5:00 Fridays

When my girlfriends and I get together there's a whole lot of hoopla going on. We can somehow follow six conversations at once, sip wine while getting pedicures, read trashy magazines, gossip, and try on shoes, remark on what works and what doesn't, and swap lipstick shades all at the same time. Of course this is all after we've cooked and frozen three healthy meals, changed the sheets, mopped the kitchen floor, packed lunches, paid bills, stocked beer, and negotiated world peace before leaving town. We're quite adept at the one-man-band version of girls weekend.

This is no Moms Gone Wild I'm talking about (Unless of course you count the time a certain someone was caught dancing atop the bar after spinning some god awful Wheel of (mis)Fortune that pointed to the shot she'd have to down...which she, in somewhat sound mind, did. Twice.). And there was the time another certain someone, upon madly hugging her friend on the dance floor because Omigod! the DJ played our request "Pour Some Sugar On Me," tripped and toppled, landing on her elbow, which proceeded to swell to the size of a light bulb and required physical therapy. Yeah, never mind that. Where was I?

Truth be told, we generally spend our time lazing around in sweats (what I refer to as my "buffet pants"), watching sappy movies like The Princess Diaries (I and II), noshing on chips and salsa, giving ourselves facial masks, and giggling a whole lot. What we really dig is not being on a schedule or being interrupted eleventy times a second. On girls weekend, we can actually finish a thought. And a sentence.

And if we get a tish obnoxious on the dance floor, it's just because we're so excited to be grooving to something other than Victor Vito. You might get irritated and shout obscenities like Mother Fucker at us. But we don't care, because no one's calling us Mommy.


Mommacation

1 shot vanilla vodka
1 shot Rain Organic Honey Mango Melon vodka
3 ounces mango juice
splash soda water
honey & sugar to rim glass
lime wheel for garnish

Brush a martini glass with a bit of honey (not to be confused with the candy), then dip into a dish of sugar. Pour vodkas and mango juice into a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Strain into martini glass. Add splash of soda water. Garnish with lime wheel.

Repeat. Often.

Shake your booty.
Tip your bartender.
Hug your friends.

Call a cab.

Wordless Wednesday: Veteran's Day Salute

"Um, why are we getting the day off from school to honor animal doctors?" Bird, age 6

Steaz, Please

I've been drinking.

I recently got some samples of a new beverage hitting store shelves. While it's not of the alcoholic ilk to fit right in with 5:00 Fridays, it's a dandy drink nonetheless. And let me be clear here in the interest of disclosure: I got these samples for free, with no obligations to write a darn thing. You know that being the opining foodie and mixologist that I fancy myself to be, I like to share the little things that I discover and dig.

With that being said, as soon as I took one sip I tweeted that I want to marry this company.

I don't generally drink anything but water, coffee, wine, beer, and whatever I'm serving up at 5:00. We don't have soda in the house, and there aren't iced tea fixins to be found (reason enough to kick me out of the South...Shhh...mum's the word). My children get the choice of water or milk with the occasional juice (that I dilute with water). We do indulge in fresh apple cider in the fall and egg nog as soon as it lands on store shelves (sans brandy for the boys, natch). But this new stuff has just expanded my thirst quenching repertoire.

Well, I suppose by now you want to know the nectar of which I speak.

Steaz.

It's an all natural, fair trade, organic iced tea. Iced tea. Here comes another gonna-get-me-kicked-out-of-the-South confession: I am not a fan of sweet tea. But Steaz has an ever so slight hint of sweetness that is neither treacly like Bojangles tea nor nauseating in that carcinogenic, fake sweet way that the aspartame/Splenda crowd tastes. The flavors of Steaz are amazing. I think the pomegranate with a hint of lime is my favorite. I wouldn't normally be so gaga over a lousy iced tea, but anything that is all natural, fair trade, organic (and tastes good) totally speaks my language.

Let me be clear. Steaz is no big brand disguised as a newbie. Steaz is the consummate little fish in a big pond story. Make that a little fish in a Michael Phelps kind of way. Did I mention that you can buy Steaz in the ultimate of brand distribution hot spots. If you guessed Target you hit the bullseye! Happy dance that I can easily find this delectable refreshing treat that comes in a great big ole can!

But let's be clear, this stuff is so good, I might not share. Lucky for you there's a buy one get one coupon deal going on right now.

And don't be surprised if I try Steaz with a shot of some Rain organic vodka one of these days.

I Just Don't Get It

Based on some recent and some not-so-recent observations, I've been chronicling things that I just don't get. Some of this stuff simply makes my scratch my head (but not in that "That little itch could be telling you something." kind of way). Some of it simply irks me. All of it leaves me thinking "I just don't get it."


The Dirt & Noise I Just Don't Get It List

People who keep their dining room tables set at all times. Even though they never sit down for a meal there. Ever. Don't those dishes and swan folded napkins just get all dusty? Seems to me that after a while, your dining would start feeling like a restaurant that no one patronizes. It becomes a sad place rather than the hub of family time, festivity, and fabulous fare.

People who have formal living rooms with hand carved chess pieces left just-so on an ottoman by the fireplace. Keep in mind, these are people who are not clever enough to play chess.

People who have formal rooms that children are banned from. I figure my house is my kids' house too so why would I ban them from playing where they want to? Sure, we have rules. Like no sumo wrestling in the living room. No playing frisbee inside the house. I've been jolted by the sound of a pottery lamp shattering and multiple spills of a kelanchoe plant (three times in just one evening of late). Such is the price we pay to having children dwell among us. What are the alternatives? A kennel? The garage? The neighbor's tree house? Look, having children is what makes this house a home. I'll be damned if I ban them from being playful children in their own home.

Raisins. Why ruin a perfectly good grape that could be eaten in its juicy succulence or smashed into wine? Hmmmm...wine or trail mix filler? You tell me the better use for a grape.

Ferrets. And their owners.

Scrapbooking. Oh, I'm sensing some hate mail here. What I mean is that I don't get the actual crafty act of scrapbooking. I totally appreciate the end result but I don't want to paste a bunch of forget-me-nots and argyle socks and candy canes all over a book laden with cutesy captions. Call me old fashioned but I sorta prefer the ol' photo album (acid free paper, natch). And did I just use "scrapbook" as a verb?

Vanity plates that boast the make of a car. Like "BMW" on a BMW. Um, doesn't the logo already tell me that, dude? Redundancy (and idiocy) at its finest. Waste of money there. Clearly someone who has money to burn yet not a brain cell lit up.

I'd like to add Bible verse license plates too. This is not something I saw until moving to North Carolina. Tell me, Midwestern friends and readers, do you see this anywhere in the frozen tundra? I don't recall any of that from my 10 years freezing my bloomers off up there.

People who eschew cake frosting. Worse are those who prefer whipped cream topping to frosting. Blasphemous cake eaters!

Wall-to-wall carpeting. I've had it in all the apartments I ever lived in. I never liked it. It smells like carcinogens. What's the point exactly?

People who hang a big ass television over the fireplace mantel. In my world, that's an interior design no-no deserving of a Glamour magazine black bar. This one's for you, Sam. wink. wink.

Couples who take separate vacations. I mean separate his and hers getaways all the time yet no rendez vousing together. Nothing better than Mac Daddy by my side and a lazy stroll following our taste buds' every whim through the streets of a new city. I reckon that might happen again in oh, about 14 years. Til then, it's Family Vacation. Chevy Chase style, baby.

People who don't read. Books are my drug. My escape. My fantasy. My brain stretch. My dreams. My love. Nothing in my life has made me prouder than watching my son, my Bird, learn to read.


So tell me, what's on your "I just don't get it" list?

5:00 Fridays

It's no secret that I love coffee. Coffee ice cream is even my favorite flavor. One of the reasons I grind my own beans is that it just smells so dang good. I love the sound of peeling the foil off a new canister of beans. I stick my big fat nose right into the top and inhale. Deeply. Then I do it again with gusto. This is quite possibly what heaven smells like. I'd wear coffee perfume if I had it. I've found that a dab of real brew isn't so effective. And it can burn. Ouch!

I never understood the point of mixing a perfectly good cup of coffee with a perfectly good shot until I tried this:


Coffee Fit for a Nut

1 steaming cup of coffee
1 shot of hazelnut liqueur (Frangelico is one brand I bet you recognize.)
1 shot of creme de cacao
whipped cream (Not Cool Whip or the canned variety! Use the real deal.)

If you have one of those tall glass mugs that restaurants have, go ahead and use it. I prefer things more homespun so I just use a big ole mug my brother got as swag from TBS about a century ago. Pour the hazelnut liqueur and creme de cacao into the mug, add hot coffee. Top with generous amounts of whipped cream. Garnish with a cinnamon stick that can double as a stirrer. If you want to be little miss fancy pants, add some chocolate shavings to that puppy. Your friends will ooh and aah...but that means you'll be stuck making drinks for everyone all night. I'm a DIY kind of gal when it comes to mixing drinks.

If you really want to make friends and influence people a la Dale Carnegie, serve your coffee artistically. See how lame your coffee skills (and mine) are compared to Micheal Keen's. If you master this, you'll be all the rage. Maybe you'll even be hired out to work the party circuit. Cha-ching!

Since this drink is technically brown, it would be perfect for our weekly neighborhood Brown Liquor Night!

Wordless Wednesday: Shaded

Ace of Cakes Cake Bakery Flops

Alternate Title: Let Them Bake Cake!


There's nothing like a little Food Network to bring a family together. Other than Phineas & Ferb, it sure beats the other crap on TV that is fit for kids' consumption (not to be confused with the consumption of kids, which would just be plain creepy and disgusting).

I happen to love food. I could watch the Food Network 24/7, and for those times that I am holed up in bed with a fever, I do just that. But let's be real, no mother with a fever gets to hole up in bed; no rest for the weary as they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they sure do know what they're talking about. If there's one thing I want to impart to my sons, it's a love of food. I want them to see that food is about so much more than sustenance. It's tradition, culture, adventure,

The boys like to watch the Food Network Challenge. We don't much care about the wacky burger recipes or food styling competitions. Bring on the cake challenges! The next best thing to eating cake is watching the pros making cake. It's good fun to see the extreme decorating and smoking, spinning whatchamacallits. We teeter with tension when it's time to move the cake to the judging table. We all hiss at the mere sight of sugarcraft hall of famer Kerry Vincent. She's like the pinch nosed Simon Cowell of Food Network Cake Challenge.

The one show we all love best (though Mac Daddy would still put anything with Giada in it at the top of his list), is Ace of Cakes. I've been a huge fan since before Duff, Geof, and Mary Alice were household names. I can't bake worth a lick so I live vicariously through the team at Charm City Cakes. What I really want is to share a whole mess of 5:00 Fridays with the crew and laugh until my jaws ache. I also really want to chow down on all those carved off bits of cake (The waste is criminal! All that lost cake...sigh.). Bird, Deal, and I gasp whenever we see those carved off hunks of delectable cake brushed into the garbage. Cake!

Bird and Deal like to pretend to make and decorate cakes. They use Kapla blocks, LEGO, cardboard remnants. Then Deal grabs the toy mayonnaise squirter from the toy kitchen and pretends it's frosting. He conjures up all kinds of wacky odds and ends to manufacture his own brand of gum paste. Bird was doing his homework the other day and asked me how to spell "fondant." The boys love to play Ace of Cakes. Bird is always Duff (the boss, no surprise there), Deal assumes the role of Geof, and I am Mary Alice despite my whining to be Elena since our names are so much alike. Mac Daddy is always Ben, particularly fitting on Sundays when he hasn't shaved all weekend. Whenever we see a dalmatian Deal is relieved that Duff isn't around because he apparently has a fear of dalmatians. And yes, Deal even mentioned this to the fire chief on a recent field trip to the local station.

I have been thinking about getting the boys some sort of Ace of Cakes present for Christmas. Perhaps this. But not this.

Now take a moment to click on those links or the rest of this post won't make a lick of sense to you. Go on. I'll wait.

<Insert Jeopardy music here.>

Jeopardy waiting music sound bite

I find it pretty disappointing that Duff, a tough yet affable guy who bakes cakes for a living, is supporting a product so clearly geared toward girls. Does he really want to limit his brand like that? Does he really want to turn off (and away) all the boys who finally have society's permission to explore the kitchen? For starters, the company is Girl Gourmet. The colors, while not treacly pink, are decidedly girly and definitely not unisex. Bird and Deal would have loved this toy, but the packaging would be a big pee-ewww (best said with your nose plugged for full effect). And sure, being the liberal progressive mom that I am, I should go ahead and buy it. And I just might. But that's not my point.

I'm wondering why such a toy is targeted just to girls in the first place. As if the pink irons and dishes and brooms aren't bad enough. The toy aisles are clearly demarcated by a gender line these days. Girls engage in domesticity while boys flirt with violence. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a gender neutral play kitchen and accessories for my kids? And pink tools in the aisles of Sears and Home Depot and Lowes?! Don't get me started. Alas, I have already started. Who's sponsoring the time travel back to 1952 trip here? Is Dr. Laura lurking around the exhibit booths of the Toy Fair, saddling manufacturers and buyers with subliminal messages of feminine obedience and servitude? Girls should be encouraged to do more than cook and clean, no? If anything, boys could use some bolstering in that department. I live with three of them. I should know.