Tacky Christmas Party

by Tonia

“What I don't like about office Christmas parties is looking for a new job the next day." ~ Phyllis Diller

I recently moved and was forced to clean out my closet which led to the discovery of many missing items - some from as far back as 1972. But the prize of my closet exploits was the discovery of my old Christmas sweaters. You have to understand - I used to wear these sweaters with pride. I had a different one for every day of the week from Thanksgiving to Christmas. (Can you say, “Conspicuous consumption?”) Even back then my kids said I looked hideous. So now my beautiful Christmas sweaters are only good for tacky Christmas sweater parties. Anna thinks I could make a fortune selling them on ebay as my sweaters are the tackiest she’s ever seen. And WHY did I become a mother?

So go ahead and have a Tacky Christmas Sweater Party for your girlfriends. Nothing says obnoxious holiday cheer like puffy snowmen, appliqué Santas, sequined bells – and, my favorite…..blinking Rudolfs. By giving a second chance to these poor humiliating sweaters, you'll avoid shopping for new holiday outfits and you’ll honor Christmas Past with the Spirit of Christmas Recycling! If you don’t already have one of these fabulous sweaters in your closet you can (a) go to a Thrift Store (just make sure that it doesn’t smell like armpits) or (b) make your own (consider a headless snowman or reindeer in obnoxious sexual positions or a picture of yourself as Santa’s Ho.) Pull it all together with a little duct tape for extra class.

And, if you want to add a tacky gift exchange, gifts like an appliquéd Kleenex box cover, printed toilet paper, a squishy brain that farts, or a nose hair trimmer are all perfect. And let your refreshments join in the tackiness. Serve fruitcake, beef jerky and decorate gingerbread men and snowmen in their own tacky sweaters. Serve hor d’oeuvres in ice cube trays and create a centerpiece that screams tackiness - Christmas flamingos, plastic poinsettias, any kind of inflatable should work. And, for activities, get an inflatable Santa and take pictures of each other in tacky positions with him. And then email them to me! I love this shit.

The American Female Sleeping Sickness

by Anna
"I'm great in bed! I can sleep for days." - Unknown

We may be in the middle of a global energy crisis but I've got my own energy crisis going on here. Unexplained and unappreciated fatigue. There are some mornings I just have to sit down to brush my teeth. It's too much. Shower? I can skip a day. Fix my hair? Nahhhhh. And, if I have to choose between two activities, I pick the one that let's me have time for a nap.

I do the vitamin B and slap-yourself-in-the-face "You Must Take a Walk" pep talk. I drink lots of water and take my vitamins. The roomie and I share Red Bull.....well, I drink hers, replace them way late and then drink them again. I get my triple shot iced Americano at Starbucks. Why can't I wake up???

The Center for Disease Control says that fatigue is four times higher in women than in men. I have some ideas about why this is...... <Self-talk: "No male-bashing; no male-bashing; no male-bashing."> But I will say that between family responsibilities, jobs, household duties, bleeding like a stuck pig once a month, there are lots of reasons why women feel tired. I know someone who fell asleep in a meeting recently and slammed her chin on the table. Ouch.

So, get your girlfriends together and share remedies and medical research regarding fatigue. Come in your PJs and drink one of my ol' time faves:

The Spent Housewife
Grab a glass of ice
Fill it half with Red Bull and half with Vodka
Throw in a straw and take a load off your feet!

An Embarrassment to My Children

By Rachel

“Like all parents, my husband and I just do the best we can, hold our breath and hope we've set aside enough money for our kid's therapy.” - Michelle Pfeiffer

I have always considered myself a cool mom. I mean, I stay abreast of what is popular; I flat iron my hair; I dress in the latest styles …. or at least styles within the last 10 years or so. I’m cool, right? Well, apparently not. According to my daughter, I embarrass her just by breathing. Hell, she doesn’t even know what embarrassing is. She should have lived with MY mother who drove us to school in her nightgown and ran out of gas. And made moose calls when my "crush" was around. And entertained my friends with her imitation of a zit.

Okay, I admit, I probably shouldn’t have yelled out the car window “your skirt is tucked in your underwear” when I dropped her off at school. Or cranked up the Sesame Street music and danced with my 3 year old when I picked her up. But, seriously, it wasn’t like I was doing underarm noises at one of her school performances.

If she’s embarrassed by me I think it’s karma - pay back for the time she shouted, “Mommy, your zipper’s down!” at a Christmas party and for the time she peed in one of the display toilets at Lowes while we were looking at fixtures.

So I guess I’ve lost my coolness factor. But I’m adjusting. Now, instead of getting her to behave with threats of lost privileges, I just threaten to call her “PoocheyWorm” in front of her friends. Works like a charm.

My new motto: If you’re not embarrassing your kids, you’re missing all the fun. Tell us how you embarrass YOUR kids!

And the next time you and your girlfriends get together, brainstorm additional ways to embarrass your kids. It’s a riot. And add these easy, delicious pumpkin spice cookies to the menu:

Glazed Pumpkin Spice Cookies

Cookies

1 package Pumpkin Spice Cookie Mix

1 teaspoon Pumpkin Pie Spice

Glaze

1 cup confectioners’ sugar

1/2 tablespoon melted butter

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/2 tablespoons milk

Mix and bake cookies according to package directions. Let cookies cool completely. Combine all of the glaze ingredients in a bowl and add milk as needed to achieve the desired consistency. Drizzle glaze over cookies. Drizzle some glaze into your mouth if the kids aren't watching.

Losing my ASSets: My Fight with Cellulite

By Tonia

When did my ass start to look like cottage cheese? It used to be nice and plump and smooth. And then suddenly one morning I woke up and discovered the Dent Dimple Demon had gone on a psychotic rampage attacking my ass with a meat cleaver. Either that or he managed to surgically insert little marbles into my thighs and butt while I was anesthetized from a Saturday night party. Where was my Fairy Godmother to protect me from this kind of assault??? Oh yea….. I forgot…..she left me a resignation letter saying my aging body was more than she could save. Like a lot of men, she was moving on to younger women..... 

Cindy Crawford and Scarlett Johansson have said that they have cellulite. Pah-leeze. My cellulite could beat up their cellulite any day of the week.

Doctors say that cellulite is fatty deposits. These are not the kind of deposits I want. In fact, I would prefer withdrawals on this account! The only deposits I want are the ones in my checking account, thank you very much.

And why do those fatty deposits gather up in little clumps? Why can’t that fat evenly distributed itself like it does on the rest of body? Did the little fat cells call some kind of little committee meeting and couldn’t leave? Come on, girls, if you have to stay, mingle and spread around a bit!

The trouble with cellulite is that you can’t even suck it in. It just hangs all lumpy. Anyone know where can I get a push-up bra for my ass? My daughters recommend Spanx but that feels like slipping into a tourniquet for a Do-It-Yourself Hysterectomy.

Supposedly there are treatments for cellulite. But here’s my take on them:

1. Creams. It's not really the actual cream that works - it's the brisk rubbing that breaks down the fat deposits. Great. How am supposed to work if I have my hands down my pants rubbing my ass all day?

2. Exercise. That all sounds well and good but the clumsiness factor weighs in for me. After falling in the parking lot recently while merely walking, I’m thinking that exercise could be hazardous to my health.

3. Liposuction. Uuuhhh, expensive! I need a DIY version - a machine for home use. Would the suction of the vacuum cleaner work?

I know that we have posted these cookies before but they are so cute! Invite your girlfriends over, tell cellulite stories and enjoy adding more cellulite with these treats (you can even make cellulite dimples on them if you want to!):

Tonia’s Special Sugar Cookie Recipe

Go to the grocery store and purchase refrigerated sugar cookie dough.

  

Directions:

  

Roll out the dough 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick on a floured surface. Using a heart shaped cookie cutter, cut into hearts (duh!) and then cut off the points of the hearts. Place cookies on ungreased cookie sheets and bake according to directions. I like using the timer. Otherwise, I have to use the fire extinguisher. Cool completely before icing. 

Tonia’s Special Icing Recipe

While you are at the grocery store purchasing refrigerated sugar cookie dough, pick up different colored icing in those small tubes – you won’t need much. If you want to get really fancy buy some sprinkles as well.

  

Directions:

  

Look at the picture. I think you can figure it out. Be creative!

Magnifying Mirror Madness

By Anna

I do not have perfect skin. Nor do I have perfect eyebrows. I’m usually able to ignore these things until ….. I look …… insert scarey music ….. in my magnifying mirror. EEEEEkkkk!

Its not like I’m not already my own worst critic. I gotta’ go under the freakin’ lighted microscope to feel like some kind of mutant? AND THAT LIGHT! The levels should read:

  
LEVEL 1. Night club

LEVEL 2. Doctor's office

LEVEL 3. Interrogation room

With Interrogation Room Level 3 you get to see really awesome things like millions of freckles, saggy eyelids, black circles, moles morphing, red blotches, pores like craters, the beginning of crow’s feet, eyelashes that grow crooked or downwards, crazy eyebrows that grow down to the eyelids, and a baby furry mustache that now has petite handlebars! And what’s up with this furry forehead? Is this hair supposed to be there? Is it to keep my face warm in the winter?

Let me just pluck a few hairs….oh, shit! Now I’ve plucked my eyebrows off!

Let me just do a tiny squeeze.…damnit, now my face looks like chicken pox!

But I can’t. Move. Away. From. The. Mirror. Help me! I’m telling you, dudes do not do this crap. It’s addictive and destructive and we must throw those mirrors away!!

So I say grab that devil mirror of yours, crash a girlfriend’s house and create a game of breaking or trashing them. Then drink these:

Damage Control

2/3 cup pineapple juice, chilled

1/3 cup vanilla flavored vodka

2 tbls of grenadine syrup

Pour the pineapple juice, vodka and grenadine into a shaker full of ice. Shake and strain into two chilled martini glasses. Garnish with a piece of pineapple and a cherry on a toothpick...

…..and pat yourselves on the back for a task well done! 

My Mom Was Like a Mother to Me

By Tonia

"When your mother asks, 'Do you want a piece of advice?' it is a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway." – Erma Bombeck

Estrofests is a blog written by my two daughters and me. But there is another generation of Estrovite women – my mother. Let me tell you about her.

My mother was always cleaning. I used to try to tell her that vacuuming weakened the carpet fibers but she didn’t believe me. She not only cleaned at her house, she cleaned at my house. (They say housework can't kill you, but I don’t like to take any chances.) Sometimes she would put something away while I was still using it. If I tried to take the rag/mop/vacuum out of her hand, she would just start organizing something in my cupboards. It was embarrassing when people came over and thought she was my cleaning lady.

Crossword puzzles were like crack cocaine for my mother. I guess it’s what she used to get all that cleaning done. God help you if you got between her and the morning paper’s crossword. Then there would really be cross words!

My mother also loved to talk. Sometimes, if I was on the phone with her, I could lay down the receiver and take the dogs for a walk and she would still be talking when I got back. If she ran out of real things to talk about she would tell me about a TV show she had watched. I can tell you all about Dancing with the Stars and I’ve never even watched the show.

For Christmas and birthdays she would make things with our names on them – hats, t-shirts, sweatshirts. Someone needed to tell her that my sister and I were in our 50s now and didn’t need our clothing labeled any more. None of us (kids or grandkids) wanted to wear those things. We would rather wear dirty clothes or go naked than wear them. On the rare occasion when we HAD to wear one and then washed it, the letters would fall off and we ended up with something like this:

Tonia = Ton 

Anna = na

Rachel = ache

As you might guess, she was also addicted to the glue gun. Waaaaay too much DIY TV. Frankly, I think we need stricter glue gun laws. You know, like background checks and 5-day waiting periods on purchases. Some people, like my mother, just can’t control themselves. We suggested Glue Guns Anonymous to her but you know how addicts are. Denial.

My mother really did drive me crazy much of the time. But two years ago this week she passed away. She took care of me at the beginning of my life and I had the privilege of taking care of her at the end of hers. I had the bigger diapers to change but I also have the bigger shoes to fill.

I miss her every day. Her playful spirit, her generosity, her support for all of my endeavors, her tolerant amusement of my shenanigans, her passion and sacrifices for her family ….. and, yes, I even miss those damn sweatshirts with my name on them.

Love you, Mom. Always will.


Doris Anne Ryan Caselman 1928-2009

Colonoscopies: Lookin’ in the Backdoor

By Tonia

“Just when you figure you must be totally empty, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.” – Dave Barry

Recently I took one of my girlfriends to have a colonoscopy – which, in my world, means you get to be the butt of one of my blogs. It was her second ass-meddling. Not sure why one would return for this kind of procedure but she did. I was the designated driver - new role for me.

A colonoscopy is one of the fabulous perks of aging – you know, like mammograms, mole checks, bone scans, hearing tests, stress tests… ☺ I’m thinking that, since my girlfriends and I are spending more and more time at doctors’ offices these days, there should be a bar at the receptionist’s desk. That way we could order martinis with our procedures. Oh! And charge it to my card – my insurance card.

My friend was mostly worried about spurtage during the procedure. I don’t know why. It sounded like her super-turbo laxative not only cleaned out her colon, it REMOVED her colon. I reassured her that anyone who made a living with a hiney camera going through  intestines the wrong way had to be used to a little shit. She didn’t seem comforted.

The nurse called her name and had her sign a bunch of forms acknowledging that whatever bad thing might happen was not the hospital's fault. Then they took her away. I grabbed some reading material and discovered that a colonoscopy includes filling your colon up with air before shoving the butt-cam in your backdoor. That gives “blowing smoke up your ass” a whole new meaning for me.

When my friend came out she kept bragging about the drugs. I think she just used them as an excuse to make a pass at her gastroenterologist.

I personally haven’t had a colonoscopy yet but my friend is on my ass about it. She thinks they’ll find my head in there somewhere. When (if) I go, I’m going to draw a bullseye around the target. I don’t want the doctor mistaking one of my cellulite dimples for the entry spot.

In honor of my girlfriend's colonoscopy, here is our Filthy Dirty Martini recipe. Thanks to Gourmet Delights for turning us on to 1888 – created by pressing Spanish olives in order to get the true flavor of olives and not just salt water. Be sure to check out their other yummy goodies.

Filthy Dirty Martini
3 oz. vodka
1 oz 1888
Splash of dry vermouth

Garnish with LOTS of green olives

Camping Virgin

By Rachel

“Camping is nature's way of promoting the motel business.” - Dave Barry

Our family recently went camping with some of my girlfriends’ and their families. We had four moms, two dads (2 dads backed out - begged their employers to work overtime) and 10 rambunctious kids. Since we had never been camping, we borrowed a tent from another friend - which seemed smaller than our sleeping bags. But what do I know? She explained that her larger tent’s poles were broken as light sabers during her kids’ last Star Wars battle. On the bright side, a smaller tent should be easier to put up!

Now I should tell you that my husband has spent very little time outdoors; he couldn’t even figure out our kids’ play tents at home. But when we got to the camp site he suddenly insisted on setting up the tent – guess it was the manly thing to do. Well, he finally got it upright….but backwards. The front door faced some kind of thorny bush on steroids. The kids cried every time they had to go in or out of the tent. I looked like I had been making out with a porcupine. My husband simply said that is how he feels when I don’t shave my legs. Note to self: next trip leave husband at home and rent a camper.

I guess we all looked pretty incompetent because the Park Rangers kept coming around to check on us. They must have thought we wouldn’t survive for a whole weekend away from home. However, I noticed that after a few hours the visits stopped. Maybe it had something to do with every time they came around we asked to borrow something and the kids (all 10 of them) begged for more candy. That will teach them not to carry candy in their little trucks.

As we were heading to bed a copperhead snake appeared. My husband freaked out and wanted to find the Park Ranger. I’m surprised he didn’t try to call 911. Finally got the snake out of the campsite and headed to our tent to sleep. We were so cramped I think I would have had more room if I had slept in the cooler. Woke up and thought my neck was broken. I’m hoping that someday I will be able to hold my head straight again.  

I’m thinking that my next camping trip should be with girlfriends. And, when we go, we’ll take along this fabulous snack – Campers’ Caramel Popcorn. It's delicious!

Campfire Caramel Popcorn

½ cup butter

½ cup corn syrup

2 cups brown sugar

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

4 ½ quarts popped popcorn

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Stir in the brown sugar, corn syrup and salt. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil without stirring for 4 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and baking soda. Warm the popcorn in the oven and then place it in two large shallow baking pans. Pour the brown sugar mixture over the popcorn, stirring to coat. Bake in the oven, stirring every 15 minutes, for 1 hour. Remove from oven and let cool completely. Break into pieces and serve!

Foot in Mouth Disease

by Tonia

"Don't put your foot in your mouth, because then you can't talk...and you can't walk." - Milton Heide

Putting your foot in your mouth is not to be confused with shooting yourself in the foot – although, if particularly skilled, I think you could probably do both. I have done both.

Recently I walked into my hair salon without an appointment and asked if I could get a hair cut and a blow job. Embarrassing, but at least I didn’t scream out the wrong lover’s name during an orgasm. The receptionist ignored me and my hair dresser threatened to hold my head under water at the wash basin. 

Another time during graduate school, I needed an author’s permission to use a questionnaire, but found out that he had passed away. In frustration, I whipped off an email to my professors stating that I was going to have to hold a séance to get permission from the GD dead author. One of my committee members responded – she gave permission. It was her deceased husband who was the author of the questionnaire. I wanted to drop dead.

The next story didn’t happen to me – but to a friend of mine in high school. She had applied to several colleges but was desperate to get into Cornell. She thought about Cornell her every waking moment. She finally got an interview on campus, and was nervously lining out things to say. She planned on asking, “How many of your students go on to get a master's degree?" Instead she said, "How many of your students masturbate?" Needless to say, she did not get in.

If putting your foot in your mouth could earn air miles, I think it might look something like this:

Putting foot in mouth                         1,000 miles

Swallowing pride                               5,000 miles

Opening a can of worms                 10,000 miles

Picking up the pieces                         2 free trips 

I know I can’t possibly be the only one gnawing on my toes. One of the great things about girlfriends is that you can share these stories without judgment – just an acknowledged “been there, done that” laugh. Tell us your foot-in-mouth stories.

And, at your next girlfriends’ get together, ask your friends to write down some of their verbal faux pas on index cards. Make sure that they include their names. Read these out loud without the names and see who can guess which girlfriend belongs to each big mouth blunder. Create a Foot-in-Mouth Award for the biggest blunder.

And, if you’re feeling particularly creative, make some of these chocolate and peanut butter feet candies. Simply buy the mold, melt the candy (I like the microwaveable kind), pour into the mold. Stick it in the freezer for a couple of minutes and then pop them out! 

HAIR TODAY; GONE TOMORROW

By Tonia

"Without fame, this haircut could be mistaken for mental illness." - Russell Brand

I’m having a midlife hair crisis. I’ve always worn my hair long but now that it’s thinning (damn aging), I’m thinking maybe shorter. The only problem with shorter is that I won’t be able to do those nude pictures and have my ‘girls’ covered <insert eye roll>. I want a hairstyle where people can’t tell if I’m having a bad hair day or not.

Like most women, my hair has gone through several developmental stages. A perm so tight it resembled a brillo pad; a bouffant so high it challenged Marge Simpson; bangs so thick they could shield me from a bullet; layers so “feathered” birds eyed me suspiciously. I’m currently trying to avoid the helmet look….and the mushroom cloud.

I actually remember my mother trying to protect her hairdo by wrapping it in toilet paper before she went to bed. That must have made for hot nights between she and my dad. Probably a miracle I was ever born.

And have you ever woken up, looked in the mirror and decided that your hair had to be cut TODAY? And, because you couldn’t get a salon appointment, you took the scissors to it yourself? Yep, afterwards I looked in the mirror and thought, “Mental patients and condemned prisoners have better haircuts than this”....and made an appointment at the salon.

Every woman has her bad haircut story. Please tell us about yours. We want to be able to laugh at with you.

And, for your next girlfriends’ get-together, we suggest you ask everyone to bring photos of themselves with various hairdos over the years and tell stories of bad hair days. Then, for those of you who are my age, you’ll enjoy watching this old video of HAIR – THE MUSICAL on YouTube - CLICK HERE.

Finally, try these shots in gummy shot glasses sold at Vat19 – CLICK HERE to order. You won’t care WHAT your hair looks like after a few of these!

Gummy Hair Shots

1part apple schnapps

1part cranberry juice

1part peach schnapps

The Screaming Snake Whisperer

By Rachel

You know how everything is supposedly bigger in Texas? Well, big drought in Texas right now. Our swimming pool has become the new Safe Place for nature's at-risk vermin - think Quik Trip for creatures running away from home! We've rescued turtles, aquatic frogs and snakes......

As I was cleaning our pool a few weeks ago I saw a small snake in the water. As I began fishing it out, our dog completely lost her mind, flipped out, lost her balance and fell into the pool. Most dogs know how to swim. Not ours. Ours is so fat she simply sinks. So I had to jump in to rescue her. Big pool party! Me, the d^#n overweight dog, and the snake.

After I got the dog and myself out of the pool I rescued the snake and put him in my daughter's small aquarium so we could keep him for a day and then let him go (too bad we couldn't do this with some of our existing pets). As I was trying to get the snake out of the aquarium to play, the f*^#er kept trying to strike at me! The kids and I tried to play with it for a few minutes and then I finally gave up. Guess he was in a pissy mood.

When my husband got home I showed him our new temporary pet. He began grabbing his chest and breaking out into a cold sweat... He started yelling and talking so fast I thought he was having a psychotic break. He told me that I'd caught a baby water moccasin (which is extremely venomous) and grabbed the aquarium out of my hands. He then spent the next hour on the internet printing out pictures of venomous snakes that live in our area and posting them all over the house. He now quizzes me on what markings belong to venomous snakes and refers to me as the "snake whisperer!" Next venomous snake I catch is going on his side of the bed.

The next time you and your friends get together to gripe about the "snakes in your life", make this fabulous drink! It's one of my favorites...

Chocolate Snake Bite

1/2 oz. Bailey's® Irish cream
1/2 oz. Kahlua® coffee liqueur
1/2 oz. brown crème de cacao
1/2 oz. Goldschlager® cinnamon schnapps

Mix all ingredients in a shaker filled with ice. Shake well and serve in a chilled glass. Make more as needed!

Ain't No Silver Lining in Going Gray

By Anna

“Growing old is compulsory - growing up is optional.” ~ Bob Monkhouse

My 30s have brought gray hair, crow’s feet and bad hangovers. I was always told that a woman’s prime is in her 30s. I didn’t know that my prime would be so high maintenance. Hair dye, expensive face wash, and staying properly hydrated. Geez, it’s like a part time job trying to keep appearances.

I noticed my first gray about 3 years ago. I told my mother that I was going to give it to her to put in my baby book but she informed me that it was not the first gray hair I had given her. Ha, ha, Mom. Don’t know what you’re talking about. From what I’ve read about graying and heredity, SHE’s the one who has given ME gray hair!

One gray hair 3 years ago. But now I look in the mirror and see lots of little silver hands waving, “Hello, we’re dying over here!” Taunting me, the little f*#kers. It seems like I’m turning gray as fast as President Obama. So I pluck them - which is not good because then my trichotillomania starts to kick in. Some of the hairs I pull aren’t even gray but they are so shiny that I convince myself that they are. I know that bald is supposed to be beautiful now – but I think that is supposed to be for men, not women.

I mean, what gives? Have I partied and stressed my youth away? What a rip-off. Is this even normal? I’ll tell ya what’s not normal - not having a widows peak because I’m not sure if its gone gray or my baby blonde hairs have been singed from the sun. Either way they have been plucked away.

So what do I do? Got. To. Go. Buy. Hair. Dye. I even have to cut the coupons because now I must do it more frequently - or I will have a bald spots in addition to an absent widows peak.

My grandma used to say, “Growing old ain’t for sissies.” And in honor of my grandma growing old gracefully, and mostly without complaint, here is a blow pop martini recipe dedicated to her playful spirit…..which my mom, sister and I have inherited, in case you can’t tell! Enjoy at your next girlfriends’ get together with it!

Blow Pop Martini

Combine and shake:

1 part frozen lemonade concentrate
2 parts bubble gum flavored vodka
2 parts water
.5 part sour watermelon or sour apple liqueur

Then:
Rim martini glasses with pop rocks; pour drink into glasses and stick a blow pop in them. Totally delicious and fun!

My Other Life

By Tonia

 “Find out what you like doing best and get someone to pay you for doing it.” Katharine Whitehorn

Unless you’ve read my bio you probably would never guess that my day job is teaching at a university. Yep, even have one of those PhD things. Allow me to share with you my life in academia …

First of all, my office in no way resembles faculty offices in the movies - which are the size of small libraries with comfy leather chairs, beautiful volumes of books lining the walls, and a window that overlooks the loveliest part of campus.  Oh, no. My office is the size of a small closet. Boxes of notes and articles are hap-hazardly thrown around so that finding anything on my desk is like an archeological dig. And the view? The parking garage.

Aw, yes, and speaking of parking….unlike the real world, parking permits on university campuses do not guarantee you a parking place – they’re simply a license to hunt. I usually park illegally. This tends to get my car booted. Unlike cute car bras, car boots are ugly ball-and-chains that impair auto mobility. I don’t recommend them.

When you teach for a university there is also this thing called tenure. Highly desired, tenure creates the difference between being jr. faculty and sr. faculty –- kind of like the difference between being a Brownie and a Girl Scout. Well, not really, but close enough. Actually, there is a lot of pressure to get tenure because, if you don’t, you’re fired. The reality is that even God Almighty probably wouldn’t get tenure – after all, He only had one publication. And it wasn't even in a refereed journal.

As a rule professors are known to be a bit narcissistic and temperamental. You’ve heard the joke about how many professors it takes to screw in a light bulb? “Just one – he holds the bulb up to the socket and waits for the world to revolve around him.” Fortunately the faculty in my department are delightful – and have great senses of humor. We have a mechanical dinosaur that we send into each other’s offices with obnoxious messages in speech bubbles taped to its mouth. We have a skeleton that makes a Halloween appearance on the toilet in one of the women’s restroom stalls. We’ve even used crime scene tape to cover teaching podiums. And once someone (**whistling and looking away**) sat a life size blow up doll in a colleague’s class.

We even have ongoing theoretical discussions about why the chicken crossed the road. Yes, this is important research - I worked hard on my degree to be able to ponder such things. I’ll share a few of our thoughts with you here:

FROM PSYCHODYNAMIC THEORY

The chicken crossed the road because her Id said "Whoa, cool, go for it, Baby" and her Superego was on vacation.......

FROM COGNITIVE THEORY

The chicken crossed the road due to her irrational belief, “I am unlovable if I do not cross the road.” Ironically, becoming road kill was what made her truly unlovable.

FROM BEHAVIORAL THEORY

The chicken wasn't really sure why she had crossed the road - she just heard a bell and had to go......

So what does all this have to do with a girlfriends’ party? I have no damn idea, but here is Anna’s fabulous chicken salad recipe in honor of our research on chickens’ road behavior. Enjoy your girlfriends and no fowl moods allowed!

Anna's Chicken Salad - serves 2 generously or 3 skimpishly

2 small thawed & diced chicken breasts  

1 tbls minced garlic

1/4 tbls cracked pepper

1/4 tbls sea slat

1/4 chopped red onion

Saute in pan until chicken is cooked & onions are carmelized. Let cool.

Chop 2 celery sticks (rinsed with head & butt cut off)

Dice 1 large roma tomato

Dice 4 large strawberries

Put in bowl & mix in 4 tbls of real mayo & 1/4 tbls of celery salt. I mix with a fork to avoid any smooshing. 

When chicken mixture is cool, add to fruit & mayo mixture. Do not drain the chicken; there are favors in the juice. Stir thoroughly with a fork & chill in fridge.

When ready to serve you can top with green onion or nuts or both :)

When building your sandwich add iceburg lettuce for a cool crunch. Enjoy!