Green Bean cASSerole

With the exception of okra I've yet to meet a vegetable that I won't eat. Really. I don't care for veggies that have been cooked to death, but other than that, I'm not too picky. Grill 'em, steam 'em, fry 'em, sautee 'em, whatever, I'll eat them.

That being said there is one dish that I can't stomach. That dish haunts my life this time of year. It's the Green Bean Casserole. A side dish that has so permeated itself into our society that when running a Google search one must only type g r e e n b and it appears. It's everywhere.

I look at the dish and think "MUCUS. WITH CRUMBS." A co-worker has his wife make it weekly and I kid you not, I can smell it on his breath. He's like, "I'll have the financials posted by Wednesday..." and what I hear is, "My wife served crumby-mucus with dinner last night."

I've always made an attempt to TRY different things. Lest you think I kid, I've eaten 'gator on a stick kids, way out of this NY-Italian Girl's meal repertoire.

Now since I feel so very strongly about this you know what's coming, right? BS came home from work on Tuesday night to announce that he needed to make green bean casserole (I actually threw up in my mouth a little typing those words again,) for his office luncheon today. The conversation went like this:

BS: Hey what all is in green bean casserole

Daf: Who cares, it's nasty.

TWS: Green beans, cream of (actually swallowed some vomit) mushroom, and those fried onions. Why?

BS: I have to make some tomorrow.

TWS: Why? Why Lord, have you forsaken me?

BS: For our deal we do every year.

TWS: I'll make it.

BS: I don't mind.

TWS: I'll do it. But only because it'll be worse to clean up the kitchen when your done.

So that is how after a bottle of wine, one trip to Doll*r Gener*l, and a roll of tums I made a dish that had me gagging so bad my abs are sore today.

Image: http://www.cardilla.com/recipes/details.php?rid=12

I Know You'll Be Shocked to Know...

BM did NOT show up for the college visit that she insisted she join us on.

Now you're probably thinking that she went to an event with Daisy, had another commitment, or was other wise indisposed, purposefully, no doubt.

Yeah not so much.

Never called, texted, nothing...

How DID Y'all Meet? Part XXIII

To start at the beginning...


He looked at me shocked.

"What are you saying?"

"He's a smart guy. Very smart. With resources at his hands that the average person doesn't."

I silently pleaded for him to ask no more questions.

"Are you okay? You look like you're going to pass smooth out," he said.

I felt like it. I also knew that at that very moment F*ckF*ce was probably getting a call or an e-mail letting him know that BS was standing in our kitchen.

"Here is the deal," I breathed. "You've got a wife and kids. A marriage. A life here. I'm leaving soon. I know that I didn't do anything with you. You know it. The two of us sitting here is not making your case any stronger. You have something to lose. I'm losing all of this anyway."

"Will you go back to New York? With him?"

"I don't know. I just know that I can't stay married to him. I can't live in this house, and more importantly, I can't rely on you as my soul support system without fucking up the life you've created."

As I spoke I walked through the kitchen and onto the porch. I lit the cigarette that was in my hand. The pack had been hidden the the recesses of my freezer for so long it tasted like garbage. I took a long drag and sat down.

"Care to join me?"

He drug a chair over and we sat on the porch and watched the fountains in the lake. We said nothing. For an hour. It was a silence so comfortable it was meditative.

The calm was shattered with the sound of a squeeling tire. I stood up to look across the lake, the only direction a car can go in the neighborhood. Assuming it was a tradesman I turned to sit down.

BS was on his feet, eyes as big as saucers, mouth wide open.

"What's wrong?"

"That's BM's SUV. And that's my son hanging out the passenger window."

I didn't know if I should laugh, cry, be outraged, or hug him. He looked like he'd been kicked in the gut, and I wasn't far behind him.

Regression

I'll preface this post with a request to those few readers that know my family in "real life." Please respects the privacy of my Kidlet and use discretion when mentioning this in the presence of anyone other than BS and I.

When Daffy first moved in with us he experienced anxiety attacks when alone. That is to say that if one of us didn't get home from work before he did, he'd simply go back to work, go visit one of our friends, or call and ask if we needed any errands run.

He's NOT a fan of being home alone and may a pimp wear a real fur if it's dark out. (The irony of it is that the Kidlet is 6'3", 225, a fairly good shot, and the owner or two dogs that weigh in at 107 and 76 pounds respectfully.)

Over the past year he's done much better working through it. To the point that if BS and I run an errand after dinner he'll simply ask how long we'll be gone, where we'll be, remind US to take OUR phone, and ask us to set the alarm before we leave. Keep in mind our social life doesn't consist of many events that he can't attend with us. Be it a dinner with friends, a sporting event, or even stopping at a friend's house for a cocktail.

In light of the hellish 6 previous days, I decided that I'd take BS on a date last night. (I know, right!)

As we were finishing dinner I sprung it on him, "Babe, I'm taking you on a date tonight."

Confused but not opposed he answered, "I'd be good with that. Where are you taking me?"

Because I felt like pulling out all of the stops I offered him a choice of Starb*cks or a beer from the local watering hole.

"Y'all are REALLY going on a DATE?" Daff popped off.

"Yes! Why?"

He laughed. And laughed.

"You're just jealous you don't have a date tonight," his Father offered.

"Pshaw. I could get a date if I wanted one."

The ribbing continued while the boys cleaned up the kitchen and I went to change into some jeans.

When I returned Daffy was outside riding his bike. I told him that is was 6 o'clock and we were going out. I assured him that we'd be home no later thank 9.

The first call came at 6:07.

He was wondering if we needed anything from the store.

Did I pick up the dry cleaning?

He needs more note cards for his research paper next week, maybe he'd run to the office supply store.

Are we out of tennis balls for the dogs?

At 6:32 he asked permission to go to his girlfriend's house. We granted it. (She lives in our subdivision)

At 6:38 he texted to ask us to text when we got home.

We got home about 8:30 and every light in the house was on and the shit was locked up like Fort Knox.

We talked for a while, and life is good. It's just amazing to me that 96 hours of bullshit can spin him on his ass. It's also amazing to me that I'm not in an orange jumpsuit.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

With That, We Resume Our Regularly Scheduled Blogging...

I don't even know where to begin thanking everyone who commented and e-mailed me in the last 96 hours. You'll never know how appreciated and encouraging your words have been. They've given me a sense of strength that I didn't know I had.

We explained to Daisy on Friday night that she had to make a decision as to where she was going to live, as we'd need to enroll her in school in our district, or she'd need to have a conversation with BM and return there on Sunday night.

She cried, we cried, Daffy was a wreck, and the dogs were pacing.

I took the opportunity to tell BS that she would get every opportunity that Daffy did, but she would get no more than that. His world was being rocked more than any one's and that was not fair to him. He'd already been through hell and come out on the other side.

Sometime around 8:00 a.m. Saturday morning BM started calling. You'll be shocked to know her questions related more to finances than Daisy's well-being. (I know, right?)
Eventually Daisy got on the phone with her and they spoke for about 5 minutes.

When that was done Daffy called her into his office (the back yard.) While I'm not certain what they spoke about, I know that the tides started changing. I could feel the tension slowing making it's way from my body. I knew that no matter the outcome, I was ahead.

I knew that if she choose to return to BM's and Ghetto University that I'd never have to hear the, "...you favor Daffy," or "...He gets XYZ." I knew that because the same opportunities that were provided him were now laid in her lap.

I mentioned to her that if she was planning on going back to her mom's she'd need to call her and ask for her books so that she could catch up on her homework. I made breakfast and lunch, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen and left the house.

I had said and done everything that I was willing and able to do and I was very comfortable with that. (Please don't beat me up here, I know there are those who think that I should have been/continued to encourage her to stay at Casa d'Minnie, but I also knew that every word I said would be coming back to bite me.)

Yesterday morning, BM called. She spoke to Daisy for about 10 minutes. I can only assume it was civil. Shortly after she called BS and spoke to him. Her (BM's) concern was that if Daisy lived with us, she'd be strapped financially. Additionally, she and her Husband are having "problems." (Heh, I gave it a year, who knew?)

When they ended the call I told BS that he might tell Daisy to start getting her things together. I assured him that BM shit when she thought of the financial repercussions of getting no child support and, no doubt, apologized profusely and promised the moon.

He agreed.

Late yesterday afternoon BM came and picked her up. I am not at all embarrassed to tell you that I'm very comfortable with that. Nor do I have any shame in telling you that Daffy was more than pleased to return to his only-child status.

You can make a large bet the next few months will be filled with tales of how awful BS and I are for encouraging Daisy to move. You can also double down if you think I'll lose another nights sleep over it.

Tossing Updates

BM came over yesterday afternoon to speak to Daisy. I told Daisy she did not have to agree with what BM told her but she did have to be respectful.
BM talked for 15 minutes and Daisy said not a word.
BM came out to the porch where I was waiting to tell me that she was leaving because, "...and I ain't gettin nowhere with her."
I asked if Daisy was respectful towards her. She said she didn't know because she didn't say a word to her.
I walked in the back door only to watch Daisy hold open the front door for BM to leave.
Once her car was out of the driveway, Daisy was fine.

We have until Saturday night/Sunday to make a decision and either get her back to the Ghetto or enroll her Monday in our schools.

BM decided last night (no doubt after a case of beer) that I was, "...welcome to keep her. I don't need her shit. I got enough drama."

Lovelies, please tell me how to tell a 14 year-old that it doesn't matter where she wants to live, her egg doner doesn't want her back?

Sorry this post is so choppy and sadly lacking, but it's all I've got right now. I've had a least one kid attached to my ass since Wednesday evening.

Here We Go Again (Again)

It's 2:38 AM. The Yankees won the World Series. BS and Daffy are asleep. The house is quiet less the sound of the dishwasher draining and black dog's nails on the floor.

He paces the hallway between Daffy's room and the Guest room where a sleeping Daisy rests. She's been here a few hours. The first twenty minutes of her dozing found her body still contracting with sobs.

I don't know what today will hold. I half expect BM to kick in the door right now and then wonder if it'll only be to ask for money.

She cried to Daffy as BS was already driving back with her, "I won't lose another kid. Not to that whore."

It's not a contest, it's about doing what's right for the kids. Our kids. Hers, His, and Mine.

I'll update when I know anything. If you're the praying kind, send some my way.

Higher Education

We have a scheduled visit to tour a College that Daffy is considering attending. This visit has been on the books (meaning the outlook and kitchen calendars) for a few months.

When we initially discussed it, I suggesting inviting BM to join us. I was shot down by both Daffy and BS.

Around Homecoming I did mention to her that we'd need to start looking at schools soon. She agreed and the conversation was closed.

Last night Daffy shared that he'd told BM about the trip and, "...she said she might want to come."

Now here this Internet all three readers, I can feel a rumble coming on. Firstly, there is still debate on BMs' actually finishing high school. Additionally, and more importantly, she makes decisions regarding her children's futures based on her best financial interest.

In the interest of throwing it all out here, allow me this; I do NOT believe that one's possession of a diploma marks their ability to succeed in life. Some of the smartest people I know have not been to a "traditional" institute of higher learning.

That being said I believe that as parents it is our responsibility to prepare our children for the world that we will toss them out intolovingly nudge them from the nest into.

Asking what everything costs at every turn is what I feel will result in limited tour and counselor time. I'm already feeling frustrated and it's still two weeks away.

I suspect there will be much tongue-biting and perhaps real-time blogging.

Dear Texas

I know that often we share a love-hate relationship. I'm okay with that. I've even come to terms with it.

When I return to my native home, I freely acknowledge that I miss you. I miss you in all your Ro-Tel-Cilantro-Humid glory and I'm a big enough woman to say it.

That being said, I've never missed you more than I do right now. This very second. 4:51 MDT.

I miss you providing me big hair, because at least it's not soaking wet with icicles hanging off it.

I miss you ensuring sweaty palms because then I wouldn't need this SECOND pair of gloves.

I miss you making my feet swell to flip-flops only attire because at least I can feel my toes.

I'll be home soon.

Minnie

I'm NOT Mr. Rogers

The family and I live in a suburb of a major US City. The neighborhood that we live in is comprised of larger lots than most, therefore making it a desirable place to live. In an effort to maintain the pleasant residential environment the deed restrictions are plenty, and strongly enforced by the Homeowner's Association.

Recently Daffy mentioned that his grandparents (BM's parents) had purchased land and would be moving very close to us.

"Well that's great! I'm sure they'll love getting to see you more," I told him. All the while watching BS flinch.

"Which one did they buy?" I asked.

After briefly describing it to me, I was still at a loss and ultimately forgot about it.

Several days later I happened to take a different route home from work to avoid some school buses and paid a bit more attention. I was still unable to determine which house or lot it was.

That evening I asked Daffy again. We spoke briefly and the conversation went like this...

"Honey, which house are your grandparents buying?"

"There is no house, just land."

"Got you. Are they going to stay in their old house until they build, or is it already sold."

"They're going to put a mobile home there."

"I don't think they can, the deed restrictions are pretty clear on that."

"Well my Mom said she was a little confused when she told me where it was. It's not in our neighborhood."

"Got you. Where is it?"

He proceeds to describe an area a few miles away where I knew there were several lots for sale.

"Oh, is it that one lot with the beautiful lake in the front?"

"Nah, you know where those cars are all rusted, on the corner, real close to the road?" There."

So for now, I'm keeping them at bay. If they come any closer I'll have to remind them that I'm not Mr. Rogers and this is not your neighborhood.

55, Barbie Feet, and Adjusters

Sorry for the delay in posting. Here is what's rocking at Casa d'Minnie.

1. The company that insured the woman who hit me last week wants to use refurbished and re-manufactured parts on my car. That I've been without for a week now. Driving a rental car that's missing a hub cap and has lights that come on and off. I'll be trading that sucker in this weekend. Is anyone in the insurance business? Am I being unreasonable for wanting my car put back together the way that I got it? Do laws vary by state of this?

2. Yesterday P and the team at her office helped me bake 55 dozen cookies. Seriously, do you know that this is 600 freaking cookies? Do you understand how kind that was? Do you know if I don't touch cookie dough until next season I'm fine with that?

3. After baking all day (literally 8+hours) one of P's girls asked me if I had Barbie feet? When looking confused she mentioned that Barbies feet are "pointed" to fit into high heels all day, like the ones I was wearing. I think it's one of the funniest things I ever heard.

4. Do you know that after baking ALL DAY BS called me at P's to ask... "How do you cook ravioli?" Really?

Things One Should NEVER...

SAY
After you "forgot" to yield and can't differentiate between green and red and hit my car. With me in it...

"What the F*ck, Bi-atch?"

"Ditent you see me?"

"Whats taking the po lice so long, I gotta get my babydaddy and we needa get her a flu shot."

"I can't find my insurance card."

Things you should never say to the police office at the scene when he asked what happened...

"Why you aksin her side first?"

"Our kind need to stick together."

"Can you call me on this, I gotta get my daughter?"

HAVE ON
A ribbed white tank top with no bra, regardless of the size of your tae tas.

Jewelry IN your nails.

A bumper sticker that says, "Fuck the Cops."

A gold chain that weighs more than the roller skate you're driving.

How was every one's weekend?

How was your weekend?

"I Ate His Lunch"

As Daffy was finishing his dinner a few nights ago I was cleaning the kitchen.


"'R'mind me to chew, chop, chew... I have to get up a little early tomorrow chew, chop, chew...lunch."


"What? Oh, you want to get up early to make lunch?"


"Yes."


"Well since I'm standing here and before the kitchen is finished being cleaned, why don't I do it now?"


Keep in mind, Daffy is very capable of making his lunch, that being said, he's not near as good as cleaning the kitchen when he's through.

"Well I have to make a big lunch."

Again I'll ask for your acknowledgement of his 6'3" 215 pound frame before this goes any further. An average Daffy lunch on a random day is, three turkey and cheese sandwiches, half dozen cookies, two apples, grapes, and half a bag of chips.

"Is there any particular reason you need a bigger lunch?"

I'll spare you the details, but it appears that the "new" kid in school came by the lunch table today and dropped off his lunch, promptly leaving without a word. After waiting twenty minutes and with only three to spare before the bell rang the Kidlet ate new kid's fries and cookie, and drank his milk. Two class periods later he approached Daffy in the hall and asked if he had his lunch.

Daffy apologized and offered to take him to the cafeteria and buy him another lunch. The kid declined and suggested that Daf bring lunch for both of them tomorrow.

"Well what does he like?"

"He said he didn't care but that Logan told him you always make good lunches," Daf shared. (I do, actually.)

Damn. I had left over chicken breasts I was going to make chicken salad for the Kidlet, I thought.

"He said he really doesn't care."

So that, Lovelies is why I went through four chicken breasts, a loaf of bread, four tortillas (I wasn't running to the store for more bread for someone else's kid) a half pound of peppered turkey, a quarter pound of Swiss, eight pickles, four apples, two oranges, a bag of sun chips, a half a bag of pretzels, two dozen cookies, and six gatoraides less than an hour after I returned from the grocery store.

Because my Kidlet ate the new kid's lunch.

Travel and Entertainment

I spent yesterday in NY. And Michigan. And Tennessee. And Texas.

Really.

P and I woke at the sickening hour of 3:15 AM, Eastern time.

We arrived at the airport in NY to board a flight so packed the flight attendants were gate checking diaper bags. Then we sat and waited for the ground crew to de-ice the plane.

We arrived in Michigan late, due to the de-icing and managed to cross the terminal with time to spare. Because P and I are no dummies we did check the monitors to be sure there was no gate change. There was not.

Upon arrival at our assigned gate we were told that flight had left, we weren't on it, and we needed to go to another terminal.

Loading back up like pack mules, we drug our over-tired asses to the proper gate where boarding had already started.

Once crammed in like sardines in a can, yet again, our pilot advised that due to wind conditions we were not departing Michigan with enough fuel to arrive at our final destination. Therefore we'd be flying to Tennessee to load up with the remaining required fuel to get back to Texas.

The flight was decent considering the wind conditions, the crying babies, the make up sales women talking P's ear off, and the man in front of me who clearly did not believe in showers, baths, dental floss, deodorant, nail clippers, or any other personal hygiene tool.

Sitting on the ground in Tennessee for less than an hour, we were gassed up and ready.

As I awoke to the Texas skyline my legs were cramped, my eyes blurry, my lips chapped, and I was dying to get home.

That's when my enemy the pilot advised that Texas wouldn't let us land because we had too much fuel. We spent the next 45 minutes circling to burn it off. (How is that for efficiency?)

Upon hitting the ground we made tracks for baggage and into the humid air for our shuttle to the parking lot.

Once again, we toted out luggage, purses, and carry-on bags, all of which weighed considerably more than they did when we left, from the shuttle to P's car. We pulled onto the freeway in enough time to enjoy the massive rain fall.

When we pulled into P's driveway, she took pity on my weary soul and helped me move the luggage once again.

As I left her house for the last leg of my trip, which would put me in my driveway I was fighting to stay awake. I pulled into the garage, tossed the luggage AGAIN into the house and opened the refrigerator.

Milk-sour
Eggs- one left
Bread-stale
Diet Coke- NONE
Wine-less than one glass
Pizza boxes- 2 with more toppings then necessary.

Now I'm not opposed to feeding my Kidlet a pop tart for dinner, but I need wine a diet coke. I have my standards, damn it.

I pulled the perishable items out of my bag, tossed them into the ice box and headed to the grocery store.

Nearing tears, I checked out with my bounty and had to pinch myself to stay awake driving home.

My day could not end quick enough.

My trip was actually fantastic.

And I already miss Heids and P.

I'll have a post of substance shortly, but for now, I just need to get through this day.

Like Venting, but with more....

From: Me

To: P


FYI, the below is an e-mail from Bobby’s niece. What’s funny is the little girl who is turning two… I paid for a rather hefty portion of her baby shower since she was 18 and unwed.


We don’t have your address…


When:Saturday September 26th

12pm to 3pm

Where:Niece 6 and Creepy Hubby House



Sorry you didn't get one in the mail, we didn't have yalls address!!Hope yall can make it!! She's turning 2!!! [sic]




From: P

To: Me


WTF....I'll go ahead and assume that they had your address for the shower invitation?





From: Me

To: P


Funny, since it’s the same address that’s on every check those bitches ever cashed. I need a flucking drink.



From: P

To: Me


Laughing my ass off!





From: Me

To: P



I told you we should have married orphans.