Because I am awesome...........

I am making a homemade feast for my husbands 30th birthday party. Spaghetti that takes all day to make, garlic bread that is crisp on the outside yet chewy on the inside, bacon cupcakes and beer cupcakes, and beer ice cream.

I have had quite a few requests for the recipes, so I'll share a few of them. I will not now or ever give up the spaghetti sauce recipe. Ladies, if your husband has it once, you will never be able to cheat and open a jar of store sauce again. I speak from experience. My husband went blissfully happy for 4 years with my sauce that was semi-homemade before he had my mother's sauce. And since then, he turns his nose up at that "crap from a jar that is so bad, even the noodles revolt and try and get away from that sauce". I am doing you a favor, I promise.

The beer cupcake recipe comes from Big City, Little Kitchen and they are awesome! The dark chocolate & bacon cupcakes are from A Good Appetite, and although I haven't made them yet, they sound amazing and I can't wait to try them.

Beer Cupcakes

Cake

• 1 cup Guinness
• 1 stick, plus 1 tb, unsalted butter
• 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa
• 2 cups dark brown sugar
• 3/4 cup sour cream
• 2 eggs
• 1 tb vanilla extract
• 2 cups flour
• 2 1/2 tsp baking soda

Glaze*

• 8 oz cream cheese
• 1 1/4 cups confectioners’ sugar
• 1/3 cup milk

Preheat oven to 350; butter a muffin tin.

Combine the Guinness and the butter, chopped into 1-inch chunks, in a large sauce pan, and heat to melt the butter. Remove from heat, and whisk in the cocoa and sugar. In a bowl, whisk the sour cream with the eggs and vanilla, then add to the beer mixture. Sift together the flour and baking soda, and fold into the batter. Pour into muffin molds and bake for 25 minutes, or until inserted cake tester comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes, remove from muffin tin, and cool completely on a rack.

Using a mixer, whip cream cheese until smooth, sift in sugar, and beat. Add milk, and beat until smooth. Spread glaze over cooled cupcakes.

*To create a thinner glaze, use a tablespoon or two more milk; for a topping more akin to icing, use less milk, and perhaps more sugar. In either case, add a little sugar or milk at a time, mix, and check for desired consistency.

Dark Chocolate & Bacon Cupcake

8 slices good thick-cut bacon
1 c unsalted butter
1/2 c Hershey's Special Dark Cocoa
3/4 c water
2 c granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 c well-shaken buttermilk
2 T vanilla
2 c all-purpose flour
1/2 t baking soda
1 t baking powder
1/4 t salt

Preheat oven to 350 F. Prepare 24 muffin tins.
Chop bacon into about 1/2-inch pieces. Cook over med-high heat in a skillet until bacon is brown & crisp. Remove bacon with a slotted spoon to a paper towel to drain. Pat any remaining oil off the bacon. Set aside.
Melt butter in a large heavy saucepan over moderately low heat, then whisk in cocoa. Add water and whisk until smooth. Remove from heat. Whisk in separately sugar, eggs, buttermilk, and vanilla. Sift flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into the cocoa mixture and whisk until just combined (it will be a little bit lumpy). Stir in bacon.

Fill muffin tins to about 2/3 full. Bake for 20 minutes until a skewer or toothpick comes out clean. It's a moist cake, so don't worry if a few crumbs stick to your tester.
Allow cupcakes to cool.

Makes 24 cupcakes.

My husband has requested a few bacon cupcakes with beer icing and a piece of brown sugar bacon put on top. So I will do that for him because I love him dearly. And it may help him cope with turning the ripe old age of 30 a little more gracefully.

Holy crap, really

Have I really let a post my husband wrote stay in the number one slot for that long? Damn, now that is just lazy. I could point out that most days, I am busy as hell. Or that I have 3 children, a husband, and a dog to take care of. And that I sit on the board of directors for not 1 but 2 organizations. And that I just ran an all school fundraiser that was riddled with issues because it was my first year in this position.

I could make those excuses, but I won't. Because I'm awesome like that.

The only other reason I can give is that my life, although hectic and crazy, would not be that interesting to most of you. And it would probably make a lot of you ladies stay on birth control for longer than really necessary.

I can give you some high points to tide you over until something crazy happens if you would like. If you don't like, get the hell outta here. Now. Like, right now.

I can tell you that even though the economy sucks, the fundraiser I just had at my school only made $100 less than last year. And we had two less students get the coveted prize of a hummer limo ride to lunch than last year. I was very happy with the outcome, and we made a lot of much needed money for our school. I learned that common sense is not so common, and that parents, not children, are the biggest morons sometimes. There were blank checks sent in, order envelopes with no order forms, just a lot of cash, checks made out to god knows who, and order forms with no money whatsoever. The whole thing ran for 2 weeks, and I was so thankful when it finally closed. Now I just need to get through taking 68 kids on a limo ride, and passing out cookie dough to parents that obviously did not read the pick-up time and date letter I sent home. After the many emails and phone messages I received, I had to stop and wonder why I even took the time composing those memos, notes in the PTA newsletter, and posting reminders on our fb page.

As for soccer, you all know my great hunk of a husband has been coaching Evan's team. And that after 2 weeks, he was ready to throw in the towel. I don't think he had quite understood what it would mean to have not just Evan NOT pay attention to him when he was trying to explain something to him, but 6 other kids be lost in lala land, too. We have already lost 1 kid for 2 weeks because he got a concussion on the bus (there's a story there, but I can't tell it. but it was goooood), and he has yet to return, even though it's been 3 weeks now. Then, Evan came home from school with a broken finger (more to that story later). Now we went from a 7 kid team to a 5 kid team, and if one more kid is out, we can't play. You need to have 2 kids on the sidelines ready to play, and we won't. Not to mention the fact that if Jay wasn't coaching, we wouldn't have to attend all the practices, we could just go and be supportive of his team on Saturday's (non-raining ones, of course, because if I don't have to go to a game in the rain, why would I?).

Now on to the broken finger story. About 2 1/2 weeks ago, Evan came home and said that he had hurt his hand playing basketball during recess. He had gone to see the school nurse, who put ice on it and sent him back to class. When he showed me, it looked a little swollen so I gave him more ice. Within an hour, the finger had swollen to over double the size and was black from the bottom of the finger to the knuckle. He couldn't bend it and he was in a lot of pain. I gave him Tylenol for the pain, and didn't think anything of it. Jay said it wasn't broken and I don't know why, but I believed him (sometimes I forget that he's not a medical professional just because he works in a hospital. I also don't know why I believe him when he swore our daughter was fine with a 104 degree temp, and I called bullshit and took her to the ER only to find she had pneumonia. I should just always listen to my mommy instinct because it rarely fails me. Or just do the opposite of what Jay says. Either way works, I guess.) I gave Evan more Tylenol at bedtime, and again in the morning because it was really bothering him. The swelling hadn't gone down at all over night. I called and set up an appointment for that day with his doctor and crossed my fingers that it was just a sprain.

Of course, once the doctor looked at it, she requested an X-Ray. She thought if it was broken, it was on the growth plate, so it would need to be tended to. Once she had the film in hand, she couldn't tell if it was broken so she had the radiologist take a look with a promise that we would know by the next day. She splinted it and gave him a note for no physical activities for a week. The next day, the call came that it was, in fact, broken on the growth plate and I set up an appointment to take him in for a cast.

After taking Evan out of school an hour early, driving to the doctor's office 20 minutes away for the second time in 2 days, and paying ANOTHER co-pay, the doctor walked into the room and immediately went into a shpeel about how he wouldn't be casting it because Evan should be able to leave the splint alone for 4 weeks. I tried pointing out numerous times that Evan is 6 and can barely walk and talk at the same time without falling on his ass because, again, he is 6. And he's a Ferris, and we are not graceful people. The doctor again refused to cast it and said to make an appointment next week if he wouldn't leave it alone. He suggested making a star chart for good behavior, and I suggested he just cast it because if a star chart didn't work for potty training, it wasn't going to work now. Finally, we got up to leave. I turned and said to him before I left that I would be seeing him Monday morning to have my son put in a cast, because as his mother, I already know how the weekend would go. And that if he never intended to cast it, he should have called and said it instead of making me drive all the way there, wasting my time and gas, plus Evan missed an hour of school. I also informed him that I refused to pay another co-payment when I brought him back because this visit was crap. Then I left.

Of course that weekend, we went to Portland to visit Mason, and of course Evan fell flat on his ass after "surfing" on the hard wood floor, fell off the skateboard he refused to stop playing on, and smacked into everything with his broken, splinted finger.

First thing Monday morning, I called and insisted Evan get an appointment that day. And when I got there, they asked for a co-payment, and when I stated my case (quite forcefully) the guy just said "Um, I don't know about that. I need to ask." and I said "Yeah, you do that. And I'm sure they will agree with me. The doctor did nothing but talk on Friday, so there was nothing to charge me for. Can you really bill my insurance for that? How about I call and ask them? Will this office reimburse me for the gas I wasted coming here 3 times in 3 days because no one can figure stuff out?" and you know what, he did not get "someone" because he apparently saw my reasoning. That, or he realized I was 5 seconds away from going bat shit crazy in front of a roomful of mothers and kids.

When the doctor finally graced us with his presence, he seemed a little pissy about Evan not leaving his splint alone. I reminded him a bit rudely that I had told him on Friday a 6 year old would never leave a splint alone and trying to get him to not play is never going to happen. That shut him up. It took all of 10 minutes to cast Evan's left ring finger, and then we left. We have until Nov. 3 until that thing comes off, and I am sick of looking at it and smelling it.

It's pretty sad that a 6 year olds broken finger is all I've got to share with you.

Beyond the Overlap

The fact of the matter is that this post has been a long time coming. Christie and I first talked about guest posting for each other around a year ago, or at the very least some lengthy duration that afforded us a year's worth of opportunities for less talking and more writing. Thankfully this is one of those occasions where it matters more that you got there than it does the way you went or how long it took. Sort of like getting a GED or having your first threesome.

Now that I'm here, what to write about? Your average guest contributor is rife with unfamiliarity as far as the audience is concerned, making it easy to work the "about me" angle, or perhaps introduce yourself anecdotally. Such is not the case on this page. I already know most of you, Christie's readers, and you know all about me. I'm the guy overly-versed in sarcasm, unwanted mental imagery, and boob euphemisms. And unlike most blog swappers, she and I don't have several degrees of social and personal separation between our lives. We are an "us". Both our names are on the checks, the house, and more bills than I care to be reminded of. I mean c'mon -- our fucking genetic material is bonded and completely responsible for the creation of two amazingly weird kids. So you see, my molecules and her molecules are too far up in each other's business to feign any ignorance whatsoever.

But that doesn't mean one of us begins where the other ends either. Whether you believe in opposites attracting or that love is best sowed on the fertile plain of common ground, most couples actually land somewhere in between. A truth I'm happy about since I'd rather be kept guessing, and besides, you can only have so many similarities with your partner before the whole thing starts to feel like you're basically sleeping with yourself. Which is only awesome if you're not a dude.

This got me thinking about how all those likes/dislikes are in some respect a sort of "fingerprint" for the relationship, and where most people might see a neatly-ordered list in their head, I saw a Venn diagram. Which then magically leapt from my brain onto the computer, for the sole purpose of being shared with you here today.

Our Relationship Fingerprint
(click image for larger version)

Update: Christie said I had to take "anal" off of the diagram unless I was willing to move it from her side and into the middle. Point taken.

So this is how I feel about it.....

Now even though I dislike Perez Hilton, he usually says what he feels. And this picture is how I feel as well. So, I'll admit I stole this from his page.

Kanye West is such a douche. I'm quite fond of his music, and I get that he is gifted. But I don't need him telling me how gifted he is, and then taking it upon himself to storm the stage year after year to try and force his will upon us all. Dude, no one fucking cares that much but you, so let it go. It's a plastic moon man, you can buy them at the trophy shop. If you promise to shut the hell up, I'll have one made for Beyonce and send it to her (not that she'd accept it, because I honestly think she doesn't care).

I didn't watch the VMA's (we did the responsible thing and got rid of our cable), but I did catch up with the highlights on other blogs and You Tube. Beyonce, Pink, and even Jay-Z rocked the house. I especially loved Pink, because it was awesome how she swung around and still sang live. Most performers now adays cheat and lip sync, which sucks, and defeats the purpose. If you can't sing live without tons of backup, you can't really sing. My opinion, people.

Lady GaGa, however, I'm not sure about. She kind of freaks me out a little, which I think is her point. She is a truly gifted songstress, but I could do without the freaky deaky outfits and the Queen Amadala headdresses need to go like ASAP. How the hell does she walk, let alone, see in those things.

Us vs. Them

In a few short weeks, I will reach a point of time I have a really hard time dealing with. My daughter will turn 6. And that isn't the main reason I get upset. Yes, it's hard when my "baby" gets another year older. And this year it is even harder because she will be joining Evan at school.

No, what makes it hard is that I will have 2 6 year olds. Not twins. In different grades. Now, I don't know about you other parents out there, but depending on what I'm up to that day, I can get asked about my kids ages multiple times a day. Right now, I can say I have a 5, 6, and 11 year old. Not a huge deal, right.

But in a few weeks, I'll be saying I have 2 6 year olds. Which is always, always followed up with "Oh, so you have twins", which makes me have to say "No, they are just close in age." Which is followed up by "How close?" and I have to answer with "Oh, 10 months and a week close."

And then I get the stare. Now, after 6 years of this, I know what the stare means, although it differs from male to females.

Here's how the female conversation finishes:

Female: (completely shocked, eyes open wide) Oh, wow, you must have been busy. You poor thing.

Me: Yeah, we were completely shocked, too.

Here is what we're saying under the kind words:

Female: What a whore. You deserve it for even thinking about putting out so close to having a baby.

Me: We were fucking floored, but at least we have all the shit already.

Now, here is how the end of the conversation goes with the males:

Male: (laughing and so wanting to high five someone) Wow, you're husband is awesome. How'd he talk you into that?

Me: Um, well. Ah.

What the male is really thinking is this:

Male: Jay's wife is whore! Awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Um, well. Ah. Douche.


Us females also have a different version of what happened to get us pregnant in the first place. I believe it went down something like this:

Me: Man, I have a headache. Babe, will you please bring me some Tylenol.

Jay: Sure. (checks medicines cupboard, finds extra Vicodin, starts forming a plan). Here you go, hon. I brought you 2 just in case. Awesome.

An hour later, I am passed out in bed. Jay puts the baby to bed, strips down, climbs in bed, and the following conversation follows:

Jay: Honey......wake up......you wanna have sex?

Me: Flurg......snore.....snore........

Jay: A'right!

3 months later he is no longer "A'right"ing anything. Haha. Uterus 2, Jay 0.

Now, Jay's version probably goes something like this:

Porn music playing, of course.

Christie: Let's fuck!

Jay: A'right!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See how the men and women differ on this.

Maybe I'm back, but we'll see

After a long, looooong weekend, I am finally off a lot of my medications. It only took me being rushed to the hospital via ambulance for someone to realize that a lady with a freaking ulcer should not be taking 7 medications multiple times a day. Without going into too much detail, because I barely remember half of it, I'll just say that my husband thought he was going to be the Widower Ferris at our kids first day of school.

After surgery, I got an infection that they were treating with very strong antibiotics. They had to be taken multiple times a day, and even with food, I could feel my stomach, and ulcer, acting up. By Saturday, I was down for the count. After a huge lecture from the doctor who treated me at the E.R., I tried very hard to take all of the pills on Sunday. And failed. But still felt like death.

Monday I was told to stop taking the antibiotics. Awesome. I was also taken off the pills that made me feel like a stroke patient.

Now it's Wednesday, and I'm already feeling much better. My stomach and ulcer are still a little pissed, but I can feel them calming down.

Jay has been awesome during the whole thing. He has cooked and cleaned the kitchen daily, and even did laundry when he found that there was really no laundry fairy delivering towels to the hall closet (it takes 2 hand towels to dry a 6'7" man, btw). But he said the gig is up on Friday, and I can take the damn kitchen back. Oh, well. I still have 2 more days.

I'm so cranky, I'm annoying myself

My dog is so dumb, I am ready to just open the door and let him go. No kidding. So Jay was cleaning out the food scrap bin that has been sitting in the back yard for God knows how long because it is my turn to clean it out and really, I just don't fucking care, and I forgot about it, and I batted my eyes and told him I loved him, and maybe I threatened him a little, long story short, he went out to clean the thing. Apparently, some meat was in there and it had gone bad, like bad bad. And even though Jay poured dish soap over it, and even though he told our 6 year old son to shut the back door, which he didn't do, Charlie ate all the rancid food that was in the food scrap bin. The rancid food that has been sitting in the food scrap bin during the hottest fucking summer ever. So Jay walks into the kitchen and notices someone has actually shut the door but shut the dog outside, and the dogs whole face is brown with all the rancid crap. Of course, Jay points out that he is of course my dog, and I just look at the dog and look at Jay and say,

"Put him down, it seems fucking easier and I just can't deal with this shit right now"

but then miracles upon miracles happen and what should I hear, "When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell", oh my glorious ring tone! So I run and take it, and I have to take it because it's a phone call regarding soccer, which I am a board member for. So I talk and talk, while my husband so nicely washes the dumb dog, and cuts off his beard, and sends me to Petco to buy out their Greenies, which our dog won't eat, and doggie cologne, which he now runs from whenever I pick it up.

Luckily, he stayed with my mom that night because I could not have dealt with him. Hell, I can barely deal with myself.

I love the dog, I really do. But in the list of importance, he is dead last. First comes the kids, then Jay, then the dog. Where do I fit in? I'm a mom, sillies, I don't matter. Only men add themselves to their "Important" lists.