I Want To Make One Thing Clear - As Soon As I Figure Out What That Thing Is....

If you have children, you probably remember your pre-child days and wonder, "What did I do with all that time before these pure id little versions of me came along?"  (Id [Freudian] - the "me me me me" part of your personality that is the center of your known universe, the "Fuck you, world!  I want a popsicle NOW!" part.)  That's sort of how I feel about life after Facebook, only in reverse.  Where did I find all that time to care about whether 300 of my closest friends were out of peanut butter, or out of their minds?  I haven't found a few spare minutes to spend on - hold onto your mom jeans - pinterest.  I haven't even found time to blog lately, and all these thoughts trapped in my head are building pressure.  I've been having all these memories (flashbacks) lately - of the time I ate over a pound of calf fries before I knew what they were, the time I had to prep calf fries to be cooked (*Skip this explanation if you're squeamish - Prepping calf fries involves washing the bull testicles, cutting and peeling off the skin, re-washing, and then butterflying them like shrimp.), and also the time I got attacked by Clark Smith's goat.  Goats are relentless bitches.

So I've felt the need to go shopping lately, not because I like shopping (which I totally hate), but because I'm tired of wearing only yoga pants and tank tops/t-shirts.  I deserve more from my wardrobe.  Since I have a loathing of all things retail, and since I have precious little time to devote to something like shopping, I decided to do it online.  Remembering my affection for Forever 21, I logged on to their website only to be greeted with my wardrobe from 20 years ago.  Wtf, Forever 21?!  Cutoff mom jeans and sailor stripe middies?  Put that with a Debbie Gibson hat, and there you have my old closet.  Shaken, but not yet ready to admit that I'm getting old (past my electric youth), I headed via modem to Charlotte Russe.  Damn.  These clothes were plucked from my 20-year-old closet as well.  Reluctantly, I logged on to kmart.com, and jackpot!  Oh, hell.  I am old.  UPS, my big, brown Santa Clause, should be delivering my order today.  Color me excited!
*Update - My clothes arrived, and I LOVE them.  I quickly put on my favorite outfit out of the lot, and my husband told me I looked like a farm girl.  So?

Happy me in my new Kmart farm shirt.

I LOVE music - music of all kinds (unless it's whiny country, and then you're on your nasally own, even if every damn light in your house is on).  My favorite artists include Dave Matthews Band, Mumford and Sons, Michael Buble, Skankin Pickle, Sister Hazel, Tristan Prettyman, Blues Traveler, Don Henley, Coldplay, just to name a few.  I could go on for hours, but honestly, who wants to read that?  One of my favorite songs is "Drive" by The Cars.  I think that my affection for this tune is owed, in no small part, to the irony of it.  Who else would sing a song called "Drive?"

In unrelated news, I was bitten by a flying ant today.  I was bitten by several normal ants this week too, which sucks because I'm way allergic, but the flying ant seemed especially unfair.  Hey, let's take something terrible, but mostly avoidable, and give it wings!  Evolution, you're a dick.

That is all.

Farm Times: A True Story OR "Don't Be Afraid, Just Reach In and Scoop." (I couldn't decide on a title)

I had toast with jelly this morning for breakfast.  Remarkable, huh?  Not so much. But every time I eat it, I always remember how much I really like jelly, and then I go on this nostalgic mental train ride where my mom used to make all our jelly out of sandhill plums and from the peaches that grew on the weird little peach tree in our back yard.  At least, I think they were peaches.  The flesh was white, and the outside was always green, even when they were very ripe.  They never got properly peach.  Then one year, the tree just died.  Suddenly.  Can trees have heart attacks?  It was like that.  The train ride (Yes, we're back on the train, guys.  Keep up.) where I grew up on a farm, fed our cow/future dinner, was woken out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night on more than one occasion to help deliver a litter of piglets (Have you ever done this?  Deliver piglets, not wake up.  Cad.  It's wonderful and amazing and unbelievably damned squishy and gross beyond compare.  Nothing like making life happen when you're elbow deep in a pig vagina, your dad in the background like some awful cheerleader out of a redneck nightmare, saying in his most encouraging voice, "Don't be afraid, just reach in and scoop."), and where having both a railroad box car full of baby chickens and a random farm animal in your yard was normal, the train ride that ended up with me being me.

So, I've been met recently with some incredulity about my having grown up on a farm.  I guess I just don't seem very farmy?  So yes, y'all, I didn't make all this up, and I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate it either.  I did grow up on a very small farm, and last night, I found the pictures to prove it.  Enjoy a walk down my weird little memory lane:  

In order of appearance, from left to right:  Annie, Me, John, cow/dinner
That shed blew away in a tornado shortly after this photo was taken.

When I was 7 years old, I was roused from a peaceful slumber
to go help these little cuties get born.  Awww, they grow so fast.
And to set the record straight, yes, this is the pig, the one with the vagina.
See the boxcar in the background?  That's the one full of
baby chickens (who look cute but are actually monsters).

Here's me on my horse.  We called him Lightening.
I don't know why.  He wouldn't go faster than a walk.
That's probably good because I was a pretty clumsy kid.

So, you may have noticed there are no pictures posted in my blog of me serving up hot meals to Florida's less fortunate or snuggling sea turtles.  You may have also noticed I'm not sporting purple hair, or throwing back some rocky mountain oysters (calf fries, bull jewels, swinging beef, cowboy caviar, etc).  You may be wondering why this is.  If you're thinking right now, Well of course you're not, crazy.  What in the world are you talking about?, you should read this.  If you have read that, and you're wondering why I haven't done the things I promised, I can assure you it's not because I don't want to.  Sea turtles are attractive creatures, right?  Totally snuggle-worthy.  And I think I'd look super hot with purple locks.  It's simply because I haven't reached the donation levels I've set for my son's school thing.  If you're wondering why not, I can tell you, I am wondering the same thing.  If I had a dollar for every read I've gotten this month, I'd be on a mechanical bull right now instead of in an office chair, writing this entry.  I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.  On the bright side, I'm not likely to be thrown from my chair, not that it hasn't happened, but I'm sober right now, so it's not likely.  Yes, guys, I know this is shameless.  I don't care.  We are coming down to the wire (May 10 is my drop-dead date for most of the money - $8000), so if you can give, please do.  If you've been sending your good vibes, keep it coming.  You must be doing something right because I have received some very generous support from our local businesses.  I will be sure to write an entry about them once this is all said and done, and I'll give them the mad props they deserve.

*Update:  I just sent out a giant stack of letters asking for support.  My son has also agreed to do some volunteer work in exchange for donations.  His volunteer choices are making oyster mats, a day-long beach clean up and helping build a house at Habitat for Humanity.  I will be honoring those donations with my promises as well.  So basically, he and I will both do the things we promised, regardless of the source of our donations.  Wish us luck!

My happy little winner.

Because You Can't Mail Children

I went into the post office accompanied by several children, ages 10 to 13.  We waited patiently in line until it was our turn.  When we stepped up to that weird high post office counter, the lady politely asked, "What can I help you with today?"  So friendly.  I replied, "I'd like to mail these to Indiana.  Preferably overnight.  How much does that cost?"  She looked all confused and was like, "Mail what?"  I rolled my eyes (only in my head, though, because it's rude to actually roll your eyes at people, even if they are being obtuse) and waved my hand back toward the gaggle of children behind me. "These," I replied patiently.  "I need to get these guys to Indiana.  They don't have to be there until June, and like I said, overnight is preferable.  I'm just trying to find out how much it will cost so we can budget accordingly."  That's when her face got all funny and she quietly suggested I leave the post office.  That's pretty much how it played out at the UPS store too.  You'd think with a name like Goin' Postal, they'd be more understanding.  What's wrong with people?  We should all be so budget-minded.  That's what I think.

So now that it looks like mailing children is not an option (I have yet to ask Fed Ex, but I can't really see it going any better.) we still have to find that original $10,000 we're trying to come up with to send them to the Future Problem Solvers International thing in Indiana.  (click here for a refresher:  http://whatelainasays.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-clown-fish-is-winner.html)  If you want to help these brilliant kids (seriously, you guys, they are way smarter than me) get to the international competition in Indiana, there are a few ways you can donate. The first one involves a smartphone.  Scan this QR code:

And then download the snap.tap.give app.  It's free and super easy.  The suggested donation is $5, but you can go all the way down to $1 and presumably all the way up to about Johnny Depp's salary.  Totally up to you.  Another option is to send money via PayPal to fundraiser.wflfps@gmail.com.  And if none of these work for you, comment me, and I will get you an address where you can do it old school (send a check via snail mail).  The donations are totally tax deductible, and they come not only with our undying gratitude, they also come with a list of dares and do-goods - things I will do if we reach certain donation goals.  Here's the list:

$100 - I eat something gross (calf fries, chocolate-covered crickets, stuff like that)

$200 - I donate a morning at a soup kitchen

$300 - I dye my hair purple

$400 - I volunteer a day at the Sea Turtle Preservation Society helping our cute little shelled friends live quality lives

$500 - I ride the next mechanical bull I see

$10,000 - I get a pink flamingo tattoo (the Florida Future Problem Solvers logo is a pink flamingo)

You may have noticed that there is a gap in that list.  $600-$9900 are missing "challenges" because I'm out of ideas.  I thought of alligator wrestling scuba diving with sharks, but while I'm totally down, those things are expensive and that sort of defeats our purpose.  Please feel free to comment with your suggestions (or if you know someone who'll let me wrassle their gators for free).

I will take pictures and post them so you know I really did the things I promised.

Thanks, y'all!  And as always, much love.

I'm posting this picture of Adam Levine for three reasons:
1.  He's very hot.  (Even if you're a dude, there's no denying it.)
2.  It's a thank-you for reading my blog.  You're welcome.
3.  My entries always get more hits when Adam Levine is included
and I'm totally shameless in promoting my kid's fundraiser.

Guess What?!? I Now Come In PG!

I started a new blog, guys!  It's just like this old one, only shiny and new and with nicer language.  It's called Me In PG, and you can get to it here:  http://meinpg.blogspot.com/

The reason I created it is actually in my first entry over there, but let's recap, shall we?  In case you're too lazy to actually click the link, or your fingers were suddenly broken, or whatever.  My son and his phenomenally smart friends won a state competition, so they were invited to go on to Indian to participate in the international competition for Future Problem Solvers.  You can read my entry about it here:  http://whatelainasays.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-clown-fish-is-winner.html

The only problem is that it's hella expensive to make it where they can all go, so I'm soliciting donations.  You can also read about that in my other blog too.  I'm basically offering to do things like eat gross stuff and dye my hair purple to get donations so his team can go.  There's even a tattoo in the mix, but it's not cheap.  Here's the link to the blog with the details:  http://meinpg.blogspot.com/2013/04/sacrificing-some-of-my-time-and-lot-of.html

I'll also post the details on this one here later.  Basically, you can send donations through PayPal (email:  fundraiser.wflfps@gmail.com), or you can scan this QR code to donate from your smartphone.  You'll have to download an app, but how hard is that?

It's high-tech panhandling, y'all.  If you donate (or if you already have) THANK YOU!  If you're not able to donate, no hard feelings.  I love you anyway.

Much love and many thanks!

Macaroni and Cheese, Bitches!

There's a title that really benefits from proper punctuation, eh?  Imagine if the comma was missing.  That would be crazy awesome, no matter how you slice it.

So, I'm a little pissed as I write this tonight.  My mom (the polypollyist) is the goddess of homemade macaroni and cheese.  I do well if I can produce something edible and not too overtly orange (like me after a spray tan) out of those little Kraft boxes.  Tonight, I feel like giving my kids a little more than the oompa loompa of the  mac and cheese world, so I'm trying to figure out how to make this shit in a pan in the oven with actual cheese, y'all. And I am failing.  So I tried to call my mother.  That's what you do when you're adrift, right?  Doesn't matter that you're way past 30 and been on your own for a bit.  In fact, the first three Ramen-with-corn years don't even count.  Neither do the three following Hamburger-Helper-with-corn years.  So, I figure, I'm only 12 years into this, and if I can make the most kickass enchiladas and chicken fried steak and roughly 14 badass chicken dishes like a boss, then I have a get out of dinner jail free card.  Unfortunately, the ever-easy, yet totally unkind mac and cheese is eluding me like a bitch.  So, since my mom isn't home, I naturally turned to google and found this nugget.  Let's see how this goes.  My first thought, upon reading through the recipe, is that this woman is also a goddess of mac and cheese and totally awesome.  My second thought is, Fuck, I have to make a roux?  What is a roux?  Let the games begin!

Here's a link to the recipe in case you missed it up there:  Link to awesome mac and cheese recipe  (You gotta read this first, or the rest makes even less sense, trust me.)

Ok, so I forgot the egg.  Just totally forgot.  Well, I mean, I got them out of the fridge, cracked one, beat it like a little bitch and then left it sitting right on the counter.  Fuck you, egg.   It's baking now (the mac and cheese, not the egg), and it smells good.  I'm a little frustrated that the recipe doesn't provide a cooking temperature, but we'll cook it at 350 (I'd cook it at 311 ideally, but my oven won't let me) and forgive her because she's still pretty awesome, especially with all those pictures that I didn't bother to post.  I'll let you know what the kids think when it's done.

Votes are in, and it is.... fanfreakintastic!  It was all melty and delicious.  I made the macaroni SUPER al dente, so I added a little milk to make sure my noodles wouldn't break your teeth.  I also used 1% milk instead of whole because that's just how I roll.  For the cheese, cheddar and monterey jack, and I threw in salt, paprika and even a little parsley because it's pretty.  I would have added a bit more pepper and maybe some cayenne for a kick, but it is a hit, and I will be making it again, fo sho!

Part Deux of My Trip Back Home: The Part Mostly About Food

This is the pecan farm.  Huge and beautiful.

Who would have thought it would take this long to finish a blog entry?  I wrote part 1 of my trip home back in...? January!  Here's a link if you need catching up:  the link to that other entry.  Now, you're all caught up.  So, I left off at cow poop.  When visiting eastern New Mexico/west Texas (let's just do the Bennifer thing here and combine it into Weastern New Texico), cow poop is the beginning and end of lots of things.  Well, the end of lots of things anyway.  Mostly your appetite.  So we drove on into Roswell (sorry if you're lost.  I am a little lost too.  Let's just stick together, and we should be fine.), and we spent the week on my Granddad-in-law's massive pecan farm.  We (meaning not me) murdered squirrels, ate our weight in pecans (totally me), and enjoyed Christmas, country style.  They have lots of tractors on their farm and llamas in their yard, and we totally pigged out at the Golden Corral.  It was super fun, and it's always great to see family.  We also made the trip to Carlsbad Caverns that week, and I was happy (as a native New Mexican) that my kids got to see that wonder of the world.  It was a long hike, but a cave like that is amazing by any standard.  The sheer size of the caves, and the formations inside are mind blowing.  Additionally, I got lost around Artesia, and that is scary like a Stephen King novel.  NEVER get lost around Artesia, y'all.  Carrie and some sentient cars are always lurking around there, along with Blaine the monorail and Randall Flagg's rundown boots.  (If you're all WTF? right now, please check back when you're nerdier.)  

...or not to sell pecans?  That is the question.

This is what happened when little kid Chuck Norris decided to
dig a hole to China.  BAM!  Carlsbad Caverns, baby.

Eventually we headed to the Clovis-Portales area.  My stomping ground, if you want to stomp on peanuts, I guess, or cow poop.  That's abundant everywhere out there.  God, now we're on cow poop again.  Sorry, y'all.  Portales is called Goober Gulch by those in the know because peanuts are sort of its bumper crop (and peanuts are also called goobers), unless you count wind.  There is a shit load of wind.  Most of my family is still hanging on in that neck of the woods, so I was excited to see them.

We interrupt this blog for some incoherent thought processes. (Because, you know, coherent thought has been the name of the game so far, right?)  Please proceed to the nearest exit if you're a sissy or a stickler for story telling that actually makes sense.  I would just like to take a moment to point out some inconsistency between the Schoolhouse Rock teachings of the 80's and modern day common knowledge.  In the 80's, we were taught (via talking salads and other foodstuffs) "You are what you eat."  Now we learn that zombies have a healthy appetite for brains, yet they are quite stupid.  'Nuff said.  Here's a link to support my theory:  The Link That Supports My Theory

Oh, boy.  If I had a sushi restaurant, the feature item on my menu would be the Rick Roll.  That would be good stuff.

We now continue with our regularly scheduled thought process.

Everyone should have such a rhino in their front yard.

We stayed the first night in the Goober Gulch vicinity with my dad, which is always an adventure.  He had, during our previous visit back in July, a 2 1/2 foot tall fiberglass rhinoceros in his front yard, which he had carefully painted to look "realistic."  Of course he did.  If you've read the previous blog entries about my dad (or if you know him personally), this probably seems outrageously normal.  But the kids totally loved the rhino, and spent lots of time "riding" it.  Sadly, the rhino was gone during this trip, and the kids lamented its leaving.  Even so, staying with my dad, there is always potential for adventure.  He and my stepmom were not only gracious enough to put us up, but they also let me host an impromptu house party, and I got to see lots of people who are near and dear to my heart.  

And this is in my dad's yard.  He painted it, and I decided
to include it just because I like it.

The rest of the trip was spent enjoying time with family and trying to cram as much of the local food in my mouth as possible.  If you ever have occasion to visit Clovis or Portales, New Mexico (I can't imagine why you would, unless you're from there, but you just never know), here is a list of must do's and must-eats:

This was my delicious burrito

Allsup's Convenience Store - Fried burritos with lots of taco sauce.  Don't knock convenience store burritos 'til ya try 'em.

Leal's Mexican Restuarant - Chili relleno.  That is all.

Taco Box - Green chili cheesburger and/or combo burrito and spanish fries (no, they are not just tater tots)

My little one is obviously thrilled about
the candy store.  They're not lying about
the giant peanut patty either.  Thing's as
big as a pizza!

Leslie's Candy Company on 7th St. in Clovis - They are the only one in the world and the real deal.  They make all their candy on site in this little building in an older part of town.  Their ribbon candy, cinnamon lollipops are all amazing.  Plus, it's the only place I know where you can get green chili flavored peanut brittle.  Or was it jalapeno?  Whatever.  It was green, and it's really good, I promise.

Twin Cronnies in Clovis  - It's an old-fashioned drive up, locally owned and a Clovis original.  I like the jalapeno cheese balls and fried okra, but their burgers are all incredible too.  Plus, there are totally dancing hot dogs on the sign.  You can't go wrong.

Pat's Twin Cronnies in Portales  - totally different than the other Twin Cronnie but equally awesome.  They have tons of great milk shakes (peanut butter is the bomb diggity), and you have to try the fried cheese on a stick.  It's like a corn dog, only with cheese where the frank should be.  Sooo good!

JJ's Jumbo Burgers  - I'm pretty sure somebody just started this place in their kitchen and opened their back porch for business.  Seriously.  But the burger meat is the freshest ever and all locally grown, mostly by 4-H kids, and the fries are made out of actual cut up potatoes.  Take that McDonald's!

Main Street in Clovis - It was hit hard when our first mall and Walmart opened up in 1989 (Clovis was a late bloomer), but there are still a lot of great local merchants out there, and it's definitely worth a look.  I mean, you're in Clovis, so what else are you gonna do anyway?  Plus, most of Main Street is still brick, so that's pretty cool.

This is it - my Grandmother's kitchen.

My Grandmother's kitchen - But you can't go there without me.  Seriously, I don't think she'd understand.  She has always made the best enchiladas in the whole world, and the ambience is perfect.  All homey and stuff.

The high school football stadium

My souvenirs from home

And that's pretty much it for Clovis and Portales.  I've provided links (or at least Urban Spoon links) in the list where I can, so you can waste even more time on here if you're really bored.  You're welcome.  Although fine dining isn't really much of an option, the place is a foodie's dream, but it's otherwise pretty devoid of unique things to do.  The people and the food are pretty much the best parts of the whole area.  If you happen to be there during football season, you could catch a game at the high school (Leon Williams Stadium).  Clovis is definitely a Friday Night Lights town, and it's where Hank Baskett got his start.  You could also visit the Blackwater Draw Museum, I suppose, though I wouldn't recommend it.  It's pretty boring.  Sometimes there are art exhibits at the Clovis Community College and at Eastern NM University.  The only other thing to do there is leave.  You can take a drive to the more scenic parts of New Mexico, like Ruidoso, Santa Fe, or even Albuquerque, or pop on down to Fort Sumner for a trip through the Billy the Kid Museum.  

*Author's note:  I blame much of this blog entry on allergy meds.

If the Underwear Fits...

Wow, two blog entries in a day.  Is that normal?  Probably not, but who cares?  The last one was an "everyone" entry.  It was about my kid and his awesomeness, suitable for all audiences.  This one, not so much.  I mean, it won't be vulgar (well, not very vulgar) or violent, but I do like the freedom to speak my mind.  So if you're sensitive, you should go play with a puppy now.

Still here?  Good.  You'll be glad you stayed.  First on my agenda is Adam Levine.  That puts me in what, the 98th percentile?  He is going to be in Orlando at the end of the month.  Sigh.  So close, yet so far away.  The concert is already sold out, and I'm broke as a joke, so it doesn't matter anyway.  What I wonder is how many pairs of panties the janitorial staff is going to have to sweep off the stage after the concert.  Why do you do this, ladies who throw panties?  Do you think he's going to pick yours, fall in love and then come find you so you can live happily ever after like some skanky version of Cinderella?  Can you imagine how that door-to-door search would go?  "Um, excuse me miss, but are these your drawers?"  Speaking of Mr. Levine, and I often am, I had a great idea for a birthday party game.  Instead of pinning the tail on the donkey, we could draw the tattoos on Adam Levine.  Heck yes!


And while we're on the subject of gorgeous people, some Colombian model has announced that she thinks eating chicken makes people gay.  I wonder if she also thinks that eating people would result in gay chickens.  Being a supermodel, you would think she would have plenty of gay people around to point out her flawed ideas.

I was thinking the other day that maybe I could prostitute my blog out to Google and let them place ads on my page.  Then I would get some sumpin' sumpin' for all this entertainment I provide.  Turns out, they will not let you do that if you use "excessive profanity."  Really?  Just what do we call excessive?  If I'm talking to my young children colorfully, that's probably excessive.  But say I'm at a sailor convention?  Or Ozzy Osborne's house?  What say you, then Google?  Is the judicious use of the word "fuck" excessive?  

My mom and I were talking about imaginary friends and the fact that my kids have none.  Does this mean they are just that damn well adjusted, or that they lack imagination?  I can't decide, but imagination doesn't seem to be a problem thus far.  (overheard in my kitchen:  No, Jadie!  You're the walrus with a purple skirt!  The villagers are bringing you brocolli!)  But I had an imaginary friend.  He was Mr. Cooey, and he wore a tall top hat, like a way cooler version of the Monopoly guy, no monocle.  One day, though, he went on vacation to the south of France, and he has yet to call or write.  Bastard.  He's probably still out partying with his friends.  Being an only child, you might call that normal, to invent a companion, but my mom had a brother and a sister, and she had, like, 7 imaginary friends who were all named Polly.  She was a Polypollyist.