Temptation thy name is go-go taquito

Why must I be such a weak woman? 

I tried being a vegetarian, but I got fat.  And since I much prefer to be a size 4 over having to buy jeans in double digits, I think I'm going to go back  to my old diet.

I'll still indulge in salads and grilled cheese sandwiches, but look out take out, here I come.

A couple of years ago, breakfast was a calorie laden overly preserved blueberry muffin washed down with half a gallon of diet coke.  With a mid morning snack of a sugar free energy drink, the monster 16 ounce size, please.  Lunch/dinner was what ever sounded good from the gas station.

All  gas stations have road food.  Some of it is simple beef jerky and potato chips.  Other establishments carry packages sandwiches with a over processed meat and plastic cheese.  But there is almost aways something to eat at a gas station, even if it isn't always tasty or even edible.

You can always count on Seven-eleven to have a fine selection of hot dogs and other eat and drive foods.  Nothing calms road rage like a platter of almost stale chips covered in a gelatinous cheese like substance (make sure you presquirt the cheese or you'll get the cheese booger) topped with what is referred to as chili.  

And Quick Trip, talk about gourmet to go.  Diligently watching the times on the grab and go delicacies keep the egg rolls crisp and the doughnuts soft.  Wash it all down with 44 ounces of Sugar Free Rooster Booster, and life is good.

But my ultimate weakness is the bbq chicken sandwich at Rhodes 101 on West Columbia.  There isn't any secret recipe.  They take left over chicken strips, soak them in bottled bar-b-que sauce, and load them up on a honey roll.  Adding cheddar cheese might take it up a notch, but why mess with perfection.

So, while I have issues with all the hormones and antibiotics loaded into animals in the corporate farms, I simply can't turn away from an Arby-Q sandwich.  And the smart part of me knows that breading and deep frying food is bad, but it sure makes it tasty.  I guess I'm a quitter, but never has quitting ever tasted so good.

Oh, and who told the people at Rhodes that it was fine to raise the price of Guinness by two bucks a six pack.  I really don't want to give it up, but I may have to at these prices.

Are you ready for some (fantasy) football

Since the strongest muscles in my body are the ones used to right click the mouse and pull the cork screw out of the wine bottle, yall know I'm not in prime physical condition.  That's why I participate in fantasy football.

If you are more familiar with Jimmie Choo than Jimmy the Greek, fantasy football lets you make your own dream team of players and compete against other "coaches" based on the individual stats accumulated by the players.  

So, each week, I scour the injury reports analyze stats and make my moves. Sometime I drop a player or five.  Usually wide receivers,  unless you have TO or Ocho Cinco, they're pretty interchangeable. 

And defenses.  I bottom feed, I pick the worst most turn over pron team and select a defense to challenge them.  Sometimes, especially if  it is a weak defense, I get burned.  But a good defense will slaughter a bad offense.

But for me, the ultimate football fantasy is Ed. 

Ed is the uber NFL Official.  Not only is Ed a fine physical specimen, his background in the courtroom prompts him to possibly over explain infractions.  If I happen to find (stalk down) a game Ed is officiating, I root for penalties.  Not just a little hold (10 yards, repeat the down), but clipping which allows Ed to show off more than his guns. Or any infraction that requires more than a canned response.  Bonus points for  any coach that challenges a call.  

Back to our regularly scheduled programming

So last week was the grape stomp at Twin Oaks.   It was a charity event supporting the Sheltered Workshop that employs developmentally challenged adults.

This is my Team,  The Wiley Coyotes

Fat Girl on the Right, Me, and Laura preparing to stomp. And rocking the 

retro Italian peasant garb.

Since I was on my game in July, we were one of the 

first teams to sign up.  Since Twin Oaks used the frist

come first stomp ordering system, we were stomping 

in the first heat.

Each heat consisted of five teams stomping the juice out of a 

barrel of grapes. I went first since well we started drinking and I 

shoved my way to the front of the line.

Me, in a little number I whipped up at the last minute, because I'm crafty 

and shit. And Fat Girl on the Right as Fat Ass in the Air

The process is fairly simple, each team member stomps the grapes for

two minutes each. After the six minutes, the juice is weighed to 

determine the winner of the heat. The winner of each heat advances 

to a grand stomp off.

So, the whistle sounds and the stomping begins. I jump in with 

both feet. I go for style points by doing a circle stomp. And then 

a high step stomp. There was a side to side stomp and a heavy

on the heels stomp. What another minute? OK, now I'm pretty 

much running in place and damning my lack of physical stamina. 

Finally, the whistle blows and we switch.

This time, it's my ass in the air.

And now Fat Girl on the Right jumps in. She's looking all 

spiffy in a little peasant skirt tied up between her legs and 

re-purposed muumuu. Laura and I are picking degraped 

sticks out of the barrel and checking the flow.  Apparently 

the holes drilled in the bottom of the barrel get a little clogged

with the naked bunches and grape skins. And, since the 

purpose is to separate as much juice from the grapes and get 

that juice into the bucket, keeping the holes clear is vital.

See, it's a muumuu. Serious, a nonfatty wearing a 

fucking muumuu in public. And she thinks I dress poorly.

And switch. By the time Laura gets her feet in the barrel, there's 

more skin and twigs than juicy grapes. Now, the key is to move the

slop in the barrel around so that any juice in the barrel or the few 

grapes left get into the bucket. She slips, slides, and sloshes about. 

And done. 

Laura, spoting the modified John Deere farm wife look that 

is gaining popularity with the cool kids.

So, the officiants pull the "juice" from under the barrels.  

There was liquid in the buckets, but I wouldn't call it juice.  

Imagine a black lumpy soup served up to Andrew Zimmer.  

Yeah, it was that nasty.

We didn't make it to the stomp off, but we did have fun. And

we learned a few valuable lessons for next year.

1. Let the heaviest person go first, that's when the holes are clear 

and the grapes are the juiciest.

2. If enough people from work show up to form a second or third 

team, shame them into playing next year.

3. Stomping grapes for two minutes is hard work. Must work out 

before I have a heart attack. Or drink more red wine.

4. Becareful about letting drunk people take action shots

5. If you want to win the Lucy Look A Like contest, dress in drag.

6. Next year, we're going with the Lucy get a designer dress look,

because burlap sacks have to look better than this

Me, later that night rocking out with Heart and Chrsity and Lisa and Kathy. We don't take too many pictures, we

don't want too much evidence.

And Butthurt Over

So Homer is over his butthurt in a record two days.  Yup, he is no longer determined to prove what a great and dedicated employee he is and content to go back to his slacker ways.  By the time Thursday rolled in, he was brewing coffee, discussing the latest reality television show, and generally fucking off.  Nice to know how resilient people can be.

He's still convinced that he is an essential cog in the machine that moves the mail.  Oh how wrong that man is. 

And people wonder why I just don't care at work.  I show up, do my  job, and go home.  I do it all day long with a shit eating grin on my face. Why? Because, in the long run I know that he'll always be a miserable tool.  

The mail doesn't sort itself

It's never a good sign when the first words out of your mouth in the morning are "mother fucker."  Quickly followed by"god dammit, where the fuck are my keys."  

Even at 2:00 AM, its all down hill.  All day, all down hill.  

So, after poking my self in the eyes to get my contacts in (one of which was inside out, but I didn't really have the time fix it) I flew through the house trying to find my keys, grab a granola bar, and remember what day it was.  

By the time I actually started my car, I knew I was going to be late.  My goal as I hit the highway was to limit the lateness.  That and avoiding the string of small town cops looking to generate revenue.  

Luck in transport, unlucky in love. I managed to make it only a couple of minutes later than normal.  So, things were looking up.  Until I realized that the other person that was suppose to be at work wasn't there.  Great.

And then, as I approached the gate, there's a fucking tree, ok half a fucking tree, blocking part of the gate.  I got through without much trouble, but I was thinking that the semi wouldn't quite squeeze through.  

I tried to move the limb. But being that I wasn't in the mood to hurt myself and the phrase, "this doesn't seem like a good idea," went through my head.  I left it. (The voice in my head that says that something isn't a good idea is NEVER wrong)  I ended up calling the boss just after three to ask if there was a  chain saw handy.  Cause  me and a chainsaw at three am is such a fantabulous idea.    All I got was "grumble, grumble, blah, blah, leave it.  I'll be there."

As I start to work and I noticed that Homer (or the lazy idiot i have to work with but not his real name) hadn't finished a few things before he flew out of the office Saturday.  Great, because there isn't enough mail to fucking sort on a Monday morning.  The first thought through my almost awake brain is "What the fuck Homer, work interfere with your snaking time you fat fuck."  

I just started doing all the other crap I had to do.  And wait for the truck to rip off the gate.

 Then the boss shows up and moves the limb/tree and walks in.  He looks around and notices all the mail to be worked.  Of course all the union rules and accepted practices state that the boss isn't suppose to actually do work, but since the clerks won't do it, what the hell, the mail doesn't sort itself.  He's about halfway through the Saturday leftovers when he starts asking questions and it dawns on him that the parcels A) showed up Saturday, B) Homer was the one that worked that afternoon, and C) Homer didn't get squat done. 

I just keep doing what I need to do.  All the while the boss is stewing.  And then in walks Homer.  Knowing the boss' temper and everyone's propensity to ask "What you been doing Homer?"  I knew it would be a good one.  And so it goes, what did you do?  

Of course he rattles off a list of things we all do anytime we close, but we usually get everything done.  Homer is the king of making excuses.  Nothing is ever his fault and he thinks he's working hard.  Somehow, no matter how hard he works, Homer never actually accomplishes much.  Maybe it's the semi hourly comfort breaks and the nonstop snacking, but I'm guessing that he's his own roadblock to success.  

So, Homer gets all indignant and actually works hard for the rest of the day.  And then he goes and talks (another weakness, because he can't talk and work.  Seriously, he actually stops working to have a conversation) to other employees about how mean the Boss is to him.  Not much sympathy was to be had.  Pretty much everyone is tired of working harder so he doesn't have to.

I finally break down and tell him that he needs to work harder.  He says he works.  I remind him just because he's moving and looks busy doesn't mean he accomplishes much.  I also went on (because by the time I decide to say something I often don't stop until I've said too much) say it's a damn shame a grown man has to be babysat at work.  He was a little hurt that I felt that way.

Today, he was less chatty and more productive.  He'll eventually get over his butthurt and return to his old habits.  That's the cycle of  things at work.  He gets yelled at and his feelings get hurt.  Homer works hard for a few weeks, and things are back to normal.  Until then, the mail won't have to sort itself.

The Day That Would Not End, Again

I work some real ugly hours at work.  Most of the time, I have to be at work at 4:00 AM.  On occasion, I get to start at 3:00 AM, those are my favorite days.  And if you believe that I've got a nice condo on the beach in Flagstaff that I can cut you a deal on.

Anyhow, Saturday started like all the other days, up at three to be in by four after tossing and turning for five hours.  It didn't help that I didn't start working on my skirt for the grape stomp until about six the night before.  (I do my best work on a tight schedule)  And so I was up until about ten or so.  More on the skirt and the grape stomp with picture goodness later.

Taking a step back a few days to Monday, Chrsity, one of my buddies, and I were sketching out a plan to go to the Pirate Fest.  Last year we had out pick of days, this year not so much.  The event is Saturdays and Sundays for the last three weeks of September, so there had to be a day that it would work out.  Well Saturday was out, I had grapes to stomp.  Sunday was looking like an option, but I would have to miss a Catholic picnic. (No, I'm not a Catholic, hell, I'm not even a Christian, but who can resist quilt bingo and beer.)  Now that she's married, there is this other person that I have to clear things with before plans can be finalized.  So after eliminating every other day, we decided that today would be the best option to go the Pirate Fest.

And then Lisa told us she had tickets to a concert Saturday night up in St Louis.  Cheap Trick, Heart, and journey (without Steve Perry, they're not Journey) would hit the stage at Riverport/UMB Bank Pavilion/Verizon Wireless Amphitheater Saturday night.  So the wheels in our minds started turning and we came up with a genius plan.  I'd go to work, go stomp some grapes, then high tail it up to St Louis for the concert, after the concert we'd get a room and go play pirate on Sunday.  And it was a good plan.

Until that bastard Ike blew into town.  Of course we have the standard panic pricing on gas and the warnings that they could go over $5.00 before the end of the weekend.  Yeah ,Exxon.  So then the weather started to play a role.  If we had the predicted torrential rains, the grape stomp would go on, under a large tent, but it would go on.  The concert, no so much and the pirate party might have to be no gos. 

As the weekend approached, the weather loomed large, but we had a plan dammit.  Until Kathy decided she need to go to Nashville.  She had a good reason and needed someone to go with her to drive a second vehicle back to Missouri.  

So we needed a new plan.  Then it all fell shit and we decided to play it by ear.

The skirt got made, work went almost like it should, grapes got stomped, and we all managed to meet up for dinner before the concert which was going to hold off for a bit.

We decided (wrong) that the rains would come and the pirate fest would be a no, so we actually only took one vehicle (which was a mistake as well) the concert.  The concert rocked, what we say of it.  Cheap Trick was adequate.  Heart absolutely fuckin' rocked (probably more on that later) and the journey took the stage.  The new singer was good,  but for some reason Lisa decided to leave.  I thought she was tried and wanted to get the Nashville road trip part of her weekend started.  

I was wrong, she wanted to go to the boat.  Being that I was broke and don't really enjoy throwing away good drinking money into a machine, I wasn't exactly sure that it was a good idea.  But, since we only took one car I was stuck.  We finally dragged her off the Double Dolphin machine a touch after twelve thirty.  This was a slight problem since Christy told her husband we would meet up with him at one thirty in Farmington.  

I am so tired right now, I finally got home about three this morning.  I really really had to pee, but didn't want to stop, because I really, really, really wanted to go to bed.  I take out the contacts, bush the fangs and crawl into bed.  And couldn't sleep.  My sinus are a little stopped up and my throat was scratchy from yelling and cigarette smoke in the casino.   So I decided to take a shower to wash the smoke smell out of my hair and try to clear out the snot.  Once my hair was mostly dry, I crawled back into bed about five thirty.  At seven, the alarm clock goes off to wake the kid for work.  

So I put my contacts back in and grab a Diet Pepsi and started working on my fantasy football teams (more on that later to) and the day goes on and on and on and on

Stomp them grapes

Inspired by one of the funniest episodes of I love Lucy, Twin Oaks Winery and Vineyard is hosting their second annual grape stomp.  While the Vitavetavegamin episode still makes me almost pee my pants, the grape stomp episode is lots of fun.  Watching Ethel racing back and forth with the juice sloshing all over.  funnah.

So I've manned up with Carrie and Laura to challenge all of St Fraoncois Country for top mashers.  We'll all get a two minute turn in the grapes, while a team mate lugs the juice to a holding tank.  The top teams gain entrance into the stomp off and eventually rule the world.  OK, get a trophy, but ruling the world sounded better.

They use white grapes, so I won't have grape stained toes to show off to the world.  Getting to dress up like Italian peasant and stomp grapes is sure to be a hoot, expecially since I can imagine that every grape is my boss' head.

One thing undone at a time

I forgot to mention that I tend to procrastinate, so posting will be intermittent at best. It's not just ordinary just putting things off for a few minutes or hours or days. I just start start things and get side tracked and things don't get finished.

So I go the bright idea when I started to redo my bathroom that I wasn't going to start any new projects until I finished my bathroom. That was in April or May. So the floor got finished. And the walls are painted. I installed a new medicine cabinet and vanity. Installed a new light fixtures. Other than the floors, all this was accomplished on my own.

Now, five months later, all that is left is to install a couple of decorative shelves. And hand the new shower curtain. And some trim work around the closet door. And baseboards. Oh, and I haven't gotten to rehanging the bathroom door. Just a few minor details.

So I figured that whole not starting anything new until I finish the bathroom was out the window. In the last month or so I started a few other little projects.

New floors in the living room and kitchen. Thank Ceiling Cat, there were hard woods imprisoned under carpet, padding, and particle board. Of course they need to be refinished. And then there is the gypsy costume that is begging for a little attention. I think there is a pile of dirty laundry that might was to be thrown into the washer. Then it will get into a pile of clean clothes that need folding or hanging.

I'll get to it. As soon as I finish a the dishes. And there's a movie on TNT (fuck Roadhouse , why must I watch you) that I can't miss.

Wedding Show Addict

I am seriously addicted to wedding shows. Not just the celebrity style specials.

It all started years ago when I got wrapped up in the Princess Diana wedding and the Sarah Ferguson spectical a few years later. The highly anticipated, top secret dresses. The horse drawn carriage. The princes were simply accesories to the celebration. And, as we all found out later, not prince CHarming, but prince you'll do for now.

Then LIfetime, Style, and E would do periodic wedding specials on the latest celebrity dresses and wedding cakes. Then, when that attention whore (I don't really watch so I can't remember her name) Bachelor and Bachelorette got hitched to the "winner" of her show programming geniuses realized weddings are a gold mine.

The shows are unscripted drama, which means minimal usage of writers and other paid artists. And, all brides are attention whores, so they want us all to join in their happiest of days.

Here in no prticular odrer, are some of my favorite wedding shows.

Say Yes to The Dress, TLC. Usually new episodes premire on Friday nights after What Not to Wear.

This allows us to follow the trials and tribulations at an upscale bridal salon in Manhattan. Lots sof dresses and lots of brides. Small doses of crazy.

My Big, Fat Redneck Wedding, on CMT

Not sure if Tom Arnold is laughing at the bride and groom or celebrating the lack of pretense. These wedding often involve camouflage, hog roasts, 4 wheel drives, and lots of beer.

WeTV is the biggest pusher of wedding shows.We Go Bridal,

WeTV has Platinum Weddings, Wedding Central, Bridzillas, and Rich Bride, Poor Bride showcase the wedding most of us will never have and rib our noses in it. Some of weddings feature floral bugets that most peopel wouldn't spend on a car. There are event planners, site managers, and a staff of organizers, coordintors and managers that any fortune 500 would be proud tp employ.

I may never marry again, but even if I do I won't be able to afford a platinum wedding. I know weddings are all about celbrating love and life, but some of these people go a little overboard.