See This Bench?

See this bench? This bench exemplifies my spring project: to make our house look as awesome as our new roof.

Here's how it all goes down:

Take an ugly bench Mistah found on the side
of the road last summer . . .

. . . sand it . . .

. . . sand it some more . . .

. . . turn it upside down like a beached turtle . . .

. . . and prime it.

See that? Awesome. 

I know, I know. Not really. Mistah hated it, Bastid red-hater that he is. But wait! I'm nothing if not about repainting pieces of free wooden furniture. Let's try this again . . . 

Now we're talking. Only Perfect.

Project #2: The Deck:

Before . . . 

. . . and After, yo.

Sigh. We've got our deck back.

Project #3: The Green Gunk:

The gross disgusting nasty mildew that was growing on the East and North sides of our house I really don't want to talk about . . .

. . . except to say . . .

. . . that nasty grossness?

That grotesqosity? That's gone, baby. . .

. . . gone.

Oh, wait. You're probably thinking I should clean and sand and prime and paint that back shedhouse door.

Project #4: The Back Shedhouse Door:

Done.

Oh, this house.

Oh, our house.

I have lots more projects I'm working on -- oh, the progress you'll see.

But in the meantime, let me leave you with our newly mulched iris beds . . .

. . . love . . . 

. . . love . . . 

. . . swooning love.

sandwich nation (updated for Ellie)

I spied it in the corner, almost hidden beneath a teetering tower of dishtowels in the kitchen goods corner. I knew I didn’t have long, the auditorium was so full of junk that the walls threatened to swallow me whole. There were small people scurrying around on the floor, in and out of makeshift aisles between mystifying stacks of detritus. I didn’t want to be there. I had tried so hard not to go. I had left a sick kid at home and gone innocently to the school to retrieve the other. She asked if we could go, but we were on the one way street and she knew I would never go around the whole stupid block again. I acted like I was trying. Shoot honey! We can’t go if we can’t park. She understood, because she’s awesome. So when I had to stop and allow a car to back out of the front row parking spot, I resigned myself to the fact that we were going to have to go. I checked my cash supply and found a ten spot. Okay, I said, let’s do this thing.

I took a deep breath, threw back my shoulders, and walked through the gates of hell into the annual school rummage sale.

Imagine this with zombies crawling around. That's how it felt when I was there.

My girl heard me gasp Oh No. She took my hand and gave me a tug and a winning smile. Come on, mom!

I avoided the middle, she knows me better than to think we were clothes shopping in there. I found the book section and steadied myself by browsing the titles. I encouraged my girl to find something for herself. As soon as she found something, we’d be out of there.

She soon beckoned me from the other side of the room, gesturing toward a brand spanking new pair of roller skates with purple wheels in the size bigger than her feet. The sticker said $4. I was nodding enthusiastically as I made my way over, YES, yes. There you go!  Have those skates, honey, and let’s get the hell out of….

Then I spied it in the corner. A flash of silver, a neatly coiled electrical cord. Latched for safety, but promising double sided nonstick grilling surfaces inside. A panini press! I died.

I only had $10, and the skates cost $4. There was no sticker on my coveted item. I had to have it. Had to! I picked it up and looked at my girl: Do you think we can get both of these for $10? She eyed me suspiciously. I’m getting these skates, right? Let’s just go ask.

I waited in line with the minions, and when my turn approached,  I did my best to pretend that my beautiful panini grill was a woeful piece of shit. I reported that the piece of shit didn’t have a price on it, insinuating through my disdain that it was such a hunk of junk, it was probably meant for the trash so no one had bothered to tag it. Maybe I batted my eyelashes, just once or twice. Consultations were made, comparisons to other small appliances. It was busy. Finally, a shrug and a shouted responses by the mom in charge: “I don’t know, three bucks?”   

Do you know what makes any food delicious? Pressing it in between two hot surfaces inside of some class of breadstuff. It even redeems breakfast.

Rocking the purple wheels like nobody's business

Generator land

It's Monday morning, and I spent a good chunk of this weekend working, and well, I am woefully unprepared for this Monday morning blog post that I'm expected to write. I have already received a "yoooooo hoooooo" message from Ellie, reminding me that it's my turn.

I know it's my turn, I'm not THAT woefully unprepared. (Although Ellie is right to not put it past me.)

But because I am all written out, and have no photos to use for a Monday morning photo dump, I'm going to the experts for help. I've Googled "blog-post ideas" and am now blissfully clicking their idea generator button over and over and over and over.

It's really fun.

Here we go:

4 Things I hate about Mira Sorvino -- I don't know 4 things about Mira Sorvino, although I did see a made-for-TV movie with her in it (The Last Templar) that was truly awful. But she was so cute, that it almost made up for it. Oh, and also, if I'm not mistaken, she was on hospital bed rest for weeks during the same time frame that I was. We both ended up with healthy baby girls. I like that about Mira Sorvino.

My analysis of of Montreal -- Hard to do seeing as I've never been there. I did meet a neurologist from Montreal on the plane ride out the New Orleans last month. He was nice, although he kinda talked funny.

3 Things I like about Shelley Winters -- She has big feet and kind of looks live Olive Oyl, and well, I have big feet and kind of look like Olive Oyl. Except for the hair.

The future of Amen -- ??? Currently praying on this one.

I hate Liz Phair -- I hate frizzy hair

Some thoughts on Tofu -- It's rather disgusting.

My analysis of bananas -- They are yellow, but best when just turning so, potassium-laden and phallic.

8 Things I hate about cockfighting -- There is nothing I don't hate about cockfighting

Here's what infuriates me about bouillon cubes -- They expect you to go and make soup.

I just can't deal with Reese Witherspoon - Oh c'mon, she is adorable. Although I have to admit after seeing some gossip rag make fun of her pointy chin, I am now always noticing her pointy chin.

I hate kickball -- I so do not! I played at a party last spring and got to first base both times I was up!

I hate lettuce -- Does anyone over the age of 16 hate lettuce? It's green and light and yummy. Just ask the bunnies.

I just can't deal with sprouts -- I actually like them, but am so paranoid that I'm going to get botulism or salmonella or listeria that I forgo them.

You know what's better than ESPN? Yes, just about everything. Well except war, homicide, wife beating and the like.

I despise Missouri -- This may or may not be true, as I've not yet made it to Missouri to make a decision.

4 thinks I like about Louisiana -- Easy! Abitta beer. Chargrilled oysters. The carousel bar at Hotel Montelone. The fact that open containers are legal.

I love cereal -- Amen. (Ah, perhaps cereal is the future of Amen.)

I love BBQs -- Me too.

I love Kings of Leon -- Me too.

6 thinks I like about editors -- Really? Just 6 things? What's not to like about editors? They rock.

My analysis of Valentine's Day -- It's for chumps. And kids under 7.

I can't get enough of Diane Keaton -- Me neither. She's awesome.

You know what I love about Uma Thurman -- The fact that her name is Uma. And that the Dali Lama was an occasional guest at her house. And the fact that she has big feet.

Obviously, I could do this all day.

But I can't.

I have to go edit.

3-way weekend: crazy crustaceans

We're climbing out

Cheers, y'all!

Carrboro Girls

I thought my niece Colleen was Chapel Hill Girl.

I called her that for years.

But what I found out? On our recent trip to our darlin' girl's fair campus? She's all Carrboro-Girl. Carrboro is Chapel Hill's smaller, cooler, smarter neighbor. But not annoying like smaller, cooler and smarter neighbors can often be.

Carrboro has really cool brick sidewalk water pipe covers, which Mistah coveted:

Mistah really really likes brick sidewalk water pipe covers . . .

Like, a lot.

And Carrboro also has cool murals painted on their brick walls . . .

But Carrboro's main attraction? If you're us? Our main attraction was Chapel Hill Girl Carrboro Girl Colleen and her housemates.

When we were planning our trip to North Carolina I asked Colleen if we could cook family dinner for them one night. "Of course you can," you're thinking, "they're college kids." And that's true. They are college kids -- but not for long -- and what college kid doesn't like a family dinner? But these particular college kids were smack dab in the middle of finals (Good timing, Aunt Ellie and Uncle Bill.....) and Mistah and I did not want to get in the way of their collective studying and going out with a bang and all that.

But yeah. They are were are college kids, and college kids -- like the rest of us -- need to eat.

I planned to make my world-famous linguini-and-clams, and my equally world-famous pasta-broccoli, and thought I'd quickly and quietly whip it up in a quiet house full of the sound of studious studiers studying, but the girls were in the moment, and part of it all, and chopped and rinsed and stirred and set the table and warmed the bread and it was one of those magical, everyone-in-it-together evenings of pure bliss.

Shawty was my clam girl.

Yum.

I tell you people, I love to cook, and I especially love to cook for the peeps, but I have rarely loved to cook for peeps more than I loved to cook for these particular Carrboro-Girl Peeps.

Colleen was my clam-scooper-girl.

The food was delicious; of course it was.

But what was most awesome and excellent and magical about that night was these five almost-22-year old, almost-college grads -- they all finish their tenure at UNC Chapel Hill and face the world on May 13. These young women are smart and beautiful and sharp and funny and fun and warm and interested and interesting and full of knowledge and ambition and enthusiasm and determination and strength and joie de vivre and please let me reassure you all: if this is the future of America? We are in good, good hands.

Colleen and Sarah and Tracey and Sarah and Virginia, our Carrboro Girls . . .

Thank you for a magical time. Now get out there and conquer the world.

brainwashed

Don’t you hate breakfast?

It’s so overrated, so conceited with its most important meal of the day bragging.

I am not opposed to breakfast foods, mind you. I am a huge fan of what my husband’s Uncle Dave referred to as the “Lord Baltimore.” I don’t exactly know what that reference even means other than a big ass breakfast meal. I do love breakfast food - any time after noon - preferably scarfed down after a morning workout or a big sleep in, bonus points if accompanied by champers.

And I love breakfast foods for dinner! Nothing pleases me more than a breakfast burrito at Tower Two, or the carnitas machaca at Miguel’s on a Sunday afternoon.

But on a work day, the thought of breakfast is abhorrent. Although I head straight to the kitchen upon waking each morning, the only sustenance I take for myself comes in the form of hot, black love with milk in my coffee cup.

I get to work, and once my stomach and my sensibility have settled in to the day, I’ll have a little fruit/yogurt/granola action, and I'll live my life. It’s allll good.

Except for the children.
  
Ever since my girl was a wee tiny bald creature,  she has needed food immediately upon waking. She only recently corrected her pronunciation of the “brefixed” (sob) she demanded.

My boy is more like me, he is squeamish in the morning and usually doesn’t want to eat. He comes to the table and collapses onto a pillow of his arms, a foul attitude surrounds his head like a dank aura of doom. I try not to hear his muttering in a feeble attempt to avoid drama. As I advise my daughter numerous times every day: “Don’t poke the bear.”

I am my mother’s daughter, though. It’s the ultimate irony. I know exactly how my boy feels, I remember those mornings at the yellow (nice oval) table, feeling like I really would barf if ate a single bite of whatever abomination my mom dared to offer.   I now understand the logic that leads a mother to believe that a bowl of cocoa puffs is better than nothing. If my kids goes out into the day without the most important meal of the day (eye roll) on board, I lose at momming.

So every morning, I ask what the kids want for breakfast, and my girl places her order while my boy goes on strike. On the rare day that he joins the conversation, I am thrilled  to be their short order cook. It does make me happy to see them eat a good breakfast. It does make me feel like a better mom. Brainwashed. 

Yesterday the kids asked for French toast, which is kind of fun to make although I’d rather walk the plank than eat that shit. It was all I could do not to gag as I flipped the soggy, soft bread in an attempt to burn it into some class of crispiness that I could even contemplate surviving.      

My girl doesn’t like things crispy, though. She even likes whole grain waffles all soft and mealy. Gross. At least my boy inherited my preference for burned toast and bagels. He eats runny eggs though, ew.

Don’t you hate breakfast?

Pearly whites

As I was brushing my teeth in the girls' bathroom last night, so as not to disturb my husband who went to bed surprisingly early, I gave pause to the toothpaste's band name -- Rembrandt.

Hmm, really? Their marketing ploy is to raise the act of brushing your teeth to fine art. Bravo, I say.

It left me thinking about other common toothpaste brand names. Here are a list of some common ones:

Colgate -- for collegiate tooth brushers
Crest -- for brushers who aim high
Whereas Aim is actually the tooth paste of drunks, those happy just to make contact between tooth and brush
Arm & Hammer -- for very vigorous brushers
Close up -- for brushers with one thing in mind
Gleem -- the official toothpaste of all glee teams
Pepsodent -- their second choice
Mentodent -- for crazy, loco brushers
Sensodyne -- for those who know brushing after eating is sensible
Ultra bright -- for overachievers

I myself use Tom's (of Maine), not sure what that means.... take a stab if you like.

To end off, I'd like to leave you with some toothpaste/toothbrush humor:

Yes, this is frightening, and should have been included in last weekend's Oh So Scary 3-way photo project.

Happy brushing y'all.

Chapel Hill

Mistah and I spent almost 8 years criss-crossing the country in our awsome ol' Westy. During that time our eldest niece moved from Claxton Elementary School to Asheville Middle School to Asheville High School and went on to make her way in the world at UNC, Chapel Hill.

Mistah and I love North Carolina terribly, but we'd always found ourselves either in Western North Carolina -- in the mountains, and in our beloved Asheville -- or way out there in the East, in the Outer Banks.

But we told Chapel Hill Girl that although we never quite found ourselves in the center of that fair state, we would make a solid plan to visit her in Chapel Hill. Before she graduated. Guaranteed.

Fast forward a couple of years. We landed in New London in 2008 and haven't gone all that far since then. But all of a sudden in 2012 we could hear the dulcet tones of our niece way down there in central North Carolina singing: "Aunt Ellie . . . Uncle Bill . . . I'm graduating in a few weeks!"

So to Chapel Hill we went.

Actually, we thought we were going to Chapel Hill. But like the true Asheville-Girl she is, Colleen lives in Carrboro.

And Carrboro is where, after an awesome visit to Col's mom and sister and brother in Asheville first, we met our girl.

Carrboro is a really cool town.

And since it's in North Carolina, it has really good beer.

And really good old Volvos. Mistah loved this guy.

And oh how we both loved this girl.

Mistah, as usual, was Mistah Mastah Photographah, and in every photo, Colleen are I are yakking:

yakkedy . . . 

. . . yakkedy . . . 

. . . yakkedy . . . 

. . . yak.

We've got a lot to talk about, that niece of mine and I.

Oh, and we had some beers to drink. Plus Mistah needed to practice his awesome new beer-photography technique.

Colleen only had one or two -- she needed to go back home to, you know, study and finish college and all that.

But all that's behind her now. As of yesterday.

Congrats, Col!

The next day our darlin' girl gave us a walking tour of UNC Chapel Hill, where she's spent the last four glorious years of her life.

The campus is stunningly beautiful . . .

. . . and Colleen was an awesome tour guide.

Mistah and I kept comparing poor ol' UConn circa 1985 to Chapel Hill and, well, things in Chapel Hill are a lot more vivid and vibrant than things were in Storrs.

Poor Storrs.

And Colleen and I?

Well, we continued to yak.

Actually, "yak" is probably not a good synonym to use for "talk incessantly" whenst in front of Chapel Hill's Old Well.

I think the Chancellor lives here.

And this is one of both Mistah's and my favorite photos from that awesome morning.

Oh, wait. This one too.

And totally this one.

It's kind of embarrassingly gorgeous there.

It's so, like, "College Campus."

Aw. Colleenie and her Uncle Schleckah in front of the place she spends spent more time than any other on campus.

The place you go to Die Dey.

Aw, Col. How we loved visiting your campus . . .

. . . both of us.

Yakkedy-yak.

And now? Our darlin' girl? After this awesome tour whaddya say we go to your house and hang out with you and your housemates?