These cookies are good, yo.


I have a bit of a sweet tooth, which I’ve talked about quite extensively in this blog, and one thing my mom always makes this time of year are her grandmother’s Mexican wedding ring cookies. They are an absurdly easy recipe, just cake flour, powdered sugar, butter, and some vanilla, but they absolutely melt in your mouth when you eat them (provided you made them correctly), and an entire huge Tupperware container of them in our house lasts a week, if that. You grab about a dozen at a time and disappear with them until they too are gone. Rinse, lather, repeat. My great-grandmother’s recipe did not include nuts, though I have heard of people putting almonds or pecans in them, however wrong it is. Don’t complicate things, people. Keep it simple.

Some things, you just don’t mess with.

I think most people have “sacred cows,” or things that other people are not allowed to mock or put down or criticize, and that could be anything from religious beliefs to political beliefs to someone’s favorite movie or music group.  I can understand people being extremely touchy about their religion or politics, but when people get overly sensitive about someone criticizing a TV show or song they like, I kind of have to step back and ask if they’re maybe taking it too seriously.  I love the music I love, and I’ll defend some of it quite vociferously (there really is no defending New Kids on the Block, no matter how reminiscent of my childhood they are), but if someone else comes along and says it sucks…well then they think it sucks. It doesn’t change how I feel about it.

I think it comes down to learning to pick and choose your battles, really.

Not handy, me.

I’ve never been good at building things or putting things together. I can manage a jigsaw puzzle, but if the puzzle is too big, my patience will wear out before I’m finished. It’s one of the more irritating things about me I wish I could change. When I was in school, whether it was grammar school or high school, I was always the one kid in art class that had the hardest time drawing or painting or hell, even cutting something out of construction paper. I can do a mean stick figure, though. I think I’d have liked to go into architecture were I not artistically challenged, because I’ve always loved learning about how buildings are made to look the way they do. Take for instance the Chrysler Building in New York — the chrome top of the building, made to look like hubcaps. How did they do that? My sister is very artistic. She’s a teacher, which I’ve mentioned before, but she makes all the bulletin board backdrops and whatnot that she puts up in her classroom every year, and it all looks so nice and sharp. I’d end up buying everything. Either that or asking her to do it.

Yet another gotdamn boy band.

It’s another music post, I’m afraid. When I write these Daily Prompts, I write about the first thing that pops to mind when I see that word or phrase, and again today, it’s a song.  When I started my freshman year of college in 2000, one of my favorite CDs (You remember those, right?) to listen to on the train was Now That’s What I Call Music! Vol. 5, and I played the damn thing out.  You had Case of the Ex by Mya, I Wanna Be With You by Mandy Moore, It’s Gonna Be Me by NSYNC, and It’s My Life by Bon Jovi, just to name a few.  There was also this song by one of the 10 million boy bands that were popular at the time, and I hope you enjoy this mid-week musical interlude.

Ask not.

Whenever I think of the word “vigor,” I hear it in my head as it was pronounced by the late, great John F. Kennedy, who had a Boston accent thick enough to slice with a bread knife.  I wasn’t alive for his administration, I was born 19 years after he was killed, but I have a whole shelf of books devoted to him, particularly An Unfinished Life by Robert Dallek, which is incredible, and I highly recommend it.  Arthur Schlesinger’s book A Thousand Days is similarly amazing.  On that note, here is a very pissed off JFK, annoyed at a silly bastard over some furniture from Jordan Marsh.

I eat with my nose, too.

I’ve talked before about how weird I am when it comes to food. If something sounds disgusting, I won’t eat it. If it looks disgusting, I won’t eat it. If it smells disgusting, I won’t eat it.  Foods that smell gross, like blue cheese, absolutely make my stomach turn. I mean, it’s moldy cheese. Who wants to eat moldy food? I prefer my food free of mold and other contaminants, thank you. I get that it makes me weird, especially if I get into all the food combinations I won’t eat because they sound gross, but life is too short to eat food you don’t want just to make someone else happy. I’ll gladly be that weird person who passes on fruit and chocolate mixed together or cottage cheese or sushi because the thought of eating them makes me want to hurl. LOL


I don’t know about y’all, but I ate like a pig yesterday.  We had turkey, meat dressing, green bean casserole (which I don’t care for), Brussels sprouts, biscuits, cranberry sauce, gravy, and then for dessert, pumpkin pie with whipped cream.  I don’t eat a ton of food every day, so when I allow myself to indulge on special days, like my birthday or the holidays, I really have fun with it.  I didn’t eat pie after lunch, I had a slice after dinner, and by then, I was pretty sure if I ate another bite, I’d turn into Mr. Cresote from Monty Python.  Yeesh.

It was damn tasty, though.  ;-)

The Turkey Story.


As promised, here is my family’s famous, world renowned Turkey Story™.  When my dad was younger, his aunt Norma (my grandmother’s younger sister) had come over to my grandparents’ apartment with her husband for Thanksgiving.  My grandmother, my great-aunt, and my great-grandmother (their mother) were all in the kitchen attending to the food, while my grandfather, great-uncle, father and uncle were in the other room doing whatever.  As legend has it, as my great-aunt was taking the turkey out of the oven, she dropped it on the floor, and it was carried into the bathroom by a tidal wave of gravy where it bounced off the claw foot tub.  My great-aunt picked it up, dusted it off, then put it back in the oven.  Now, this did not happen.  She did drop the turkey, but there was no tidal wave of gravy, the bathroom was too far from the kitchen for that to have happened anyway, even if there was a tidal wave of gravy, and the bathtub was one of those cast iron get-ups, and not even a Mack truck could have dented that thing, much less a 20 lb. turkey.  What makes this a Thanksgiving tradition in my family is that my dad would tell my sister and I this story when we were younger, and we absolutely believed it.  My uncle, my aunt, and their kids (my cousins) would come by for Thanksgiving back then, and when the two of them would get together to tell the story, it would get more fantastical than the previous year.  They don’t come by for the holidays anymore as we live too far away now, but even though I’m 34 and my sister will be 29 next Saturday, we still tell the story, and you better believe we’ll be telling it later this afternoon for lunch!  To tie this into the prompt for today, I’m grateful that my family’s Thanksgivings are never as chaotic as this one is alleged to have been.  The funniest part is that the story has been told so many times, my dad is starting to believe it really happened!  LOL.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you may be today.  Eat lots of food, have lots of laughs, don’t focus on how much weight you might gain from all the carbs.