jones was my Sunday school teacher, I’ve been taught about the Fruits of the Spirit. Since fruit is my favorite food group, I’d like to work my way through each of the Fruits.

First, there is LOVE. I must immediately break out in song now singing completely out of tune, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…” Anna loves Poppy. Poppy loves Jesus. Jesus loves me. I love shoes, handbags, and lip gloss.

Second is PEACE. Surely this needs no explanation as the symbol is more than prevalent in every girls’ store across the country. When I think of peace, I think about the beaches of Kuaii, the mountains of Colorado, or the sound of my precious baby brother mowing my lawn.

Next is FAITHFULNESS. Say this word to a man and they think you’re speaking pig Latin. Say this word to preacher, and he asks why you only show up Sunday morning. Say this to my dear friend Brandy, and we immediately schedule a date as to not miss a single Clinique bonus time.

Now on to JOY. Joy might be my very most favorite of the fruits. Today, while procrastinating from homework, I came across a picture of my amazing cousin, Justin, and his beautiful little girl, Presley. They were hugged up and laughing without a care in the world… the epitome of joy.

Then there is GOODNESS. This word has contributed most to my life in the form of language; OH! MY! GOODNESS!

GENTLENESS. This is the way my sweet little sister in the sorority handles her shoes; all kept nice, neat, and good as new in their original boxes. Neeley, you are inspiration to us all.

On to PATIENCE. I don’t know why this is considered a fruit. Its more like a bitter, rotten vegetable with maggots on the inside. I had to check three times to make sure I spelled patience correctly since its not a fruit I EVER deal with unless I have no other option. For example, waiting for Edward, Jacob and Bella to show up on the big screen isn’t anything I can rush.

We can’t forget KINDNESS. I really like this fruit, quite possibly my favorite. It’s like the strawberry of the spirit. Just like a pint of strawberries sometimes is tainted with rot, my kindness is sometimes tarnished, but I find I’m much happier when I show kindness to others and when they show kindness to me. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” - Bambi

Last, and quite possibly the most difficult fruit to swallow for the general public is the ever-dreaded SELF CONTROL. We each suffer from a different nemesis. I’ve found the easiest way for me to practice self control is to stay completely away from the things I can’t resist; using the ‘out of sight, out of mind” philosophy. That being said, I can generally restrain myself from completely hoarding out on all the food groups… except for the small little sections devoted to ‘sugars.’ Fortunately, the Lord promises a way out of temptation, for me that avenue is chocolate. Don’t want it, don’t care for it, I don’t even think twice about it. Additionally, when I indulge in sweets, I don’t like foods like fudge that are so rich that a single bite does the trick. I need something a little blander that I can indulge in a whole serving or three or four.

In cooperation with my summer project of making new recipes everyday, though, it’s not particularly clever to make the desserts I crave because, as explained, I lack self control. Instead I bake things I don’t really care for and work to fatten up everyone else around. It was suggested that I make something really sweet and rich, and thus the chocolate caramel cake was inspired. Two layers of chocolate cake, coated in chocolate frosting, and drizzled with caramel glaze. To tasters, delicious. To me, an excellent display of self control.