Cheers and Love

Here's what happens when my biggest* sister visits . . .

*she's the eldest, and we call her Biggest, but she may actually be my littlest sister. I don't know; it's a tight race. Ask them; I am not in the running.

Anyway . . .

. . . we toast!

Of course we do. Cheers!

And then we* build a fire. It's Sunday afterall.

*That's the royal we; I never have anything to do with the building thereof, only the basking therein.

And then we realize the conditions are perfect for a photo shoot . . .

. . . we have a Dowd . . .

. . . we have a Mistah Schleckah . . .

. . . we have a biggest/littlest . . .

. . . and we have a deck.

And we have me!

Oh, yes, and we have champagne. It's an early December day, after all . . .

. . . why wouldn't we have champagne and be outside with some of our favorite peeps in the world?

And you know what else we do a lot of, when my biggest/littlest sister visits?

Well, we do a lot of this:

Cheers and Love, peeps. Cheers and Love.

My Gay Friend Jonnie

At a recent holiday gathering, my gay friend Jonnie voiced his chagrin that I have never blogged about him. I reminded him that I once offered to write a Mexican soap opera and cast him as Juannie the cabana boy, but that did not appease. He wanted a post about the real him, and indicated that he would only be satisfied when/if he were to open the blog and find the words "My Gay Friend Jonnie." So although Jonnie has never published a comment nor given me any tangible indication that he even reads the blog, I knew he'd soon get his wish. Because really, who could resist? 


As the post started to write itself in my head, I reflected on my friendship with Jonnie and all the other beautiful people in our shared social circle. I remembered a funny quote about having gay male friends, but I could not remember if that quote had been penned by Tina Fey or Jenny Lawson, and I had a hard time putting hands on my copies of either book. I figured out that Bossypants is on my kindle, so it couldn't have been that one because the quote had been in a book-book. I knew with certainty that the quote in question was from a book-book because I remembered having taken a photo of the passage when I read it.

Guess who has my copy of the book-book?

My Gay Friend Jonnie

The same you-know-who that I'd texted the photo of that quote to that day. I found it in my phone:

reprinted with permission from The Bloggess, cuz we're tight.      Larson, Jenny. Let's Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir).New York: Penguin Group. 2012 

It's true. It is great to have fun, gay male friends, especially if they rock both assless chaps and acid-washed vests. In one outfit. Like Jonnie.

Jonnie is one of the whippersnappers I met through the gym. After working out together every day for a really long time, we became facebook friends. One day on facebook I was bitching about the lack of candy in my house, and Jonnie offered to bring me some the very next morning. 

This is the day I fell in love with My Gay Friend Jonnie. (Hi Amanda!)

He made those, like from sugary ingredients with no shortcuts. Plus they had booze. He's a pastry chef, you see. He makes crazy delicious things that don't even seem real, like cupcakes with candied bacon and candy crusted rum balls. At his party the other night, he tried to tell me how easy it was to make his boozy balls, and he used at least three disqualifying words in the first sentence alone.

He's gay and he's adorable and he bakes, but don't box My Gay Friend Jonnie into any stereotypes. 

Nobody puts Jonnie in a box!

Don't be fooled by the silly though, the inner Jonnie is a badass thug

So yeah, he is easy on the eyes, he is sweet and silly, he brings chocolate in an emergency, and he's a badass. What could he and I possibly have in common? 

The other night as we laughed and talked and screamed in fury at potential casting outrages that threaten the integrity of future broadway to big screen musical adaptations, I started to write a post in my head about My Gay Friend Jonnie, and my merry little band of misfits from the gym. Jenny is right, it is great to have fun, gay male friends. You should go get some. Mine are all young and well dressed, they smell good and they have six pack abs.  I may not be young, I might be sporting yoga pants and a pony tail... but I'm drinking a six pack, and that totally counts.

photo credit to the famously talented Bree, who proves that you don't have to be a pretty gay boy to be fabulous

Only in OB

I promise I won't blog about OB (West) every day. Really, I do. But I realized after posting my Settling in post last week, that I had forgotten to include the very image that spurred the post.

That is not to say that llama rides at the farmer's market on Wednesdays, and nightly ocean sunsets, and festive holiday night parades are not worth writing about, because they are.

But OB is a place like no other, love it or hate it, and it prides itself on its uniqueness. And the images in today's post better capture this. OB is not for everyone. Let's be clear. It's a bit grimy with lots of homeless folks and its fair share of shady characters. I know more than a few moms who prefer not to take their children to the beaches of OB. But it's also full of shiny, happy people -- as the song goes-- and has a spirit of freedom and individualism. Street musicians and acro-yoginis and screaming kids and post-smoking youth all mix it up right next to this holiday tree.

Which is huge and twisted and very OB

People don't tend to judge in OB. It's the very embodiment of my man Ben's lyrics:

My choice is what I choose to do
And if I'm causing no harm
It shouldn't bother you
Your choice is who you choose to be
And if your causin' no harm
Then you're alright with me

So, when my kids discovered the joy that Jacquie's kids discovered on their way to OB East, well, I didn't see any raised eyebrows...

And the little note below there....well, I can't say this happens everyday, but it is not completely surprising, because, well, because it's OB.

This was passed to my by a young woman and her friend while I was walking down Newport Ave with the two smokers pictured above mid-day last Wednesday. She just reached in her little bag and handed me this folded paper, wordlessly.

Does this girl know me or what???

Only in OB.

Rigging Out

After our recent trips down ol’ memory lane last week, those blissful days in the early 70s when dresses were short, hair was long, and names and addresses of young kids were printed in the local newspaper, my younger cousins complained that all our doggie remembrances involve our beloved family pooch Yobo:

Yobo was a gooood dawwwwg

Sarah and Meghan Butler, however, don’t remember Yobo, the poor kids. Sadly they only remember her quite insane replacement, Bogey, who is the doggie we had when the Butlers finally made their appearance in our huge family (they're cousins #63, #65 and #66 out of 66. Seriously).

After all that Yobo love last week, those young whippersnappers chimed in:

Sarah said: Now one small request for us younger cousins..can we get some Bogey shots posted?! Oh how I loved that dog...and loved sneaking him doggy snacks...

My Mom said: I did not know there were Bogey fans out there - thanks Sarah....

I said: I think she's the only one, Mom.

Jacquie said: you ellens are awful. Poor Bogusmeat, God rest her soul. At least we didn't name her Truck.

[I really wanted to name our new dog Truck. I lost that* battle.]

[*and every ensuing one.]

Sarah said: The Butler kids were ALL Bogey fans- right Meghan and Stephen?

Stephen said: Correct.

Meghan said: I loved Bogey!! He was the first dog I ever walked. And he sort of pulled me all over the street (which was sort of terrifying), but I enjoyed it.

Jacquie said: you Butlers with such love for Bogey should recall that she was all woman.

I said: I know! As *if* the Coreys would allow a boy dog.

I must say, this was all quite shocking to me. I mean, Bogey was not a good dog. She was friendly, sure, if by “friendly” you mean “Hi! I’m a dog! I’m Bogey! May I stick my nose in your crotch? Now? Again? And how 'bout again?” She was excitable and insane and ever present and I really just did not know that my wee little cousins actually liked -- nay, loved -- her.

But to honor Sarah Butler, who loved that insane beast -- I am presenting herewith a photo of poor ol’ Bogey, doing what she did best:

The Rig

Although Bogey was excitable and nuts and perhaps slightly brain-addled, she would occasionally get pooped out, and when she did, she'd lay herself down in the middle of a room full of people and strike her unique pose which reminded us of rigor mortis and, which we called, naturally, Rigging Out.

Or, for short, The Rig.

It wasn't the most ladylike pose for a dog, but at least she was still for a few minutes. And it was certainly entertaining.

And really, I shouldn’t be so hard on ol’ Bogey. I mean the Butler kids apparently loved her. And as for the Corey girls? Well, at least one of us learned something from her, too:

The Rig

Rig Out, peeps. Rig Out.

ho ho hors

Lately I've been perusing the internet for holiday hors d’oeuvres (aside: I can finally spell hors d'oeuvres without spellcheck. What a fancy word! Coreys call them hors. Not whores. Necessarily)

I love to cook. I find it relaxing and enjoyable and delicious.  I think that if I didn't have to w-o-r-k, I would be one of those apron wearing moms who produces nourishing color balanced dinners for appreciative, well groomed children and an adoring husband.

Work isn't the only obstacle standing between me and this creepy dream. I have a lousy kitchen. I have a tiny little wall mounted easy bake oven that laughs in the face of your time and temperature calculations.      

I make do, I'm not fussy. I have great cookware and spices.  I have knives. I am a risk taker.

So I've been collecting recipes for party food, and I have very strict selection criteria.      
 
I reject anything I don’t like to eat, obviously.There will be no peanut butter, tuna fish, or bleu cheese at my holiday party!

I also reject many promising looking recipes if I come across a dealbreaker of a phrase.

The following are real examples of phrases from recipes which resulted in immediate rejection from consideration: 

Transfer mixture to a piping bag, and cut a 1/2-inch opening.

You will need a mini muffin tin

Do not overpound slices or they will begin to disintegrate.

 Roll dough

Purée the sautéed liver mixture in a food processor to create a pleasing texture.

Get the Cheese Balls Three Ways Recipe

Meanwhile, prepare an ice-water bath

Hollowed-out boiled red new potatoes make great bowls for caviar, crème fraîche, and chives.

1 cup flour, plus extra for surfaces 

Working with 1 ball at a time

Thankfully, there are many many other recipes out there that contain only pleasing, manageable terms that promise success. And in the end, who cares? Because the very first thing I'll hand to my merry band of misfits is this...

 

 ...and there's always Trader Joe's

Settling in

So where were we? Ah, yes, I left you with maggots.

I'm happy to report that the maggots were the lowest part of this new adventure, at least so far. I've really come clean with most of the unpleasantness of my relocation.

There were a few other unwanted surprises, such as no outside lights on arrival, and no recycling cans, and well, this is how I was getting my mail out.

What da?

But my contact at the rental company has been amazing. I called her straight away about the lack of outside lights and they were fixed within 48 hours. (I may have mentioned the possibility of my babies slipping and falling and getting hurt in the less-than-satisfactory lighting, but hey, it worked -- we were quickly lit up.) Three new, clean, maggot-free recycling bins have also been delivered; and even though she told me she wasn't sure what could be done about the mailbox, a shiny new unit has been installed. Okay, so it may have required everyone in the building having their mail held at the post office for a few days, and the dispersal of new keys for all,  but it's brand new and works well.

Clearly I'm whipping my rental into shape, and have even adapted to hearing the fraternities toilets flush and off-hours comings and goings. The early morning planes no longer even register. I do still dislike the alley, but, like anything, I'm getting used to it, so it no longer throws me into a mini-depression with each visit. The hovering helicopters are quite rare, and I'm adapting to the crappy parking scene.

And, well, there are so many awesome things about our new location. Enough things certainly, to make this beach interlude completely worth it.

There are llamas to ride on Wednesdays,

our 'front yard' to admire every day of the week, as well as sunsets every night.

I have a feisty, fun new roommate, a gorgeous new bed, can walk to my kids' bus-stop and softball field and tutor and orthodontist and to my dentist and hair stylist and  favorite yoga studio as well as to myriad bars and restaurants, plus,

to the best dang night parade you ever will see, which happens each December.

I can hear the ocean from my bed each night, the seals barking on occasion, and the forlorn fog horn whenever the wet, low clouds roll in. It might be a step back in some regards, but it's an ocean-loving, walking girl's dream, and we are all soaking it up for all it's worth.

School Bells Ring

The photo Jacquie posted yesterday from The Best Photo Shoot Ever, to celebrate our dear departed pooch Yobo's birthday, got a lot of love from various and sundry Blasts From The Collective Corey Past . . .

. . . this photo, from the Best Photo Shoot Ever . . .

And it got me thinking about those years in our young six-sistered lives, which made me remember we weren't the only ones who thought our six-sistered club was unique and remarkable and really quite cool.

The local paper did too.

That's right, friends. The Corey Girls were the stars of a Back-To-School feature in The Norwalk Hour on September 6, 1972:

I know, awesome, right? We were superstars.

Let's read the captions, shall we?

Back To School Time -- The six daughters of Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Corey of 26 Bettswood Road team up to get ready for the first day of school today. From left:

Mrs. Corey ties a bow for Jacqueline, 3½, nursery school-bound;

Ellen, nine*, gives her hair a last minute brush;*

*I turned nine the day before the first day of school, but was still eight when this photo was taken. In the interest of full disclosure.

Mary Beth, 12, gives Julie, six, a hand with a zipper;

Ann, 11, takes care of the lunch detail;

Jane, five, a kindergartener [sic], struggles with her shoes.

Then it's off to school, the summer vacation just a memory.

School Bells Ring Today -- Drive Carefully

Today's the day that old school bell rang, calling Norwalk youngsters back to the classroom.  Here Mrs. Joseph Corey of 26 Bettswood Road, Norwalk, gives Jacqueline a kiss, as her sisters get ready to head to school.  From left, are, 

Julie, Ann, Ellen, Jane and Mary Beth.

Jane sneaks a rather wistful look back at the family pooch who's not enrolled for classes this year.

Oh, the thoughts and feelings.

No one in my family ever called me Ellen in my life -- I was Ellie from the day I was born. Except, apparently, in the newspaper.

The outfits are brilliant, especially Mom's.

In the second-to-last photo, Jacquie is giving the camera her daughter's look.

Julie's dress slays me.

Jane was very very short.

MB's dress was also very very short.

I'm pretty sure Ann never made lunches for the whole family.

I'm pretty sure if any one of us was expected to make lunch for the whole family, there would have been a coup.

And finally, and most importantly of all, I remember we were all chagrined that our beloved family pooch was not named by name. In fact, I'm still peeved.

Good ol' Yobo. Just look at her, yawning in the last photo. Unfazed by school bells ringing, or by superstardom.

almost

The second my girl caught her breath, she whipped out her phone and texted her friend: “OMG, I almost just died!”

So dramatic!

It was scary, though. I was driving a route that my car knows by heart: home to Oggi’s. I was first in line for the left turn on the inside, the car to my right had the outside. When the arrow turned green arrow lit up, we both accelerated.  

Was he also swept up in the belting out of One Direction with his front seat passenger?  Was he starving? Was it like a desert in his car?

I didn’t gun it, I just accelerated like any normal driver would do. Thing was, it was raining. Have you ever driven in Southern California in the rain? Not for the faint of heart.

So we both accelerated, and the guy on my right put a little more pedal to the metal. Suddenly, he was spinning out of control, right in front of us.

It was all so fast, but felt like slo-mo. I hadn’t had more than a second to start going, it was just as easy to make the car stop. Of course, adrenaline and fear slammed my foot onto the brake. Our selt belts seized, my car lurched to a halt as the other car’s spin left it juxtaposed in the middle of the road, my front bumper nodding hello to the other driver’s door.

Someone was letting out an unholy string of really bad words right in front of my girl! Oh wait, that was me.

The other driver was laughing, which was unexpected but not totally misunderstood. We were all fine, there wasn’t even a fender bender to mess with. It as just an almost.

I almost hit him. Right there into his door. Into him. It wouldn’t have been my fault, but I almost hit him. My girl was in the front seat, just barely heavy enough for the button to light up indicating that the air bag was armed.

Almost a disaster, but technically nothing. We exhaled.

“OhMyGod!” she shrieked.  

Mixology Monday: White Chocolate Peppermint Martini

It's December. The official holiday season has begun. At least according to me. And while I am certainly no bartender, I have been seeing all these crazy amazing cocktails on Pinterest lately. Holiday cocktails. Festive, merry, holiday cocktails.

Cocktails so pretty and inspired that I decided I must attempt then share.

Everything you need, sans ice is pictured here

Rim martini glass (or juice glass if you're me) with crushed peppermint/sugar mixture

Voila



Place one shot vanilla vodka in red glittery cocktail shaker

Add one shot peppermint schnapps to red glittery cocktail shaker

Add one shot of white chocolate liquor to red glittery cocktail shaker

Add ice and shake, shake, shake

Remove fancy lid and pour in prepared cocktail glass

Add chocolate-peppermint-stick stirrer-ma-bob

And enjoy. Cheers!