BOO!

Hidden indiscretions…we all have them. Overstuffed envelopes containing love letters of yesteryear, a little locked box with pixilated images and of course the ever popular, naughty drawer. Memories and alter egos, stashed and hoarded away with the notion that our eyes are the only one’s that will ever peer into our unmentionables. And then the day comes…dun, du, du, dun, duuuuun….when others are inadvertently made privy to the fact that not all of our dirty little secrets are taken to the proverbial grave.

Personally, I’m an emotional packrat. I save everything from movie stubs to post-it notes and champagne corks. I suppose this trend begins in the hopes that each new encounter will ultimately become the relationship that lasts through my golden years. I revel in the idea that someday I’d be able to fondly remember the play off series or the trip to the amusement park on our summer vacation. Each tangible item in the “memory box” would evoke an emotional response. My heart would swoon as a smile crosses my lips while aimlessly rocking on the porch sipping lemonade. What? A girl can dream, can’t she?

Okay, Okay, so in theory, having a sentimental treasure trove has warm and fuzzy written all over it. In reality…not so much. Imagine for a moment, your purest, gawdliest friend or family member. Now, imagine the shock and awe you might endure if you were to unexpectedly discover that they secretly fancy zoophilia, numerous sexual partners, cross-dressing or if you’ve struck the mother load…all three simultaneously. WHOA! Suddenly your impressions have been shattered into tiny bits of convoluted irrational thoughts leaving you with nothing more than unanswered questions.

In the event of my permanent absence there are very few people I could fathom sorting through my life and discovering some of my, shall we say…questionable activities. Although I’m not generally one to keep secrets that certainly does not mean that I would ever want my survivors to see my bits in high def or read about my summer vacation to Mexico when I was a not-so-innocent barely legal teen on the verge of a starring role in Girls Gone Wild.

Here’s a little food for thought…if others would be horrified by your possessions of X-rated paraphernalia, years of memoirs or that you still harbor a crush on Scott Baio, I highly suggest you invest in a paper shredder and schedule a bonfire in your near future! No one needs that kind of unsolicited information floating around in their grey matter distorting their untainted opinions and memories. If you’ve got skeletons in your closet…for the love all that’s unholy, get rid of them! Spare the damage to your children’s psyches when they discover that you’ve used their kindergarten paper mache piñata to store your nipple clamps and whatnots!

It’s time to give up the goods…what secrets are you hiding? Are you an emotional pack rat or do you binge and purge? And, how would you feel if you came face-to-face with current lovah’s past conquests?

Holding Off on the Hug Jamboree

As many of you know, I am currently involved in a long distance relationship. While my mans and I have a pretty decent handle on emotional closeness, sometimes I just miss the physical touch of another human being. Not sexual necessarily…just…bodily contact with another adult-type person.

Now, now, stop raising the eyebrows; I would never, I repeat, NEVER cheat on my boyfriend. But the other day whilst surfing along the cyber waves I came across an article about something that gave me pause…“cuddle parties.” Of course I had to investigate further.

So I ended up on a site appropriately named oc-cuddle.com. These people came across like touch-pushers; going on and on about how unhealthy it is to not be getting your daily dose of nutritious and delicious man-handling. Uh oh, thought I. Am I going to become a touch-anemic?? Do I need the kind of relief only a G-rated hug jamboree can bring??

But the deeper my reading got, the more deeply disturbed I felt. I quickly realized this stuff = not for Trista. And you know I don’t like to feel creeped out alone, so I am going to drag you down into the world of squeeze-soirées with me! Whee!

First off, you’ll want to know that these folks do have some ground rules, 15 of them to be exact. You can read them all on their site, but I decided to discuss a few of ‘em with you. (My commentary is in red…)

• Pajamas stay on the whole time. - This ain’t no nekkid party folks! Thems down the hall…

• No SEX. (Yep, you read that right.) - Again, may I refer you to that party down the hall…

• Kissing and nuzzling, as well as other forms of touch, are allowed, but you must ask permission and receive a verbal YES before you touch anyone. - Now, when they say other forms of touch, do they mean “got your nose!” touching, or “oops, I accidentally pinned you down under me with my hand on your vagina!” touching? What’s the difference you ask? You are so not invited to my cuddle party…

• You don’t have to cuddle anyone at a Cuddle Party, ever. - Sweet! All you voyeurs out there, you can go to watch people…hug…that oughta be a hoot.

• NO DRY HUMPING! - Are you getting the asexual vibe here? Cuz I am starting to…

• If you’re in a relationship, communicate and set your boundaries and agreements BEFORE you go to the Cuddle Party. Don’t re-negotiate those agreements/boundaries during the Cuddle Party. (Trust us on this one.) - “Well baby, I know I said I wasn’t gonna touch no one’s boobalies but yours, but look at that woman’s boobalies! No baby, really…would you just look at her luscious…where ya going…?”

• Get your Cuddle Lifeguard On Duty or Cuddle Caddy if there’s a concern, problem, or question or should you feel unsafe or need assistance with anything during the Cuddle Party. - Your cuddle lifeguard? In case you are drowning in a sea of pathetic? And what is the caddy for…to bring you a four iron to clunk people in the head in case the freaks go native on you?

• Crying and giggling are both welcomed and encouraged. - Just not at the same time, because, well, that’s creepy…even for gropers-r-us.

• Be hygienically savvy. - No one likes doggy breath in a puppy pile!

Anyhow folks, you get the idea. I know I am being a tad harsh, but what I found in my exploration filled me with a hard core case of the heebie-jeebies. I realized something about myself while perusing the site, I really am not comfortable with the idea of rolling around on the floor with a bunch of pajama clad strangers.

So what kind of people DOES this concept appeal to?

I mean, really? Instead of creating intimacy with people in your life, you have to pay 30 bucks to be touched by an unfamiliar?? I suppose I should be proud of y’all for making your way out of your grandma’s basement, but come on! This doesn’t seem like pro-touch healing to me, but more like a scam that is feeding off the lonely and socially stunted.

Maybe the founders are right…maybe we are living in a touch-deprived society. But thinking about that statement makes me want to go pick up my kids and hug them…not pay to pet a stranger…(especially the kind of strangers willing to hand over money to be fondled by people they don’t know…)

So, to each their own and all that, but this is one social scene I shall not be exploring further. I will look fondly to the day when I can be spooned (and get forked) by my boyfriend again, but until then the only snuggling up I am going to be doing is with my own pillow. And thanks to cuddle.com I feel 100% better about the waiting.

So my friends, what do you think about this? Are you just a fluffy-wuffy cuddle bunny looking for a place to get petted? Or are you thinking this is perhaps a wee bit creepy? Would you pay 30 smackers to get touched by a stranger? Do you believe that grown-ass adults should get involved with something called puppy piles? I need to know!

Mmmm…Mmmm…Tasty!

“Mmmmm, Carol, I just love your meat!”

Get your minds out of the gutter, folks! These are, however, popular words when it comes to my cooking. Granted, there are countless ways to marinate, tenderize, flavor and cook every type of meat known to man. Almost all of them are more detailed and time-consuming. Martha Stewart would probably farm-raise her cattle and add 187 steps to the process.

Cooking should be fun. For most, that means easy, as well.

My goal today is to share an easy recipe of mine that has garnered many a fan during the past few years. It is fantastic for a small family and is easily doubled or quadrupled for larger gatherings.

Proving that some of the tastiest dishes are pure and simple, try this Italian Beef on for size. I prefer to serve it on toasted Kaiser rolls or French bread. I melt a bit of smoked provolone, mozzarella or sharp cheddar cheese onto the bread while it is toasting. What? I like my beef with a little cheese! Truth be told, I use whatever is stocked in my refrigerator.

The three most common side items I serve with it are pasta salad, mashed potatoes or spinach salad. It depends totally on if my mood is carb driven or if I feel like lighter fare. Today, let’s get to the meat of the matter.

Buy a roast. I use shoulder roast, typically. I love it when I find it for $1.99 per pound. Value in my meals makes me unbelievably happier to cook them.

Buy a multi-pack of Good Seasons or store brand mix for Italian Dressing.

Buy a jar of pepperoncinis or even mild-banana peppers. Personally, I think the pepperoncinis lend a much better flavor to the beef.

Now, this is the challenging “cooking” part.

Throw the roast into a crock pot. Add two packages of the Italian Seasoning mix and half a jar of peppers or pepperoncinis. You will also add about half the juice from the jar. On larger portions, I have been known to pour a bottle of beer into the mix, as well.

Cook it all night long. The next day, it should fall apart with a fork. If it does not, cook it a few more hours. This is not a science, it’s cooking. And, yes, I realize there are those to argue my view on the subject.

Once it is falling apart, let it cool down. As you take the meat out of the crock pot, taste it. Take a couple of bites and figure out if you want to add more Italian Seasoning, salt, pepper or anything else. If anything, I usually end up adding another half a pack of the Italian Seasoning. Do not add it to the crock pot, yet.

While you can do this part with utensils of some type, I am a fan of doing it with my hands. I am sure somewhere in the actual Cooking for Dummies, there is reference to wash your hands. I trust you all do this with as much anal-retentive attention to detail as I do.

Removing the meat from the crock pot, separate it fully and remove any fatty pieces still in tact. I also remove the cooked peppers/pepperoncinis. Why? Because they do not look pretty. Seriously.

Use a large spoon, cup or ladle to add some of the yummy sauce back to the meat. I tend to put a strainer over the meat to catch any fatty fragments. In other words, I don’t ladle. I just pick up the crock pot, pour the whole thing over a strainer and let the juices cover the meat.

Now that the crock pot is empty, I put the fat-removed, oh-so-tasty beef and all the juices back into the crock pot. I add any additional seasoning I deem necessary, as well as the other half jar or so of reserved pepperoncinis/peppers. Do not add any more of the juice from the jar.

Italian Beef can sit and cook as long as you like. It does not require a timer. Thirty minutes is plenty of time to cook the fresh peppers into the meat.

The meat will be ready to serve whenever you get your toasted bread out of the oven. It will look pretty and taste great. Maybe, just maybe, it will leave you feeling satiated and more satisfied with your performance in the kitchen. Serve and enjoy!

Are you still awake? With all this talk of beef, I don’t know whether to ask if it makes you hungry or horny! Anyone willing to cook this at home and report back on their success?

The Mom Squad

I don’t have what some would call a ‘conventional’ job. Yet, as in any job, whether it’s stuck at a cubicle, in a warehouse or driving a bus; there appears to be an ever present sub-culture that seems to go out of their way to make your day miserable. I don’t have to deal with the office suck up, catty secretary pool or even inappropriate water cooler jokes. Which, who are we kidding? I would so be the person telling inappropriate water cooler jokes!

I do have, however, the dreaded clique often referred to as The Mommy Police. I don’t have any children. I tell you this because it’s the first thought that pops into my head the second I choose to open my mouth and judge an actual parent. Being someone that works with children every day, I am keenly aware that when I leave for home at the end of the day the little ones are not held up in a sparkly crystal case until I return. That said, back to being judgmental. Yay!

Any new park or playground I visit, I make an effort to identify them immediately. They aren’t exactly an elusive bunch, or maybe my radar skills have increased over the years. They’re a tight knit group of wealthy, stay at home, neatly and permanently pressed, sweater wearing beasts. You’ll find them parked on the bench farthest away from their children, forcing them to yell and screech their child’s names at a decibel akin to a pterodactyl. They are the dark cloud over a Happy Place.

Oh, yes! The children! You know those richly dressed miserable mopes that are left to their own devices? That’s them. They could all dangle from the monkey bars by one foot as long as there is a gated fence, and they don’t interrupt the Mommies conversation about thread counts. ‘Your snack is in the bag! No, we are not going home, and you are not tired! Run off and find your sister this instant!’ Charming.

I’ve managed to avoid many a confrontation with these Mommy types all over the city. Mostly because I make them think the sun shines out of my ass. Learning how to appease their massive egos has saved me a lot of grief. I say nothing, bite my tongue, and nod my head. I mean really, they’ve been ALL over the city and they still can’t find a decent patio umbrella! Don’t get me started on the lack of proper woodworkers on The Cape…their cabinets at the beach house are practically 10 years old! Oh, the shame!

What saddens me about these women is that they truly do not enjoy their own children. It’s a very fancy form of neglect. Dress them up nice for strangers, and then treat them as such. Children seem to be the tools of their marriages. An excuse to seem terribly busy, even though they had a Baby Nurse, a Night Nurse and a part time underpaid Nanny they treat as a slave.

I’m not necessarily proud of myself for all the tongue biting. I’d really like to scold every last one of them for their bullshit attitude towards those ‘things‘ scampering around at their heels. Until then, I will smile, nod, and dream about a day where I line them all up, and give them one long Three Stooges slap across their perfectly shaped hair-dos.

Welcome to the weekend boys and girls! Is your work week over? Anyone you are looking to avoid come Monday morning? Dear, God! Am I the only one who has been subjected to the Mommy Police?

Florida Blows

Florida living has many perks. I mean it is Florida!! It is sunny and you are never more than three hours from the beach. Our winter is almost non-existent and there are years we wear shorts at Christmas. It doesn’t get much better than that!

But then there are the storms. If any of you have been following the news today you know that in my area (An Island located in Extreme North West Florida) is about to get a ton of rain and a Tropical Storm named Fey. Or is it Fay? I have no idea. I have watched the weather channel for fifteen consecutive hours and can tell you which directions the front is coming and the current temperature of the ocean, but not sure of the spelling of the storm.

It goes to shows what this type of situation can do to a gals mind.

I want everyone to know that I realize this type of weather is no laughing matter. Anyone who watched TV or was in the area during Katrina knows this. But, when you are in an area that dodges around seven named storms every summer, you must have a sense of humor about the situation. If not you will go insane.

Some folks actually throw “Hurricane Parties.” After boarding up the house invite some friends over and then drink until the storm passes or until you have to shuffle to the local High School aka Shelter. Unless you have a generator. Then you are the most popular kids in this zip code. Everyone is coming over. And they want microwave popcorn and to play some Wii.

There is even a drink, aptly named, “The Hurricane”

This is not how I choose to spend my pre-disaster time, at least not since Katrina. It showed all of us that hurricanes are a constant unknown. And it is best to be alert and prepared instead of drunk and incapacitated.

Will it hit? What category will it be? Will it stall? Will it strengthen? Will it turn? Will we need to evacuate??? Where will we go?? We never know ANY of this until around 2 hours before it actually hits. And even if it doesn’t hit and just grazes us, we live on an island 15 miles long, give or take. The electricity goes out when the tide changes. Needless to say, we will be down for a WHILE.

So, 3-5 days BEFORE anything happens you have to be prepared for the worst. This means prepared to live without anything for days on end.

Have you ever been packing for a weekend trip and packed way too much because who knows what you may do Saturday night and what mood you’ll be in to pick an outfit, etc. etc. So you pack EVERYTHING?

Imagine having to pack one car load of everything you may need or want out of everything you own. Wind, floods and tornadoes are the biggest worries in regards to destruction. Because of those side effects you could come home and find you have nothing left. Sometimes, not even walls.

Or it will pass by and just rain some.

It is just that kind of emotional rollercoaster. And frankly it is a pain in the ass.

Last year was pretty tame, so I was unprepared for this season. I went to “SUPER WALMART” fought the masses and got what you see here.

Sarahh’s guide to hurricane preparedness!

And yes. That is Beefaroni and Bean Dip.

When it is all said and done all you can do is hope that you avoid the worst and can survive the part you don’t want to think about, yet have all the Vienna sausages in the world to get your through, just in case.

Here’s to hoping no Vienna’s this weekend.

What kind of natural disasters happen around you? Twisters? Earthquakes? How do you deal with the possibility of disaster? Do you party or do you panic?

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