The PeyPey Chronicles

Kryptonite

2011-12-15T22:47:00.000-05:00

No, not that stupid 3 Doors Down song.

Kryptonite. As in Superman's ultimate physical weakness. By the way, did you know that there are 18 different types of Superman Kryponite? Yeah. Me neither. There's also Krypto the Superdog cartoon that "features 'purple-spotted kryptonite', which causes Superdog to compulsively chase his tail." Thank you, Wikipedia.

Don't know about you, but I'm encouraged to know that Superman (and Superdog, I guess) had 18 different Kryptonites to deal with.

A friend on Facebook posted a picture of what I like to call Corn Flake Peanut Butter Balls I Could Eat One Million Of You, You Little Balls Of Heaven And Goodness, And Then I Will Eat One Million More And When I'm Done With That Million, I'll Polish Off 8,000 More. The abbreviated version of this is known as PeyPey's Kryptonite #1. Superman had 18? I have 1,800. Maybe more. Definitely more.

So, since I've been absent for way too long from this here blog, I thought I'd do what I do best and give you a list. A list of Kryptonites, my ultimate physical weaknesses. Ok, let's do this.

1. Corn Flake Peanut Butter Balls I Could Eat One Million Of You, You Little Balls Of Heaven And Goodness, And Then I Will Eat One Million More And When I'm Done With That Million, I'll Polish Off 8,000 More
2. Sauvignon Blanc (obvs.)
3. Plain glazed donuts
4. Booty music (if it's playing, I'm dancing. Weakness? Eh, maybe not. I haven't quite figured this one out, but I feel right about it being on this list.)
5. Pinot Grigio (obvs.)
6. Chubby baby cheeks (It's almost a compulsion. Once I start kissing chubby cheeks, I can't stop.)
7. Creamy pasta sauce (I would drink it with a straw if that was socially acceptable.)
8. Real Housewives of anywhere (I've done some polling, spoken to some women about this. It's kind of a phenomenon. I am not alone in this weakness. Whether or not you have seen an episode of RHO, you WILL watch it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Laundry gets ignored. Cleaning doesn't happen. Spending time with the hubs gets pushed aside all so I can hear Kim sing "Don't be tardy for the party" One. More. Time.)
8. Cabernet Sauvignon (obvs.)
9. Facebook
10. Target popcorn (Is no one else plagued by the delicious smell every time they walk into Target?) (I think it should be ~~mentioned~~ confessed that I go to Target at least four times a week.)
11. Pinot Noir (obvs.)
12. Our couch (It has magnetic force, I swear.)

That's all you get right now. You'll have to come back in 6 months when I decide to put down the wine glass, stop watching RHO on the couch while facebook stalking you, dreaming of my neice's chubby cheeks with a pitcher of creamy pasta sauce with a straw in it, smelling the corn flake crack I just made while Mark goes to get me some Krispy Kreme's, all while...booty dancing?? (Still not sure where that one fits on the list.)

I can't put a title on this one because then you might not even read the post.

2011-04-22T14:52:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't know, I moved across the "border" as we like to call it here in the Deep South - the border being the Chattahoochee River, from Georgia to Alabama. Us Georgians have relentlessly made fun of Alabamians for quite some time. We've always kidded around saying "Oh, you got your passport ready?" to someone who says they're going over to Alabama for something.

See, my hometown is on the western border of Georgia, with the Chattahoochee River dividing my home state from good ole' Alabama. People who live in my hometown may go to work across the river and vice versa. But somehow, us Georgians have always thought of ourselves as a little higher and mightier than our neighbors in Alabama. We joke, right along with the rest of the nation, among other things, that married people's family trees in Alabama are pretty closely related, if you know what I mean.

And funny that I should mention this because Mark and I, who are getting married in t-minus 36 days, are related. Woah. Whammie. Yep. Both his and my ancestors made their homes in the great state of Alabama, so I guess there's some truth to the teasing. The relation is over four generations from us, but still. I won't lie and tell you that this fact does not bother me, because I've had nightmares of the possibility of having water head babies. Nonetheless, we're plugging right along with wedding plans.

But this is not the main topic of this post. I'll go ahead and tell you what is so that you may prepare yourself. Douche. Douche is the topic of this post. (But not in the way you may be thinking. Good lord, not in that way.)

Another thing we Georgians like to harp on about Alabama residents is their driving skills. Or rather, their lack of driving skills. My road rage has gotten a little Out. Of. Control. since moving across the border. I have no shame in making fun of Alabamians driving skills because THEY SUCK. I'm not sure what sort of driving test they have to pass, but it is certainly not up to par with the one I agonized over when I was sixteen. To put this all into perspective, the last time Mark had to renew his driver's license, it was at the Alabama Department of Motor Vehicles IN A MOTHER EFFING DOUBLE WIDE TRAILOR. No joke. So now that you have some perspective, let's move on to our main topic.

I'm not much of a cuss-er. I'll drop an eff bomb every once in awhile for dramatic flair, and I'll employ the use of a holy sh*t or two when I stub my toe, but I've never been one to use four letter words to attack an actual human being. Because of this, I've had to resort, in my validated times of road rage driving into Alabama everyday, to some other type of verbal vindication to assault these idiot drivers who can't hear me. For me? That verbal vindication is the use of the word douche.

There are so many amazing ways to use that word; so many perfect nouns one can use to follow that word. A few of them are (and this list is certainly not exhaustive, so please feel free to leave a comment with your favorite douchetastic noun):
-Bag (Duh.)
-Bucket
-Dropping (I'm afraid I may have lost some of you on that one. Hello? Still here?)
-Cake
-Bunny (This one I'm not sure about. It just slips out of my mouth sometimes and I have no control over it. Please don't judge.)
-Nugget
-Tard (I may be going to hell for that one.)
I mean, I can go on and on.

Today's selection was Douche Cookie. And really, it's just kind of whatever flows out of my mouth in my time of need. So if you're ever driving through Alabama and an idiot driver does something douche-y, just know that I've probably already let him know just how much of a Douche River he is.

Did I lose ya'll? I hope not. I've always promised full disclosure, so that's what you get and I make no apologies.

Roasted Potato & Onion Soup

2011-01-11T20:48:00.000-05:00

It's soup weather here in the deep South. Friends, that doesn't happen very often. I took full advantage of that tonight and whipped up some potato soup. Regretfully, I didn't take any pictures because my camera was all the way out in my car, 20 long feet away. Yeah, I'm lazy. But just try to picture it in your mind. I mean, you know what potatoes look like, don't you? Good. Then picture potatoes.

Cut about 5 medium sized potatoes in half lengthwise. Then cut them again lengthwise so that each long strip looks like a triangle. Ok, I really should've taken pictures. Did that make any sense? Basically, just cut the potatoes to create wedges. Not thick wedges, just normal sized wedges. No! Not wedgies! WEDGES! Come on!

Once you've got the wedgies all cut up, spread them out on a baking sheet or roasting pan that's been thoroughly sprayed with Pam or olive oil.

Next, cut an onion in half and cut one half into wedges. Or wedgies. Whichever you prefer. (Also, go ahead and dice the other half of the onion.) Toss the onion wedges on the baking sheet along with the potatoes. Spray all of the wedgies generously with more Pam or olive oil. I used my Misto but Pam works fine too. Sprinkle some salt, pepper, and garlic powder on top and stick them in a 450 degree oven for about 35-45 minutes.

Now go watch an episode of the Office, or wash your panties, or eat icecream, or replace your air filters, or drop the kids off at the pool (good lord, who am i? SHAMELESS, that's who.) About 30 minutes into baking the wedgies, saute the diced onion in a tablespoon or two of butter (I use Smart Balane Olive Oil) and sweat the onions for a few minutes. Add in a tablespoon of minced garlic, but make sure your heat isn't too high (needs to be medium) because you don't want your garlic to burn. Hot. Mess.

It's probably time to pick your wedgie...........s up out of the oven. Just let them cool for a sec.

Here's where you can get creative. I added some mini turkey pepperoni to my sauteed onions and garlic, but I bet bacon would be better. Or pancetta. Mmmmm. But all I had was half a bag of mini turkey pepperoni that I bought because it was so gyot dang cute. So I threw it in. And know what? It was delicious. But if you have bacon, you should use bacon.

Throw in another spoonful of butter and a handful of flour to the sauteed pan of goodness. The flour will help thicken the soup and will marry all that goodness that's in the pan together. You could also use a packet of ranch dressing mix that I bet would be slammin', but I ain't had none of that, so I just used flour. Let that keep sauteeing on medium-low heat.

Now spoon about 3/4 of your pan of wedgies into a food processor. Blend until smooth.

While your wedgies are pureeing, add a can of cream of mushroom soup into the pan with your sauteed junk. Add a little bit of milk.

Your wedgies should be smooth by now. Add the smooth wedgies to the pan and whisk together with the milk and cream of mushroom soup. Add more milk as needed.

Now take the reserved amount of roasted wedgies and add to the soup to make it a little chunky. Taste it to see if it needs some salt. It shouldn't need much since you put salt on the roasted wedgies. I added a little hot sauce too but that's only because I like things spicy. Just ask Mark. I bet a dollop of sour cream or some chives would be awesome. But I ain't had none of that so I added some cheese. It was slammin'.

Make this when your insides are cold. Make this when it's dreary outside. Make this if you have a wedgie. You'll be able to identify. Just make it, okay? I'm going to get another bowl...

The Proposal (Only with less Ryan Reynolds and more PeyPey)

2011-01-09T23:11:00.000-05:00

The day was Sunday, November 28. The week of Thanksgiving had passed by in a blur of cornbread dressing and pecan pie. No really, I'm pretty sure I ate 18 pounds of dressing. Dressing or stuffing? My mom's always done dressing. That's the stuff with the wet cornbread and celery and magic in it. Delicious, delicious magic. Ahem. Where was I? The Sunday after Thanksgiving when Mark had to head back to school out of town had rolled around. Mark and I had had good times together with family and friends during the week but the reality of him leaving town had set in and I was kind of sad. I couldn't help letting my mind go to the location where it entertains the fantasies of being Mark's wife and spending the holidays as a family, not just as boyfriend and girlfriend.

That Sunday, my friends, will not only be the Sunday when those fantasies became tangible, but it will also be The Sunday Mark Saw My Dad In His Whitey-Tighties.

Mark woke up that morning knowing that he would soon ask me to be his wife, but he had a mission to complete first. That mission? To ask my dad, Ricky, for permission to marry me. Early that Sunday, Mark headed over to my parents house, hoping to find Ricky and find the permission he sought.

He arrived at their house to find my mom and brother and sister already gone to church. Knowing that my dad prefers to individually, instead of collectively and with a congregation, worship God, Mark knocked on the door expecting a quick answer. A few minutes later, after no answer, Mark went down the mental checklist of other things (well, honestly the ONLY other thing) my dad worships (coffee) and headed to the Waffle House. After doing a quick walk-around and finding no Ricky, Mark thought, "well, maybe he's an IHOP man." Um, no. I don't think my dad even knows that IHOP's exist. He's committed. He's committed to the Awful Waffle.

No Rickey at IHOP.

Mark was getting desperate. He wanted to ask me that day but really wanted my dad's permission first. He decided his best bet was to head back to the house and wait for him there.

Back at my parents, Mark decided to knock on the door again, just in case. After several knocks, he finally hears a "Hello? Hello? Come on in." Mark turned the knob then heard, "Come on in, I'm in the den." Confident and happy, Mark headed towards the sound of my dad's voice.

He swung the door to the den open and saw a sight I'm sure he never imagined, in his whole life, that he would see. My dad was standing there in just his whitey-tighties, reaching for his jeans, saying, "Man, I'm glad you banged on the door because I fell asleep in the bathtub. Your knocks woke me up!"

Yeah, that really happened.

After that awkward encounter and with permission having been granted, Mark took me to Dowdell's Knob, a place in Pine Mountain, GA, where five years earlier, Mark had asked me to be his girlfriend. He got down on one knee, told me he could never imagine his life without me, and asked me to be his wife.

It was perfect. And awesome. And so sweet. And we're getting married this May!
-----------------------------------
For the second, pretty much unrelated portion of this post, you'll have to email me at

peypeybaker[at]gmail[dot]com.

Please sign the consent form stating that you will never sue me for slander, libel, or defamation of character.
-----------------------------------
You're pretty freaking intrigued now, aren't you?

Gone Fishin'

2010-11-22T09:07:00.000-05:00

I was contacted not long ago about doing an article for an online publication called Bloodknot Magazine. If you click on that link, it will take you to website about fishing - fly fishing to be exact. Now you're probably thinking, "Wait a minute. Fishing? But Peyton likes throwing dinner parties and drinking wine and eating donuts. Fishing?"

Yes, fishing.

A lot of my childhood was spent with a pole in my hand (and usually a bare hook at the end of my line). Fishing connected me with something my dad loved to do, and because he loved it, I loved it too. I wouldn't say I'm a great fisherwoman; but I love the practice of it, I love hooking one, I love eating them.

So although I'm certainly no master at fishing, I did have a story to tell about it. And you can find it in the Bitch Creek section of this online publication here.

Now I'm off to see if I can find a recipe for donut hushpuppies.

Physics makes us all its bitches [Alternate title: Where's a time machine when you need one?]

2010-11-20T21:10:00.011-05:00

It has been a whirlwind 48 hours for me.

48 hours ago, I was psyching myself out for the Harry Potter: Deathly Hallows, Part 1 midnight premier. WHICH WAS AWESOME. This movie was exceptional, people. But that's not what this post is about.

After staying up until 3 a.m. on Thursday night, I got up at 7:30 a.m. the next morning to get ready to head up to Atlanta with the bff you all know and love, Jeannie.

30 hours ago, we were perusing the fashion delights in Anthropologie at Lenox, not yet aware of the romping merriment that awaited us that night.

24 hours ago, we were sharing a bottle of sauv blanc at Park Tavern. Jeannie uncharacteristically ordered a cheeseburger and fries and me, sushi. After dinner, wanting to be first in line when they opened the doors at Variety Playhouse for the concert we were going to, we hailed a cab with Walter Kirkland, best darn cab driver in the ATL.

Walter dropped us off at the Variety, where a line was already forming. We, of course, started acting silly. I have proof of it:

After admitting to fellow concert-goers that the last time we were at the Variety was two years ago to see Hanson, we were finally let inside.

Being some of the first people in line, we pretty much had the choice of any seat in the house to see, for the second time, The Punch Brothers, we chose to stand at the front of the house, elbows resting on stage, purses sitting on top of it. Best. "Seats". Ever.

Up first was Dappled Grays, a local Atlanta blue-grass band, who were the perfect intro to Punch Bros. They were like the edemame to your sushi dinner. The Wheel of Fortune to your Jeopardy. The first glass of wine to your eighth glass of wine.

But if you're going to eat edemame, you're going to want some sushi. And if you watch Wheel of Fortune, you'll probably stay tuned for Jeopardy up next. And if you have one glass of wine, you know you'll have an eighth glass. (Wait, just me on that last one?) So, much anticipated, The Punch Brothers presented themselves FIVE FEET FROM OUR FACES.

20 hours ago, Chris Thile spat on me. More than once. That was how close we were.

Here's some photos in which the zoom function on my camera was not used. Keep that in mind, ok?

Chris Thile, lead singer, mandolin player.

Gabe Witcher, fiddle. Chris Eldridge, guitar.Chris Thile.

Noam Pikelny, banjo.

Paul Kowert, bass.

Y'all. This show is phenomenal. These guys are so freaking talented. They have plenty of original music, but some of my favorite songs from last night were covers that they, in my opinion, perform better than the originals. Here's a few examples:

Heart in a Cage by The Strokes (original)

Heart in a Cage covered by the Punch Brothers

Here's a mash-up of a Radiohead song, "Kid A", and "Wayside", an old, traditional bluegrass song by Gillian Welch (Please listen to all 10 minutes. Pretty please? It's truly wonderful.)

The encore song last night was a cover of Of Montreal's "Gronlandic Edit". Click here to listen to the original. (Pretty sure there was some reefer involved in the making of that music video, by the way.) Now click here to listen to Punch Bro's version.

Jeannie and I had the best time ever, staying to meet them after the show. This was, like I said, the second time we've seen them in concert. I've blogged about it before. This was also the second time we stuck around to meet them after the show. The first time, the only words that escaped my mouth as I passed down the line, they seated behind the table, casual, friendly; me standing, sweating bullets and trying to figure out what to say, were to the bass player, Paul Kowert. "You look like a Hanson brother." Epic fail, PeyPey.

This time, we got in the back of the line, trying to be sly, thinking "they'll talk to us more because we're the last in line!" We were the last in line, until, at the very last minute, two floosies walked up. Blond floosie to the other blond floosie (loudly): "But wait! I don't have anything for them to sign." Other blond floosie: "Um, hello! Your boob!" Yeah. So we really didn't get the face time with the guys we wanted.

The next part of this post is going to be very difficult for me to get through, so I'm writing the rest in third person. I'm hoping that by doing so, I can remove myself from the reality of what actually happened and will be able to consider that it actually was not our reality. So just keep reading and then offer your apologies to me and Jeannie when you get to the end, ok?

Chapter 1

Jeannie and PeyPey exited the theater onto the streets of Five Points and, not being so sure of their surroundings and having already been approached by a man wearing a Members Only jacket and carrying a briefcase, while almost simultaneously being pummelled over on the sidewalk by a drunk kid, they called on the safety of Walter's taxi services who had picked them up from the restaurant and taken them to the concert.

"Walter, this is Caitlyn and Samantha, we're in Five Points, can you come get us?" Okay, I'm taking a break to explain to you that I, after entering Walter's cab and being asked by him what our names were, immediately replied, "This is Samantha and I'm Caitlyn." Because, you know, I couldn't be normal or anything. Clarification, done. Back to the story. After securing a confirmation from Walter of a pick up, Jeannie and PeyPey discussed what to do next.

"What do you want to do, go out? Go chill at the hotel?" PeyPey asked Jeannie. "Ehh, we may as well go out since we're already, you know, out." Jeannie replied. "Okay, sounds good. Let's head over to Virginia Highlands and find somewhere to grab a drink."

Walter, the faithful cabbie, pulled up and in hopped Jeannie and PeyPey. "Virginia Highlands, please Walter. Alright, so you're sure you want to go out?" PeyPey asked Jeannie. "Yeah, I think so. Or we could always go get a drink at the hotel bar," replied Jeannie. "It is totally up to you. I'm down for whatever!" said PeyPey. "Let's just check out Virgnia Highlands. I mean, we're already out, you know?" Jeannie said.

After Walter dropped the girls off in Virginia Highlands, they walked down the row of bars, smokey and music filled. They enter the first bar, The Dark Horse, and were met by a familiar college party scene. They left after only a few minutes, deciding they had graduated from the scene of dumb drunk girls and eager boys. (Ok, maybe not, but they just weren't feeling it last night.) Their ears led them down the street to a New Orleans blues club, Blind Willie's, where there were some pretty sweet sounds coming from within. Drinks were ordered, small talk was made. But neither Jeannie or PeyPey were having the time of their lives, which they were desperate to have, having had such an awesome time at the concert. Now, don't get the wrong idea, they had fun - the beer was cold, and there was some good people watching; but it just wasn't meeting their expectations. So at about 1:15 a.m., they made the call to Walter to take them back to their hotel.

They ended the night lazily in their Atlanta Hilton hotel beds, drifting off to sleep with the hum of the tv in the background, dreaming sweet dreams of mandolins (and mandolin players).

Chapter 2

Back home from the trip, PeyPey was loading her pictures of the concert onto her computer when she got a text from Jeannie. "OMG. Have you read Chris Thiles tweets??? They were staying in our hotel and went to the bar after the show. I'm not kidding." The words of the text message didn't register in PeyPey's mind until she read it a second time. Wait, what? "Wait, ok, so they were staying at our hotel? They were in the bar last night? The bar that we talked about going to last night?" PeyPey thought to herself. She checked twitter to read Chris Thile's updates. christhile: "The Mai Tai Lounge at our Atlanta Hilton is suspiciously crowded, given the hotel's nearly 100% evangelical conventioneer occupancy." Laughing at his wit, PeyPey confirmed in her mind that it was, in fact, the same hotel that her and Jeannie were staying in because they had been met by some evangelical convention go-ers in the hotel elevator upon their arrival. Damn.

"Shut the f*** up. Shut. The. F***. Up." PeyPey called Jeannie. "Um, yeah. Can you believe this?" Jeannie said. "I'm just kind of speechless." PeyPey said. "Let me call you back. My sister's beeping in," Jeannie replied.

Left alone with her thoughts, PeyPey played back through the events of the night. "There's no way. There's just no way," she thought. Wishing for a time machine, the phone brought her thoughts back to the present. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Well, we can't blame ourselves. I mean, we had no idea that they were going to be staying at our hotel. We just cannot blame ourselves," PeyPey said. "I know. I wish drunk Jeannie would've made a different decision last night in the cab. I seriously can't believe this," Jeannie said. "We can't let this ruin the memory of the great time we had last night," said PeyPey. "Agreed. But it still sucks. Maybe it was God's protection. We would've both ended up doing things we would've regretted with some roofies." replied Jeannie. (Kidding.)

After hanging up, the mournful conversation between PeyPey and Jeannie continued, via text messaging:

PeyPey: "This is difficult news to process. I'm not really sure where to go from here."
Jeannie: "I know. I. KNOW."
(After about 25 minutes) Jeannie: "I'm still having a hard time with this. Just confessing."
PeyPey: "Yeah, me too. We gotta figure out how to move past this..."
(About an hour later) PeyPey: "Hey what's the name of the bar in Virginia Highlands we went to last night? I'm blogging about all of it."
Jeannie: "Blind Willie's. Or as I like to call it, Regret."

So yeah life, touche. Tou. Che. Whatever though, this guy spit on me last night and I haven't taken a shower yet:

All in all, we had a kick-ass time. And 48 hours after all that - Harry Potter, Jeannie eating a cheeseburger (whaaaa?), spending a combined hour and a half in a car with a guy named Walter who thought our names were Samantha and Caitlyn, being spit on by Chris Thile, and finding out we could have realistically (not just in our dreams) had a drink with the Punch Brothers last night - I'm pooped. Peace out y'all.

An update on my problem...

2010-11-17T16:51:00.000-05:00

They have been washed. But somehow, they have multiplied. I'm taking bets on how long the clean cups/coffee mugs/water bottles will sit in this exact position. Oh, and I have no idea where this UGA "Hoop Girls" thermos came from, by the way. Could I have? Would I have? EVER BEEN A "HOOP GIRL"? No. I'm assuming this is some sort of basketball thing, although it could very well be a hula-hoop thing, who knows? All I know is, my 5 feet tall body will never ever be in any sort of league call the "Hoop Girls" and hula hoop? Yeah, I never quite mastered that one on the playground. (Also? Monkey bars. We never became friends.) So, if you're the "Hoop Girl" who left this on my desk, please come claim it!

We may have a problem on our hands

2010-11-16T16:05:00.001-05:00

But do you think I did anything about this problem after I snapped this picture? Um, no. There underlies the problem, people.

What to do with those old apples you told yourself you were going to eat but never did...

2010-11-15T14:21:00.000-05:00

Make some muffins. The alternate title of this post could have been "Saturday Morning Baking", but I thought I'd just be more honest with you. My refrigerator and fruit bowl are where produce go to die a slow, painful death. I have the best intentions, but somehow, three weeks pass by and I still haven't cooked that sweet potato. Or steamed that broccoli. Or I've eaten a donut instead of an apple. It happens. A lot.

But Saturday I woke up, walked into the kitchen, made some coffee...(and yes, this is how we live it up in Alabama. Livin' on the wild side, baby.)

and stared at the sad, bruised apples in my fruit bowl. I couldn't let them meet the same fate as the potato that was, well, growing another potato out of itself. (Go ahead and thank me that I don't have a picture to show you for that one. It was scary and weird.) So I diced up the apples to a small dice...

I measured out milled flax seed, whole wheat flour, and white flour, as well as salt, sugar, and baking powder and mixed all the dry ingredients together...

Then I mixed together one egg, milk, and oil and added that to the dry ingredients...

and mixed until just combined. Then you mix in your diced up apples (and nuts if you like that sort of thing.)

Then spray your muffin tins and fill them about 2/3 full. This recipe makes about 15 muffins.

Pop them in the oven for about 18-20 minutes. At around 12 minutes, I sprinkled some brown sugar on top for a little crunch. You don't want to add this too early because your sugar might burn. Also, please notice my polished fingernails.

Bake for a few more minutes and then let cool. These were healthy, delish and super easy. Try them soon!

Whole wheat flaxseed apple muffins:

3/4 cup milled flaxseed
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup white flour
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 1/2 cups diced apples (about 3 small apples)
3 Tbsp vegetable oil
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional) (that's what she said)

Blend dry ingredients together in a bowl. In a separate bowl, combine egg, vegetable oil and milk. Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients and stir until just blended. Fold in apples and nuts. Batter will be thick. Fill well-greased muffin cups 2/3 full. Bake at 400 degrees for 18-20 minutes or until top springs back when touched.

And look, I even have nutritional data!
1 muffin = 175 calories, 2 g dietary fiber, 23 g carbohydrates, 4 g protein, 9 g fat (less than 1 g saturated fat). These would make a great breakfast!

Comparing God & Oprah

2010-11-10T11:43:00.000-05:00

I came across a few quotes from one, Oprah Winfrey today that I wanted to share. One of the topic suggestions I received was to choose and discuss quotes on my blog. I’m just going to say what I know you’re already thinking: I am not the most philosophical, deep thinker. I like wine. And donuts. And Will Farrell movies. And making fun of people. I'm not too opinionated and I’d prefer to have a conversation with you, not about the separation of church and state or Senate majority leaders, but about what color finger nail polish you’re wearing and if you know of any good shoe sales.

But like I said, I came across these quotes today and was struck by how quickly a similar bible verse came to mind with each quote. (You’d think the effects of several years of wine drinking with its remnants still floating through my short body woulda knocked some of these bible verses from memory, but thank goodness - they stuck around.)

Now, I’m not knocking Oprah. I think she does some pretty great stuff. I just want to point out that the general idea of what she’s saying in these quotes has already been said. These words were said a long, long time ago. They were inspired by God. In whom I believe. Have I mentioned that? Yeah, I believe in God. I don’t use this here blog as a platform to preach and never will, but I do want you to know that I believe in God. I want you to know me, and omitting what is at the very core of my being would be like ordering a jelly-filled donut without the jelly filling. You get my point, I hope.

Ahem. What was my point? (See, I got side-tracked by donuts. It happens a lot.) Oh yes, my point is, it’s so easy for someone to hear and listen to and understand and believe someone as powerful as Oprah say something profound like this and think that she’s come up with the answer to life, to all their problems. However, reading words written a thousand+ years ago and inspired by a being who made blind men see, who walked on water, who took five loaves of bread and a couple of fish and fed five freaking thousand people, has somehow become defunct, irrelevant, and in-congruent with our modern-day lives.

Oprah says:
"No matter where you stand right now - on a hilltop, in a gutter, at a crossroads, in a rut - you need to give yourself the best you have to offer in this moment."

God says (via the prophet, Jeremiah):
"This is what the LORD says:
'Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and there you will find rest for your souls.' “ – Jeremiah 6:16

Oprah says:
"You can either waltz boldly onto the floor of life and live the way you know your spirit is nudging you to, or you can sit quietly by the wall and recede in the shadows of fear and self-doubt."

God says (via the disciple, Timothy):
“For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline.” – 2 Timothy 1:7

I’ll let you be the judge: Who said it better?

Grilled Chicken and Fruit Salad

2010-11-02T08:41:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been trying cook more at home. Last week, I had delicious dinners of fresh veggie stir-fry, seared tuna steak with sauteed broccoli and baked sweet potato slices, a homemade pizza on whole wheat crust, and this salad. I'd say I've done pretty well!

This salad was so yummy, I didn't even put dressing on it!

First, grab a pack of boneless, skinless chicken tenders. Spray some Olive Oil Pam into a saute pan and throw in the tenders. You don't want to move them around a whole lot. Just let 'em sit there; they won't stick. To the top side, spray on a little more Pam and shake on some garlic salt and fresh cracked pepper. Let them sit for about 3-5 minutes before you flip them. After you flip them, shake on a little more garlic salt and pepper and let them cook for another 3-5 minutes on that side.

In the meantime, start your salad by putting some mixed greens (I like the mix with the arugula, spinach, romaine, and radicchio) in a bowl.

Next, dice up half of a purple onion and toss it on the greens.

Then, slice up about 5-6 strawberries and throw them on the greens.

Then, take a can of mandarin oranges and throw them in a colander and rinse them off pretty well. (If you wanted to take the time to peel a tangerine, then by all means, please show the rest of us up.) Throw them on the salad.

Toss on some slivered almonds.

Throw in some reduced fat, crumbled blue cheese.

And go ahead and sprinkle on some more cracked black pepper.

At this point, your chicken should be done, so just give the tenders a quick dice and throw them on top.

Toss it all together and give it a taste. If you think it needs some dressing, just drizzle on a bit of balsamic vinaigrette. I didn't put any dressing on mine, which made it all the more healthier! It was sooo good, people. It took about 15 minutes when all was said and done, start to finish. And I had about four good size servings from it. Try it when you need something fresh, healthy, and super quick!

Editing pictures in Picnik

2010-11-01T15:33:00.000-04:00

If you have not discovered Picasa, the free photo editing software by Google, go discover it now. Go google it and download it for free. I'll wait.

This free editing software is the best thing since bras started coming with underwires. Seriously, it's awesome. Just in the very basic application, you can fix exposure problems, crop, straighten, get rid of red-eye, do some cool color changes. But I just upgraded my version of Picasa (for free!) and there's this new option called "Picnik" on the editing menu. Picnik allows you to do oh-so-many more edits. There are fun edits like this:

Or, you can do more normal edits like the ones I'm about to show you. I'll show you the original first, then the edited version. I snapped all of these pictures over the summer when Mark and I stopped by his grandad's garden one afternoon. I've got some favorite edits that I used on just about all of these pictures: Boost, 1960's, and Vignette.

Here we go!

Original:

Edited. I love the vintage-y look of this. It seems to make the fruit and leaves pop more. And I like the rounded corners, too.

Original:

Edited:

Original:

Edited:

Original:

Edited. This is by far my favorite one:

This one is kind of eerie to me. A late afternoon storm was rolling in and the clouds started getting pretty dark. Here's the original:

I did something kind of funky with the edited copies. This TOTALLY transformed the entire picture. There is seriously so much you can do in this program FOR FREE!

Another version. Kind of dusty. I acheived this by only filtering in one certain color:

These next few were so pretty on there own, they didn't need much. Here's the original:

And here, I 'boosted' it, and added the 'vignette' feature to shade the corners.

I love the angle of this picture. Original:

Here, I just clicked the "Auto Fix" button. This is a nice option for those of you who don't have time (to waste) to jazz up your pictures and want to get it all done in one click. I bet you're the type who likes shopping at Wal-Mart, too, aren't you? One stop shop kind of person? Now if only our lives came with "Auto Fix" options, huh? Auto Fix (subtle differences):

Boosted and vignetted:

What do ya'll think? Think you'll try it out? Should I start charging for photo shoots now??

Redecorating My Room...

2010-10-27T15:30:00.002-04:00

And so continues our online window shopping. Today, we're browsing Pier 1 online!

I just moved. I have quite a bare pallet that I call my bedroom and bathroom. Pretty much all white. White down comforter in desperate need of a duvet, white sheets, white pillows, white towels...you get the picture. I need color in my life. I need it bad. In my online perusing today, I was being drawn to the combo of red and teal. Red has always been one of my favorite colors, but I've never paired it with teal before.

I've found some pretty great things that I would love for my new bedroom - most of which were on clearance! One thing you need to know about Pier 1 online though is that you can't make purchases online. You can check store availability and make an online shopping list that you can then print out and take to one of their locations.

Oh, and I so totally felt like I was on that show on HGTV "Design on a dime" because when I totalled everything up, my total was $995.75! Under $1000! Now, hang on, I'm not buying this stuff, I'm just getting an idea of what I'd like to decorate with. I'll use these as a guide when I'm out shopping for decor. I'll pick up an item here and there, or maybe even make some of the stuff myself, but please know that I don't have ten hund-o's to drop at this moment. Although there are a few things out of this group that I would like to eventually purchase.

Ok, moving on....

Stuff I already have:
1. Bed with dark wood headboard and footboard

2. Dark wood dresser

3. Dark wood trunk
4. Wicker nightstand

And then a ton of white stuff.

First up, furniture. I love this red ottoman. It's simple, it'll sit at the foot of my bed, it'll inevitably be a catch all for all my crap, but I think the color's great and so is the price. The color is Cinnabar and it's $199.95.

Next up, I love this wicker chair. I think it's modern enough to jazz up the room a bit, but is still cohesive enough with the rest of the furniture. It mimics the wicker in my nightstand, too. It's the Mombosa chair and it's $99.98.

I would toss this throw pillow on the wicker chair. It's the Peacock Circles Pillow and it's $23.96.

And maybe this one too. It's the Oblong Teal Print Pillow and it's $31.96.

Next up is bedding. I think I'll stick with my all white bedding, unless I find a cute, solid or textured duvet cover. For now, I want to just jazz it up with throw pillows. I like this one. It's the Embroidered Bird Pillow and it's $34.95. Gal darn, are throw pillows expensive or what?! Funny story about throw pillows...I once worked at a home decor store in my home town. I had neither the experience or the expertise to work at a home decorating store, but they liked me I guess, so I got the job. People. There was a whole WALL of throw pillows. I'm talking like thirty feet long and 20 feet high. It had little cubbie holes that we stuffed with pillows. Little old ladies would always, ALWAYS, choose the ones in the cubbies at the very tip top of the wall. I'd have to go get the ladder and yank out the pillow they wanted, only to have to put it back up again when they said, "Oh no honey, that's the wrong color." I finally got the bright idea on a slow day to color coordinate the pillow wall, putting the less desirable colors at the very top. I got employee of the month that month. Anyway...I like this one:

And is this one right here too crazy to throw behind the bird pillow? Maybe I could do the teal pillows behind the bird pillow on the bed and throw the Circle Button Pillow ($34.95) on the wicker chair and just eliminate the teal stripe pillow? Good grief, too much pillow talk going around here. Moving on.

Window and wall coverings. I'm not crazy about this aqua shade of Silk Panel ($55.96 each). I'd like it to be a little more tealish, but I think if I don't have it too close to other teal furnishings, it'll be okay. I could always try dying them???

I'm kind of in love with these wall hangings, although looking at it now, I'm not sure if the style quite fits and is cohesive with the rest of the room. Nevertheless, the colors are spot on and I love the dreamy nature of the prints. This is the Celestial Wall Art and the set is $129.99.

I would have this clocks babies. I love it. But do ya'll think it fits? It's a little rustic and western-y and that's not really the look I was going for. Your thoughts on this Salsa Clock that retails for $74.98, please?

These right here are placemats. But i'mma put 'em on my wall. That's right, ya heard? I think they're cute and you could easily glue or attach a picture hanger to the backs of them. They're light, they're wicker, they're whimsical and they're only $3.96 each. Ok, I just realized something. If we were going to play a game of "Which of these things is not like the other one?" with this stuff, I think it would have to be the dreamy, Celestial Wall Art. Everything else I've chosen seems to be more casual and rustic, while those are just pretty modern and ethereal. Oh well. I did love the colors in them, though. What do ya'll think?

Whenever I go shopping with my BFF, Jeannie, she'll pick up something that costs an arm and a leg and then I'll say, "We could so totally make that for like five bucks," and then we (I) never do. Well, Jeannie? "I could so totally make this." I have an old wooden four-pane window without the glass that Mark and I picked up out of someone's trash about 4 years ago. It has been with me through 3 moves and still just sits. Doing nothing. Being nothing. I'm spray painting that sucker teal and stringing wire, clothespins and pictures in it. It's new day just dawned. So booyah, Jeannie. This is what it'll look like only with the panes seperated. You could easily do this with any old picture frame! This one is from Pier 1 and'll run you $22.40.

I love lamp. Enough said. (Anchorman, anyone?) This red lamp is $19.98 and I'd probably get two!

I forgot to tell ya'll that I also have a white bookcase stacked to the brim with books. I think these planters would make pretty cute bookends! Potted Artificial Wheat Grass, $8. I need some potted artificial wheat grass in my life.

These are fun. And kitschy. And teal. And I like 'em. $24.88 and $29.88.

I love the wonky shape of this here thang. I'd probably stick some eucalyptus or some other kind fake filler in it, put it on the floor next to my door, and call it a day. Organic Chocolate Glass Vase $19.98.

I think this is super cute, and it mimicks the blue bird in my blue bird pillow. Cuteness to the max. This is $10.36

I like these. $5.98-$11.18.

And finally, I like this simple rug to center everything and pull the room together. Great price on this large rug: $79.98.

Well that completes the home furnishings portion of this post. I'd love to hear ya'lls opinions!

These are a few of my favorite things

2010-10-26T15:36:00.002-04:00

I'm starting a new series on this here blog. I know, I know, there are series (seri? What's the plural of series?) that I haven't finished yet (i.e. Stuff I blow my money on, Thoughtful Thursdays etc.) but I'm starting a new one. Because I can.

I want to show you a few of my favorite things. I love online window shopping and sometimes, that leads me to target.com, other times my click clicking lands me on more obscure sites, some of which you may have never heard of. You can use these suggestions for your own benefit, or use them as gift ideas for the holidays! (OR, you can read these posts and realize exactly how much of my day is wasted. It's up to you.)
Today's picks come from http://www.cb2.com/. CB2 is a subsidiary of Crate & Barrell, only with more modern, simple stuff and better prices.

Here are my picks:

First things first: Barware. I am in love with the shape of these glasses.

And who doesn't like a good beer tub? I especially like this one. It'll add a dash of class to your Natty Lights on ice.

Grape Kool-aid has never looked better displayed in this slick pitcher.

You better not serve no chitlin's and gravy on these modern dishes!

Give this as a hostess gift with a bottle of wine! This could be a really inexpensive gift!

Give the gift of fresh flowers in this sturdy, shapely vase.

I think this fixture would look great in a kitchen or bathroom.

If you're running low on the cash flow for a wedding gift, why not get the bride and groom a set of these?! I think they're so classy! They'll never know how inexpensive they were! (Unless they read this blog. Which is doubtful.)

Yeah, these are just pretty great.

How cute would these be for a stocking stuffer for that jazzy gal in your family? Or a favor from a bachelorette party?! Fun!

These are fun and could be strung with twine on a porch, in a tree, in a dining room, or with a mouse, in a box, with a fox, in a car, on a train, in the dark, in the rain...

These would look great displayed in a child's room with an animal theme. I love the soft colors and minimalistic (who am I?) prints.

Go check out http://www.cb2.com/ and see all of the other wonderful stuff they have!

The difference between him and me

2010-10-26T09:25:00.000-04:00

What I had for dinner last night:

Tuna Steak with Asian Spice Seasoning
Garlic Sautéed Green Beans
Spinach Salad with homemade Soy Ginger Vingarette
Sauvignon Blanc

What he had for dinner last night:

Two Turkey Dogs
Brussel Sprouts

An intervention may need to be staged.

Him:

Me:

Him & Me:

I love him even though his breath smells like brussel sprouts.

Looking For...

2010-10-14T15:26:00.000-04:00

Subject Line: Old Fruit
Posted In: "Looking For" Category

I am looking for some old plastic fruit that you don't want anymore.......you know, bananas, apples, oranges, grapes..........just old stuff you're gonna end up throwing away........the dustier the better.....it doesn't even have to be in good shape...

I've looked at the dollar stores but no luck.....free is great but I'm willing to pay a fair price.

I was surfing the company intranet today and caught sight of this rare (yeah, I'm being sarcastic when I use that word) post on the employee bulletin board.

The response I really wanted to post: "I think your mom's got some old dusty melons she'd probably sell you at a fair price." But I didn't. Because that's wrong. And mean. But please know that I really wanted to.

The End.

2010-10-05T16:03:00.000-04:00

Dear Donuts:

I have loved you for quite some time. Years, in fact. Decades if we’re being precise. At times, you have played quite an important role in my life. I have many, many tender memories in which you are included. I remember fondly the first of your holes, which I inserted into my small, five year old mouth. It was warm. And your glaze flaked off, into my small hands. And your small hole filled my small mouth completely - the warm, yeasty flesh gushing out to my chubby childhood cheeks. It was love at first bite. You were made by the funny ladies at Golden Donut in my hometown who were missing teeth and wore funny white nets on their heads. They were nice. They sometimes gave me one of you to snack on while my daddy got the order filled. I knew these ladies took great care in making you perfect for me. They were my Donut Heroines.

Pretty soon, I graduated to your full size. Your holes were a thing of my past, my childhood. Your full size was much more satisfying to me as I grew into adolescence. Sprinkles were involved. When sprinkles fell off your top, I would gently lick my index finger and tap it at the loose sprinkles. None of you was wasted. Then you presented yourself to me with chocolate on top and my affinity for you grew into a full-blown obsession.

Right around the time of the great “Chocolate On Top Awakening”, my brother got a job at a place that made you. He would come home, his clothes fragrant with your doughy perfume and I knew there could be no greater job in the world. I would visit him after school and steal any of you that were leftover or misshapen. I would silently ache with anger when my brother would let his buddies in at closing time to raid the leftover bin. They didn’t deserve you. They didn’t appreciate you like I did.

As I have grown and matured, my obsession with you has not diminished one bit. Over the years, I have discovered you in various forms – cake, blueberry cake, old fashioned, chocolate cake with chocolate glaze, coconut, powdered, strawberry frosted, maple frosted…I have even tried the Chinese version of you. I fell more and more in love with each squishy bite.

But I think the time has come in my life where I need to say a gentle goodbye to you. For too long, have your enticing aromas and sweet, sugary bites crippled my desires of being thin. For too long have I given in to the echelon of pleasure I reach when I bite into your flesh. For too long have the side effects of this pleasure shown on my hips. I have to say goodbye. Please try to understand, donuts. It’s not you, it’s me. I may revisit you one day, but for now, I cannot be tempted by your intoxicating deliciousness.

Please remember me fondly, as that’s how I will remember you.

With all my love,

PeyPey

The City

2010-09-28T17:05:00.000-04:00

I'm in the "big city" this week! My work decided I was dumb and needed some more training in order to properly do my job. I'm actually enjoying the class and the city.

I ordered room service last night. Someone makes my bed everyday. I never have to use the same towel twice. King. Sized. Bed. There's a freaking Ethopian restaurant down the street from my hotel. These things don't happen at home.

I'll tell you soon about the cities I've visited but right now, just know that I'm livin' it up in the city!

Blog Suggestions

2010-09-21T10:58:00.001-04:00

If you recall, I asked that you all send me some suggestions for writing topics on this here blog. Great responses, people! But I still want MORE! So bring it. Here's what we've got so far (with my notes in italics):

- Your childhood (Hmm, a bit vague, but nevertheless, an endless smorgasbord of embarrassment, chubbiness, and greasy hair.)

-Your siblings...brothers? sisters? sisters-in-law? (This blog is all about me, remember? Who cares about them? No, I'm kidding. What might be fun is this: have them write a guest post about their thoughts on ME or funny stories they remember that involve ME!)

- Your first kiss? Who was he? What was he wearing? Where was it? Anything weird about him? (Ohh, you have no idea...weirdness, yes. Ok, there's definitely a story in there somewhere.)

- Give a top ten list of funniest/craziest moments from camp (if you went) growing up (Again, another endless smorgasbord of hilarity.)

- Responding to quotes. Funny quotes, commercials, slogans, bible verses, whatever. Doesn't have to be serious, funny, or even world-bending. I think we get better as people when we respond to others' thoughts. (This is way deep for me. Perhaps if the quotes were Cookie Monster quotes or maybe from The Office tv show...but Aristotle? Yeah, count me out.)

- Once a month book or CD recommendation? Like an online book club? It would help you read too, which is always a good thing. (I'm so totally doing this.)

- Jobs that you would never see yourself in. Look for postings and tell us why they aren't you. Or recommend people that you know for them. Could be cute. (Love this idea.)

- More photos! (You got it!)

- A monthly interview with someone you know about something interesting in their life?

- Saturday with $7. Take $7 one Saturday a month and see how creatively you can spend it. What people could you meet with that $7? What photos could you take along the way? (Donuts. Do you know how many donut holes you can get for $7?)

- Wine in a box. Yay or nay? (Yay. But I guess I could go in more detail.)

- From a girl that enjoys baking I would like to hear your opinion on cake v. cupcakes. (Done.)

- What are some tips to raise my children to be as happy as you and Brad always seem to be? (This almost makes me cry bittersweet happy tears.)

- Onomatopoeia. I want to hear you wax poetic on sound words. Pun intended (Done. But I'd have to have several glasses of wine before I write this post.)

- Steeplechase hats. Significance, form and function. And how to construct a winning design. (Hmm. This may need to be a guest post by someone who's reason for going to Steeplechase was NOT just to see how many free boos she could get.)

- How it is possible that the last few minutes of any work day seem to last at least as long as the whole day. Each. Minute. (I may turn this into some suggestions of how to spend those last few minutes.)

- Oreos: twist & lick, or dunk & crunch?? (Are they donut flavored oreos? Because I would eat them any way, any where, and any time. Are ya'll tired of hearing about donuts yet?)

Ok, so keep the suggestions coming!

Conversations from last night...

2010-09-17T15:40:00.000-04:00

Like texts from last night but better because we were using our larynx's to communicate, not our phalanges. (Man, that was a weird sentence.)

There was a picnic blanket involved. There was fried chicken. There was a massive outdoor movie screen. There were coolers. There was grass (no, not that kind). Oh, and there was, of course, wine.

I attended an outdoor movie last night with a bunch of friends. The setting was perfect: in a field overlooking the beautiful (I use that term quite loosely here) Chattahoochee River (more widely known as simply "The Hooch".) The food was delish. The company was at its wittiest. And the wine was flowing.

I'm in a fun mood this Friday afternoon and thought some of the bits and pieces of our conversations last night might make you chuckle. Either that, or it'll be one big "you had to be there" story. Oh well.

"Who's eating our melons?"

"That old couple over there has been making out all night long. How sweet."
"Ugh. That's not sweet, that's gross."
"That's not gross, that's sweet!"
"No, definitely gross. He's wearing tube socks."

"I had the biggest crush on him in high school. Fantasies were involved."

"Is there an elephant over there?"
"What? An orca? As in whale? With a blowhole?"

"Do you think I can stuff this whole thing in my mouth?" (Cotton candy that is.)

"Ah!"
"What? What?"
"A roach was heading straight for my FACE!"

I'll be honest, I don't remember much after the sugar from the cotton candy wad got into my bloodstream. Or wait, was that the wine I drank? There was lots more crazy funny stuff. I haven't laughed that much in quite awhile.

Anyway, ya'll have a good weekend. Catch ya on the flip side, homies.

Let's experiment together, shall we?

2010-09-15T16:48:00.000-04:00

I'd like to try a little experiment, if I can. See, I find that most of my blog posts and stories come solely from either my crazy-ass workplace, my crazy-ass mom, or my crazy-ass, wine-drenched text conversations. (Am I detecting a pattern here?) While chronicling these incidents is fun for both me and you (I hope), it doesn't challenge me or flex my writing muscle one bit. This I need to do.

So I would like you readers to throw some topics at me that you would like to hear me talk about. Or not. You don't have to. But I'd like for you to. I think it'll be fun. I can't promise I won't relate whatever topics you throw at me back to my crazy-ass mom. I can't promise that I won't drunk text you about the topic and then write about our drunk text conversation instead of writing about the topic itself. I make no promises.

So if you have a topic you'd like for me to write about, just send me an email at

peypeybaker[at]gmail[dot]com.

Can't wait to hear from you!

Disclaimer: I maintain full rights to dismiss any and all topics which I may not find appropriate. I know that still leaves the door pretty wide open, seeing as how I'm not a prude or anything, but people, just use your best judgment, mmmkay?

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, HELLA-WEIRD Day

2010-09-13T18:36:00.000-04:00

It's been one of those days. You know the type. It just blazes by and you really have no remembrance of what you've accomplished today and you've somehow spent 9 hours in cubicle world that smells like feet and you've got sticky coffee splotches on your mouse and somehow now it's quitting time and you're faced with the decision of whether or not you go to the gym or go home and finish that 1.5 liter bottle of cheap wine and park it in front of the TV. I'll let you decide which one of these options became my reality today (and every other day).

My day was pretty weird. I had someone (our office's resident troll) tap me on my shoulder as I was waiting for the elevator. Weird? No. That's pretty normal. What was weird was that when I turned around to say hello, the troll was rared back with his fist eye level to me and the following words came out of his mouth: "Can I hit you?"

Um, excuse me? EXCUSE ME?! I was speechless. He was doing it to be funny, but to me, it wasn't very funny. It bothered me. It's one of those things, six hours later, that I haven't been able to let roll off of my shoulders. I don't know. Does this weird anyone else out?

So, needless to say, I'm sitting home with a cold glass of Sav Blanc sitting next to me with my Leona Ness Pandora station cranked (guys - don't waste your time clicking on that. Girls - do it. Do it now.) A bubble bath is in my very near future, I do believe.

In completely unrelated news, I love this man:

His birthday was this past weekend. September 11. Yes, it was a day to remember, to mourn so many terrible losses. But it was also a day to celebrate the birth of this guy. I'm so thankful his dad's little swimmers penetrat...wait, this is going downhill FAST. What I'm trying to say is that I'm so thankful there's a man like this in the world, in my life. He is so giving, so caring and shows his love for me in the sweetest, most kind ways. I try my best to return all that love in emotional, physical, and tangible ways. I scored some pretty great tickets to a big football game his alma mater will be playing next month and I gave them to him for his birthday. I'm pretty sure I saw a tear in his eye when he opened the card and saw the tickets. Mark - I love you. I'm so glad that things like football brings a tear to your eye.

That's about all for this weird Monday. If you're around, come on over. Let's drink off the Monday blues together. Just know that a viewing of the Bachelor Pad will be involved.

About Me: The Finale

2010-09-09T16:30:00.000-04:00

So I gave you five biggies about me awhile back. You can find them here. And here. Oh and here. Over here. And riiiiiiiight here. While this certainly won't be an exhaustive list, I wanted to just sum things up for you. You see, the number one thing on this list would be that I never finish anything I start (unless we're talking about donuts) and well, I wanted to prove myself wrong on this one and actually finish up this whole "About PeyPey" series.

Here we go:

1. I never finish anythi...(see I told you.)
Just kidding.

2. I have been a bridesmaid nine times.
3. Me and my dad's mom share the same middle name: Bayne. She's Nell. I'm Peyton.
4. My brother Brad and I once ate MRE's (meals ready to eat) that my grandad saved from when he was in the Vietnam war. The hot sauce bottles were so darn cute.
5. Both me and Elton John are Boars on the Chinese calendar. We make friends easily. But you already knew that.
6. I have 2 brothers, one sister, eleven cousins, and I once had a great aunt named "Elvira".
7. My stripper name would be "Chi-Chi Meadowbrook". (You know, that game you play where you take the name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on and voila! Instant stripper name.)
8. I am a Christian. The practicing-I-have-a-daily-relationship-with-Jesus type. But I'm not and never will be the judgmental or legalistic type.
9. I play the piano. I sing. I know one beat on the drums and all the major guitar chords. I'm not sure where this musical talent came from because my mom has none and the extent of my dad's is the ability to play House of the Rising Sun on a guitar laying flat on his lap, strumming each chord only once.
10. Laundry is my favorite smell ever. Well, except for fresh, hot donuts.
11. Excuse me, CLEAN laundry is my favorite smell ever. Dirty laundry smells pretty rank.
12. My favorite phrase used to be "Catch ya on the flipside!" It's making a comeback into my vocabulary. I'm not sure I like this but feel as if there's no way to stop it.
13. I never, I mean NEVER understood the Dewey Decimal System. If someone could explain this to me, I'd be much obliged.
14. I wasn't allowed to watch Captain Planet as a child because my mom said it was "new-age". Now, my mom yells at me when I throw a Diet Coke can in the trash instead of the recycling bin. She is also now a Democrat. And a Methodist.
15. It's important to mention here that I grew up in a staunchly Republican, Southern Baptist home. I'll have to get my mother to explain this one because I simply cannot.
16. When I first discovered the concept of shaving, I didn't start with my legs like most normal girls did. I started with my fingers and toes.
17. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 21.
18. I used to wear shorts with stockings before it was cool to wear shorts with stockings.
19. I never figured out how to jump rope the double dutch way. It physically, mechanically, and logistically makes no sense to me.
20. My favorite flavor is donuts. (Okay, okay. I like orange flavored things. But I'd choose a donut popsicle if there was such a thing.) My favorite color is pink. My favorite day is Friday. My favorite month is July. My favorite season is Spring. My favorite holiday is July 4th. But that's all subject to change in the next 30 seconds.

Good grief. I'm spent. Ya'll have a good Thursday.

Poison ivy, a brothel, and my father - It all relates, I swear.

2010-09-08T10:37:00.000-04:00

Today as I was comtemplating my childhood (and the subsequent effects it has had on my adult life), I remembered a song my dad used to sing to me at bedtime. I think I've actually talked about this before on my blog, but it needs to be mentioned again.

The song that I am referring to is called "Poison Ivy" by The Coasters. Let's disect this a bit, shall we?

First, let's read the lyrics:
She comes on like a rose but everybody knows
She'll get you in Dutch
Now you can look but you better not touch.

Chorus:
Poison ivy, poison ivy
Late at night while you're sleepin',
Poison ivy comes a creepin'
Around.

She's pretty as a daisy, but look out man, she's crazy
She'll really do you in now
if you let her under your skin.

Repeat Chorus

Measles make you bumpy
And mumps'll make you lumpy
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch.
A common cold'll fool ya
And whooping cough'll cool ya
But poison ivy lord'll make you itch!

You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
The minute you start to mess around.

Next, how about you listen to it. I find the tune catchy with an aftertaste of haunting. Click here to listen.

Point number one that I would like to make about this is, why did my father feel that this was an appropriate choice for a lullaby song to sing to his sweet, angel-eyed, squishy, baby daughter at bedtime? Anything with the phrase "late at night while you're sleeping" coupled with anything "comin' a creepin'" might possibly be detrimental to a childs sleeping habits. Dad? Are you out there? You better not sing this to your grandchildren. I will (of course) make a list of qualifying songs, none of which will have the word "creepin'" in them.

Point number two that I would like to make is this - today when I was contemplating my childhood and remembered the fact that my dad would sing this song to me at bedtime, I became curious of who sang the song and when it was made. Naturally, I went to wikipedia - that great, omniscient being on the internets.

This is what wikipedia told me about this little ditty:
"Poison Ivy" is a popular song by American songwriting duo Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. It was originally recorded by The Coasters in 1959. It went to #1 on the R&B chart and #7 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. This was their third top-ten hit of that year following "Charlie Brown" and "Along Came Jones". Blah blah blah.
Ok, here's where it starts getting weird:
The song discusses a girl named Ivy, calling her "Poison Ivy" because of her reputation with men as a player. ("Huh? What's that mean, daddy?" That's the two year old me questioning my father about what a 'reputation' is.) The song makes references to other flowers such as a rose and a daisy, and diseases like measles, mumps, chickenpox, the common cold, and whooping cough. In a recently published biography about Jerry Lieber & Mike Stoller, the song's authors, it was revealed that the song's lyrics are about sexually-transmitted disease, not the illnesses previously thought.

Um, excuse, Ricky Baker? Father? Future grandfather to my unborn children? Did you know about this? Were you aware of this literal meaning when you were singing your sweet, angel-eyed, squishy, baby daughter to sleep? I certainly hope not. Otherwise, we have a lot to talk about.

Coming tomorrow: Part Two of "Father to Daughter: I will sing you to sleep, child, with inappropriate lullabies". We'll disect the fact that the other bedtime song PeyPey's dad would sing to her was "House of the Rising Sun", which, in turn, is about a brothel. So, yeah. Chew on that.

Knock, knock! Who's There? IT'S PEYPEY!!!

2010-09-07T12:57:00.000-04:00

It's happened again. The last time it happened it was bad. Pitiful. Excrutiating. Unpleasant. And it's happened again. Only this time, it's worse. Only this time, I'm having to search way deep into the inner crevices of my soul to find a cure. Only this time, it's not just singular; no, it's coupled with something much, much worse.

This time, it's not just blog block, it's laziness too.

I read a blog post about how to write blog posts not long ago and the number one thing on the list was to not apologize for not writing for awhile. The number two thing on the list was to post frequently and by frequently the author meant at least once a day. (Well, ha! I showed them, huh?!)

But I'm not going to listen to that author's advice. I'm here to tell you I'm sorry for not posting in over a month. Several of you readers (ok, let me just be realistic and tell you that "several" should actually say "2, two, TWO" - which, by it's very definition, cannot not be described as "several" but I'm going to say "several" anyway because that makes me feel missed, loved and needed) have emailed, texted, and facebooked to tell me that I needed to blog and that you missed reading what I had to say. Thank you readers. Thank you for missing me. You have no idea how good this makes me feel. Warm fuzzies? I gots dem.

While my blog block and laziness is not exactly cured, I will write today. I will write and tell you what I've been up to.

Let's begin with a list. Lists are the heartbeat of PeyPey's soul.
1. Um, hello, blog redesign! What do you think? Here's what I like: I love the colors and the rays coming off the side of the column. I am a sun. I shine. I beam. I wanted this to reflect on my blog so that's why I chose this background. To me, it's pretty PeyPeyish. There's lots of new features, so just clickity click clack around. (You've probably already done that, though, huh? Seeing as how it's been a month and all since the redesign.)
2. I am the Asst. Editor for the Junior League's League Life, a monthly 30-40 page publication that goes out to all of our 700+ members. What's time consuming? This is. So, needless to say, much of my very, very limited brain space that's not already being taken up by song lyrics to Rogers and Hammerstein musicals has been largely devoted to layout design and article writing for the League Life. (I'm saving the remaining space for remembering the things I am scared of. Sharks in the deep end of a pool, for example. In grown toenails, for another example.)
3. Mark just moved approximately 91.5 miles away from me to attend law school. I don't know if this is really a good excuse but I'm throwing it in there anyway.
4. Work. Life. Responsibilities. What? I'm only lazy 82.936% of the time. I do actually have a job, ya know? And bills to pay, okay? I can't just be at your blogging beck and call all the time, geesh. (Oh wait, isn't this supposed to be an apologetic post?)

Okay, that covers pretty much everything, right? So can I just beg your forgiveness and promise to do better? Things'll get back to normal around here pretty soon, I promise. I'll be back to my PeyPey ways soon enough, you bet your bottom dollar!

I curse the day you were born, Alexander Graham Bell

2010-07-27T15:54:00.001-04:00

This...

is what I've been doing all day. My brain is fried. My ear needs a vodka tonic. And my nerves need a...vodka tonic.

Peace out.

Flowing Streams of Consciousness

2010-07-26T16:57:00.000-04:00

I have five unchecked voicemails on my office phone.
Files need to be filed.
Letters need to be sent.
Board meeting notes need to be typed.
I had icecream for lunch.
Rocky Road.
It's my favorite.
My favorite used to be vanilla.
That's weird isn't it?
I'm so not vanilla.
I'm so rainbow sherbet.
I'm so toffee almond crunch.
I'm so not vanilla.
I have six empty coffee cups on my desk.
I have eight phone message stickies from the secretary.
I haven't returned any of the calls.
I have answered my office phone fourteen times today.
I had icecream for lunch.
I will probably have wine for dinner.

Liplicious

2010-07-23T12:58:00.000-04:00

Mark just got back from being away for 2 whole weeks.

My lips have felt lonely.

He's coming to pick me up to take me to lunch.

I threw some gum in, you know, to freshen things up.

Then I was going to slick on some Dr. Pepper lipgloss.

But then I remembered the last time I slicked on some Dr. Pepper lipgloss, and he said, "Ew! Yuck! I'm never kissing you again!"

So instead, I slicked on some fruit punch flavored Liplicious gloss from Bath & Body Works. Oh yeah, pullin' out the big guns, the expensive stuff, ladies.

I gotta get me a ring!

Me and Marvin Gaye...and a Tomato

2010-07-23T09:14:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, Mark and I went “pickin’” at his granddad’s garden in the country. I want to pitch a tent in this garden and live off the land for all eternity. It’s beautiful out there and the land produces perfect vegetables. (Unlike my garden. I think it’s about time I throw in the towel with gardening. This year’s crop is not looking too good.) He’s got corn fields, watermelon patches, scuppernong vines, tomatoes, peppers, squash, and cucumbers as far as the eye can see.

I made myself a tomato sandwich the other night with one of the biggest, juiciest tomatoes I’ve ever seen out of Mark’s granddad’s garden. There’s just something so different about the taste, the consistency of a fresh-off-the-vine tomato. It’s like you can almost taste the earth it was grown from. (Okay, I’ll stop there before I sound too much like a hippie.) So I ate this sandwich. And then I sang the tomato a love song. I think you know it. It goes something like this:

Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby
Ain't nothing like the real thing
Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby
Ain't nothing like the real thing

Just call me Tammi "Tomato" Terrell.

About to go to town

2010-07-22T09:32:00.000-04:00

Alternate Title: Does this angle make my face look fat?

Stuff I blow my money on: Part Uno

2010-07-22T09:09:00.000-04:00

This is going to be sort of BOGO post. Well, actually it's going to be a BOGTF post. Does anyone know what I just said? If you do, leave it in the comments and I'll buy you a slushy.

So, the title of this post Stuff I blow my money on: Part Uno is a new segment I'm adding to this here blog. I make pretty good money. I definitely feel like I earn what I should be earning for someone with my experience, education and qualifications. I don't have a whole bunch of debt besides the student loans from my eight (yes, eight. Please don't judge me.) years of undergrad. My car's paid off. My rent's cheap. I'm doing pretty good. Somehow though, I never have any money. I'm not going to lie; I love to shop. Whether it's buying frozen vegatables and sour cream or shoes and shirts, I love to shop.

Mark always asks me what I spend my money on. He can never figure out where it goes and how it goes so quickly. I can. And you can too. Just look at the picture below:

That's nineteen bottles of shampoo, people. NINETEEN. Hey, the first step is admitting I have a problem, right?

This leads nicely into some About PeyPey points:

About Me #6: I am an excessive person. From the amount of shampoo bottles I have in my bathroom to amount of boxes of frozen broccoli I have in my freezer to the amount of love I dole out to people to the amount of wine I drink on a nightly basis, I am an excessive person.

About Me #7: I have a hard time finishing things. Whether it's a book, a home project, a bottle of shampoo, a bottle of wine (wait, nevermind on that one), I have a hard time finishing things.

So see? You just got a BOGTF deal! Come back next week for the BTGTF deal! See ya then!

Incessant Ramblings

2010-07-21T15:04:00.000-04:00

No, not incest ramblings. Who do you think I am, anyway? If you're here for that, sorry, you can leave. And please let the door hit you on your way out.

Ahhhem. Let's begin by talking about the weather, shall we?

It's hot here. Like 104 degrees Fahrenheit hot. Like what's the point in taking a shower because the minute I step outside, I'll be drenched in sweat hot. Like my toenails are sweating hot. Like my ear canals are sweating hot. Yeah. That hot. Please, my lovely Canadian readers (I know you're out there. I Google analyticked you. And yes, I'm quite aware that analyticked isn't a word. I made it up. You should try making up words. It's fun. Billy Bob does it all the time. Have I ever told you the story of "Optober"? I haven't? Ohhh, you're in for a treat someday. Back to the regularly scheduled programming...) can I come visit you? Somewhere nice and cool? Somewhere that doesn't feel like I'm sinking into the devil's belly button? Literally? Thanks. See you soon.

Now I'd like to talk about barbeque. May I take you on a tour of my hometown barbeque restaurants? If it's alright by you, I'll just name them and tell you how many locations they have. Cool? And look, I know you don't care one flippin' flip about barbeque restaurants in my hometown. I know you don't. But I need you to know this, okay? My mind won't settle down until you know. (Please keep in mind that I live in a city of about 200,000 folks. 200,000 BBQ eating folks.) I've added notes about the ones I've tried.

1. 13th Street BBQ (3 locations) MY FAVE!
2. Boss Hog's BBQ (1 location)
3. Brennan Road BBQ (1 location)
4. Chester’s BBQ (2 locations) Possibly in the most ghetto part of town. There is also a Chester's Grocery Store attached in which, my guess is, they sell all things BBQ related.
5. Chicken Comer’s BBQ (1 location) I've had their chicken fingers but not their BBQ.
6. Clearview BBQ (1 location)
7. Country’s BBQ (4 locations) Good home cooking but BBQ sucks.
8. Ed’s BBQ (1 location) I've only ever had their rutabagas. And no, I'm not kidding.
9. Fat Freddie’s BBQ (1 location) Ahhhh...so many childhood memories from this place. My dad would take me and my older brother there once a week. I always got a bacon biscuit. Thanks, dad. No really, thanks. I have you to thank for these ham-hocks that call themselves my thighs.
10. Hamilton Road BBQ (1 location)
11. Hog Rock BBQ (1 location)
12. Legends BBQ (1 location)
13. Macon Road BBQ (1 location) It's right next to TJMaxx, so although I pass by there way too often, I've only eaten there a handful of times. And it was just okay.
14. Mike & Ed’s BBQ (4 locations) Best smoked ham and turkey in town!
15. Pepper’s BBQ (1 location) I would take a bath in their sauces if I didn't have to clean the tub afterwards.
16. Rib Shack (1 location) This place is literally a shack. Plywood walls and floors and nothing more. And it's a front for the more popular nightclub that's attached, the Shanty Shack. Want to see some rednecks? Maybe a rebel flag or eight hundred? Then go there.
17. Smokey Pig (2 locations) Sweet tea heaven.
18. Thornton’s BBQ (4 locations) Cool story: Anyone watch The Neely's on Food Network TV? They're cousins with the people who own this place!

So if I take 5 and add it to 7 and then multiply it by the day of the week and divide it by how many clean pairs of panties I have left before I have to do laundry again and then take the square root of it all and subtract 1, my calculation works out to be 31. Someone check my math please. Thirty-one. That's an awful lot of choices, isn't it? One that didn't make it on the list because it's just outside the city limits but that deserves an honorable mention is this one: MEAT'S BBQ. I'd like to meet Meat. And taste Meat's meat. Ok, I'm done. And my need for you to know the above is reconciled. Thank you for allowing me to do that.

We'll talk about the Mexican restaurants another time.

The story of The Mixer

2010-07-19T09:27:00.000-04:00

Katie is Peyton's friend.
Katie lives in Washington state.
Katie is married to Theo.
They have a daughter.
Her name is Bronwen.
Peyton has not seen Katie in four years.
They met for coffee this past Saturday.
Katie said, "I have something for you out in the car."
Katie is very crafty and enjoys making homemade things.
Peyton was expecting a homemade gift of sorts from Katie.
Perhaps Katie knit Peyton a scarf.
Or maybe Katie made Peyton some homemade pepper jelly.
Peyton was excited about her potential homemade gift from Katie.
They got out to Katie's car.
Katie handed Peyton a small gift bag.
Peyton pulled out its contents.
Peyton pulled out a giftcard for Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
Peyton thought this was random but was excited nonetheless.
Peyton started to say thank you.
"Thank you, Katie".
Peyton flipped the giftcard over.
The amount of $300 was written on the card.
Peyton's mouth dropped.
Peyton was speechless.
Peyton thought this was a mistake.
"Katie, is this a mistake?"
Katie was smiling.
"It's no mistake, Peyton. I really want you to have a Kitchenaide Stand Mixer."
Peyton was still speechless.
Peyton started to tear up.
"Are you freaking serious, Katie?"
"Yes! Go get one!"
"I can't believe this!"
Peyton hugs Katie.
Peyton hugs Katie again.
Another hug.
Last hug.
Peyton is ecstatic.
Peyton says thank you.
Peyton knows that 'thank you' is not adequate.
Katie and Peyton say goodbye.
Peyton floats to her car.
Peyton's car is set to auto-pilot.
Peyton's car heads to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
By the time Peyton steps foot into the store, she has already called ten people and told them the story of the Kitchenaide Stand Mixer.
Peyton debates between boring stainless steel and vibrant, sassy empire red.
Peyton's sister-in-law convinces her that she is vibrant and sassy and that this needs to reflect in her choice of Kitchenaide Stand Mixers.
Peyton checks out with the empire red in hand.
Peyton puts the empire red Kitchenaide Stand Mixer in her car.
Peyton drives home.
Peyton sets up the empire red Kitchenaide Stand Mixer on her kitchen counter.
Besides the diamonds from Mark and her some of her grandmother's jewelry, Peyton decides it is her most prized possession.
Peyton calls Katie five times to say thank you five times more.
Peyton and her empire red Kitchenaide Stand Mixer live happily ever after.

Drunk Texting

2010-07-16T09:51:00.002-04:00

I have a friend named Colleen. She's pretty freaking awesome. We have a lot of the same interests and because of this, we always have a great time when we hang out. She's a blogger too! http://www.wordmartini.wordpress.com/ is hers. We both love to write but she's a little more go-getter than I am with making it her profession. And here's some fun news for you: we'll be starting a blog together soon!

The title of the blog is Rotten Peaches and on it, we will discuss all things southern. We're both rotten Georgia peaches who have fallen pretty far from the beautiful peach orchards of southern charm and those perfect southern manners. We use Junior League as our cover-up. Just kidding about all that, really. Actually, we're both extremely genteel ladies who love to entertain and wear pearls and allow words like "y'all" to drip from our mouths like honey. We're pretty snarky though, us two, so it should make for a pretty funny blog. We'll be doing point/counterpoint on southern topics, we'll be interviewing yanks and making fun of them, we'll fondly recall southern pastimes each of us have enjoyed. It'll be a good time, y'all! More news on that to come.

So anyway, I threw a wine tasting party at my house last night for a bunch of Junior League ladies and some miscellaneous friends. Colleen was invited but wasn't able to come. We kept in touch through the night over text, though. What follows is our 2 1/2 hour long conversation and it's something to behold, people. Everything is copied word for word, punctuation for punctuation. I've added some notes in italics. This is what you can expect from the future writers of the Rotten Peaches blog. Are you ready for this? I don't think you're ready. You need to mentally prepare yourself for what you're about to read. Take a minute. Inhale, exhale. You ready? Ok, let's do this:

Colleen: 9:36 pm I'm there in thought! (Sends below picture.)

PeyPey: 9:40 pm Yeah right! We're twelve deep beeeaaahhh! (Translation: "We've all had 12 glasses each, bitch! Yeah, I know. Real classy, huh?)

Colleen: 9:41 pm Maaan. I don't want to hear from u tomorrow. I'm so f%$*king pissed I'm not there. My wine would have won. (Colleen says "f*^$" a lot. This is not very ladylike, Colleen. This is why Colleen is a rotten peach.)

Colleen: 9:44 pm I just reserved rottenpeaches on wordpress. Just in case.

PeyPey: 9:51 pm I would've given u the prize pot. U deserved it. :) (Clarification: I did not give away pot as a prize at my wine tasting party. Everyone brought 2 bottles of wine, one to taste, and the other went in the "prize pot". Whoever's wine was rated the highest took the prize pot home.)

Colleen: 9:59 pm Who won? For the record, I've had half a glass and just fell out of my chair. Hard.

Colleen: 10:02 Icing my injury. (Sends below picture.)

Colleen: 10:56 pm Go to bed.

PeyPey: 11:14 pm Ha ha! My friend Teri w/chateau ste. Michelle riesling & christina bock with pinot evil pinot noir won. Best. Time. Ever. Missed you!

Colleen: 11:15 pm I looooove chateau ste. michelle. F#$!ing f#$!. (Colleen. I'm going to rinse your mouth out with soap, missy.)

Peyton: 11:16 pm Haha watch it potty mouth! A good time for sure. U would've made it better tho. Ps-im drubkj. (Drunk.)

PeyPey: 11:16 pm What happened to ur wrist? (I apparently did not put two and two together when she said she fell out of her chair and then sent the picture of her icing her wrist with a bag of peas. I was drubkj.)

Colleen: 11:16 pm I'm totally dwelling on our blog.

Colleen: 11:17 pm I fell. Out of a chair. In my defense, it has wheels.

PeyPey: 11:17 pm Hahahahahahaahahahahahahahaahahahahhahahahahahahah (I have issues with being an excessive person.)

Colleen: 11:20 pm So. If we do this right, I really,really think we can do a bk proposal fr rp. (Colleen will obviously be the brains behind our rotten peach operation.)

PeyPey: 11:24 pm Fr rp?

Colleen: 11:25 pm For rotten peaches. Put in drunk contacs. Do u wrk tom?

PeyPey: 11:25 pm Oim drunbj remenber? (This is where it starts to head downhill. I apologize. Translation: I'm drunk remember?)

Colleen: 11:26 pm Have I ever told u I love u? I wld karaoke if I cld. (I'm not sure why karaoke was introduced into this texting conversation but I'm glad it made it in. I. Love. Karaoke.)

PeyPey: 11:28 pm Work. Everyfreakinday. Yes. i love u too. Coffee. Rotteen peach duscussiom over coffee soon yes?

Colleen: 11:31 pm Fuck that. Over booaze. With a camera. What is the internet? Not reality but... (I had no idea what Colleen meant by this text last night. I thought she was being philosophical and deep, so my response was...)

PeyPey: 11:36 pm Yes i agree. Im with 100%. Booaze. Sounds delish. (I now realize that she was saying "Fuck coffee. Instead of coffee, let's do a rotten peach discussion over boos and with a camera." I still am not sure about the whole internet part though.)

Colleen: 11:37 pm Whatever. Drubk. ;) I really missed the peypeyfood tonight.

PeyPey: 11:38 pm Imagine foos of the angels & tjat would be what i served #drunbk (And this is where we started talking in Twitter hashmarks.)

Colleen: 11:39 pm Wow. Huh? #arethereleftovers??

PeyPey: 11:44 pm Haha yes. Blue cheese biscuits, herbed cheese, rosemary skewers, but no wine. (I would like to point out here, that, when talking and texting about food, I made no typos or errors and was completely direct with the message I was trying to get across. #ilovefood.)

Colleen: 11:45 pm I have whiskey. Walk on over.

PeyPey: 11:46 pm Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Whiskey. My friwnd. (Translation: "Oh, whiskey, my friend." Whiskey, in all actuality, is not my friend.)

PeyPey: 11:47 pm Macon road is treacherous. #icantbelieveijusttypedtreacherouswhilstdrubkj (Translation: In order for me to have walked to Colleen's for whiskey drinks, I would have had to cross one of the busiest roads in my city. Also, I'd like to point out that that may be the longest hashmark in the history of hashmarks.)

Colleen: 11:53 pm Gold star. I have a guest room. Fornext time. Wanna see my new lr? (Clarification: Gold Star is a taxi service.)

PeyPey: 11:54 pm Lr? (Colleen frequently speaks in code. I like this about her.)

PeyPey: 11:55 pm Oh! Living room? YES! (It took me a minute, but I got it.)

Colleen: 11:57 pm (Sends below picture. I had no clue why she was sending me a picture of a liquor store last night. Now, I realize she was trying to be funny and was making a joke saying that this is her living room. Hardy har har.)

Colleen: 11:59 pm (Sends below picture of her actual living room. How this conversation resulted in us talking about living rooms, I am not sure.)

PeyPey: 12:00 am Nice lr. Retard. My eyea

Annnnnnnd, that's where it ended. I hope you've enjoyed this look into the drunk texting between Colleen and PeyPey. You can look forward to many more similar posts on http://www.rottenpeaches.wordpress.com/!

Pbay

2010-07-14T15:44:00.000-04:00

I made my first-ever purchase on ebay today. Crazy, I know, considering the wondrous world of shopping that awaits at my finger tips. I'm not sure why I've never bought anything from there before, I just haven't. But holy freakin' moley. I feel like I just conquered the world with my purchase. Allow me to explain.

My laptop charger, well, Mark's laptop charger...wait, let me go back further.

I have no pets. Unless you consider the dust bunnies living under my couches, I have no pets. A few months ago, I discovered my laptop charger cord had been frayed. Let me be specific: it looked chewed upon. This frightened me a bit because, well, I have no pets. I didn't want to think about the possibilities and just decided to put all my faith in our coveralled bug man and his handy sprayer can thingy. I should note that this was an isolated incident. No other things have turned up with gnaw marks on them.

Back to my story...

Mark had an extra universal laptop charger that he let me have. He's always doing nice things like that. Have I ever mentioned that he paid to have the transmission in my car replaced a few years ago? Yeah, he loves me. Oh, wait! Hang on a second! I paid him back for that in full! All eighteen hundred dollars of it! Ehhh, oh well. He still loves me though.

Back to my story...

I've enjoyed Mark's charger for the last few months, until the other night. WHEN IT BLEW OUT OF MY WALL. My roommate and I were just sitting there, watching Harry Potter and giving each other tickly backscratches when something that sounded like a gunshot went off and a blast of red light was emitted from the wall socket to my right where the laptop charger was plugged. I took off running. I seriously thought someone was shooting at us. Catherine, laughing, said, "get-HAHA-back in-BAAAAHAHA-here, you-HEEEHEEEHAHAHAHA-idiot". She wouldn't stop laughing at me. It cut me deep.

Catherine reached down and picked up the sizzling charger and cord, a little hot to the touch, and said, "um, this just blew out of the wall." It had landed about four feet from where it was plugged into the wall. Please note, and offer up a prayer of thanksgiving: my laptop was not attached to the cord when it blew out of the wall. Noted? Good.

Being at home for the last three nights with no connection to my beloved internet has caused me to not do the following:
1. Facebook.
2. Blog.
3. Look up recipes. I had to make something from an actual hardback cookbook last night. It was weird. (The experience was weird, not the pancakes. That's what I made, pancakes. Are you even still reading this post? Hello? Anyone?)
4. Read Pioneer Woman Blog.
5. Play games on http://www.mindjolt.com/.
6. Facebook.
7. Watch Netflix movies.
8. Facebook.

I don't like the feeling.

So first I complained to Mark. I thought maybe he'd have another charger lying around. I also thought maybe he'd offer to buy one for me. He did no such thing. I was on my own. I don't like the feeling. So I set out to find the best priced laptop charger I could find. I checked walmart.com, target.com, officedepot.com, and finally bestbuy.com and the cheapest one I'd found was $75. By the time I got to bestbuy.com, I was ready to throw in the towel and just buy a whole new laptop. I'm not kidding. It made sense.

But I decided to sleep on it and complain to Mark a little more. The magical words "I'll take care of that for you, PeyPey" never left Mark's lips.

I was retelling (complaining about) the whole sordid mess to my coworker, Lance, this morning and his reply was simply, "why don't you check ebay?"

So I had him walk me through the process of starting an account on both ebay and paypal. We got through that part and I simply typed "laptop charger" in the search bar and...holy freakin' moley, people.

I conquered the world. I conquered the world with my $13.99, no shipping cost, 99% good seller feedback, ships from the U.S. purchase of a universal laptop charger. I really did feel like I was cheating in some way. I felt like I just discovered this secret realm or something. It was quite a splendid feeling.

A whole new world
A dazzling place I never knew
Unbelievable sights

Indescribable feeling
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling
Through the endless ebay site!

I'll see you in 437 years, after I've seen all ebay has to show me!

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Shoes

2010-07-13T12:11:00.001-04:00

(I started this post on July 4th but because of my busy-ness (laziness), I'm just now getting around to finishing it.)

As I think about how many friends of mine have come and gone from deployment to deployment in various branches of the military, as I have to endure listening to my dad's Vietnam stories over and over again, as I go through old family photos and see my grandads in their uniforms, I am filled with thanksgiving for their sacrifice and the sacrifice of so many men and women who face scenarios on the front lines that I can't even begin to fathom. I am filled with gratitude for those who currently choose that career path and for those in the past who were called to the line of duty because of an enforced draft and who courageously left the comforts of home to travel to a foreign land.

Of course I am thankful for the sacrifice of so many. Of course.

But I would wager that I am not the only human being around to take my freedom and liberties for granted - freedom and liberties that have been fought hard for by my grandads, dad, friends. And I'm sorry I take them for granted, I am. But I can't imagine - literally, my mind won't go there - a world without freedoms.

I don't know what it's like to not be able to voice my opinion of our nation's leaders.

I have no clue how it feels to wear a veil over my face just because I am a woman.

I can't imagine how it would feel to want to leave my homeland and come to a foreign, peaceful, opportunistic country because my homeland is literally hopeless.

I know nothing of going hungry.

Or of having no shoes.

Or of living in filth.

Instead, I could say the rudest things about our nation's leaders, have it aired on any media outlet and not even get a 'tisk, tisk'.

I could wear daisy dukes and a halter top and go have lunch with my boyfriend.

I have every single opportunity in the world at my finger tips. I could be anything, do anything, and achieve any and every goal I set for myself.

Little Caesars $5 Hot & Readys are literally thirty seconds from my house. (I drive there.) I also spent a collected $80 on my dinner over two nights last week at fancy restaurants. Because I could.

You could walk a mile in my shoes, taking each step in a different pair.

I have dustbunnies under my couch and soap scum in my shower. But I have a bi-weekly bug man come spray my house.

I know nothing of being freedom-less and liberty-less, unless you consider the city-wide mandate of what days of the week I can water my lawn when we're in a draught.

I'm clueless.

Because of the sacrifices of so, so, so many brave men and women, for the 27th time in my life, I was able to spend my Fourth of July eating hamburgers and potato salad, swimming, and watching fireworks.

I am thankful for my cocoon of safety, shoes, and liberty. And I apologize for taking it all for granted.

My Inner Sanctum

2010-07-03T10:12:00.000-04:00

What I am about to show you is considered one of the most personal things about a girl. Now men (if there are any of you), before you go clicking away without reading, I'll make the disclaimer that what I'm about to show you is not a body part, nor is it any type of monthly material us gals have to purchase for necessary reasons. Ok, this post is quickly going downhill. Let me fix that.

What I am about to show you is considered one of the most personal things about a girl. It is her purse. More specifically, it is the contents of her purse. It's pretty personal what we keep stuffed in the depths of our satchels. But today, I wanted to show you my purse and its contents in hopes that you will get to know me a bit better. And I promise it'll give you a few laughs.

Here's the purse:

It's a smooth, magenta leather (ok, it's probably pleather). It has the perfect amount of pockets and the strap is the perfect length. Although it matches only about 1/78th of my wardrobe, I wear it with anything and everything. People probably think I'm color blind, but I don't care. I got this purse on clearance at TJMaxx for ten bucks about a year ago and it's held up quite nicely.

Ok, so let's move on to its contents. I hope you won't judge me after seeing these pictures. I haven't cleaned out my purse in a good two plus months so I knew the findings would be a veritable treasure trove. I'll show you the group shot first and then zero in on a few things.

Just take a good look at everything. Sorry, I know the pics are fuzzy. Ok, let's zero in on a few specific items.

There's my Twilight Eclipse ticket from the other night. I'll be honest, the movie was just okay. I tried to read the first book but got so incredibly bored that I never finished. And I'm going to risk losing some readers here I'm sure, but ummm, Taylor Lautner, ladies? Yeah, NOT HOT. His face is weird to me. And I can never get past looking at his scwunched up face to check out the 24 pack that resides on his torso. Anyway, moving on.

Those right there are 40 watt decorative bulbs. Please don't ask me how long I've been carrying them around. I wouldn't be able to answer that question. Oh, and notice the silver and red thing next to the lightbulbs? That's a can opener. Just in case, you know?

Here's a wad of papers and napkins with some weird purple stuff on them.

Oh, and I can never be without PeyPey's Picante! This was leftover from my lunch a few weeks ago. Please don't judge me.

And finally, probably my favorite item that I pulled out of my magenta satchel was this:

That's right, it's RapidRise Yeast. Please, please, please, I beg you, please don't ask me why this was in there, how long it's been in there, where it came from, why it was in there, how old it is, why it was in there. BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW! I honestly have no recollection of stuffing that in my purse.

Among all of that stuff there was also a few batteries, a koozie from a wedding, three lipsticks, a tylenol bottle with one pill in it, a box of neon bandaids, some Pepto Bismal, and an iPod shuffle.

My life feels more free now that my purse is cleaned out. I have room to breathe. And I'm glad I shared this with you all, too. I definitely feel better about myself.

Thanks for stopping by!

I am who you want. In your kitchen.

2010-07-02T22:48:00.002-04:00

The kitchen has become my creative outlet. My domestic realm. My haven. My stress reliever. Where fun finds me. I have been mildly obsessed with cooking, creating lately. When I'm at work, all I can think about is what I could be cooking. When I'm at a restaurant, my mind is filled with thoughts like, "I could so totally cook this at home". When I'm at the grocery store, I wander. I let my mind escape to the land of cooking creations. To say I love cooking is an understatement.

My times in the kitchen start something like this:

Whether it's a glass of wine, a beer, or a cocktail, my anxiety for the cuisine I'm about to create disapates when I get a little sweet nectar in me.

Some of my favorite items to create or recreate in the kitchen are those things you can easily buy on the shelf - those convenient things which were made popular when our mother's generation starting going to work: bread, dressings, sauces. It's so easy to just grab a loaf of bread or a bottle of Hunt's spaghetti sauce off Aisle 5. But at this time in my life, a time with no husband, no children, I want, I have a need to recreate these things. Without the preservatives. Without the Xanthum Gum. I want to know exactly, exactly, what is in my food.

I realize not everyone has this privilege. I anticipate the time in my own life when I'll be so busy that I have to reach for the Nature's Own or Hidden Valley Ranch. But right now, making these things homemade is what I want for my life. And I do consider it a great privilege.

So after a second helping of my sweet nectar:

I go to work. Now, I must make the disclaimer that a lot of nights, I get home and eat noodles I've cooked in my electric kettle with a bit of pesto. But if it's a quiet night, if there's nothing on TV, if I have no other obligations, I'll tiptoe into the kitchen, pour me a glass of sweet nectar:

And go to town.

Last night, I felt like ranch dressing. (Disregard the word "healthy" on the side of this bottle because this dressing is anything but.)

People.

People.

You. Have. No. Idea. How good this tasted. I want to plan my meals around this dressing until I run out of it.

I took some dill and chives and chopped them up pretty fine. Then I took about 2 garlic cloves and tossed them into my garlic press and squeezed out a paste. I mixed all of these ingredients with about a cup of mayo and a cup of sour cream. Mix. Then I went out on a limb and squeezed in some lemon juice because I thought the mixture needed some "brightness". I don't know what this term means and how it relates to cooking, but it just sounded right. I told myself it needed brightness and the most logical thing was to add lemon juice. Am I crazy? Please don't answer that.

Then it needed some more chives. Chop chop chop. Chives in. Then it needed some "depth". Again, this is a word I probably heard on Top Chef or Iron Chef America and decided that it applied to my ranch dressing. I added fresh cracked pepper and a couple douses of hot sauce for "depth". Whisk. Pour in some whole milk to thin. Don't skimp here people. Ranch dressing is not supposed to be low-fat or fat-free or taste like cardboard. So just don't do that to it, okay? You promise? Whisk the whole milk in until smooth. Add whatever else it needs. A little salt maybe.

And then drench a salad in it. And I mean drench. Don't be shy.

And dream. Dream of ranch dressing rivers and crouton boats and cucumber floats. Just make sure your dream doesn't include you in a bikini. 'Cause that's not happening after you drink this dressing.

Oh! And P.S. - Since I have all this time on my hands, I went ahead and made some homemade croutons, taking some leftover olive foccacia bread I made last week and toasting the heck out of it. Mmmm mmmm good.

PeyPey, how DOESN'T your garden grow?

2010-07-01T22:41:00.000-04:00

So you remember my garden, right?

There was so much promise there. So much new life. So much hope. So much green.

But see, there's this thing called water that plants need to grow, you've heard of it, right? Well, I guess I decided my special plant babies didn't need it. And so, the promise turned into a curse, the new life turned into death, the hope turned into despair, and the green turned into brown. Please don't judge me. I really am a good person, I promise.

I decided that I couldn't live my life one minute longer without any green, so on my way home from work today, I stopped by the neighborhood hardware store to stock up. I'm all about helping out the little man, so I opted to go to a local dig instead of a big chain. Whereas the first time I started with little seed babies that grew into little plant babies, this time, I started with plant teenagers. As in, some of my plants actually ALREADY HAD VEGETABLES ON THEM! Yeah, I know. Get excited.

So here's some pics:

Check out my cute gloves:

First in the line up are dahlias and some kind of pretty perennial. Flowers make me happy.

Next up is mint, cilantro, and sweet basil.

Next is a cubanelle pepper, "Chilly chili, an ornamental pepper, and rosemary.

I'm kind of obsessed with the Chilly Chili.

Okay, last one, I promise.

After that is cherry tomatoes, cayenne peppers, and hot bananas peppers.

These would be plant teenagers, right?

Oh and just while we're at it, I'll give you a little tour of my outdoor space. Look! Here's our Christmas tree! We thought one of boyfriends had taken care of it and taken it to one of those recycling places back in DECEMBER, but when it started getting warmer outside, we started noticing a very distinct pine scent. We finally found the culprit. One of boyfriends had wedged it between our holly tree and camelia bush. Isn't it lovely?

And here's my hippie roommate's tangled wind chimes.

Oh! And lordy, what is this? Theee-yus riiiiite heeerah iz mah lay zee boyh. Eeeeyun mah carhporrt.

I like to have my coffee in the mornings, sitting in my lazboy, gazing at my container garden. It's the life I always wanted.

And look! It's got a phone inside the armrest! You wish you had one, I know you do.

Now people, you don't believe me, do you? Well, I do, in fact, have a recliner in my carport, but will I be redeemed in your eyes if I tell you I'm giving it to my chapter of the Junior League as part of my rummage for the Attic Sale? Because that's what I'm doing.

Although, I'm considering having a cup of coffee in my lazboy tomorrow morning, gazing at my garden. It's the life I always wanted.

Thank God for Camera Phones

2010-07-01T16:55:00.001-04:00

Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you (show you rather)! I had the amazing, one of the best, random moments of my life, holy crap I can't believe I got to witness this opportunities in the Target parking lot yesterday. I know you'll relish in the WOW factor of this with me. Because we're friends. And you'll think this is funny because I think it's funny. Sorry, there comes that little need to be validated again. Okay, please tell me you're ready to eat your heart at the deliciously random picture below. Because if you're not, you just need to click the big "X" in the top right hand corner of this page. You won't be the same after this, I promise. Your life will be forever changed. Okay, okay. I'll shut up now. Please scroll down slowly, though, to get the full affect. You should be able to decipher what this is, and if not, go browse around Wal-Mart's lingerie section for a sec. Thank you and enjoy:

I have so much to tell you!

2010-07-01T12:25:00.000-04:00

Not really. I go through spurts in which I have an idea for a new blog post every .678423 milliseconds. But then I have times when I just got nothing. I guess you could call it "blog block". You know, kinda like writer's block? Say it. It's fun. Kinda like that Arrested Development episode where the family hires Scott Baio as their new attorney and his name is Bob Loblaw. Say it. It's fun. Sounds like blah blah blah, doesn't it? Man I love that show. And Jason Bateman. I would have his babies. Sorry, what? Where was I again?

Ah yes, blog block. I've had a terrible case of it this week.

And although there are some post ideas a-brewin' in this messed up mind of mine, I'm just going to give you a short quip today. If you'll recall, I've been your personal disc jockey over the last few months, keeping you abreast on what's been playing on Whistling Billy Bob's, All Whistle, All the Time, Radio Show. If you have not met Billy Bob before, click here, which pretty much sums it all up. Ok, so here we go...

In my best announcer voice: "Coming to you live from the ABCDEFG Studios in sunny PeyPeyLand, iiiiiiittttt'sssss the Whistling Billy Bob's, All Whistle, All the Time, Radio Show!!!! Special guests today include Sarah McLachlin, The Pussycat Dolls, and the Plain White T's among others! Take it away Billy!!!!"

Okay, okay, enough silliness. I'll just give you a list. Because I'm good at that. List skills: I gots 'em. And please note that the list corresponds to the order in which these were whistled.

1. In the Arms of the Angel by Sarah McLachlin,
2. The Indiana Jones Theme Song composed by John Williams (I can't get this one out of my head),
3. Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me by The Pussycat Dolls,
4. Seventy Six Trombones from the musical The Music Man composed by Meredith Willson,
5. One of Billy Bob's everyday favorites: Jingle Bells (I hear it no less that 5 times a day. Everyday.)
6. Jingle Bells segways nicely into Hey There Delilah by the Plain White T's, don't you think?
7. And finally, The William Tell Overture composed by Gioachino Rossini.

That's all just from 8 a.m. through noon, people. The afternoon segment is sure to be a crowd pleaser.

I know you don't care one iota about any of this, but I think it's funny the things that come out of his mind and are subsequently blown through his lips. Wow. What? That just sounds gross, doesn't it? My apologies.

In hopes that you'll still love me and want to come back here later, I have a pretty darn good post planned. So stay tuned. And I apologize if you have any of the above songs stuck in your head now. Just don't go whistling them around the office. You never know who could write a satirical blog post about you!

Just An Update

2010-06-26T09:41:00.001-04:00

We interrupt the regularly scheduled wedding festivities for the following annoucements:

1. It apparently is Mark's greatest ambition in life to wake me up. The last two days I have had the chance to sleep in until about 9am, yet Mark has awakened me before 7am each day by phone calls. This is not okay.
2. I was made to get a french manicure yesterday. Only on my toes. All us bridesmaids had to get matching pedicures and the concensus (my vote didn't count, I guess) was french pedicures. I can't tell you how strange it is to look down at my toes and see bright white tips on my toenails where the familiar crusty, grimy tips of my toenails should be. The look is also deliciously trashy. (Snack on THAT hyberbole for a minute, will ya?)
3. I'm a dancing fool. And my feet hurt.
4. I kind of went on a dress buying spree yesterday. Ross, I heart you. I bought 5 dresses from there yesterday and none of them cost a dime over $12.99! And they're all super cute!
5. I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning. It's like my car was on auto pilot, I swear. I had no intentions of going there, I promise! I won't tell you what had already gone missing before I even pulled out of the DD parking lot.
6. Okay, okay. One glazed donut. Please don't judge me.
7. Kids love me. They flock to me. I can't figure out why. I want one.
8. You know how I sing the praises of my mandolin all the time? One of the kitchen utensils I can't live without? Well, it betrayed me the other night. And my thumb really hurts super bad and I'm all out of bandaids. Someone bring me one please?
9. My favorite holiday is coming up. For me, July 4 beats out Christmas. Don't know why. I just love it. What's your favorite July 4 activitiy? Mine is fireworks. I can't get enough.
10. And okay, okay. The ribs. I love the sticky ribs.
11. Ms. Domestic USA update: I made my own homemade spaghetti sauce last week. Holy cow, guys. Deeeeeeeelish. If you'd like to join my campaign, please contact my campaign manager, Martha Stewart. (I know! Can you believe she accepted the position?!? Apparently, she's not too busy these days for some reason.)
12. Mark just bought a new laptop. I want one too. And I need one. Desperately. This thing has about zero storage space left and is as slow as a turtle. Seriously, have you ever watched a turtle trying to get somewhere? It's so frustrating. Yep, that's my laptop.

Ok, I think that's just about it. I think you're pretty well updated on the last 24 hours of my life.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

About Me #5 - Hey! Over here! I'm right here! Here I am! Look at me!

2010-06-23T08:59:00.000-04:00

About Me #5

I like to be noticed. I like to be the center of attention. I have a need to be constantly recognized, constantly validated. It's one of the more annoying traits I possess. Funny enough, my main prayer request in youth group growing up usually centered around this trait I consider to be a flaw. "Peyton, do you have any prayer requests," my leader would ask. "Just that I'll try to shift the focus off of me and not try to always be the center of attention" I'd reply, while everyone else mentioned their sick cats or elderly grandmas. Imagine that. If that's not narcissistic, I don't know what is. Man, wasn't (aren't) I shallow back then (now)?

That's the reason I started this blog, I think. I wanted (want) to be noticed. I wanted (want) to be the center of attention. I wanted (want) praise. Heck, the very first blog entry I wrote was this one and that was only because I wanted you to think I was cool. I could just hear your thoughts, "Oh man, look at all the cool stuff she's eaten! Wonder where she had a hotdog from a street cart?" And I would happily begin my diatribe about my trip with my roommates to NYC. And I'd be so stinking delighted you asked. And I'd be just as delighted to tell you the story. Because what I have to say is of the utmost importance.

This thing, this need to be noticed is just built into my framework. Obviously, the prayer requests from 10+ years ago were not answered. I don't think I'm necessarily prideful about anything (ok, some things, yes), I just like you knowing about me. I like it when you give me feedback. I think this trait is alive and well in most human beings, it just comes to the surface quicker and easier for some than others.

Ok, I'm starting ramble. I'm not quite sure how to end this post. Up until now, the About Me's have been relatively positive traits of mine, not flaws. I'm not sure how comfortable I am with you knowing my flaws. You won't hold this against me, will you? You'll still let me go on and on and on about myself, right? You'll still listen patiently, without having nary a chance to get a word in, right? You'll still think I'm cool and want to know more about me and be waiting in anticipation for my post, right? You'll still leave nice comments and say 'Great job, PeyPey', right?

Good. Because I like to be noticed. I like to be the center of attention. And I have a need to be constantly recognized, constantly validated. I hope you don't mind that our relationship is pretty one-sided.

Veggie Chips

2010-06-21T20:19:00.000-04:00

I made these tonight:

Zucchini, squash and eggplant chips. With sea salt and rosemary.

I got the veggies on trade from Market Days and needed to use them before they met the stinking, rotting fate that most of my vegetables meet. Not really. Well, maybe a little. There's some stank nasty lettuce in the fridge that I'm pretty sure, if left another day, will turn completely into brown sludge. But that's another story.

So yeah, I used my mandolin to slice circles of the vegetables really, really thin. Then I patted them dry with a paper towel to get some of the moisture out. Throw them in a vat of oil next. I used my new cast iron skillet (thanks Julie!) and filled it with olive oil. Olive oil has the potential to burn pretty quickly - for some reason it heats up quicker than other oils - so I left the heat on medium. I let it heat up for awhile. It's important to not put your frying subject(s) in before the oil is hot enough. Otherwise, your stuff will just soak up the oil and just be one big ball of oil. Oily balls. There's nothing grosser. Wait, what?

Moving on, so drop the veggies into the hot oil and wait for them to curl up and get light brown. When they've reached this point, take them out and put them on a paper towel covered plate. Sprinkle with some sea salt and chopped rosemary.

And eat them. Eat a lot of them. And please forget that I used the phrase "oily balls". Thank you and goodnight.

In Honor of Father's Day...

2010-06-21T14:00:00.000-04:00

I got my dad four different flavors of cake for Father's Day: double fudge, chocolate, coconut, and carrot. I'm convinced that inside my father's mouth is just one large tooth. One, large, sweet tooth. All of his teeth have just joined together in his mouth to form this one giant sweet tooth. The man loves sweets.

I also got him a gift card to Books-A-Million. I've also given him one of these for the last two Christmas. He informed me that he still had the two I'd given him for the last two Christmases and I said, "Dad! Why don't you use them? You could get coffee and sweets from the cafe. Or you could buy art books. Or a thousand bookmarks; I mean, the possibilities are endless!" He replied, "Oh no! I have been using them! I use the gift cards all the time!" Me: "Wow, you must be pretty thrifty with them, then. I think it was only like $25 on each of the gift cards. So you've found some good bargains, huh?" Dad: "Oh, I buy books all the time. I buy 'em off of the bargain shelves, bring 'em home, read 'em, then take 'em back when I'm finished reading 'em and they apply the refund straight back to the gift cards."

Attention Books-A-Million: LOOPHOLE alert. You may want to look into this.

So I figure that $15 gift card for Father's Day, combined with the two gift cards from Christmas's past, will allow my father to buy books from Books-A-Million well into the twenty-second century.

ANYway, I know it's going to sound weird, but in honor of Father's Day, I wanted to give you a "Mom-ism". I went over to my parents' house last night to see my dad and to drop off his gifts and somehow, this is how the night ended:

Molly, my little sister, who I'll remind you is actually named "Victoria Marie", yet has been called "Molly" since she came out of the womb because my mom is convinced that "Molly" is a nickname for "Marie", was regaling us with a story of how she went to Starbucks yesterday. You know how they ask you what your name is so they can write it on your cup? Well, of course, Molly, said "Molly", but when she got her White Chocolate Mocha Frap, it said "Pally" on the side. We laughed, then this:

Me: "Well, a lot of times, I'll introduce myself to someone and they'll think I said 'Peggy'. 'Peyton'? 'Peggy'? Doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but it happens all the time."

My mother, God love her: "Well, you know 'Peggy' is a nickname for 'Margaret'."

Me: "Geez mom. What are you, the walking dictionary of nicknames? And I'm just going to have to take your word for it on that one because that makes about as much sense as Molly being a nickname for Marie. What. Ev. Dad, love you, happy Father's Day, enjoy your gifts, I'm outta this crazy house."

(Side Note: Yahoo Answers and Wiki Answers do, in fact, confirm that Peggy is a nickname for Margaret. That doesn't mean that it makes any more sense though. Oh well, mom, I'll give you this one. Mom: 1, Peyton: 4,837.)

So Dad, in honor of Father's Day, bless your soul. Bless your ever-loving heart. Bless you for putting up with my mother for thirty plus years. You're a better man than I am. Oh, and I love you.

Regarding Archie Comics

2010-06-18T15:27:00.000-04:00

When I was seven, I bought two huge boxes of over a hundred Archie comic books at a junk store down the street from my grandparents house.

I originally wanted some green Adidas tennis shoes but my mom wouldn't let me get them because she said it was gross to buy used shoes. She had a point.

I also wanted these two boxes of Archie comic books because they looked fun and I liked to read and had gone through my arsenal of Anne of Green Gables and Misty of Chesapeake Bay books. However, my mom also did not let me buy the Archie comic books. She never gave me a clear reason for her disapproval of the comics, but I can assume it had something to do them not being Christian. (I need to interject something here, in hopes that you will gain a better understanding of who my mother is, while at the same time hopefully gaining sympathy from you regarding this lifelong thorn in my side which I lovingly call "mom". This has nothing to do with this story, but I think it will accomplish the aforementioned goals. The reason I was not allowed to attend a certain high school in my hometown, the high school where all of my friends ended up going after middle school, was because the mascot was the Blue DEVILS. And you bet your bottom dollar that if I had attended high school there, I would have turned into a devil-worshipping, Wicca-practicing freak. I mean, that would have been inevitable, right? Riiiiiiiiiiiight. So do you now understand my mother a bit better? And do I now have your sympathy? Good. Moving on.)

So what did I do? I went back and bought them, of course! After me and my mom left and walked back to my grandparents house up the street, I told her I was going to play at my friend Tiffany's house. Instead, I high tailed it back to the junk shop and bought those two boxes of Archie comics with my own money. I can't remember how I lugged the two huge boxes back to my house. My guess is that my dad somehow got involved, as his main objective in this life is to spite my mom. Or perhaps Brad helped me. No, no. He wouldn't have done that. He would have sided with my mom and told me they were stupid and that I was stupid for wasting my money on comics instead of something more constructive like Lego's. Or maybe Tiffany helped. Who knows.

All I know is those boxes filled with Archie, Betty, Jughead, and Veronica made it safely to my bedroom and under my bed.

For almost a year, I studied those comics. I read every single word. I fell in love with Archie. Archie and I grew very close. Whoever he liked at the moment, whether it was beloved Betty or vixen Veronica, I became her. Archie and I went to school dances together; I met his parents; we had picnics together; we kissed. (I had a very active and vivid imagination, okay?)

I read and re-read. I memorized. I was fascinated by the colors on the page, the conversation bubbles that floated about the characters heads.

Archie and I spent about a year together until one day, quite abruptly and quite painfully, he was ripped from my life.

I came home from school one afternoon, ran to my bedroom, reached under the bed to find the familiar face of Archie, only to discover that the boxes, along with every single trace of my beloved Archie were gone. Vanished. It didn't take me long to figure out who the perp was that stole my books, along with my heart.

"MOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!" How could she? She knew nothing of the romance Archie and I shared. How could she take that from me? But then I remembered the forbidden nature of my purchase almost a year earlier, the forbidden nature of my secret Archie affair. I couldn't bring it up without taking the risk of getting in trouble for buying the books in the first place. I would have to lay it to rest, along with my heart.

"Yes?" my mom said. "Oh nothing. Never mind. Can I have a snack?" I replied. And not a word from either of us was ever uttered about the sacred, now missing, Archie comic books. (Much like the whole incident of her finding my cigarettes in ninth grade. But that's another story.)

I dealt with my loss quietly, mourning the end of my relationship with Archie. I'd like to think he has been successful in his future endeavors and remembers me fondly. But I've heard it through the grapevine that he can't seem to pass his classes and graduate high school, and he's still toying around with two different girls' hearts.

Shame on you, Archie.

About Me #4: I would do anything for love

2010-06-17T23:29:00.005-04:00

(Do you have that Meatloaf song stuck in your head yet?)

About Me #4: Regarding the grape kool-aid snorting incident...

I know you've all been eagerly awaiting this post so I'll get right to it.

I had a crush on the same guy for about ten years. His name was Kurt. He was twelve years older than me. My crush developed at a very early age; I'd say by the time I was about six. Before I was six, though, Kurt saw me in my diapers. Witnessed diapers of the dirty persuasion. Witnessed me being a dumb kid. But at the age of six, something sparked within me. I experienced what I would later learn is called a crush, a sensation or feeling I'd never felt before.
I was six. Kurt was eighteen.

It was a bit awkward.

The early days of my crush were marked with pigtails, hugs, and him hoisting me into the air and carrying me around like a sack of potatoes. I. Loved. It. Kurt and I went to the same church and while I was busy making macaroni wreaths in Sunday School, Kurt was running the sound booth. This was so dang cool to me. I would run upstairs after Sunday School to the balcony (where all the magic happened) to the sound booth. He'd be sitting there, looking cool with his gotee and headphones. He'd hoist me onto his lap and he'd let me speak into the microphone, checking the sound coming out of all the speakers. 'Twas glorious.

Kurt stuck around through college. I grew up a little. But only just a little. I eventually found myself on a church bus headed to a week-long summer retreat with the youth group. Kurt was driving the bus and all the youth were in tow. It was my birthday. I was turning thirteen. At 1:43 p.m., the exact time I was born, which also happened to be the exact time our bus pulled into the South Carolina summer camp, I let out a huge, excited scream. I was thirteen for crying out loud! The lady in our bus who was sitting next to Kurt (where I should have been) yelled at me to shut-up. I was mortified. It was then that I finally realized how big of a difference in age Kurt and I were. He was 25. I was 13. And as much as I'd imagined him being my boyfriend, I knew at that moment that it would never come to fruition.

Even though I came to this realization at the age of 13, I still spent a good 2-3 more years crushing on Kurt.

Kurt had a yellow Camaro. I don't remember what year the Camaro was, but it was a classic. Canary yellow. With racing seats. And the five-point harness seat belt. He drove me around in his yellow Camaro.

One day when I was fourteen or fifteen, after youth group (he was a youth leader), he took me, my friend Audrey, and Brad, my older brother, on a drive. I can't remember at the time where we going, but Audrey and I had big plans to dye our hair purple at the end of the night. We had an envelope of grape Kool-Aid with us in the back of the car.

We were getting close to a gas station and Kurt needed to fill up. Before we got there, though, Kurt dared me to snort the purple powder up my nose.

Did I do it? Of course I did! You would too if you were desperate to impress the guy you'd been crushing on for the last 10 years of your life. I know you would. Don't even try to deny it. My sole purpose in life at the time was trying to attract the attention of Kurt. So I snorted. And then I choked. And then the most horrid, stinging, burning sensation I had ever felt in my 14 or 15 years on this earth filled my entire head. I was close to tears. (Please consider this a Public Service Annoucement to never snort Kool-Aid.) We pulled into the gas station and I made a beeline for the bathroom.

As I was blowing purple snot out of my nose, I heard the familiar rumble of a, we'll say, 1969 Camaro. I ran outside, toilet paper still up to my nose, just in time to see the flash of yellow pulling out of the gas station, leaving me stranded with my purple, leaking nose. Apparently, Kurt (with some influence from my brother, I'm sure) thought it would be hilarious to leave me there, stranded at the gas station, purple oozing out of my nostrils. The crush pretty much fizzled out after that. (And yes, they came back to get me.)

So I guess my About Me #4 would have to be that I would do anything for love. Even snort grape kool-aid up my nose in the backseat of a muscle car.

On a side note, my affinity for Camaro's apparently remains. I love Camaros. Here is Mark's:

But I hate grape Kool-Aid.

Reason #438 why you shouldn't bake drunk:

2010-06-17T22:51:00.000-04:00

Here's reason #438 why you shouldn't bake drunk:

Confectioners Sugar.

Everywhere.

But alas, look at these beauties.

Okay, okay. Grape kool-aid story coming. I promise.

This people? This is called being delusional.

2010-06-17T08:42:00.000-04:00

Would you please look at this bottle of ketchup? Look at it! How cute is that??? I want to wrap it in a blankie and push it in a stroller. And feed it cheerios. And I would name it Herman.

I'm sorry. But not really.

2010-06-16T23:00:00.000-04:00

I know I said I'd post the grape kool-aid snorting story today. But I've been busy.

I finally dragged myself out of bed after hitting the snooze button nine, count 'em, NINE times this morning and then I got ready for work and then I got to work and checked facebook, pioneer woman blog, my online bank account, hotmail, got some coffee, talked to a few coworkers, did a bit of work and then it was lunchtime and I got to Chick-Fil-A and placed my order but then I forgot the new Spicy Chicken Sandwich had come out and I wanted to try it but had already ordered so I just stuck with my original order and then I got back to work and checked facebook, pioneer woman blog, my online bank account, hotmail and got a Diet Coke, talked to a few coworkers, did a bit of work and then it was time to go home, so I got home and made myself some dinner and then I had to go pick up my cast iron skillet from Julie and stop by my parents to pick up the pants my mom hemmed and then to drop off some Fat Rolls at my aunt and uncles house and by that time it was time to go babysit some rugrats named Jack and Phillip who just might be the cutest eight and four year old rugrats I know and we watched a Clint Eastwood movie and played Halo and then we played a boardgame and then their daddy came home so I got to go home and when I got home I put my pj's on and watched Top Chef with my roommate and then we gave each other tickly back scratches and now we're watching this new art show on Bravo that's pretty dumb but at least it's better than that dumb hair cutting show on Bravo called Shear Genius and man isn't that Tabitha girl on that show one big bitch? So that brings us up to now. Sorry peeps.

Don't hate me because I'm busy (lazy).

I'm calling these "Fat Rolls"

2010-06-15T21:44:00.000-04:00

I made cinnamon rolls the other night. Just like with most of my other baking endeavors, I had some early onset anxiety about making these puppies. But it turns out, as long as you've got some patience, they're pretty easy. And delicious. And if you ate one of these a day for the rest of your life, you'd eventually be as big as a house. No, a skyrise. Ok, no, maybe just a house. No. You'd be as big as 10 whales. There we go. You'd be big. You'd be blubbery. That's why I'm calling these Fat Rolls.

I'm not going to go through the recipe with you because there's a lot of steps, and well, I'm lazy. You can go here to check it out. Instead, I'm just going to walk you through the pictures. And please excuse the blue hue in the photos. I have these really stank nasty under the cabinet flourescent lights and they don't do much for picture taking. As usual, my baking project started out this way:

"Scalding" the milk, oil, and sugar:

Here's how it looks after you've added all the dry ingredients and t's risen:

The dough it very, very elastic:

So you divide the dough in half (each half makes 2 dozen) and roll it into a rectangle:

After you spread on the butter, sugar, and cinnamon, this will happen if your butter is too hot. And the recipe called for 2 cups of butter; in the second batch, I used a half a cup and this did not happen:

Yeah, that was not fun:

See, here's the second batch. No mess:

Aren't they cute? They look like roses to me. After cutting them, you have to let them rise again for a few minutes:

Rise, dough, rise!

See how they got puffy:

And here are the little babies after they come out of the oven:

You pour this delicious maple glaze over them:

I wish you could smell them. Oh man. The smell. I want perfume that smells like this:

I'm a proud mama:

And then I cleaned up my kitchen, because after all, I am working towards my goal of becoming Ms. Domestic U.S.A.:

And then I cleaned out my pantry:

You wish you were me.

And that, my friends, is the story of the Fat Rolls. Come back to story time soon. Maybe we'll travel to Italy and I'll teach you how to make Focaccia Bread. Toodles!

About Me #4

2010-06-15T15:40:00.003-04:00

I crushed on the same guy for about ten years. Because of this crush, one day, I ended up snorting powdered, grape kool-aid up my nose in the back of his yellow Camaro.

But you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to find out why...

Beat the Heat

2010-06-15T14:44:00.000-04:00

It's hot here. It is so dang hot. Perhaps you're a PeyPey reader who resides in a more balmy climate, such as Portland Maine, where it's a cool 74 degrees outside and where the wind is blowing in from the north at 13 mph (it is, I googled it), and do not dread walking outside. However, I'm not an idiot and I realize that the good majority of you (ok, all of you) are residing right here in this fiery furnace called Georgia.

So I have done what comes as second nature to me and compiled a list of things I enjoy doing when it's a hot, wet, 100+ degrees outside.

1. First things first, I'll make no apologies about this one: Please someone put a frozen margarita in my hand. Once I've got the cold, frosty glass resting safely in my palm and the straw - the vehicle which brings that icy smooth concoction - on my tongue, I begin to settle down a bit.
2. Give me a float, I'm going swimming. With my margarita in my hand, I slip down into that cool water with my sunglasses on and am instantly refreshed. Unless of course, the pool is never in the shade and therefore it feels just like bath water and oh my gosh, gross who wants to take a bath outside in a bathing suit when it's scorching hot outside and there's no fun bubbles and you start sweating and getting hot while you're in the pool when your one ambition was to get in there and cool off. No one wants that!
3. Only eat cold foods for one of your meals. Try it! Maybe sushi. Maybe a bowl of fruit. Maybe gazpacho. Or perhaps an entire carton of ice cream. Mmmm, or margaritas with chips and salsa. Speaking of...
4. Someone refill my frozen margarita glass please!
5. Men, disregard this one, unless you actually take the time to smooth on lotion. Which, maybe you should. I mean, I like a rough, tough man just like the rest of 'em, but some lotion on your crusty feet or elbows might do you some good. So go ahead and put your lotion or, ladies, other beauty products in the fridge. You have no idea how good this feels until you've tried it. It's so stinking refreshing.
6. Fans, fans, fans.

That's about all I can think of right now. Wish I had a margarita. And a pool. And some ice cream. Oh well, at least it's air conditioned in here.

A quick post

2010-06-14T16:36:00.002-04:00

As most of you have figured out, everything's usually all about me 'round these parts. If you're new to this game, simply go here or here or here or here. Okay, you get the idea. I like me. And what better way to celebrate me than talk about the day of birth?! My birthday is coming up. Okay fine, it's still 45 days away, but I wanted to go ahead and compile a little list of things that I want, in order for you to have ample time to save and shop.

1. A diamond ring. That goes on a certain finger. And to be asked a certain question. A simple, four word question. Five syllables. To which my reply would be "YES". Moving on...
2. A Kindle.
3. A Keurig.
4. The Pioneer Woman Cookbook. (By the way, have you read her blog? I'm pretty much in love with it.)
5. ~~A cast iron skillet~~. My friend Julie has an extra one that she's never used that she's giving me! Yay!
6. Glass canisters for my flour and sugar.
7. iTunes giftcard.

That's really all I can think of. So why don't you readers get together, throw in a little cash money, and buy me a birthday gift (from choices #2-#5, because getting #1 from anyone besides Mark would just be awkward).

Oh, and on a side note, I started writing a book today. So there's that.

About Me #3 and a little bit of a Thoughtful Thursday

2010-06-10T14:05:00.001-04:00

So do you feel like you're getting to know the real PeyPey yet? I hope so. Who knows how long these posts could go on? Seriously. Who knows? I have a lot I want you to know about me, ok?

Ok, so I haven't done a Thoughtful Thursday in two months and I'm hoping that this About Me can double as one of those, because what I'll be writing, although snarky, will be thoughtful.

First, let's review.
About Me #1 - I make friends easily.
About Me #2 - I am a brothers girl.

So making it's Thursday debut, here's your About Me #3.

3. I love the beach. And I'm actually leaving today to go to the beach for a long weekend with a bunch of girls. There will be wine coolers, sunburns, headaches from twelve different flavors of perfume, a multitude of hairdryers, all with a side of "Beach Bitch" thrown in, I'm sure. (That's the term I use when a group of girls go on a beach trip together. Some bitchiness is inevitable. Am I right or am I right or am I right? Right?) So yes, at 5:30 today, I'll be beach bound.

Girl beach trips have been a staple for me since I was about fifteen. I usually go at least once a year with a group of close girlfriends. And there have been times over the last five years when I've gone with Mark and his family. But one thing I haven't done in the last, oh, ten years is go to the beach with my family - mom, dad, Brad, Alex, and Molly (you may remember her better as Victoria Marie).

We used to go all the time growing up. We usually went with my dad's parents, Papa (pronounced PawPaw. This is important to mention because Papa, pronounced Pa-puh, and Papa, pronounced PawPaw, are two different names entirely. Ahem, yes, where was I?) & Granny. Papa & Granny (Alvin & Nell) were mill workers their entire lives for Swift Spinning Mills. Granny sewed denim jeans and I have no idea what Papa did. They lived where most of the mill workers in my city lived. It was a small but quaint house in all its asbestos-siding glory, with olive green kitchen appliances, linoleum floors, a cement front porch, lacking of central heat and air conditioning and it was in the not-so-nice area of town. There was a shed out back where Papa kept his tools and where Brad and I found, ate, and subsequently got sick from packages of MRE's left over from Vietnam (but the hot sauce bottles were just so dern cute!). Papa grew a huge garden every year. Granny smoked a pack a day. Papa watched Wheel of Fortune, went to bed, and was up and sitting on the front porch at four the next morning. Granny took me to the beauty shop every Friday with her. The ladies french braided my hair. Sometimes, when my mom had to be at work early, Papa would drop me and Brad off at school in the mornings. Before we got out of the car, he would say, "Y'all don't take no wooden nickels, ya hear?" And then, like clockwork, he'd be back to pick us up from school later that day and he'd ask, "Ya'll didn't take no wooden nickels, did ya?" I had no idea what this meant. Still don't.

Although my dad's parents never had a lot of money and lived life pretty simply, they could always afford a week-long beach trip with us. (Back then, it was just mom, dad, me and Brad. Alex and Molly were just one failed contraception device away though.) To afford our trips, my Papa would collect coke cans for a whole year, turning them in when he knew he had enough to pay for our accommodations at a pretty basic, ocean-side motel called "The Wind Drift". I don't tell you this so that you will take pity on me. No, not at all. Instead, I'll ask you to smile with me. Smile with me, remembering the dedication and discipline required of my Papa to collect thousands upon thousands of cans. Smile with me, knowing my Papa would do something that would be considered socially unacceptable to most, all so he could take a vacation with his family. Now laugh with me, thinking of just how many coke can filled garbage bags there had to have been in my Granny & Papa's backyard before he had enough to amount to the money he needed for the trip. The lesson I learned from this: if you need money, just collect some cans.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, my grandparents had a Chevy conversion van. (My dad was an only child. Who was grown. Who only had two kids of his own at the time. Yet, they needed a conversion van.) It was one of those that seat, like, ten people and have the curtains and mini-blinds you can pull over the windows. That's what we always took to Florida. I. LOVED. THAT. VAN. And if I had the chance to drive one now, I would. In a heartbeat. Papa would blare southern gospel until Brad would sneak in his Dino tape (ummm, Summer Girls? Best song ever. If you don't click on that link, we're no longer friends.)

We'd spend the week at the beach. My mom would claim she got "windburns" but she said her "windburns" would eventually turn into a "windtan". (People? She is crazy. There are no if's, and's or but's about it. She is crazy. I thought the crazy didn't show up until a few years ago, but remembering her "windburns" and "windtans", I know now that the crazy has been around for quite sometime.) I got "suntans" because I have this really great olive skin that never burns, unlike my mom, whose skin is prone to "windburns". (Ok, I'm done with that one.) My dad would walk the beach for hours. And hours. And hours. And come back and show me and Brad all the treasures he'd found. My Granny would smoke a pack a day. Papa would fish. Or he would put goggles and a snorkel on and spend all day looking for coke cans on the ocean floor. (Just kidding. He was looking for loose change.) We'd have dinner somewhere unfancy and then walk to get ice cream. The Wind Drift was across the street from FunLand, a Chuck-E-Cheese type place. We'd go there after ice cream and play for hours.

Even though I've been to some pretty great places with friends and with Mark, nothing, I'm telling you nothing, will compare to these lazy, unpretentious, paid-for-by-a-thousand-coke-cans vacations with my family and grandparents. Granny and Papa passed away when I was still pretty young, but I will be honest with you. I would give back every single vacation, girls beach trip, weekend road trip with Mark to be able to go to the beach with my Granny and Papa. Maybe Papa would let me drive the van (which would be AWESOME!) I'd still sneak in the Dino tape. I'd get tan, mom would get windburned. Granny would smoke a pack a day. I'd share a diet coke with my little sister and then we'd hand over the empty can to Papa, who'd throw it in his coke can collection bag for next years trip. I miss them very much.

Hey there cupcake

2010-06-09T14:07:00.002-04:00

My wonderful, always put together, cute as a button, four years younger than me, red-headed, I want to be her BFF, cousin, Sara just called me. Did I mention already that she is wonderful? Oh I didn't? Well, she's wonderful.

She just called to ask what kind of icing to put on a lemon cake. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Ferris Bueller? Ding! Ding! Ding! That's right, cream cheese icing. Mix some lemon zest with cream cheese icing and spread it on thick.

I recently made what you see in the pictures below and they were such a hit! Before you go asking me for the recipe, I will first direct you to your local grocery store. Usually around aisle five or six in most grocery stores, there's this thing called the boxed cake aisle. Yeah, um, they have, like, every flavor of cake mix you could ever want or wish for or hope to stuff in your mouth. And if you look closer, usually to the left, right or on the shelves above these convenient little boxes, there are these tubs of ready made icing, again, in any flavor you could ever want or wish for or hope to dip your finger into. Yeah, go ahead, it's okay. You can cheat. No flour to sift, no sugar to measure, no butter to soften. I cheated with these. But they don't look like they came from a box & tub, do they?

To make them a little snazzier, instead of using paper muffin wrappers, cut small squares of wax paper and press them into the mini muffin cups. Give them a quick spray with Pam. (I like the Baking Pam with flour in it!) Using a ziploc bag, pipe the cake mix into the wax paper cut-outs. (Just lay a ziploc bag in a cup or empty jar and fold the ziplocking ends over the side and pour your batter in. Close the bag and snip a small hole in one of the bottom corners of the bag. Pipe away. You'll do this for the icing too.) Bake according to Mrs. Crocker's or Mr. Hines' box directions. While they're in the oven, using a citrus zester, microplane, or the smallest blade on your cheese grater, zest a lemon. If you like lots of lemon taste, zest quite a bit (I'd say about 2 Tablespoons worth) and vice versa if you don't like a lot of lemon; just do it to taste. I like to use a flat, offset spreader spatula thinga-ma-jig, but you can use a spoon if you don't have a flat, offset spreader spatula thinga-ma-jig handy, and mix the zest in with the cream cheese icing still in the tub. Put it into a ziploc bag but wait to snip the end until you're ready to frost. Let the cupcakes cool completely, then pipe the icing on in a circle motion. Top with decorations and say a prayer of thanksgiving to Saint Crocker and/or Saint Hines for putting their awesome recipes into boxed form.

Now go eat a dozen mini cupcakes.

And look, I know you don't care about any of this, but I was pleased that my cousin would call me with such a question. It makes me think I'm closer to reaching my goal of becoming Ms. Domestic USA, ok? So just humor me. And bring me a cupcake.

About Me #2

2010-06-09T09:02:00.000-04:00

Continuing with yesterday's "About Me: I make friends easily" post, here is the second installment of "About Me".

2. I am not a mama's girl (for obvious reasons), nor am I a daddy's girl (the similarities stop at our shared appearances). Instead, I am a brother's girl. My older brother, Brad, is three years older than me, yet he is light years older than me as far as being responsible, mature, hilarious, and did I mention responsible yet? Because he is. Responsible. A word I will never use to describe myself. He has been, is now, and I am sure will continue to be a mom, a dad, a brother, and a best friend all rolled into one. Most life lessons I learned from him. Most of my favorite memories involve him. The characteristics of the perfect family member? He embodies them. I love him and would not be the person I am today if it weren't for him and his influence on my life and my character.

It wasn't always this way though. Of course, being brother and sister, we have had our fair share of quarrels. Like the time I was about three, which would have made him six, and we were wrestling on my bed. After a few good tussles, the next thing I knew, I was waking up from unconsciousness. Brad had flipped me off the bed and I had slammed the top of my noggin into the dresser. I'm sure Brad felt bad about it because we were, after all, just playing around, but this seemed to spark something in me. That spark? Revenge, sweet revenge - something my three-year-old mind had not yet conjured up until after this incident.

So I got him back. At his birthday party a few short months later, I was riding my tricycle through our house, trying to steal the attention away from Brad. All of his friends were over and my mom was getting ready to serve the cake and ice cream. Brad and his buds were sitting on the floor in the den and one of them spilled their drink. My mom, who was carrying the cake on one of those flat cardboard cake boards, put the cake down on the floor and ran to grab a towel to clean up the spilled drink. I came around the corner on my tricycle, saw the cake laying unattended on the floor, and immediately recognized the path that lay before me. I lowered my head, my snarling lip curling in determination. I cranked my trike handles, spun the pedals. I started pedaling hard. I started pedaling fast. My handle bar tassels blew in the wind. And right before everyone's eyes, I drove my trike straight through his cake. There were skid marks where there should have been frosted balloons. It was a wonderful feeling. I knew the inevitable spanking would blister my hiney, but friends, the victory. The victory was worth the beating, trust me on this one.

The ball was now in Brad's court.

On a leisurely afternoon, not long after the cake incident, Brad and I were playing in his room. I was trying to get him to incorporate his GI Joes into whatever Barbie and her friends were doing that afternoon, but he was having none of that. He suggested we do something more constructive with our time. He suggested I let him cut my hair. Being naive and relatively uncaring about my appearances back then, I let him. So he found some scissors and before I knew it, I had bangs. Half inch bangs. It was bad. We went back to playing with our GI Joes and Barbies, having decided that the hair cutting was fun, but fleeting. At dinner that night, my mom finally recognized the difference in my appearance. It's amazing it took her so long to notice because I had glorious hair back then. I mean glorious. I was three, yet my hair was down to my butt in long, soft waves. Oh boy did she notice. She demanded to know, "WHO DID THIS?" And before I could swallow my bite of fish sticks, Brad was pointing at little, innocent me saying, "Peyton did it to herself, Mama! She got the scissors and cut it! I saw her do it and tried to tell her not to, but she wouldn't listen to me!" My eyes welled up with tears, not because I had been betrayed by my own brother, but because I knew the inevitable spanking would blister my hiney. And boy, did it. Brad never said he was sorry, I had a blistered hiney, and worse of all, my beautiful locks were now tarnished by half-inch bangs. It was a bad day.

The ball got tossed back and forth between my court and Brad's for years. Brad was much more creative in his tactics; I usually just annoyed him and tattled on him.

Brad, if you're reading this, even though you gave me a concussion, even though you made me walk around Preschool with half-inch bangs, even though you called me Papoon, and even though you and your high school buddies pummeled me with glass root beer bottles on my walk home from middle school, I love you.

And I will always be a brother's girl.

Cooking 101

2010-06-08T20:21:00.000-04:00

I mentioned the other day that the Bread Baking Bunch was taking a trip to Chateau Elan. Well, we went this weekend and had an absolute blast! You can view the pictures here. We went to a cooking class while we were there and the chef made this pretty kick-ass, roasted corn salad. While I didn't have most of the ingredients the chef used on hand tonight, I decided to make my own version of it. First, I roasted two ears of corn in the oven. So simple: just put the oven on 350 and stick the ears straight on the rack for 35-45 minutes. When the corn comes out and after you've let it cool and pulled the husk and silk off, you'll "saw" the kernals off the cob. To do this, first cut off the bottom and top of the cobs:

With the fat end on the bottom and with the cob standing straight up (verticle), carefully cut down one side of the cob. After you've done this, lay the flat side down on the cutting board (horizontal) and keep cutting each side off, rotating the cob so that the flat side is always on the board.

Once you've got it all of the cob:

Place it in a bowl. Next, finely chop some cilantro. You can use the stems of the herb, too - that's actually where the most flavor lies. After the cilantro, chop up a white onion very fine.

Next, heat up about a tablespoon of olive oil and minced garlic in a saute pan. Throw your corn/cilantro/onion mixture in and saute until you just begin to smell that sauteed onion smell.

I cooked a piece of salmon in the toaster oven (yes! In the toaster oven!) with just some olive oil, salt and pepper to go with it. Top the salmon with a little bit of PeyPey's Picante and chopped cilantro. Throw some of this roasted corn salad on the plate, sprinkle with some salt and pepper and chopped cilantro and enjoy your dinner. I like to pair this with a citrus-y wine. Kim Crawford white, Nutura Organic white, or Menage A Trois white all would go wonderfully!

This concludes PeyPey's Cooking 101 class!

About PeyPey

2010-06-08T10:10:00.001-04:00

...and speaking of me. Wait, we were talking about me, right? Thought so. I was thinking yesterday about all of the potential items I could put in the "About Me" section on a social networking site. And I just know that you guys are dying to know more about me, right? Well, that doesn't really matter. I'm going to tell you anyway.

If you look to the right, you'll see my profile. This is the place that Blogger has designed for the writer to mention something about themselves so that the readers won't just blindly read some random person's blog. This is the space for you, the reader, to know concrete things about me. You know, like, "I live in Georgia. I have brown hair. I am a girl," that kind of stuff.

My "About Me" section simply says, "I like hosepipe water."

While I feel that this sentence is pretty indicative of the kind of person I am, some readers may not read between the lines of that sentence and may not understand or get a grasp on the fact that by me telling you that I like hosepipe water, I am also trying to convey to you that I am a whimsical, random, fun-loving, laid-back, and thoughtful person. And as the reader, you can expect to come to this site and read my entries which exemplify all of the above. Instead, some Type-A readers will read that one line and think, "Um, that's really weird," and go on their merry way, not stopping to read one single blog entry.

I'm okay with that.

But for those of you who have patiently stuck around, I have a treat for you: a detailed "About Me" section. This may go on for several posts, so if you're interested in getting to know the real PeyPey, keep sticking around. So here we go.

1. I make friends easily. I have never been lacking in the friends department. I still keep in close contact with several friends from elementary school and middle school, while my high school friends are very much still a huge part of my life. The friends I have made since high school are abundant and at any given time, if I want to go to dinner, I have about 65 friends who I could call to join me. Making friends just comes natural to me. Sometimes, however, this can be a dangerous trait.

Case in point: while perusing the lip gloss shelves of Walmart as a fifteen-year-old, an unassuming light skinned black girl came to stand next to me. She appeared to be a few years younger than me and from her appearance, had an affinity for tweety-bird clothing. Because at that point in my life, I could spend no less than thirty minutes on this particular aisle each time I visited Walmart, I was there for awhile after my tweety-bird clad friend showed up. We struck up a conversation. She had a weird speech impediment which I decided to dismiss because, after all, I make friends easily. "So what's your favorite lip gloss?" I replied without hesitation, "Bonne Belle, hands down." We continued our lip gloss discourse and then she introduced herself. "I'm Tamara." (Pronounced Tuh-MARR-uh. I don't think that's important, but I thought I'd throw it in there.) "Hi, I'm Peyton."

And then the conversation went somewhere I wasn't expecting it to go. I mean, any girl can discuss beauty products, at length, with a complete stranger and without formal introductions, but I was just humoring her and being nice, because, after all, I make friends easily. "So, where do you go to school? How old are you? Can you drive? Do you have brothers and sisters? What do you do for fun? What's your favorite school subject? Do you like going to the movies? Have you ever dyed your hair? Do you have a boyfriend? Have you ever kissed a boy? Who's your favorite celebrity? Do you like Coke or Sprite? Do you like wearing jewelry? Have you ever been out of the country? What's your favorite ice cream flavor? What do you want to be when you grow up? When's your birthday? Do you want to be friends? Can I have your phone number?" After this daunting diatribe, I sat there in stunned silence not knowing what just hit me. Again, Tamara asked, "can I have your phone number?" This simple, joyful lip gloss shopping trip had transformed into a balls-to-the-wall interview from a stranger named Tamara who now wanted my phone number. "Can I have it? Your phone number?" Panic. But then I calmed down, and thought, "how harmless can she be? She's wearing tweety-bird clothing for heaven's sake. And after all, I make friends easily." So I said, "Um, sure. It's ***-****." "Awesome! Ok, I gotta go Peyton, but I'm going to call you and we're going to hang out soon!" And with that, she trotted off and I quietly laid down my basket full of Bonne Belle in the middle of the aisle and high-tailed it out of there.

A few hours later, the tweety-bird stranger was forgotten and I was back to normal. Until later that night, when she called. I sat on the phone with her for what seemed like hours, agonizing over the fact that I had just given out my phone number to a complete stranger who seemed a bit off kilter. After that phone call, I was sure there would be no more. That was just a fluke, something random. Probably won't hear from her again.

A few hours later, the speech impediment on the other end of the line was forgotten and I was back to normal. Until the next day, when she called.

This went on and on, everyday for a few weeks. I was weirded out, my family was weirded out and was getting tired of my lengthy phone use. So one day, my little brother, who at the time was 5 or 6, picked up the phone when she called and lit into her. I had no idea the capabilities of his little lungs or the ugliness of his tongue. If I were Tamara, I probably would have crapped my pants after being yelled at like that from a 5 or 6 year old. He was ruthless. I wasn't mad though, because I was annoyed by Tamara. I mean, who did she think she was trying to be my friend and all?

A few hours later, the tongue lashing from the kid was forgotten and me my little bro got back to wrestling and picking on each other and all was back to normal. Until the next week when she called. People, this went on and on for ten years until my parents finally changed their number. TEN. YEARS. Ten years.

Ten years.

So while I consider this make-friends-easily trait among the best and most attractive things about myself, it has its flaws. Moral of the story: Not everyone is your friend, Peyton. Some people are crazy. Don't give your phone number to strangers on the lip gloss aisle. You can say no. You already have plenty of friends, ok, self?

Ok, I feel better that you all know that story about me now.

Stay tuned for more "About Me" stories!

Childhood Cuisine

2010-06-07T16:45:00.001-04:00

For a long time, when I was in a group meeting and we had to tell "one weird fact about ourselves" (dang college), mine was always that I used to eat roly polies as a child.

Are you shocked? I wasn't really either when my parents told me about my three-year-old self scarfing down the little insect balls. My dad said I would stick out my little pudgy, balled up fist, flip my palm right side up, and offer him my collected smorgasbord of roly polies which had defensively rolled themselves up into perfect little balls. They knew not their own fate.

The fact that I ate them is not surprising. I was three. Who knows what else my little fist stuffed down my piehole? No, the surprising part was that, when presented with my gift of what I considered to be good eatin', my dad would politely decline and say, "No thank you pumpkin, I'm full. You eat 'em all." Is it just me or do you find it quite odd that my father still let me ingest them? He didn't knock them out of my hand or say "Peyton, pumpkin, don't eat bugs, ok?" Instead, he just let me keep right on snacking. There is no telling how many roly polies met their fate in the bottom of my tummy.

I think if I'm ever again in one of these stupid meetings where we have tell a group of strangers some weird fact about ourselves, I will save myself the embarrassment and not tell them that I used to eat roly polies as a little girl. Instead, maybe I'll tell them about my triple jointed toe.

Wait, on second thought, I might just stick with the roly polies.

******NEWS BULLETIN******
This just in! So I just googled the scientific name for Roly Polies and guess what it is? It's going to gross you out, I promise. Are you ready? Are you sure? Because it's getting kind of close to dinner time and I wouldn't want to spoil your dinner or anything. And I don't want to put a bad taste in your mouth for roly polies (wait, what did I just say?) because this will forever alter the way you think of these cute little bugs. Are you sure? Like, absolutely sure? Ok, if you're sure. Here goes. The scientific name for roly polies, the cute, harmless little balls, is ARMADILLIDIUM VULGARE. See? I told you. I shouldn't have done it. Now you're thinking of vulgar armadillos aren't you? Ok, well goodnight ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your dinners and may you have sweet dreams tonight. Dreams free of vulgar armadillos. Until next time!
***************************

One of my biggest pet peeves...

2010-06-04T16:08:00.001-04:00

Is when businesses spell "cool" like "kool" and when "clean" is spelled like "klean" or "kleen". Why? There is no reason for this. For reasons unbeknownst to me, this makes me pretty mad.

Ode To Friday

2010-06-04T09:04:00.000-04:00

I love your name
And that I will soon be playing games

The next two days
Just go by in a haze

Soon it will be
Freaking Monday again and we

Will be back to the grind
Leaving Saturday and Sunday behind

But the promise of another you
Will be enough to get me through

Another whole week
Sorry, I know I’m such a geek.

Summer, it turns me upside down. Summer, summer, summer. It's like a merry-go-round.

2010-05-30T10:52:00.002-04:00

(I'm not sure what The Cars meant by those lyrics, but they seemed to fit, so just go with it, mmmkay?)

As I was sitting in Mark's truck last night, waiting on him to feed an out of town neighbor's dogs and listening to Riverwalk Jazz on NPR, I decided there is nothing more iconic or definitive than southern summers. On this drizzly, humid night in Georgia, a lightening bug lit up right outside the windshield, and somehow, that one little neon bug seemed to remind me of everything a southern summer is.

There are the tangible things, sure, that are iconic of southern summers. Popscicles, swimming pools, hundreds of lightening bugs littering the backyard, fresh vegatables straight from the garden, barbeques, Braves baseball, listening to pretty much any Kenny Chesney song ever written, the taste of ripe watermelon never quite leaving your mouth because you eat as much of it as you can get, sunny days and the inevitable early evening thunder shower. I can't think of a summer when all of these things were not present, day in and day out.

But there are also those intangibles that seem to be the underlying icons of southern summers. The pace slows. One may be more content to sit on a back porch and watch lightening bugs light up then fade out for hours upon end, not really worrying about the dishes in the sink or the work that didn't get done behind your desk earlier that day, or even what's on tv. No, watching those neon lights on a bug's butt is entertainment enough for you. Becoming less and less pretentious about your appearance, I would say, would be another one of those underlying icons. As the weather gets hotter and hotter, the sleeves keep getting shorter, the hems shrink, until you're somehow dying to tug on that bathing suit so you can jump into a relatively cool body of water. (And fixing your hair? Don't even think about it.) And is it just me, or does everyone become friendlier in the summer? Everyone's outdoors; neighbors stop by for a quick chat on their evening walk; block parties; boaters waving at each other; parks ripe with picnics; making friends at a Braves game; man, everyone is just friendlier, aren't they?

I am always so thankful for the months of May through September in Georgia because it means I can do all of things I love to do the most. And the top thing on that list is to be on a boat, on some relatively cool body of water, with a drink in my hand and a tuber trailing behind. That's where I'll be today and tomorrow, thank goodness. And if my boat passes yours, expect a wave - I'll expect one back! - and let's raise our light beers to summer. Cheers!

Everyone have a safe and happy Memorial Day!

BBB aka Bread Baking Bunch aka Bread Baking Bitches aka Drink and Bake

2010-05-19T11:35:00.088-04:00

Nine months ago I was walking the cluttered aisles of TJMaxx and found a book that would change my life. Ok, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. I'll just say it added a lot more fun and friendship to my life. The book was a $2.99 bread baking book and as soon as I picked it up, still standing in that cluttered aisle of cheap treasures, I formulated the idea to begin a bread baking group.

Quite similar to how most of my ideas begin to take shape, I called the bff and asked her if she'd be interested. Her response, as usual, "you plan it, and I'll come." (She will be receiving an extra jewel on her crown in heaven for how many things she participates in that I drag her to.) So I went to work.

The first thing I needed to do was practice the basic bread recipe. I couldn't be teaching a group how to do this if I couldn't do it myself, right? So here's my first ever loaf of wheat bread...

So after I proved to myself that I could indeed bake a loaf of bread that actually tasted good, I called up a few friends and asked them if they'd be interested in getting together to learn. They were. So back in September 2009, we had the inaugural meeting of BBB - Bread Baking Bunch. I taught everyone how to make a loaf of bread, we drank a lot of wine (too much wine) and enjoyed each others company.

We began the night at 6:30 and ended it around midnight. It was so much fun and we all decided we wanted to do it again. So in October, we went to Jeannie's house for a tutorial on cranberry orange scones and buttermilk biscuits and to, again, drink too much wine.

Those were so delicious. November's group was held at Chandler's house where she taught us how to make a cream cheese braid, which better be served in heaven. Rachel, a new member at this meeting, suggested we rename our group "Bread Baking Bitches" and coined the phrase, "Drink & Bake", because that's essentially what we do.

Jeannie spreading the cream cheese

Chandler and me

Sara and Bea

In December, we decided we'd let the men in our life in on our new found talent. We had a cookout and cookie bake with the guys and named our party the "Drink & Bake." We made gingerbread men, peppermint bark, and cranberry white chocolate shortbread.

Our invitation:

Jeannie, Michelle, Leah, Erin, and Rachel

Haley, Jeannie, me

Our gingerbread men!

Busy decorating

Erin and Leah

Mark, Joel, Lance, and Wes...and their dixie cups

So much wine

Leah, Erin, me, Sara, Rachel

Whew! The Drink and Bake was awesome. In January, we deviated a bit from bread onto another carb - PASTA! Sara spent a summer in Europe taking cooking classes and learned how to make homemade pasta. It's soo simple and fun to make! We made ravioli with a homemade filling, homemade sauce, and homemade tomato chips! And, of course, we drank a lot of wine. This meeting really solidified our group, I think. The regular members are myself, Jeannie, Rachel, Chandler, Michelle, Sara, Erin Pringle, Leah, Lindsay, and Erin Prielozny.

You start with a little Semolina flour and an egg

And then you get really messy

And you drink a little wine

And then you streeeetttcccchhh out the pasta to paper thin

I love this picture

Stuffing the ravioli

Yummy sauce

Perfect ravioli

Live, reporting from the scene of Hurricane Pasta

Jeannie, Erin, Leah, and Sara

Jeannie and Sara

And by the time it's all over, you've consumed an insane amount of alcohol. Yep, that's pretty much how each meeting goes!

In February, Erin and Leah taught us how to make homemade pretzels and homemade dipping sauces!

Michelle & Rachel

Mound of dough

Leah, Erin, Jeannie, me, Rachel, Michelle

In March, Rachel hosted and taught us how to make a Southern classic - cheese straws.

Michelle cranking out the straws

Erin and Michelle

Clockwise from top left: Lindsay, Erin Prielozny, me, Sara, Michelle, Rachel, Chandler, and Erin Pringle

And of course, the aftermath

In April, we met at my house to learn how to make pizza dough. Turns out, the dough didn't rise. Thank goodness we had a back-up plan - Publix sells raw, already risen pizza dough for $2.50 in the bakery. Thank you Publix! We decided this would be our "Semi-homemade" night as we channeled our inner Sandra Lee's. We decided that even though we had this failure, we are still domestic goddesses.

My awesome toppings spread

Rachel and Chandler

You still have to roll out the Publix pizza dough so it still kinda felt authentic

Just your typical BBB table-scape

Mmmm so good!

So that's nine months of bread groups, nine months of lots and lots of wine, nine months of new friendships forming, and nine months of tons o' fun. This month, we're hosting a Mother/Daughter bread group in honor of Mother's Day. We'll be teaching our moms how to make a loaf of wheat bread. And then in June, we're taking a trip to Chateau Elan for a winery tour, cooking class, and spa time! It's going to be a blast!

I think when I get to heaven...

2010-05-18T09:41:00.000-04:00

The first thing I ask God will not be what happened to the dinosaurs. No, instead, it will be, "What was your purpose in creating the sloth."

Enjoy a little slothy entertainment, will ya? (And try not to compare the subjects of the video too much to your significant other, what with all the scratching and stuff.)

Meet the sloths from Amphibian Avenger on Vimeo.

Ode to my crazy mom

2010-05-14T09:01:00.001-04:00

Well since a few of my other blog buddies are talking about their moms, I guess I'll do it too, just a few days late. I touched on before how crazy my mom is and I'm afraid this post, too, only reveals the tiniest tip of the crazy iceberg that my mom is, but it's a good place to start.

Things said at the lunch table while sharing KFC original recipe with my family on Mothers Day:

Me: "Mom, can you hem some pants for me? I swear I wore them last year but now they're too long. Maybe I only wore them with heels last year."
Molly: "Yeah, or maybe you're shrinking."
Mom: "Oh no she's not. She's getting taller."

Ah, the age old, "You need to pray and ask God to make you taller" debate. My mom will not drop this. About a year ago she said this to me and I have repeatedly told her that I'm not going to pray for that because a) God has better things to do than to field questions from me about the body HE created, b) if I, in fact, do pray for this, and if, in fact, God does answer that prayer and makes me taller, then my pants, which my mother and just about every other seamstress in this town has hemmed and tailored to fit my stumpy legs, won't fit, and c) my mom is crazy. But I've mentioned that before.

Next came this:

Mom: "I looked and looked in the card section for a card from a mom to her son or daughter but just couldn't find any!" (And no, she's not talking about the ones you give if your daughter has had a child - because me nor my 3 other siblings have had children.)
Me: "Well, I'm not surprised by that at all. Moms don't give their children cards on Mothers Day. Children give their moms cards on Mothers Day."

Hello, crazy.

I'm serious folks, this only touches the tip of the crazy iceberg. I think I'll start carrying around a tape recorder when I'm with her. As crazy as she is, I must say that I try my hardest to look past the crazy and love her inspite of it. It's difficult sometimes, but I do try. And I do love her very much.

I'll leave you with this:

It's Christmas time and we're all digging into our stockings. I had dropped some Dove dark chocolate in everyone's stockings and my mom pulled one out: "Oh, I just love dark chocolate. It's so much better for you than milk chocolate. Peyton (the one who put the dark chocolate in the stocking) if you don't like dark chocolate, you should pray and ask God to make you like it."
Me: Speechless.

PeyPey, how does your garden grow?

2010-05-12T17:24:00.003-04:00

Let's begin with the remnants of last years container garden, shall we?

Yes, yes, I was apparently growing twigs, grass, pinecones, pinestraw and weeds. And these sad little fellas just had no hope whatsoever.

I did manage to save the tulip bulbs from last year, yet, I have no idea what to do with them...

I have hope for this year though. I went with the mini pallet/greenhouse thingy to help me just start my seeds. I've never started with seeds before so we'll see how it goes. You pour water on the little pods until they're all expanded:

For herbs, I planted dill, basil, lavender, cilantro, and rosemary. For veggies I planted cherry tomatos, jalepeno, and spinach. For flowers I planted zinnia, achillea, and english daisies. I even made cute little markers for them:

Got the seeds planted, now it's a waiting game.

Well that didn't take long! About a week before the first little sprout sprouted. Now they're ready to be planted.

So I got to planting...

I used several different kinds of potting soil. (That's the reason for the different colored dirt.)

Say a little prayer for my garden and my green thumb, will ya?

Welcome back, PeyPey

2010-04-29T16:19:00.002-04:00

People, it's been 2 weeks since my last post and for that I'm sorry. Can we just agree to blame it on tax season? And since that's the industry I work in, it makes sense. So agreed, yes? In no way have things slowed down enough for me to justify blogging right now, and honestly, I don't have a hot topic or Thoughtful Thursday to share with you, so I'm just going to ramble, mmmkay? So here's a couple of useless tidbits of information for you:

1. I have another published article coming out in May's issue of the local magazine, Columbus & The Valley. I'm pretty super excited about this article, so go out and grab a copy. Do it. Or else. If you missed my last article, check it out here. Columbus & The Valley's owner and editor, Mike Venable, has also asked me to be a featured blogger on their website so stay tuned for that. I'm pretty amazed at how this opportunity has fallen into my lap. A friend of mine, Michelle Burton, emailed me one day after reading my blog and told me I should get in contact with a friend of a friend or hers (it pays to know people, people. Literally, it pays. So all you people out there burning bridges? You should probably stop right now.) So I did. I emailed someone I didn't know, offered to take her to lunch, and was assigned an article for the upcoming issue of Valley Parent magazine in a matter of minutes. I did end up taking Jill out for lunch and when I naively asked her, "so what do you do for the magazine", she set me straight telling me she's part owner and co-editor of Columbus & The Valley and Valley Parent. I was a bit floored. I was amazed at how down-to-earth she was - willing to meet little ole' me for lunch and offering me a writing assignment just like that! I'm so blessed to have these opportunities and hope my relationship with Columbus & The Valley is a long and fruitful one. Do I hope my picture one day graces the jacket of a book penned by me? Yes. Am I a long way from that? Yes. Would my freshman English 101 prof "yell" at me with red ink if I turned in a paper with a paragraph this long? Yes. Moving on.

2. But more about writing. My idol and very famous author, Jenn Lancaster, returned an email with great feedback about blogging to me a few weeks ago. The jubilance I felt when I opened this email was probably akin to how screaming girls felt when New Kids on the Block walked on stage at one of their concerts and in all their acid wash glory. (I wouldn't know. I wasn't allowed to listen to them, much less go to a freaking concert. My mom, I guess, thought NKOTB were straight from Satan's sperm, because no matter how much begging and pleading I did, I didn't even get to have a NKOTB slap bracelet, for crying out loud. [She also wouldn't let me watch Captain Planet. To this I say, WTF, mom, W. T. F?] So what did I do? I watched NKOTB - every concert on Pay Per View and every interview on Disney - in secret at my friend Crystal's house. So booyah, mom. And I did get my slap bracelet, you just didn't know about it. And did I turn out okay? Um, yes. I think I may have my next blog topic somewhere in all that.) So, needless to say, I was pretty freaking excited to see her email in my inbox. She is also following me on Twitter now, which is just peachy.

3. Ok, now for some pictures. It's Spring, and that means festival season. While I didn't get to go to Coachella and the prospect of going to Bonnaroo is but a dream, I did get to go to the Frogtown Hollow Bluegrass festival! (Please read that in an uber-country accent and perhaps say "hollow" like "holler" to get the full affect.) It was a fun night with Rachel and Lance - blue skies, beer, and bluegrass.

Last weekend was one of the Seven's (I'll explain this in a later post) weddings. Lori Holman became Lori Levine and we all had a blast. This picture exemplifies my relationship with the Seven's. We were making "that's what she said" jokes at the bachelorette dinner. I love this picture of Barbara and me. Tons of laughter and lots of support and love.

And finally, I've spoken briefly about it before, and promise to devote a full, future post to it, but the BBB - Bread Baking Bunch, AKA Bread Baking Bitches AKA Drink and Bake - is still in full swing. This was a pic from March's meeting. April was pizza dough, next month is a Mother/Daughter where we'll be teaching our moms how to make a loaf of wheat bread (and watching Captain Planet while listening to NKOTB), and then in June, we're taking an overnighter to Chateau Elan to attend a winery tour and take a break from all our slaving over hot ovens. Don't you wish your girlfriends could bake like us? We've also been in touch with other bread baking groups - AROUND THE WORLD! Yeah, no joke! Pretty exciting! I'm smelling a yeasty joint venture.

Ok, so that's all I got for today. I promise future blogs on BBB, my crazy mother, kid stuff I loved but was not allowed to do but did anyway, and the Seven's. Stay tuned.

Market Days

2010-04-10T11:06:00.000-04:00

Spring is here, is it not?! Overnight, the leaves on the trees turned neon. My car, which used to be blue, is now yellow. I can wear flip-flops and my toes don't turn into icicles. And even as I sit here this morning, I'm hearing all the sounds of Spring. Like, literally, there's a damn bird perched outside my window and is relentlessly trying to get its point across to its fellow feathered friends. The yard man's here and I'm pretty sure he's trying to mow the bricks up the side of my house, it's that freaking loud. But that's okay. I don't mind, because I can look out the window, see nothing but green grass and blue sky and that just lifts my spirits.

Another thing I'm getting super excited about is Market Days on Broadway! It starts up May 15! I started selling PeyPey's Picante last year at Market Days and received quite a following. There is such a camaraderie with the other vendors, trading my goods for theirs, never exchanging a dime. I'll give you a jar of PeyPey's for that apple pie right there. Or, I'll give you two jars of PeyPey's for two baskets of blueberries. The cool of a Saturday morning, the friendliness of patrons, the deliciousness of freshly grown produce and freshly baked goods. These are the things that I love most about Market Days.

Kyle's Red Root Farm has some of the best tomatos around. And Kyle's t-shirts are really cool too! If you mosey up to Kyle's stand, expect to see him wearing a cowboy hat and playing some Allman Bros on his guitar. Buy some tomatos from him and he just may throw in a free onion.

Come sample the street fare and then rent a bike from Ride On Bikes for $10 and ride all day. Don't be surprised to find the owner's lazy dog sleeping out in the sun or coming to visit your booth for a treat.

Check out Ms. Lisa's fresh basil. Put that with the tomatos and onion you got from Kyle and go home and cook up some homemade spaghetti sauce!

You haven't tasted good until you've had some of Lindy's bread. Fresh loaves, pizzas, scones, biscuits, muffins, and hot and fresh (like, she cooks them THAT morning) chocolate croissants. Grab a scone or croissant and step over to Fountain City Coffee for a cup o' joe and enjoy your breakfast.

Got a date Saturday night? Wow her with some homegrown flowers. All varieties, all colors. They're so pretty.

This picture makes me so stinking happy. This stand is run by Our House home for kids. The leaders teach them how to grow a garden every year and then they come and pretty give away their produce to patrons. They only accept donations. And look at how gorgeous their produce is!

The strawberries taste like strawberries! The snozberries taste like snozberries! The blueberries taste like blueberries! Mmmmm. So delicious.

And finally, pick up your jar of PeyPey's Picante, only the best salsa you'll ever put in your mouth, trust me. I routinely sold out most Saturdays and hope to do the same this year. So come get a taste!

Sitting here in the quiet, being thankful

2010-04-03T15:42:00.000-04:00

I don't have much else to say today other than this -

Think of every movement you can make with your body. Start with your head. Move it any way you can move it. Side to side. Up and down. Blink. Swallow. Speak. Touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Now go down the length of your body, making every single movement you can with every single limb and body part you have until you've reached your feet and wiggled your pinky toes.

Are you done?

Now thank God you are able to do those things.

Sure, if we're the right kind of good, we'll thank God when big things are provided to us - jobs, cars, housing, mates; but are we thankful for the things we just do or have, without even thinking about them? I'll be honest, I'm not.

But that just may be changing soon.

Today's Top Ten: Things that Help

2010-03-29T11:08:00.000-04:00

1. A good, strong cup of coffee
2. NPR. Whether it's news, crazy music, an old man reading a chapter of book, whatever, it soothes my soul. I think all NPR announcers have to go through a training class to learn how to speak similarly. You know, kind of nasally, almost deadpan, very matter of fact, yet still, somehow completely calming.
3. Hearing Mark - or anyone - say I'm sorry. It's not his fault; it's no ones fault. But it helps to hear that people are trying to put themselves in your shoes and feel the emotions, the sadness, and say they're sorry because they can't imagine how it really feels.
4. Doing normal things. But sometimes the most normal things are hard to do.
5. Hearing a really encouraging bible verse. It just hits the spot.
6. Thinking about Jesus as a human being. Something I was thanking God for the other day was that Jesus experienced pretty much the gamut of emotions while he was here on earth. He was sad. I'm sad a lot. He was extremely joyful. I picture Jesus being really happy about something, jumping up in the air and doing one of those sideways, leprechaun-like kicks; this makes me smile. My life is about 90% joy. Jesus got mad. He flipped tables over. I get mad and scream into a pillow. He was confused. He wanted to make sure his fate really had to be dying for the sins of the world. A lot of things - serious and superfluous things - confuse my feeble mind. The point is - He's been there. He knows. And that's so comforting.
7. Remembering, by the second, that God's reasoning is not human reasoning; it's perfect reasoning. I ask 'why' and He says, 'because'. Hard to hear, yes, but He's got a plan, I know.
8. Helping. Doing whatever I possibly can to help.
9. Crying. Did God create the act of crying to help us cope with things of this world? I think so.
10. Knowing that I, we, have friends who will love us, support us, encourage us, pray for us - NO. MATTER. WHAT.

It's a sad day 'round these parts, but I and my family thank you for all your prayers, thoughts, encouragment.

Thoughtful Thursdays: Regarding the Wee One

2010-03-25T16:48:00.000-04:00

I found out I was going to be an aunt on February 12 of this year. It was a pretty special Friday around these parts because it was snowing quite heavily (a rare, RARE occurrence), I got to go home from work early, my brother and sister-in-law were in town, and Valentine's Day was just a few short days away.

Finding out I was going to be an aunt was one of the greatest surprises of my life. It was so unexpected and exciting. What's even sweeter is that the baby boy is expected to arrive on my grandmother's (and this one too) birthday!

Babies are pretty familiar to me. When I was 10 years old, my mom told me and my older brother that she was going to have a baby. Pretty crazy and totally unexpected; but exciting nonetheless. My mom told us this news on Christmas Eve 1992 and William Alexander (Alex) was born on March 4, 1993. (She could have been a bit more courteous and given me a little more time to prepare myself for giving up the "baby" status I enjoyed for ten long years. Having to relinquish this status was life changing, trust me.)

Then, just a short year later, we learned that my mom was again pregnant. Seriously, the thought of my parents making babies at this point in all of our lives is a bit disgusting, but I guess my dad's little swimmers hadn't lost any of their potential. (Too far?) So on May 6, 1994, Alex was just a 1 year and 2 months old, I at the tender age of 11, and my older brother at the extremely pubescent (I score a point for using this word, right?) age of 14, Victoria Marie, who my mother immediately assigned the moniker of "Molly" to, was born. Wait. Wait a sec. Victoria Marie? Molly? Victori...Moll??? Wait, what??? Ok, side note, I believe my mom had early onset craziness because she swears that Molly is a nickname for Marie. What.The.Fuck? Yes, that nonsense deserves an eff bomb.

Ok, that was all a side note to get here: I delivered Molly.

My dad came in my room at 5:00 a.m. that morning to tell me that mom had just had her first contraction and that he was going to run down to Piggly Wiggly (more affectionately known as 'the Pig') to get Alex some apple juice because he knew that we would probably be in the hospital with mom in labor all day and my grandmother was coming to keep him and we were all out of apple juice. (Sorry for all those tiny details, but they have a point, I promise.) So my dad leaves and I get up to go watch my mom in pain. (Sordid, I know. Don't' judge.)

The time element is important here, people, so I'll mention again that it was 5:00 a.m. when my dad came in my room. After watching my mom writhe in pain for a few minutes, I decided that I probably needed to be of some kind of assistance, so I followed my mom's directions and got some hot water. (Just kidding. Why do they always ask for that in the movies?) I got some towels and laid them down on the bed (because icky stuff was coming out. Sorry. Hope you're not eating whilst reading this.) At 5:11 Molly was crowning (i.e. her head was poking out of my mom's...well, you know where babies come from. If not, call me; I'll tell you), my mom was screaming, and Brad was calling 911. Dad? Still at the Pig. Me? Cool, calm, and collected, and a bit grossed out.

At 5:25, Molly's last little toe was out. I witnessed the entire thing; stood there, guiding her tiny little body safely into this world; bravely holding my mom's hand when she pushed. The paramedics and my dad walked in together, just in time to cut the umbilical cord. Alex slept through the whole thing and Brad stayed out of the way, not willing to witness his mother's girly parts and the subsequent excretions. (EWWW!!!)

The newspaper wrote a front page, Sunday paper story on my family. And I felt famous. But what was more important is that I had a new baby brother AND sister. At that point, I wasn't quite sure how - and that - those two little kids would change my life. But they did - in a huge way. Looking back, I have no idea how I lived without them for those ten, eleven years. We are all each other's rocks; the four of us just make sense together. Those Baker kids.

And then Sally joined the pack when she married Brad and we became five. She had to learn us; but it didn't take her too long, or us. She fit in nicely.

And soon we will be six. Little Baby Baker will arrive and our pack, us Baker kids, will welcome him effortlessly. And he'll learn "us" and we'll shape him. And thank goodness, he'll never have to know what life is like without a fellow Baker kid, thank goodness.

We're a pack; and we stick together.

(Maybe I should have given up parenthesis for lent. Agreed?)

Thoughtful Thursdays: Regarding Roommates

2010-03-18T10:55:00.000-04:00

I was thinking the other day just how much my life has changed since 2001 - the year I graduated high school and began college. Soon after starting college, I kind of went potluck and moved into a house with two girls who I didn't know very well. We paid $100 a month in rent and didn't have cable or central air conditioning, but damn if we didn't have the time of our lives. We had free reign from our landlord to do whatever we wanted to the house.

So naturally, we painted the kitchen electric blue, tiled the kitchen counter tops with free scrap tile from the tile store, and I papermached the dining room chandelier. I stenciled the wall in my bedroom and we built a hammock on the front screened in porch so big that we had to leave it there when we moved out because we'd have to either a) demolish the 20 foot hammock with a handsaw, or b) do some major front porch renovation.

The same group of boys would come roll our house every single Saturday night (I'm not even kidding) and we'd get yelled at by the church attendees across the street every single Sunday morning. It was a riot and all we could do was apologize and clean up the dang toilet paper. (I mean EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY NIGHT.)

We shot squirrels in the attic with a bb gun.
We shared countless cups of coffee while "studying" at the downtown coffee shop.
We watched the same movies over and over and over and over and over again. And never tired of them.
We met each other's families.
We took care of each other's nose bleeds.
We had long talks, sipping hot tea, sitting on the kitchen floor.
We straightened (and consequently fried) the hair of the one who had some pretty luscious curls, pre-straightening.
We got mad at each other about the 2 week old disgusting dishes in the sink.
We danced in the kitchen into the early morning hours.
We threw '80's parties and charged cover.
We paid for 3 round trip plane tickets to New York City from said '80's party cover charges.
We got snowed in while in NYC and had to stay an extra 2 days.
We learned a whole whole lot from each other.

I've gone through 8, count 'em, 8! roommates since those days in the hundred dollar house with the squirrels in the attic and electric blue walls. I adapt to each one and they adapt to me, I guess. Each one leaving a bit of themselves with me and I with them. But I don't know, there was just something about that house, those girls who still have a big piece of my heart. No one else has compared, really.

Bethany and Adrianne made lasting impressions on me; ones that I will not easily forget. We've each gone our separate ways now: Bethany, well, all over the place, Adrianne married with two children in the Park District. But I know for each of us those years on 23rd Avenue in the hundred dollar house will live on for quite some time.

Fritters

2010-03-15T10:59:00.004-04:00

I hate the word fritter. I don't remember if I was ever served fritters growing up, but it reminds me of a dish my dad's mother would have served me. Something that she would have, indubitably, deep fried in a cast iron skillet on an olive green stove, with a Newport sticking out of her mouth. A glamorous lady, my Granny was.

Is it just me, or is the word fritter not appetizing? I know. Fritter. And ok, get ready; put the word ricotta in front of fritter and it becomes even less appetizing, right? I'll work on coming up with a new name for this, BUT YOU HAVE GOT TO TRY THIS!

I made them the other night with Rachel for dessert and they were fantastic.

First, heat about 32 ounces of oil (vegatable, sunflower, peanut) - the frying pan needs to be about 2/3 full - on medium to medium-low heat for about 20-25 minutes. Heating the oil slowly will keep the fritters (UGH! Hate that word!) from cooking too fast and burning.

Next, mix 3/4 cup all-purpose flour, 2 teaspoons baking powder, and 1 teaspoon lemon zest. Whisk that well. In a seperate bowl, mix 1 cup whole milk ricotta, 2 eggs, 1 Tablespoons sugar, and 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract well. Add this mixture to the flour mixture and whisk well.

Once you've got it mixed well, drop by tablespoons into the hot oil.

Turn them over once or twice while in the oil. Let cook for 2–3 minutes depending on your preference of done-ness. Place them on a plate with a paper towel to drain off the extra oil.

Let them cool a little bit and sprinkle them with confectioners sugar.

Serve while they're still warm with a scoop of vanilla icecream and get ready for goodness in your mouth. I'm not kidding, the ricotta mixed with the lemon is so smooth, so fresh tasting. It doesn't taste heavy at all. They're so light and fluffy and DELICIOUS!! (Only one thing - make them kind of small. I used an icecream scoop instead of a Tablespoon and some of them weren't quite done in the middle.)

Next, enjoy some wine and American Idol and veg out on the couch!