Miracle Snack of the Day: Lemon Popcorn

Get ready to thank me.

Pop a big pot of corn on the stove. Do not salt it. Instead, sprinkle on one of those tubes of lemon flavored splenda stuff you're supposed to use to flavor a bottle of water. Live a little: use 2 tubes.

Toss the corn around.

Eat it.

You're welcome.

Walmart-in

Hubby wanted to go to Wal-Mart.

He considered changing out of his holey t-shirt, but, well, we were only going to Wal-Mart.
I went, too. In the hotpants I was wearing while my jeans were in the wash.
Son #3 came with us, sporting 2 kinds of plaid.
And Son #4 was, naturally, a shaggy 12 year old in a band t-shirt.

We have completely adapted to the boondocks lifestyle.

...And Everything Else that Goes On in This Household

In Honor of Our Friends in Houston

Hubby keeps saying that it's just a matter of time before we end up in Houston. Not entirely sure why that is (although a big, hot, Southern city sounds just right to me) but I am glad we're not there just now.

In honor of our friends in Houston, Hubby and I had a little bit of our own Hurricane Ike experience, last night and this morning:

We cleaned up standing water (because someone knocked the refrigerator plug out of the socket and everything melted on the kitchen floor).

We discarded defrosted food (don't worry, it was just yesterday's pitcher of frozen mochas. I can make more.)

Hubby spent some time in the dark, cursing (because he banged his foot on a broken rocking chair that was sitting in the kitchen.)

We got hot & sweaty (oooh, baby, and on a Tuesday night, too!)

We found a roofing shingle on our deck (Hmmm...that's what you get for buying your house from the widow of a Stand Up Guy.)

I burned myself, lighting a candle.

I resigned myself to waiting for repairmen (the fridge and the lawn tractor, this time.)

So, to Jill, Casey, and all the rest, just know that Hubby and I are totally in solidarity with you.

Not feelin' the love

I keep sending out queries, and hearing nothing back. My editor's inbox is so full, she can't open the photos I sent to go with my latest travel piece. "Wait a few days, until I can clear it out," she says. My own inbox is crammed with spam, and little else. About the only creative writing I do is to describe my latest offerings on eBay.

I am just not feelin' the internet love, these days. I think I'll have some cookie dough.

Proof I Married a Man

Last week, three county schools (including the one Son#1 attends part-time) were on lockdown because someone called in a bogus suicide threat. Son #1 just told me that he found out who it was who called in the threat, and that the kid is in custody being charged as an adult, and his parents owe the county $10,000 for the hassle.

And we know the kid.

This is a kid I used to babysit, years ago, in exchange for haircuts from his mother, the extremely talented and expensive hairdresser. Sweet kid (or so I thought) and growing up to be a handsome young man.

Son #1 always said this boy was bad news, but I didn't really believe it until the boy started breaking skateboards over Son #1's head, selling drugs, and such. I've blogged about him before. That kid.

Son #1 tells me this juicy piece of gossip and of course my first instinct, even as he is spooling out the details, is to flip open my cell phone and call Hubby.

"Oh, yeah, he mentioned that a couple days ago," he said. "I forgot."

Yup. Proof positive. Hubby is definitely not a woman.

saRAH! saRAH! saRAH!

I have been moaning about the Presidential candidates for ages. Well, actually, I had STOPPED moaning. I had pretty much resigned myself to holding my nose and voting, when the time came.

Until.

Sweet Jesus, I have a girl-crush on Sarah Palin. SHE is the one I've been waiting for. I am so excited about the election, now.

This one, and the one in 2016.

Hey, I'm all for good food, but

...some of y'all are insufferably snotty.

I gotta agree with the first person who said the truth---HALFWAY through the list: American cheese and white bread, dude. I would also suggest the addition of a slice o' ham, and some good tomatoes. It's a thing of beauty.

But the people who insist upon 3 different kinds of artisanal cheeses, layered in a specific pattern? WHO do they think they ARE?

It's a sandwich, ok?