Clockwise from left: Hunan Chicken, Tossed Noodles, and Pork Dumplings.

Recipes adapted from Chinese Cookery by Rose Cheng and Michele Morris.  Published in ’81.  God that was a great year.

So first: the Hunan.

I bought a Rotisserie Chicken, skinned it, pulled it off the bone, and coarsely chopped the meat.  In a bowl for the Sesame Sauce:
2 T sesame paste/tahini/creamy peanut butter.  I happened to have Tahini.
1 T rice vinegar
1 T sesame oil–Important to actually splurge on the sesame oil and not substitute another type of oil. Sesame oil has a really nice nutty flavor that is important.
1/4 t cayenne pepper
1 T soy sauce
Ten grinds from a pepper mill
1.5 tsp diced ginger root
3 T diced green onion
1 T chopped garlic
1.5 tsp chili powder
Then you will look at this amount of sauce and the amount of chicken you have, and you will probably have to double the sauce.  I did.  Then mix your chicken in.  And some water chesnuts.  We got fresh ones in our Bountiful Basket.  They are mysterious little creatures when they aren’t waterlogged in a can.  That’s your Hunan Chicken.  Serve it cold with sliced cucumbers or warm with Tossed Noodles. 

And someday, when I open a food truck, I would totally serve it on a sandwich with cucumbers and some sort of slaw.

Tossed Noodles:
For the sauce, it calls for 1/4 red bean paste, which the store didn’t have.  But they did have cans of red beans.  And I have a food processer, so BOOM, 1/2 can of red beans pureed=1/4 red bean paste.  Add to it 1 T sesame oil, 2 T sugar, 1/4 cup soy sauce and 1tsp sherry.
Stir fry whatever veggies you are using while you boil some noodles (I used linguine here).  When the noodles are done, add them to the stir fry pan and toss the sauce over everything.

Dumplings:
Dumplings… dude, just order them when you go out, or save them for a very special girls night because they are lots of work.  Especially when your children will throw them on the floor and your husband will inform you that he doesn’t eat dumplings and give you a look that says “What? You didn’t know?”
But I’ll include it here because they did turn out really good.  The recipe says it will make 50, but that’s only if you are a very experienced Chinese chef.  If you are a low-budget, white lady, you’ll probably get 20. 
The dough: 2.5 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 cup water.  Mix together, knead. 
FIlling: 1 pound ground pork (Or two pork chops in a food processor). 3/4 lbs (Half a head) of chinese cabbage, blanched and diced.  1 tsp sherry.  1 tsp minced ginger root.  1/2 c minced green onions.  3 T soy sauce. 1 T veg oil.  3 T sesame oil.  Mix it all together.  You’ll only use half.  I’m going to use the reserved half for eggrolls.
So, take your dough, and roll it out play-dough style.  Like a big 1 inch snake.  Then “take a cleaver and wack into equal pieces”.  That’s what my book says.  I don’t have a cleaver, but now I feel a deep need for one.  For now, a big knife will work.  So you take a little piece and roll it out into a 2 in circle, put some of the meat filling in the middle and close it around the top. 
Repeat 25 times.
Boil a big pot of water.  Throw in your dumplings.  When the water starts boiling again, add 2/3 c cold water.  And again, when the water starts boiling, add 1/3 c cold water.  When the water boils for the third time, your dumplings are done.  I served mine (to myself) with a mix of the Franks Sweet Chili Sauce and Soy sauce.  Divine.

I’m so bored by my own recipe post that I’m not even going to proof read.  I’m such a slacker.
Also, You should drink the entire time you do this.  It took me five hours.  I kept thinking, “No wonder Chinese Take-out is such a burgeoning business.”

For one, it is as rewarding and self-fulfilling as a great workout.  I mean, I look at these stupid particle board shelves I’ve built, and I see carpentry skills that while not necessarily square or marketable, are never the less making this woman think she can do anything.  Thoughts that started at “how in the hell am I gonna make these vertical walls, well, vertical?” have now turned to, “Drawers?  Yeah, two.  Why not four? That hold shoes and are only an inch deep? Yes.  I begin tomorrow.”  And then somehow, I am sure for the first time in my life, that yes, I can build drawers.

I’ve been wanting to put up a blog that somehow acknowledged that I am a parent or reflected on what I am thinking as a parent and just haven’t been able to land on anything to spur some writing.  Then today, while painting, the somewhat humorous thought crossed my mind, “Is there ever a point in your day when you stop and think, ‘Holy Crap, I haven’t played with my children yet?’” And I thought that would be a funny launching point about parenting and finding a way to laugh at ourselves for living life, then round it out by bringing the narrative around to an emotional depiction of the importance of leaving our daily tasks and becoming a part of our children’s world.  It would have been revelling.

But then I stopped myself and was like, “No.  I can’t talk about not playing with children.  What will people think?”  Then I started thinking about all the readers different responses to that and I got scared.  Of what you would think.  Even though it was  joke.  When did I start censoring myself, and even more importantly, do I want to censor myself?

This blog has always been mine and a place for me to document whatever crazy emotional impractical thought I’ve had. No matter who I knew was reading it.  At that time, my blog was for me, a journal.  Now, in some ways this breaks my heart, it has become a place to “show”case my life.  To let you in, but only let you see a really clean glimpse of our life. 

I want to document my crazy, laughable thoughts, no matter how incorrect or fleeting or immature.  In fact, I think that some of my best writing happens at times when my thoughts are unrestrained by thoughts of you.  And now, it’s like this forum isn’t the place for that because you are here.  I think that my writing flounders or becomes unsincere… no, becomes unbearably pretentious and sanctamonious in some ways when I write with you in mind.

At the very same time.  This forum wouldn’t work if you weren’t here.  If I didn’t feel that a group of my peers was here reading it. 

I think, Oh my god, I think peoples opinions of me matter more than they should.  Ugh, I was so never going to become that person. 

So what is important to me when it comes to my blog?  That my audience sits back in approval?  No.  That I leave the keyboard feeling lighter?  That I have something to pull up and transport myself back to a moment that is still vivid to me because I documented it? Yes.  This blog, this forum is for my memories, as they are, fresh and still vivid. 

Because lord knows I don’t have much short-term memory to rely on….

and…. she’s back!

Yesterday, our family cruised to Miles City to watch our nephew wrestle at the Cowboy Classic Invitational Wrestling Tournament Thingamajig.  The day started out fun, optimistic, upbeat, but the wind… holy balls, the wind.  As we came and went from the tournament, driving around aimlessly so the girls could nap, I felt a mounting ball of tension growing between  my shoulder blades.  Mounting, mounting, mounting.  It was awful.  And spread like a pool of spilled milk into every facet of our day. 

Where should we eat lunch?  Well, on the way up, we decided it would be cafe day and had an incredible breakfast at The Speedway in Forsyth.  When we left there, we tossed around the idea of the 600 Cafe.  Then on the morning nap cruise, I found myself driving by the Airport Inn, a hillside cafe I remember from my childhood that is rumored to have patented their fingersteaks.  But when I pick Allan up, he wants either McDonalds or Taco Johns.  Well, McDonalds goes against every moral that I somewhat subscribe too and Taco Johns, last time I ate there I threw up a MOUTHFUL OF GREASE.  There’s not enough sour cream in the world to slather over that memory.  But, as Allan pointed out, I wasn’t even hungry.  And he was right, so we drove across Miles City, destination: Fast Food.  And as we drove, the mounting mounting mounting tension mounted even more.  I did not want to feed my girls McDonalds**.  Even though, like every attempt to feed them, they just throw the food around cause they filled up on gold-fish and shopping cart handlebars, I would rather they throw around the food that we bought for them at a local establishment… I’m just weird that way.  We make our way across town to Mc-fucking-Donalds.  I haven’t said a word about my somewhat subscribed to morals, which in and of itself, took every fiber of my being to NOT say anything by chanting repeatedly, “You’re not even hungry, you’re not even hungry.”  We got out of the truck, the wind howling, and Allan looks across the car seats at me and says, “Let’s just go to the 600.”  Mounting tension.  I rolled my eyes, and made that back-throat growl of irritation and pulled Reese out of her car seat then marched into McDonalds, right to the very end of a line of thirty people.  Mounting tension.  When Allan and Avery reached the door, he just laughed, and was like, “Let’s go, this is crazy.”

So, we drove back across Miles City to the 600 cafe.  We ordered our meals.  We waited for our meals.  And then, as the cook was undoubtedly pulling the french fries out of the fryer, we got the call that the next round was starting and our nephew would wrestle anytime.  Mounting tension.  “Can you box up our orders?”  And not put in a fork for my stuffed tomato?  Thanks!

We hustle the girls to the truck, Allan’s knees get slammed as the truck door gets caught in the wind.  We fly back to the high school.  My knees get slammed by the truck door in the wind.  When we make it back into the bleachers, the girls throw around the fries and grilled cheese we got them and our nephew wins his match. 

I’m rambling here, so I’m going to speed through the next part of the day by just saying, one year olds in the bleachers is exhausting.  Even if there are a dozen family members to pass them around.  Exhausting.  And the best remedy is to allow them to run wild in the cafeteria.  I apologize to all future gym monitors for endorsing the behavior that you are assigned to squelch.  Sorry.  Long story short, we spent most of our Cowboy Classic time running in endless circles by the concession stand.

Next part of the story:  The part in which mounting tension is nothing compared to self-esteem squashing by stupid gym moms. 

In the bleachers, the girls made nice with our neighboring spectators, one of which was a young man in an orange sweatshirt that let the girls sit in the bleacher seat he was watching for someone, even though he was clearly at the age that is unaffected by the cuteness of one year olds.  He was so nice.  Fast forward to me leaving  and returning to the bleachers 87 times, and at some point, the seat he was holding was taken by his thirty-something mom and her friend.  I slid on the bleacher behind them to loosely supervise Reese climbing on the stairs, and as I slid by, I noticed Yellow Shirt Mom gesturing with her thumb in my direction and Stupid Curly Haired Mom looked back at me.  Eye contact.  Which would have been NOTHING had she not done a very obvious glance left, glance right.  OMG, they are talking about me.  I froze and watched, knowing that gossip etiquette would not allow her to look back at me.  Yellow Shirt was saying something to which Stupid Curly Hair responded, eyes WIDE, “I know. Haha, No, No No.” 

Ugh.  I die.  The last death I had to die on the longest day of my life I just died.  Stupid, stupid bitches.  I was so weakened by mounting tension at this point, that all I could do was swallow my tears.  STUPID BITCHES.  But I’m not crying now, so I’d like to respond. “You stupid bitches.  Your son, the one whose neck you are stroking so tenderly as you tear down the stranger behind you, your son was SO NICE to my girls, for so long.  And athletic wear at an athletic an event that you are NOT participating in, at your OLD ages, is just lazy.  Especially when your stupid hair is blow-dried.  You can’t even pretend that you are on your way TO OR FROM the gym.  I hope you get big zits on your little stupid noses.  The two-week kind and you make the mistake of squeezing to early and scabs with a big red scab.  And you stub your toes.”

There.  Take that.  I feel somewhat better.  Now.  At them time though, I was shredded.  Or I thought I was.  There was one more piece of me to take down. 

That morning, on our way out of Forsyth, I stocked up on oranges and pretzels for the girls while Allan pumped gas.  And I got checked out (snap a Z).  It was validating.  I had pulled myself together, blow-drying and pinning my hair up the way youtube has taught my thirty year old ass to do.  And it paid off because Handsome Brown Eyes made eye contact by the fountain pops, then circled around the pretzel aisle for a second look, and I drank it up.  After paying, I ran out of the gas station and shared the great news with Allan.  “I got checked out!!”

Fast forward eight hours.  Handsome Brown Eyes is standing in the concession area at the Cowboy.  We make eye contact, and mounting tension has pushed my mood so far from where it was that morning, that I don’t even recognize this guy and wonder why he’s looking at me.  Then it hits me, “Ohhhh, check out guy.   Wow, he’s incredibly handsome.  And young.”  At that moment, the wound that Yellow Shirt and Stupid Curly Hair inflicted on my self-esteem oozes and I float out of my body and look down at myself.  There I am, my pants sagging out of “nice-ass” territory into “saggy britches” land.  My sweater has something crusty on the shoulder and the pocket.  My carefully pinned hair has been blown by sixty mph winds 18 times today.  My eyes are reflecting exhaustion, despondency, and mounting tension.  At that moment, I read his mind “That’s the lady from the gas station.  Hmmm, she’s old.”

I die.  Again. 

The one moment in my long day that was as validating as posting on Facebook that the house is clean evaporated.  I was defeated.  Avery and I raced around the concession stand four more times, then watch the nephew win his last match, then grabbed our squirrely girls, threw a last dirty look at Yellow Shirt and Stupid Curly Hair, and left that gym.  I cried on the way home. 

Oh, and had an incredible revolution about my obsession with food.  And since this post is already ridiculously long, I’m going to keep on going.  As we left the gym, I asked Allan if he wanted to get some (hypocrite alert) Taco Johns.  He said, “no,” and added an incredulous,  ”Why?  Are you hungry?”  I walked on knowing that I wasn’t hungry, picturing the mouthful of grease and wondering why I felt a need for food, even though I wasn’t hungry.  It hit me… I had just had an incredibly bad day and if I could just eat something tasty and satisfying, I could say “You know today sucked, but damn those tacos were good.”  It was emotional… I was looking for food to be a salve for my deflated self-esteem, my bad hair, my exhaustion, and my exasperation with my children (be thankful this blog post hasn’t even touched on how exasperated I was with the girls by this point.)  When I explained that to Allan, he was like, “Ok then, let’s stop and get something” but I felt better just verbalizing why I wanted to eat. 

Then I cried, which really was what I had been needing since the truck door slammed my knees into the truck’s step thing.

When we finally, finally reached home, the girls went directly to bed.  And I found a perfect cure for the bad day blues.  Yoga and sitcoms.  I snickered in downward dog.  I giggled through sun salutations.  I found balance in balance poses.  And I smiled through floor stretches. 

Allan went to the tournament on his own today.  The girls and I are kicking it in sweatpants and diapers today.  And I have scheduled some yoga and sitcoms for naptime.  Today, I recover.

Thank you for reading my diatribe if you have actually made it this far.

**A note on McDonalds: I do not care in the least, nor judge you in any way  if you feed your child at McDonalds.  I’m sure, being the hypocrite that I am, there will be a few happy meals in the Violett Girls’ lives.  Ugh.  Blech.  No judgement!

Well, first, let’s start with what I’ve decided to be my resolution this year.  I resolve to not ONCE set foot in Walmart this year.  The place is a huge wasteland of stuff I already had, sold at a price that makes me: 1. forget that I already have it and 2. that my desires for my family need the precious funds that I’m about to blow six dollars a time.  So, a final EFF YOU WALMART.  Peace, and I’m out.

Now, how’s about a list of what we are looking forward to this year!

• Garden!!  I looooove gardening, even though I’m not very good at it.  But one day, I will be.  I love gardening because I learn something valuable every year.  It is so rewarding to see the place where I have spent my time producing something.  In fact, I plan to turn most of my flower beds into produce gardens this year.  Why waste the space, ya dig?  (Snicker.)  My goal for my garden this year:
• Canning.  I want to can the be-jaysus out of my produce.
• Compost. 
• Homemade Gifts.  No one ever, ever likes what I get them.  Sometimes, they don’t even get what I get them.  (I’ll get it in the mail this week Nat!)  I’m also a cheap bitch, I mean FRUGAL, and really don’t want to spend money on a gesture that you are going to forget in 12 days.  So everyone get ready, you are all going to be wearing fragments of Allan’s T-shirts!
• I’d like to go paperless.  Real plates are pretty much the norm around here, but the paper towels, I think they can go.  In fact, on my last trip to Walmart (grimace) I noticed that you could get cloth towels for cheaper than paper towels.  And they don’t run out.  So yeah, after this ginormous pack, I think I’m going to go all fiber.
• My little sis is getting hitched in April!!  The girls and I get to go on another airplane ride together.
• Denver over the 4^th for a family reunion.  Really looking forward to that trip.  The girls will be two+, so I think that some of the “big city” activities like the zoo and the children’s museum will be super fun for them.
• We have decided to pay off our super-huge-extended-adolescence-stupidness-bill by the time Allan turns 40.  He turns 39 in May.  I’ve wrapped my head around the cutbacks it’s going to take to get this taken care of, but I don’t think Allan has… he looks at me like I’m crazy when I fret over little expenditures (“Why would you need new sneakers, you got those adidases back in ’09?”)  To be continued on this bullet point.
• Oh, How about “Opening A Daycare” on this list?  I think so!  Sometime in 2012, this figment of my entrepreneurial imagination is going to become a reality.  So close, so very very close.
• A new master bathroom and walk-in closet!!  Woot Woot!!  It’s going to be luxe.  Fabulous.  Non-trailerhouse-esque.  And it’s going to feature the debut carpentry skills of a very popular young blogger.  *ahem*
• Potty-training.  This is the year.  Dem Babies (totally stealing that from Mariah) aren’t going to be babies anymore.  Theys going to be big girls!
• Cessation.  I’ve said it before, but I think this is the year.  I’m going to kick the habit.  The habit has dwindled down to one a day, but that one too, just has to go. As part of that, you might notice me drinking less.  I know… no more life of the party, no more raucous jokes or obscure jukebox plays, no more hilarious pranks that I regret deeply the next morning.  But let’s face it, alcohol, my old friend, you make me smoke.  So, we have to take a break.  Just a small one.  We can still visit. 
• The NUMBER ONE thing I’m looking forward to in 2012:::::: Talking Violett Twins.  It’s already started, little previews.  Like Avery, taking a piece of short rib out of her mouth, looking me square in the eye, and stating, “This not food.”  Oh, I cannot wait to get to know them on this level.

 And finally, I plan on, once and for all, figuring out the difference between “its” and “it’s”.  This should put some of your minds at ease.

I opened my laptop and it was gone.

Karmic.  Tis.

Resolutions out the window.

Phew.

After celebrating the holiday with my sisters the weekend of the 18th, Santa visited our house on the evening of the 22nd so that we could have a core family Christmas, in our home, and cultivate our very own traditions, before driving to South Dakota to be with Allan’s family.  Not that I don’t enjoy the traditions we have with our extended families, perhaps this is selfish of me, but I want our very own.  And so, we did.  Allan and I stayed up late and put together two red rider (or radio flyer) tricycles, stuffed stockings with slinkys, wind up snowmen, and little critters. 

Avery came out of her room “Christmas” morning, stood at the top of the steps into the livingroom and said, “Oh, a Trike!”  What?  How does she know what a trike is and that the word for trike is “trike”? 

They were both very excited and knew just what to do.

While the girls took laps around the livingroom, I put together a little Christmas Morning Breakfast.  In planning for this, I considered doing candy cane shaped pancakes with peppermint ice cream, then realized no one in our family likes pancakes, so we went with a standard favorite: scrambled eggs with tomatoes (red) and cilantro (green), links, and tree shaped buttered toast.  MMMM!

Then, before morning naps, we loaded up and headed for Grandma and Grandpa’s house!  We thought that the girls would take advantage of the three hour drive and sleep, but this lasted until we hit Amish Country near Ashland.

So, we had to improvise and entertain with puzzles, books, dolls, and scarf hammocks.

We showed up a day early and surprised Allan’s parents… By “surprised” I mean “caught off guard”, so a few presents, like the above tea set were played with upon arrival.

Avery took over Grampa Al’s TV.

And my husband hung around looking handsome as ever.  Sadly, Allan’s Grandma had a bad night, and had to be taken to the emergency room on Christmas Eve.  Which left Allan and I and our teenage nephew to pull together Christmas dinner.  And really, despite the sad circumstances regarding Grandma, we had s great time getting things ready for when everyone returned from the hospital.

We went through every cupboard and closet in the house, and could not find a table cloth, so we foraged in my mother-in-laws sewing room and found this great piece of flannel.  We stole bulbs and greenery off of the tree.  We cooked a prime rib, had a deviled-egg cook-off (nephew won, NO ONE would touch mine: Jalapeno, bacon and cilantro.  More for me.), played farkle and even had time to…

…make Christmas butter molds!!

In the end, Grandma was just stressed and had an upset stomach, so she stayed and rested in the hospital.

After dinner and baths, the girls opened presents.  By this time they were old hands at the task.  And look at the cool elephant they got!

You’s a fine mutha-f*cka, why don’tcha back that ass up!  What?? How did that get in here?

Christmas Day was full of lovely little tea parties.

Naughty and nice drama pageant.

And finally some relaxing in front the of the tv, in the midst of all of our new toys!

What a lovely holiday!!

I should re-name this post, “The Barometer.” 

I’ve set up some rules for myself as I test the waters of pinterest, mostly because I don’t need one more, NOT ONE MORE, distraction from real life.  But I do need a place to organize some ideas and create a visual representation of our future house.  When we got married waaaayyyy back in 2004, I actually used a glue stick and scissors to create a visual board to communicate with those involved in the planning what exactly this bride wanted.  For some reason “rustic, like with mason jars, and daisies, and strings of lights” didn’t translate until there were clippings of mason jars, daisies, and strings of lights.  Allan and I are jointly using my account to form a visual guide for what we want in our home, which is slated to be built in (pick a year far away but not so far away the trailer falls in on us before we break ground) 2017.  That way the girls will be seven… old enough to swing a hammer if you ask me. 

My second rule… I’m not following anyone.  Well, maybe one or two people, based solely on the fact that their style is close to mine.  I don’t want to see what your visions are.  I want to figure out what my vision is.  Plus, I get enough of your shit on other social sites.  Kidding!          Kinda.

Rule #3…  Only one craft.  ONLY ONE.  And I must execute it or unpin before even CRUISING for a new one.  I’ve made a scarf.  Up next… a dolman shirt out of one of Allan’s old t-shirts.  His t-shirts are in serious trouble.  Just hanging there, waiting to be cut up and repurposed.  I can smell fear on his side of the closet.

Speaking of closets… Ours is coming out today!!  Scary!  Our house is small, but we use the space well.  But when you eliminate TWO functioning rooms, in this case the closet and the master bath, the house gets infinitely smaller.  And having to address the hundreds of bottles of fragrant beauty that have inhabited the bathroom… oh, it’s torture!!  I found a small tube of Christian Dior eye cream.  Why haven’t I been using you?  And now that I have to be ruthless about tossing shit that I don’t want to crowd into our front bathroom, why do my eyes suddenly need to be creamed?  And why do I want to smell like Hawaiian Ginger when I haven’t wanted to smell like that EVER since purchasing the lotion set in 2005?  Why the sudden, powerful need to put on purple eyeshadow? WHY NOW?  So, as I was boxing up the bathroom, I moisturized my neck, creamed my eyes, applied four different fragrances in six different forms of application, put on purple eye shadow and frosty white lipstick.  Even liquid liner that was so old I could peel it off in one strip after it dried. 

Then, unceremoniously, it all got thrown away. 

Today, walls are getting torn down.  Finally.

So… These are super simple.  It’s one of the items that would totally be on my food truck menu, if I had a food truck. 

So… On a GIGANTIC tortilla from Bountiful Baskets, layer the following:

1. Chicken breasts, seasoned with S&P and dill, on the G. Foreman, cut into slices.

2. Romesco: mmmm… this is delish.  I used this recipe from Williams-Sonoma.  Essentially: toasted almonds, roasted red peppers, garlic, bread crumbs, red wine vinegar and a food processor.

3. Romaine lettuce.  From your bountiful basket. 

4. Crunched up croutons.

5. Diced tomato.

6. Diced green onion.

7.  Drizzle caesar dressing over it and wrap (or “rap”) it up, homie.

I think after one bite, it will become apparent that the caesar has always wanted it’s romesco.

But anyways, I’m not gonna get all Norm MacDonald on you.  But I am gonna report this weekend. 

We went to Sheridan and had the best weekend.  Every single person we encountered and every single meal we ordered and every single drink we drank and every single window we shopped… just perfect. 

Food: Powder River Pizza Co.  That happened twice!  Really, really good homemade pizza and pretty got-damn good burger.  And it has now been tagged with a “Get Lost in Montana” bumper sticker because my husband is still funny.  Oliver’s: oh, freaking, yeah.  I had Tuna Tartare Tacoshimis.  Tartare wrapped in fried little wonton taco shells.  I love when I order the right thing.  Lulu’s Cafe: Pretty good, especially the globes of mimosas, but I think by that point in my drunken weekend I needed something much less plated and much more greasy spoon.  That said, I would totally go back. 

Oh and Sanford’s… Sanford’s can suck my freezer-burned, packaged ass.  I ordered Chips, salsa, and guac.  Know what I got?  Stale or uncooked tortilla chips, not sure which direction they were headed there.  Bottled salsa, made in NEW YORK CITY.  And guacomole that HAD to have come from a squeeze bottle.  I could go on about Sandford’s, but that would require a post unto itself.  Let’s just say this is probably the tenth time I’ve gone there.  I’ve only been satisfied ONCE.  And I will eat ANYTHING!!  Sanford’s can suck a bag of sysco dicks.  After seeing how great the dining options in Sheridan are these days, Sandford’s seriously needs to back up that big-as-the-table menu with something that is actually cooked, or start serving their meals in paper bags where they belong.

Whew.  Guess it doesn’t need it’s own post.

Drinks:  Oliver’s had a Key-lime martini.  It makes me roll my eyes just thinking about it.  And the Black Tooth Brewery, I was able to have  sip of every single brew on tap.  They were all good.  Lulu’s Mimosa was topped with some liquer… Sgt Someone?  Help me out here, Ash.  It really pulled the drink together.  And the Rails… the best red beers 11 am has ever seen!  And the company wasn’t too bad, either (Hi Amy!)  The Rainbow… where is it written that Rainbow Bars have to be covered in linoleum and loitering potheads?And, you can still smoke in bars there (something complimentary about red states, haha) so I was a very happy girl, using my camel as an exclamation point.

Company:  The company was the best.  Whenever I go on a (somewhat) organized trip I always wonder why we don’t do it more often.  We went for a friend’s 19th birthday and got her into EVERY bar on main street.  Noooo, she’s actually twenty something and her husband is pretty cool too.  My business paht-nuh and her husband and bro-in-law went out with us too.  And we were joined by our newly transferred local girl.  It was a great group of people with lots of laughter and banter and stories and laughter and high-fives.  Perfect.

And I got to meet up with my friend Amy who I knew when I lived in Sheridan almost ten years ago.  Even though we’ve never been that far apart, we lost touch until facebook rejoined us.  And to see her again is so awesome, some people… you just don’t lose a day with no matter how long it’s been. 

Sleeping Arrangements:  Two beds.  The BEST decision of the weekend.

Shopping:  The second BEST decision: a blue and copper pedestal sink on sale at Home Depot lead to purchasing (except for a bathtub) everything we need to remodel our bathroom.  Where did that come from??  I have no idea.  We left breakfast to go blow some cash, and ended up getting Allan work clothes and the bathroom stuff: flooring, tile, vanity, linen closet, heated floor element thing, sink… seriously, everything but the bathtub.  We got in the truck and were fist-pumping and woo-hooing because, OMG, we actually spent money on something it was supposed to be spent on!!!  We are as shocked as you are.  Somewhere there is a crew of maturity fairies nodding and high-fiving.

Monday: Detox day.  I think I have Monday Gout.  Like when you eat too much, and drink too much, and don’t have kids to keep you moving.  I think I might have a food problem.  I sat down to a burger yesterday, thinking, “Gosh I haven’t been full all weekend.”  Then I ate til I was sick.  Sated, but sick.  I couldn’t even eat when I got home.  Until 9:30 when a Schwaan’s pizza was beckoning from the freezer.  But I resisted.  Today I have sworn myself to only food.  Nothing frozen, nothing canned.  Thank God for Bountiful Baskets.  I’ve gotten to have yet another Bahn Mi (they never get old, I should blog my recipe) and homemade guac.  Guac that Sandford’s would never be able to serve because *gasp* it takes three minutes to get the avocado out of it’s shell and mashed into wonderfulness.

That’s right: Adrienne’s Detox consists of coffee, pork sandwiches, and guacomole.  Who wants to come to my fat camp?

The floor has been mopped for exactly 47 seconds.  Child-free vacation starts in 6 hours.  Need I say more.