If I asked for a cup of coffee, someone would search for the double meaning.

So there I was flexing my coffee muscles with a co-worker discussing whose coffee is better . . . he had some bitter dark brewed winter blend and I had nicely balanced fresh ground apple dumpling.  Clearly, I had the superior cup o’ joe.

Obviously.

Until he said, “that’s girlie coffee.”

Wait  . . . what?? 

I never really thought about it, but I would assume that coffee was gender neutral.  I mean, okay, you can have some hipster barista whip up a floofy concoction that could lean maybe kinda towards the feminine.  Maybe.

So, I asked him, “What would you define as ‘girlie’ coffee?”

He said, “you know, those flavored ones; hazelnut, vanilla.  I want to taste coffee when I drink my coffee.”

Of course now I’m offended.  Yes, I’m a girl . . . but, dammit, I like my golden French toast brew!  And, now I have to worry weather or not someone will think I’m a frilly pretty-in-pink sorority chick just because of my coffee.

Thinking I might be able to snag him with the condiments he added to his java . . .  you know, like, sugar, syrups . . . whipped cream.  So, I asked him, “What’s your favorite way to drink coffee.”

Him, “I love a good Latte`”

Him . . . snagged!

“Oh, yeah and that’s not girlie”, says I.

“I’m French.  Of course I like latte.”

French . . .

. . . man . . .  

. . . latte.

I WIN!

If I asked for a cup of coffee, someone would search for the double meaning.

Mae West

Firewater Friday - Yodel-Le-He-Hoo!

Yodeling . . . I get visions dancing in my head of Heidi in pig tails frolicking through the Swiss Alps with her grand-pappy and a plethora of goats.

In fact, yodeling comes in many forms 
. . .


Used by shepherds as calls to round up their livestock, in African tribal songs, by Tarzan as he swung from vine to vine, and a tasty cream filled snack cake.

I was recently introduced to a new and entertaining form of yodeling . . . cat yodeling.  Also known as . . . playing the Angry Bagpipes.

Depending on your instrument . . . engaging in cat yodeling is not for the faint of heart . . . painful in many instances.  For me . . . by invoking this soulful sound I am taking my life into my own hands.  My cat . . . clearly not amused.  Protective gear . . . totally recommended.

Screwrita

A margarita with orange juice . . . yums!

1/2 Cup Ice

1/2 Cup Orange Juice

1 Fluid Ounce Tequila

1/2 Fluid Ounce Triple Sec

1 Teaspoon Sugar

1 Dash Fresh Lime Juice

Fill a glass with ice. Pour the orange juice, tequila, triple sec, sugar, and lime juice over the ice; stir.

The very essence of instinct is that it's followed independently of reason.

Yeah, well, if  wishes were fishes we'd all be eatin' sushi.  Sadly . . . perplexingly . . . it's a true story.


A man walked into a store whips out a bullet and says "this is a stick-up" . . . not in those exact words but that's the gist of what happened.     You can't make this stuff up.  


And to further prove that fact is often stranger than fiction . . . there is a Wisconsin man who had his name legally changed to . . . wait for it . . . . wait for it . . . Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-bop-bop.  Is Mr.  Zopittybop-bop-bop an upstanding, responsible citizen?  Of course not . . . he's got a rap-sheet a mile and a half long.  Perhaps he changed his name to gain some anonymity so he could go on the straight and narrow.  Uhm . . . right!  Not.  He was arrested just two months after he went from Jeffrey Drew to Beezow Doo-Doo for drug possession and carrying a knife.


And then there's the brainiac who stole an airplane, took off and then realized he didn't know how to fly or . . . . more importantly . . . land the thing.  


and the Darwin award goes to . . . 

Gravy from Turkey Stock

1 Turkey Bones

2 Teaspoons Salt

Dash Pepper

2 Tbsp Butter

2 Tbsp Flour

  

Add bones to pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a simmer over medium low heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer for about 3 to 4 hours. Cool slightly; strain broth into a bowl. Refrigerate then remove fat from top of broth.

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat; gradually add flour and stir until golden brown.

Slowly whisk in stock until blended and smooth. Stir in giblets, and season with pepper and salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes, or until thickened.

Firewater Friday - Six Truths in Life

Watermelon Daiquiri


4 Cups Peeled Seeded And Cubed Watermelon
1/2 Cup Light Rum
1/4 Cup Fresh Lime Juice
1/4 Cup Triple Sec
Ice Cubes


Freeze watermelon in a shallow pan at least 6 hours.

Combine frozen watermelon, rum, lime juice, and Triple Sec in container of an electric blender; process until smooth, stopping once to scrap down sides.



Add enough ice to bring mixture to 5-cup level; process until smooth.


Repeat procedure, if necessary, until mixture measures 5-cups.


Serve immediately.

You can kid the world. But not your sister.

Sibling rivalry . . . my sister wasn’t my rival, she was my nemesis.    She spent most of her unoccupied time torturing her little sister . . . that would be me . . .

I tried to stay out of sight and out of trouble’s way; trouble mainly being my sister.  Unfortunately, trouble often found me.

Being small and meek didn’t mean I wasn’t above retaliating.  Vengeance came at a price . . . generally getting the snot kicked out of me . . . but sometimes settling the score was worth a few bumps and bruises.

Our mom was a single parent which meant she had no choice but to hold down a job while trying to manage a household and two growing girls.  We lived in the sticks on top of a mountain 20 miles or more away from anything remotely resembling civilization.  This meant that our mother had a lengthy commute to and from work everyday. 

That meant a lot of time alone at home fending for ourselves.  For me that meant reading books, climbing trees, playing records or watching one of the two channels our television antenna managed to tune in.  I’m not sure what my sister did but whatever it was I’m sure it was nothing good.

When she got a boyfriend, I couldn’t have been happier.  Finally her attention would be diverted from me . . . the poor sucker . . . let her torment someone else for a change. 

The boyfriend was the kid from up the road.  His Gramma owned the little store that had everything from penny candy to milk.  So my sister spent a lot of time there but sometimes they would be at our house hanging out.  He was nice enough, he never bothered me and he was the focus of my sister’s attention so it was all good.

My sister and I shared a bedroom.  One day I went up to our room to get a book or a toy or something and ending finding more than I expected.    There . . . in my sister’s bed . . . under the covers . . . was my sister and the boyfriend.  Apparently, I surprised them both.

“I’m telling mom!!!” I announced.  Ah yes, vengeance was mine!

“You’re not telling mom anything” she said, feigning coolness.  “And, besides, we were just taking a nap.”

Okay, I was just the kid sister but I wasn’t born yesterday.  I watched the afternoon Soap Operas and read Janet Daley novels.  I knew the difference between napping and nookying.  You don’t nap on top of someone and there was an awful lot going on for a couple of teenagers who were supposedly sleeping.

“I’m telling mom!!!” I repeated and proceeded to tear-ass out of there to hide until our mom got home. 

It was that exact moment when I perceived a slight shift in the balance of power in our relationship.  For once, I had the upper hand and I was going to leverage every ounce of that power to my advantage.  Oh, she was going to be in soooooooooooo much trouble.

I told on her . . . yes indeedy I did-did-diddly!  And she got in a whole heap of trouble . . . yes she did-did-diddly!  It was awesome.  There was a talk with my sister.  And then there was a talk with the boyfriend.  And then there was a talk with my sister and the boyfriend.  It was awesome!!  Of course, I was banished to the bedroom while all this talking was going on.  But, it didn’t matter . . . she was in BIG BIG trouble and it  . . . was . . . AWESOME!! That and my side of the bedroom was right over the room where all that talking was going on  . . .

After that, I never walked in on them again.  I guess they took their napping elsewhere.

Well, they eventually got married . . . are still married, in fact . . . and my sister claims she was . . . uhm . . . unsullied . . . yeah, yeah that’s it . . . unsullied when they wed.  Uh huh . . . I ain’t buying what you’re selling, sister!

No ifs, ands or butts.

I have a bubble butt.  It’s true.  I’ve always had a lot of junk in my trunk . . . even when I was at my thinnest.  That’s the way nature saw fit to build me . . . and I can live with my bootiliciousness.  It’s all good.

That being said, I don’t overly love having such a big bondonkadonk.  So, I don’t get it when women want to augment their speed bumps.  I’m not talking about a lift or a tuck . . . I’m talking going from a tiny tushy to full-on big, honkin’ hind end.

If you haven’t heard of it, I’m not surprised . . . I only happened upon this recent trend in physical alterations quite by accident.  Frankly, I was dumbfounded.  I’ve never heard of any woman who actually wanted a fat ass.

After some poking around I found that there are two main options to get this procedure done. 

The first is silicone implants . . . it’s a balloon that is surgically implanted in your butt cheeks to make them bigger.  These balloons can shift and droop . . . causing an awkward looking dupey. 

The other is just as icky, if not worse.  It is called a Brazilian Butt Lift.  Basically, you get fat sucked from one part of your body and injected into your posterior region.  Supposedly, the fat is sterilized and only the finest quality blubber is used for the reinsertion but . . . ugh . . . ew!

Those are the medical ways . . . believe it or not there’s actually a black market for this type of procedure.  Why someone would get the equivalent of a medical procedure from someone in a hotel (or worse) is beyond me.

Is this atractive?  Am I missing something?

A recent trend of women are being hospitalized as a result of getting illegitimate arse augmentation.  The illicit unqualified quacks are injecting the derriere desperados with everything from petroleum jelly, Fix-a-Flat . . . which is somewhat ironic  considering 

. . .  to industrial caulk . . . yeah, that stuff you buy at home improvement stores as a sealant.  In case you didn’t know, caulk goes from a viscous material to a solid once it’s applied . . . and is also poisonous to humans if ingested.  Yeah, technically if its injected into your butt it’s not being ingested but its still inside your body so that can’t be good for you. 

Oh, by the way  . . . it’s not just women following this fad.

I’m sorry if this information is disturbing but I was feeling a bit cheeky.

When you're up to your nose in sh!t, keep your mouth shut

There is sh!t that goes on in this world that defies belief. 

Japan is facing a population explosion.  Their solution food synthesized from human waste matter. It's being called the "poop burger".  Believe it or not Japanese scientists have not only researched a way but found a way to create artificial meat from sewage containing human feces.  I sh!t you not!

+

The “meat” is 63% proteins, 25% carbohydrates, 3% lipids and 9% minerals. It’s lower in fat and calories than “real” meat and initial tests have people saying it even tastes like beef.  I wonder if those fine folks realized what they were taste-testing?

The argument to get folk to purchase this excrement meat is that its environmentally responsible.  Currently the turd steaks are ten to twenty times the price of real meat.  Yep, that’s incentive to buy it . . . not!

And then, ood luck getting past the knowledge that your food is made from human feces.  Really?? Well, poop on that!  Oh, wait . . . they might try to make you eat that, too!