The New Girl

Speshal Sauce And An Off-Color Joke

Here is the content of an email I sent to my friend, after she requested the recipe for my Speshal Sauce (p.s. my family hails from central Italy and we NEVER, EVER called it 'gravy.'  Just saying.) I got an email from a reader, too, after I posted about my grocery issues, asking for the recipe but I [am lazy and no good] lost that email and so, here it is!

Ingredients:
Lots of olive oil (and maybe a little buttah, if I have it)
3 big cans tomato sauce (28 oz or whatever?)
2 big cans tomato puree
1 big can of tomato paste (or two of the teeny ones)
1 medium onion, chopped
5 or 6 cloves of garlic, minced, blitzed or pressed
Salt and pepper
handful of dried oregano

I get a VAT and put a good deal of olive oil in there (and maybe a little buttah.)  Since there's no meat in there and there's lots of tomato, you can't be afraid of the oil.  I put it on medium heat and when the oil is hot, I saute the onion.  Put some salt/pepper in with the onion (you want to soften it, not brown it.)  Stir it frequently and open all those effing cans.

When the onion is soft and translucent, I throw in the garlic for like, THIRTY SECONDS.  You seriously BARELY cook it.  Then I quick put the tomato paste in and stir it all around with a fancy wooden spoon [I bought her one kind of like this b/c she was SERIOUSLY kitchen utensil CHALLENGED], so it all dissolves and is easier to stir, and then you dump in all the tomatoes.  It will be pretty thick and need some water to thin it down.  I usually start by filling one of the large tomato cans with water and dumping that in.  I may add a little more.  It's going to cook down a lot and so you want it a kind of thin(ish) consistency to start with.

Then I add a palm-full of dried oregano and a little more salt and pepper.  You should taste it to adjust the seasonings a little but it still is raw-like and won't taste all that great.  The secret is the LONG-ASS COOK TIME.  I bring it to a bubble and then reduce the heat to a slow simmer.  I stir it now and again but honestly, I cook it for like, 5-6 hours.  It is DELISH.

You can halve the recipe, obv and after it cooled, I put it into 4 cup servings into the freezer.

Now, you're like a REAL DAGO....(I wonder what my genetic profile would say...lol.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
And so now, here's my off-color, totally politically incorrect ethnic joke.  If you are offended, I am sorry in advance.  But I can't help it.  I love it.

Ready?

Me:  How can you tell where Pink Flamingos live?

You:  I don't know, how?

Me:  You just look for the little plastic Italian men in the front yards...

HA HA!!

The Littlest Olson Twin

On my personal Facebook page, a friend of mine saw a picture of The Littlest New Girl and said that she looked just like an Olson Twin.

I'm not sure I see a resemblance.

What do you think?

Fun Fact Friday!!

* Once, when I was a kid, we went to some fair and saw a *magician.*  This magician pulled out a Handkerchief and wove his Magic Wand over it, and when he whipped The Handkerchief away, a dove fell to the floor with a resounding thud.  A bunch of kids started wailing and he told them all that the dove was very tired and that his *assistant* was going to take it back stage and wake it up, or whatever.  A few moments later, The Assistant came out with the *revived bird.*  What made this moment so memorable to me, was my mother and her friend, standing behind us, practically busting a gut laughing at the magician with the poor, tired, dove.  I think that I remember actual snorting.

* Along with my Inappropriate Laughing Mental Glitch comes the insane tendency to laugh when someone is over-the-top, irrationally angry with me or anyone around me.  Like, if someone is telling me off and really going at it, I have to hold in my laughter.  Even when it's completely unfunny.

* I remember one time, when I was in high school, I had this teacher with a chronically dislocated shoulder and a notoriously bad temper.  He was screaming at the guy who sat beside me in the next row.  He was red-faced and spitting as he yelled.  He was also poking him in the chest.  The rest of the class was in a stunned-silent stupor and I sat there, hoping to hell that my shaking shoulders looked traumatized.

* I was involved in my first-ever car accident when a very strange woman ran a red light and hit me broad side.  I was all of 18 and I completely flipped my shit.  I don't know why but I lost my mind and yelled and screamed at her.  She wanted me to let her go home and get her husband to say that he was driving the car or whatever and some guy on the scene (who was chuckling at my over-the-top, irrational anger) shook his head 'no, don't let her go,' and so I didn't.  I had calmed down by the time the cops came, and I had begun to be embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior (not TOO ashamed, though, because I was young and stupid and felt somewhat justified at the time.) They found that she didn't have a license and they wrote her up and I called a tow truck and blah blah blah.  Instead of taking off from work, I went to the restaurant. When my mom dropped me off, I saw the car that hit me sitting there, in the parking lot. And WHO DO YOU THINK WAS WAITING IN MY SECTION?  

* I didn't take them as customers.  I hid from them for the entire time that they were there and they never saw me.  I learned a BIG lesson that night. And it involved the word: [humiliation] humility.

* For the MIL dinner I am making pasta with asparagus and black olives (only EIGHT MORE CANS TO GO!!) and a strawberry shortcake(ish) dessert.

* One memory that stands out in my mind so well from grade school was when this normally very quiet girl flipped her shit on a bunch of us in gym class.  I can't really remember what she said, exactly, but she was telling us off in a big, major way.  The gist of it was that we were more popular than her and her friends and that we were all basically assholes.  I was surprised, as I'd never, ever considered myself more popular than anyone at that school (well, maybe those two kids who always got picked on).  I didn't laugh that time, but I did come away with a new found respect for her--the quiet, shy girl, who was packing a secret can of whoop-ass.

* That girl is one of my Facebook friends, but I'm too chickenshit to ask if she remembers that flip-out.

Home Economics, Without A Lot Of Pesky Numbers.

The Man and I have been relatively lucky.  In this current economic [clusterfuck] climate we have been relatively unaffected. The Man's job includes increased stress during an economic melt-down but not any immediate risk of unemployment (cross your fingers and spit on the ground or whatever you're supposed to do.)  My job has slowed considerably, but considering my [pregnancy-sickness-induced suicidality] *delicate condition,* it's not wholly inconvenient.  We made some decisions during the wicked housing boom (i.e. not giving into the immense temptation to use too much of the OBSCENELY HIGH mortgage for which we "qualified") which leave us, in the main, okay.

Our financial crunch comes mostly from 1) the above-mentioned slow-down in my job, which I am not actively trying to remedy (not taking any new patients at this stage of the pregnancy anyway,) 2) paying cash for a the renovation of the basement and 3) TAXES.  Long and even MORE BORING STORY than this (hard to imagine, I know.)

Anyway.

By FAR my biggest expense (beside renting office space for my practice) is grocery shopping.  I have been following your advice and have been doing the following things (for all of a week and a half, or whatever but it's a START, yo.)

1) Checking the circulars for sales in the two stores I frequent.

2) Planning a menu for the week that includes the fresh produce that was on sale.

3) Buying a large quantity of non-perishable, commonly used items (trust me that buying 10 cans of olives felt pretty ridiculous but we, uh, use olives.)

4) Buying non-organic when possible. (I buy organic for crops with a lot of pesticides, etc. but I don't buy organic for things with peels or for certain crops--check Dr. Weil, if you're so inclined.)

5) When buying non-organic anyway, buy store brand if it's a good deal and good quality (I'm testing.)

6) Make my own sauce and freeze for later use. (We also eat a lot of red sauce.)

7) Make a concerted effort to use all of everything I buy and finish leftovers.

8) Buy some cloth napkins (I MISSED the Swistle Clearinghouse for Cloth Napkins, so anyone with advice about where to get them cheap--I'm listening...)

It would be so, SO good right now, if I was one of those people who kept a strict tally of the money spent, so that I could give you a satisfyingly accurate amount of money saved.  But, alas, I am not (OBV) and thus, I do not.

But.  On the items that I purchased thus far, it appears that I've saved about $70. in two weeks, buying a lot of bonus-card-sale items.  That doesn't include the money saved on, say, making a VAT of sauce and/or buying store brand canned beans.

So far, so good.  But we all know I'm not the most consistent tool in the shed, or, whatever.  I'm liking having the menu so far and I'd forgotten how GOOD and really EASY homemade sauce is.

I'll keep you posted.  (Are you thinking, 'I'm SO. LUCKY.'?)

A Tough Day

We're having a tough day today.  It started out with [the gazillionth] a Level-4 Meltdown over having to be changed out of a pee-SATURATED, night time diaper.  That landed TLNG in The Time-Out, from which she escaped, running into the hard-wooded living room in her footie pajamas.  As I [gave chase] went on my Retrieve and Replace Mission, she fell onto said hardwood, leading with her face.

Such began (and continued) our day.

TLNG is cutting no fewer than SIX TEETH right now, including three molars.  She's also cognitively developing at the speed of light, experiencing a surge in language and memory skills that leaves me shaking my [throbbing] head in amazement at least twice a day.  The by-product of all of this is a mercurial temper coupled with zero frustration tolerance served with a side of EVERYTHING IS A NEGOTIATION.  Which, my Regular-Person Mind can not only understand, but can also empathize with.  It's hard to be an almost-two year old, whose mouth is full of constant, nagging pain and whose synapses are firing away, making it hard to sleep or focus on any one thing for more than 3.4 seconds.  I get it, truly.

The MOTHER-Person Mind, though?  That's another story.

I'm pregnant.  And hormonal.  And uh, OLD.  I'm cranky and not sleeping well myself (although certainly and decidedly NOT because my synapses are firing...)  I'm less patient and I grow too easily weary of the constant wheeling and dealing that has to be done, if I am going to get The Toddler out of the house during the 5.3 seconds between when I fasten her coat and when she strips it off. Proudly.  Not to mention the wear and tear on my Mother-Person Mind that comes from the incessant Kirk-Outs that come with ANY. TRANSITION. WHATSOEVER.

*sigh*

I am the kind of person who would never go back to a past time in my life, in its entirety.  Sure, I'd go back to the pre-kid days for the Napping Potential.  But in the context of its entirety?  No.  I wouldn't want to go back.  Not to High School (godfahBID), not to college, not to post-marriage-pre-kid.  Not to one-kid, pre-pregnant.  I am always looking for what's next. I believe that as happy as I've been in the past, that there is always more good to come.  And I look forward to exchanging the old and worn for the (sometimes) strange and new.  Even if it's uncomfortable for a while.

I'm finding that about this, my Regular-Person and my Mother-Person Minds agree: I am the same in the tendency to look forward for my daughter and the experience that I have mothering her.  As impossible as she seems today and as impatient as I am with her burgeoning independence, I wouldn't want to go backwards.  Not to re-experience a past stage with her in its entirety.  I love who she is becoming and believe the difficulty, the pushing away, the meltdowns, the labile mood are all necessary and serve a purpose for her.  And I believe (or I FERVENTLY HOPE) that this is part of the stage, as it has been in the past.  Part of her shrugging off what is old and worn and working her way into what is strange and new.  And I'm SURE it's going to be uncomfortable for a while.

I mean, Two is right around the corner.

*SIGH*

Freaky Fun Fact Friday!

Whoa.

Sorry for the Sucker Punch the other day. I was all like, 'Blah blah how do I save money on groceries?' and you were all like, 'Cool!  I LOVE HOME ECISH POSTS!' and just when you thought that I was going to post on all my grocery savings, POW!! Take this horrible memory from when my MOM DIED, right in the kisser!  What can I say? I read this post by Moo's Moo and well, it just gave me flashbacks. I do thank you all for the thoughts and empathy.  I owe you for the therapy.

Moving on.

Anne Nahm needs some cheering  up, yo.  And since she likes Fun Fact Friday and Manson Stories (What?  Don't know from Manson Stories?  Find them here to catch up,) I thought I'd give you all some Mini-Freaky Manson Facts for Friday.

I'm exhausted from all the linking.  Let me rest a minute.

All right.  Here we go.

* We lived in a neighborhood that had tract housing, like.  Manson's house (inherited from his father) had a big-ass addition on the back/top, so he rented out the front.  One of his tenants was a so-called *hair dresser.*  I've never seen a man who looked less like a hair dresser in all my life.  He looked like a cross between John Waters and Snidely Whiplash.  Anyway, one day, The Man and I were out on the driveway, washing our car (remember, we shared a driveway with Manson.) We heard a 'PSST. PSSSST.'  We looked around, to see the tall, skinny, thinly mustached man crouching down, calling us over to the front of the house for a conference.  He told us that he was secretly moving out on Manson and that Manson was a hella-huge drug dealer and that he kept large canisters of Nitrous Oxide right next to his heater and he was afraid that the whole house was going to blow up.  (I think you're supposed to store your Nitrous Oxide in a cool, dry place, yo.) The very burly guys that The Hairdresser had helping him to move, got into a fight with Manson in the driveway.  Manson called the cops and then SKKRRRTed out of the driveway, leaving all the cops confused when they got there.  I had a friend visiting from out of town and we stood by the window, peeking through the blinds like a couple of Loraxes.

* There was always some kind of crazy-ass construction going on over at Manson's.  So, that in addition to the statues and bobble heads that he had adorning his outdoor fixtures (Water Meter Decoration, the new trend), there were always like big piles of cinder blocks and bags of cement and what-have-you.  One day, Manson confided that he was turning his downstairs into a kennel.  To breed bulldogs.  The day he invited me inside to see it, is a post of its own. Trust.

* Manson one time frantically knocked on our door in the early evening, asking to use our phone.  He was barefoot.  He told us that his [crazy skinny, possibly underage, heroin-addicted, boyfriend] roommate was in his house, going nuts, smashing the place up.  He needed to use our phone because the kid had thrown all of his out of the house, onto the lawn.  I don't remember who he called but I know it wasn't the cops or an ambulance.

* Manson called The Man aside one day to tell him that he was in the process of securing financing for a Cottman Transmission franchise.  He told The Man that he would be able to secure payment for his services through the use of a very advanced device (a black box-like thing) that he would place on the undercarriage of the cars of those he suspected of being shifty.  This black box would track all of the bill-shirker's movements and could be programmed to garnish his wages, payable to Manson at The Cottman Transmission.  The Man and I had a good run of that one, I'll tell you.  I was always putting a black box under his car that would make him pick up his underwear or say, swallow more quietly.

* He also explained to The Man that he was going to make a mascot for his Cottman Transmission.  He was going to make it out of car parts...a muffler for the body, shocks for arms, etc.  It was going to be animatronic and he was going to call it The Cott Man.  He said, 'And all the kids will say, 'LOOK! Mom! Dad! It's the COTT MAN!'

* Manson had an ironic bumper sticker.  I don't know that it was SUPPOSED to be ironic. 

It said this:

ARRIVE ALIVE
don't drink and drive.

Making Nurse Ratched Look Like Florence Fucking Nightingale

The tension was so thick in the room that it was almost unbearable.  It made me want to jump out of my skin.  We weren't talking, we were just waiting.  And waiting.  And waiting.  For the nurse to respond to the call.  I was restless, impatient, agitated and afraid.

Three weeks into the odyssey that was my mother's hospital stay, after a heap-load of medical tests without a clear diagnosis to show for the pain and suffering they caused, she had been transferred from ICU to general medicine and then to the telemetry floor.  My father and I were with her.  One of my aunts had come to visit and while my mother was talking and smiling, I noticed a significant drooping of the left side of her face.  After my aunt left, I asked my mom about it, told her what I noticed. 

I thought that she was having a stroke.  It seemed as likely as having some mysterious back pain and ending up in the hospital, psychotic, with broken down kidneys.

With my heart racing, knowing that time is of the essence in stroke treatment, I called the nurse.

And with mounting panic, I waited for what seemed like eternity.

So, I did something that I had never done prior to that moment.

I rang a second time.

Clearly they were busy.  The nurses' station was directly across the hall and they weren't all sitting around, shooting the shit.  They were hopping.

When the nurse came in, she was irate.  And this is what she said to me:

'What is it?  I heard the first page.  I've just been with patients who are REALLY sick.'

I'm still not over it, four years later.

I set aside my rage because, frankly, I was too anxious to let her have it.  I needed to have my mom seen.  She did her job and called the neurologist.  She had a student nurse with her.  Donna something-or-other.  Turns out, I'd gone to high school with her.  I was talking to her in the hallway, venting my spleen after the fact.  Donna was visibly upset and torn.  She said this:

'She really is a good nurse.'

I responded, 'Just promise me this: that you will never. ever. say that to a family member.  Ever.'

She promised.

The on-call neurologist (resident) thought it may have been a stroke but when the attending came in, it turned out that my mother's not-real-sickness of cancer had settled on the inside of her skull and had started to impinge on her facial nerves.

She died exactly two weeks later.

I should add that the care my mom got on every other floor was exceptional.  After she died, The Little Sister and I sent gift baskets of thanks to every floor she was on.  Except that one. I never took the nurse's name.  I never wrote a letter.  With the ocean of my grief and loss to drown out the memories of my mother's final days, it became a less prominent memory.

But still.  Every year since, when this time rolls around, I find myself wondering how many of that nurse's really sick patients are still alive.

I'll bet you at least some of them are.

Just Like Toni Basil.

Hokay.

Here's the thing: I am not, nor have I ever been, a bargain shopper when it comes to groceries.  I have never clipped coupons, looked at sales circulars, compared prices, etc.  In fact, if one were to observe my *hem* spending habits, one might conclude that I was only PARTIALLY CONSCIOUS for my shopping trips.  I'm not proud of it but I couldn't tell you the price of the OJ I buy for The Man, or the price of a box of 'bars' that I buy for TLNG, as I don't really PAY ATTENTION.  I just pick what I want off of the shelf and I put it in mah bahsket.  The only price of which I am certain, is the loaf of challah bread that I buy to make french toast (b/c OMG, challah french toast?? Kicks ASS.)

Um. NINE DOLLARS.

No, I'm not joking.  I'll pause to let that sink in.

And I'll even admit that the only reason I KNOW that fact is because The Man came back from a run to the store AGHAST and TOLD me so.

I KNOW.  It's an Upper Middle Class Sob Story (tm: Tess) if you've ever heard one. 

I'm not an excessive spender in general, though.  I don't buy myself expensive things.  I haven't purchased an item of clothing for myself in FOREVER (seriously? I think I might have been pregnant,) and when I do shop for myself, it's usually at Target.  I will say that I buy nice shoes (at Marshall's or whatever.)

I'm getting off point.

What was my point again?

Oh, yeah. Grocery shopping.  I am thinking that it's time to tighten the reigns after [an email from our accountant, telling us that the tax situation looks (quote) UGLY THIS YEAR (end-quote)] some reflection and soul searching.

So, I'm looking at the circulars and [saying HUUUH?] wondering how you budget conscious shoppers do it.

I should say that there are some non-negotiables that I don't mind spending extra for: some organic products etc.  But there's still a LOT of room for fat-trimmage. 

So, tell a New Girl: How do you do it?  The saving money on groceries.

And don't be all wiseacre and smart-ass about the challah.  Until you TRY IT.

And THEN, imagine that this here is ME, taking all your good advice:

Things I'm Pondering While I Should Be Sleeping

Having a lot of Slow Time (you know, like PRISON TIME,) (AKA being too sick to do anything fun and/or being awake during odd hours of the night) gives me a lot of time to ponder.  Lucky you!

Here are some of the questions that I have been mulling over:

* Are all of your houses cleaner than mine?  I don't mean are they cleaner than mine is RIGHT NOW, because I've been sick and unable to clean super-thoroughly.  I mean, are all of your houses cleaner than mine is on the reg?  I FAIL at housekeeping and/or clean-freakishness and although I could blame The Man for being less than neat, I have to admit that I am also hit or miss when it comes to housework.  For instance, if I have people over, I have to clean and clean.  Plus?  I still have to shut the doors of my bedroom and the spare room because they?  Need SERIOUS work.  I imagine that college kids have more put-together rooms than mine and it is a Humiliation Situation.  After the house is clean, it takes roughly THREE DAYS for it to become unvisitable again.  WTF?

* Do other people start having second thoughts about having another kid AFTER they get knocked up?   It is no secret that I was incredibly ambivalent about having children in the first place.  Once I made the decision to have a baby, I never looked back, despite the level of sickness that I had the first time around.  I lamented the illness for sure but I just figured that it was part of the package.  I somehow thought that having one would make me less ambivalent re: having a second.  I KNOW!  I'll wait while you're done laughing your asses off.  It really didn't make me less ambivalent but we came to the decision much like we did the first time.  Being up against The Clock was a factor or I may have waited.  HOWEVER, I find myself thinking, 'What the hell did I DO?'  We were out of the woods with the first one.  Only children are GREAT!  One college tuition!  One car for a teenager!  What were we thiiiiiinking??  [I don't have like, FOR REAL second thoughts, it's just HOLY HELL, you know?]

* Are other people less phased by taking medicine during their second pregnancies? During my first pregnancy, I got about a HUNDRED colds.  I even wrote a memo to my immune system (I was way funnier back then).  I SUFFERED and SUFFERED with stuffiness and head congestion and stuffiness.  This time?  I just took some Benadryl.  I don't know.  I was on Zofran for so long with the first one and I guess I figured that a Benadryl swap for the Zofran was a decent trade. Or something.

* How is it that people have such hard and fast [and obnoxiously judgmental] opinions about what other people do?  I know that a lot of people feel like it's a mother to mother thing and perhaps because that is a community in which we spend a lot of time, it seems/feels like that.  I think, though, that it is a more global phenomenon, that it happens all over.  People judge and feel free to share their opinions and judgments with others.  It's overwhelming to me.  Partly, I think it's human nature to have a subjective viewpoint about things and to feel somewhat threatened by someone/something that challenges the way you see things.  But there are lots of things that are human nature that we ideally inhibit.  I think that being an opinionated/judgmental A-hole should be one of them. So, if you're judging me for taking Benadryl LA LA LA LAAAAAA, I'M NOT LISTENING TO YOU.

* Why is it that Kate (from Jon and Kate Plus 8) often makes me feel inferior (as do a lot of other clean freaks)? See question #1, obv.  It's true, though.  I find that when I have a friend or an acquaintance who is a neat-freak and/or germaphobe, I feel that they are judging me (even if they aren't.) (But really, I think that they are.)  I often wonder how they find the time and/or the energy and/or the inner drive to keep house the way that they do and I so wish I had a little of that brand of crazy.  As, you know, my own brand of crazy involves mostly messing things up.

* Why can I not seem to cultivate consistency in my life?  I am consistently inconsistent.  And that? Would probably be IT for what is consistent about me.  I'm exaggerating, really.  I always, ALWAYS wash my make-up off of my face before going to bed.  And I consistently parent with consistent expectations.  And I consistently wear my seatbelt. But the things about which I am inconsistent (motivation for exercise and eating right, say, or being able to keep my house/car in decent shape) seem to be the most prominent in my mind.  At least for right now. It's possible that I'll forget all about it in a couple days. 

A Little Sunday Sparkle

Seriously. 

The Littlest New Girl is [21 months] almost two and she has hit some kind of freakish PEAK OF CUTENESS.

I know, I KNOW.  Just waaaaait until she's TWO.  Or THREE.  The hell is WAITING there for me.  I know.

I'm just going to put my fingers in my ears and sing LA LA LA LA and enjoy the couple weeks I have before all that kicks in.