It’s a Blizzard of Brides and I have White Out!

By Anna

“It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” - Rita Rudner

“White-out” is a term bridal shops use when women have tried on so many dresses that they can’t remember what they like…. or, for that matter, who they’re marrying. Right now, during wedding season, I have white out. At the end of the day the store looks like the aftermath of a bridal tsunami - dresses, veils, shoes, bras, slips, tiaras, Spanx, barrettes everywhere. I can’t remember if I’m at work, in a blizzard or just finished having sex.

This is the time of year when I would like to recommend naked weddings. Not only would it be cheaper, a naked wedding would show true commitment, don’t you think? If someone is willing to marry a person after seeing her/him upright, nude and in broad daylight, it’s got to be true love.

When I first started working at the bridal shop I thought I would encounter the famed Bridezilla, but turns out there is no Bridezilla – IT’S HER MOTHER. We call her the M.O.B.ster – the mother of the bride who tries to be bigger than life and direct everyone like Tony Soprano. She looks at price tags and acts like she needs smelling salts. She blabs on and on about her “little girl” and her own ancient wedding. These mothers come with so much drama I feel like I’m in a bad lifetime movie. Turns out, it’s my real life. 

But the brides are fun. Let me introduce you to a few:

Type A-nal Anastasia

These women come with a printed list of their favorite dresses. They have already registered and planned their entire lives. They know what they want – and usually it’s something to do with being a Disney Princess. They always buy. And they almost always cry.

Rock It All Roxy

These women look fabulous in anything - but have no idea what they want. They are tons of fun for my inner fashionista. Even though they rarely buy, dressing them up is like playing Barbies again.

Shit Kickin’ Katie

These gals are obviously country. (Remember, I live in Oklahoma.) If Uncle Dale ain’t preachin’ or they ain’t getting’ married out back then they’ll definitely be wearin’ shit kickers (AKA cowboy boots). These brides are easy. They never want a train on their dress and never cause a fuss. This is their one stop shop and they wanna’ get the hell outta there. My commission thanks them.

For your next bridal shower or bachelorette party, try playing the I'VE NEVER GAME.

I’ve Never...

One at a time, ask each party guest to admit something she’s never done before. Encourage everyone to be creative and wacky. For example, "I’ve never gone to a bar commando" or “I’ve never had sex on the roof.” After each admission, anyone who has done that particular act has to take a shot of beer (or whatever alcohol you want to serve). You may learn more about your girlfriends than you ever wanted to know which, of course, is the whole point.....

On the Road Again

By Tonia

“You said you 'n' me was gonna get out of town and for once just really let our hair down. Well darlin', look out 'cause my hair is comin' down!” - Thelma in 'Thelma and Louise'

I had to buy a new car last fall. OMG! I felt like I needed to go by the hospital to get a purse transfusion. But I had to do it. The old car was a 1997, AAA-loving vehicle of shame.  Everything on it made a noise except the horn. And it vibrated so much I got a massage whenever I drove. The dealership where I bought the new car didn’t appreciate the old car's quirks - the trade-in value didn’t even cover the new car's sales tax.

It was pretty trashed out, too. I used to blame my kids - but, after they turned 30, I couldn’t use them as excuses any more. Damn them for growing up!

But I did love that old car. Not the way guys love their cars, mind you, (guys seem as fascinated with cars as they are with boobs) but it was a dear friend. I embraced its quirks – the coat hanger antennae, the broken cassette player, the blue bubblegum embedded in the carpet. If it had been an outfit, it would have been an old comfortable pair of torn-up overalls.

My first car was a Volkswagon bug. I used it for both drivers’ ed and sex ed. Awww, sweet memories.... I accidently drove it over a wall once and made the newspaper. I drove that thing to death. Literally. It threw a rod on a freeway in California on the way to the beach. I didn’t let that stop me, though. I just hitch-hiked to the beach from the side of the road where I was stranded.

So, to celebrate vehicles and enjoy your girlfriends, get together and hit the road for a week-end! Pick out a destination or take turns saying “right” or “left” at each stop. While traveling make up names for yourselves and introduce yourselves to strangers with the made up names.

Don’t pack anything – just shop sale racks or thrift stores and drop your disposable clothes along the way. Be creative and leave your underwear in outrageous places – under a barstool, in a mailbox, in the microwave at a convenience store, etc. Enjoy! (And be sure to tell us every detail of your trip!)

My European Bathroom Curse

Estrofests is excited to host guest blogger, Grace Ballard. Grace is a social worker and a lover of hilarity and fun. She is an inspiration in her field and we are thankful for her contribution to women's parties at Estrofests!

by Grace Ballard
I call it my “European bathroom curse.” Classy, don’t you think?

It all began in Aviano, Italy. I was eight years old and at a party with my parents. A very inebriated lady had spilled her entire mug of beer on my skirt and my mother told me to go clean up in the restroom. (Children reeking of beer rarely make a good impression.)

I was intrigued by the beautiful old story book lock in the bathroom door. It had a large keyhole with an old antique key. I immediately forgot about my drunken skirt, enraptured by the fairytale key. I closed the door, turned the magical key, and pulled it out of the lock. BUT, instead of being transported to Cinderella Land, I entered Trapped-Inside-Bathroom-Hell. I couldn’t get the key back into the lock. It was a single room restroom with no crack under the door to crawl under. I banged on the door, the walls, the sink, anything to get somebody’s attention. Two hours passed before the owner of the restaurant finally heard me and let me out. He kept saying, “Gelato for the bambino. Gelato—no charge.”  He was my hero. He had freed me from bathroom prison. And the gelato was more than worth the incarceration.

BATHROOM MISHAPS.  Definitely women’s domain. Because our urethras are literally three times shorter than men’s, we have to pee more and, consequently, we hang out in restrooms more frequently. We understand automated toilets. You know – the kind that require you to jump up and down like a lunatic to make them work. Or the other kind that flush every 3 seconds and splash water all over your ass. This all happens whether you’re done or not. Hey, I want to be able to decide when I’m done.

My story continues.

When I was nineteen my brother and I flew to Germany to see my father. For the 13 hour plane ride I was in the middle seat between my brother and an unknown man. I remember the long lines at restroom - consisting of mostly women, of course. Near the middle of the flight I had to pee pretty badly. I had procrastinated going because there was a lot of turbulence, but the turbulence only added to my urgency.  I glanced back – no line! I rushed into the little stall, dropped my pants and began to experience that glorious relief of urination when swoosh - the door flung open due to the turbulence. Now, directly in front of me, was the male passenger who had been sitting next to me for the past 6.5 hours – and who would continue to sit next to me for the NEXT 6.5 hours. Couldn’t. Have. Been. Someone. Else. Had to be him.

On that same trip we traveled to Paris and, while in a lovely Parisian restaurant, nature called. But I was confident I could manage those cute little fairytale locks. Everything went well until I tried to unlock the door. And. Nothing. Happened. The walls began to close in on me. I started to panic. I began thrashing myself around the room. I threw myself against the door, and as I did, it flung open with a crash. Trying to look cool and walk away with some dignity, my father and brother were hysterical.  If other customers had not heard the door crash open, they certainly heard my unruly family members. My brother taunted me, “No gelato this time!”

Flash forward 11 years to a doctor’s office where I’m supposed to give a urine specimen. As a connoisseur of restrooms I admire the futuristic George Jetson design. But the lock is very modern with no discernible LOCKED position. I turn something and assume it’s secure. Midstream with legs spread and cup in hand, the door flies open. A middle aged man is standing there. He immediately shuts the door - but he knows and I know. Is that the end of the story? Of course not! A few days later this same man came to my workplace for a therapy appointment with me! During the intake he kept saying, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?  You look incredibly familiar.” Is bathroom familiarity a conflict of interest?

So turn bathroom chagrin into grins by having a few of your girlfriends over for a Bathroom Party! Here are drink and games suggestions:

Pee-in-a-Cup-Cocktail

Buy several specimen cups from your nearest pharmacy. Have each party participant write her full name on her cup’s label with a Sharpie marker. Then fill each with the following:

1 part Brandy

2 parts apple cider, chilled

2 parts Champagne

Toilet Paper Fashion Show

Split your girlfriends into groups of three. Hand each group one roll of toilet paper. Ask each group to pick a model and then have the groups design an outfit using only toilet paper. It can be timed 15-20 minutes. Then have a fashion show.

Pick Your Paper

Pass around a roll of toilet paper and ask each participant to take the usual number of sheets from the roll that they would use in the restroom. Don’t tell them why. After everyone has taken their sheets of  toilet paper, have each person to tell as many embarrassing/humorous true stories as the number of sheets they took.

Grace Ballard has a Masters Degree in Social Work and is working on her clinical social work license as well as her drug and alcohol counselor license. She currently works as a mental health therapist with children and families. She is a true believer in the power of humor as a way to cope with life on life's terms. She also believes in the power of cocktails, games, and girlfriends! 

HERstory - Not HIStory

By Tonia
"Well-behaved women rarely make history." - Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

I’m not a man-hater. (Really. I appreciate men naked in my bed as discussion partners.) But it is true that they still dominate – in the family, in law, in politics, in business, in government .... and in history. Women’s history month (March) is our opportunity to recognize women in history and to celebrate smart, gutsy and out-spoken women from the past.

When history is only told by the testosteronely-maranated half of the human race, the other side of the story is lost and the record is skewed. For example, Joan of Arc was not burned at the stake for heresy; she was burned because she wore men’s clothing. And Florence Nightengale was not known as the Lady with the Lamp; she was known as the Lady with the Hammer because she broke into supply rooms for medicines for her patients. And did you know that the owner of the Round Table was not Arthur but Guenevere? Duh. If Arthur had furnished the table he would have sat at the head and it would have been held together with duct tape.

Our current male version of prehistory gives credit to men for providing food to the tribe since they were the hunters. Hunting may have been a fun way to hang out with the guys but it was not efficient. Meat from a hunt came irregularly and could not be stored. It was women’s gathering (not men’s hunting) that sustained the tribe.

In honor of Women’s History Month, Estrofests celebrates women in history – especially the unruly, unmanageable ones - the ones who claimed their own bodies and who could not be silenced. Here are a few of our favs:

Princess Khutulun was described by Marco Polo as the greatest warrior in Kubla Khan's army. She announced that she would marry any man who could beat her at wrestling. However, if they lost they would have to give her 100 horses. She died unmarried with 10,000 horses.

Lady Godiva appealed to her husband, Earl Leofric of Mercia, over and over again to reduce his oppressive taxes on the people of Coventry. Weary of her nagging, he agreed - if she would ride naked through the streets (perv). When she did indeed ride naked, he removed all oppressive taxes.

Mae West, actress, playwright, producer, director, and sex goddess, never allowed her critics or her censors to sway her from being herself and maintaining strong artistic control over her work. When her apartment manager refused to let her African-American boyfriend enter her apartment, Mae simply bought the entire building.

So get your girlfriends together, dress up as unruly women in history, and inspire one another with the stories of smart, gutsy and out-spoken heroines! And to further inspire you, click HERE for a music video paying homage to Alice Paul and the generations of courageous women who fought to pass the 19th Amendment, women's right to vote. And tell us which women YOU admire from HERstory!

Bad Girls Badminton

by Tonia

“It’s the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time.” – Tallulah Bankhead

I'm not much of a cook. In fact, I wanted to turn my kitchen into an extra bedroom until someone reminded me that I needed a refrigerator for martinis. So why I was in charge of making the Cherries Jubilee for Bad Girls’ Badminton is still a mystery. And why I didn’t go look up a recipe is .... well .... probably because I was more interested in creating my Lisa Novak* costume than cooking. I knew, of course, that I needed cherries and alcohol. What could be easier? So, on the evening of the party, I threw a couple cans of cherries and a bottle of rum in a pan and lit it. It burned … and it burned …. and it burned …. and it burned. Everyone was smiling and waiting …. and waiting. Someone commented on what a great fire it was and suggested we roast marshmallows. Bitch. Finally smothered the flames with a lid and served the blackened cherries with ice cream and LOTS of warm rum still left in the pan.

So what IS a Bad Girls’ Badminton party? It is a fabulous girlfriends get-together that encourages  releasing your inner Bad Girl - you know the one - she’s in there cursing, getting laid, breaking a few rules. At the party we dress up as various Bad Girls and spend an evening whacking cocks….I mean, SHUTTLEcocks. OK, OK, you can call them BIRDIES.

But an important rule in our version of badminton is whenever someone misses hitting the shuttlecock (and this will happen FREQUENTLY) she has to curse with an original curse word – nothing that anyone has heard before. Each new curse word is then written down by the Curse Word Keeper. When the matches are over, the Curse Word Keeper selects her top 10 favorite curse words and the group votes to determine the #1 winning curse. Some of our winners have been “douch fart” and “syphilis stick.” Would love to hear yours!

*Lisa Novak, as you may remember, was the astronaut that drove from Houston to Orlando to confront her rival. She wore a diaper so she would not have to stop on the way. She was charged with attempted vehicle burglary, battery, and destruction of evidence.

Mommies Gone Wild

by Rachel

I am so outdated on piercings, I’m like a school marm from the 1950s. I have one hole in my left earlobe and one hole in my right earlobe. Talk about no imagination! So a few nights ago four girlfriends and I decided to get our belly buttons pierced. I know, I know, it wasn’t our nipples, but, hey, we wanted to be able to go public.

We piled into my friend’s minivan (nothing says cool like minivan) and went to a popular tattoo parlor - not to be confused with beauty parlor, ice cream parlor, or funeral parlor. We were greeted by a seedy looking building with bright neon lights, black tinted windows and pictures of dragons, skulls and swords. As we walked in, we heard a few snickers. OK, we might have looked a bit out of place with our mom jeans, striped sweaters and purses as big as diaper bags. Mr. I-Love-Pain-So-Cover-Me-In-500-Tattoos asked where the filming crew was for the “mommy’s gone wild” group. 

It was decided that I would go 2nd (the order being based on who was most likely to chicken out - I was voted the 2nd most likely to bolt). When it was my turn, I tried to do my Lamaze breathing and squeeze my friends’ hands but I couldn’t muffle the screams. The Inflictor rolled his eyes and muttered some rude comment under his breath. 

Got home and woke my husband to show him my piercing. He said I must be having an early mid-life crisis and asked if I was going to come home after every girls’ night out with a new piercing or tattoo.  Hmmmm…. Maybe an eyebrow or nose next? Nah, I will probably just stick with the ears and navel. 

But, if you and your girlfriends are considering a Girls' Night Out for tattoos or piercings, here is a little decision-making questionnaire for you:

-  Have I wanted this for more than five minutes?

-  Am I sober?

-  Do I miss the pain of childbirth or need to cry?

-  Have I taken my anti-psychotic medication today?

If you answered "Yes" to all of these, grab those girlfriends and some Liquid Courage (straight vodka is recommended) and go for it! And tell us about it!

Gratitude Attitude

by Tonia

“Life is like a sewer... what you get out of it depends on what you put into it.”
- Tom Lehrer

“I feel a very unusual sensation - if it is not indigestion, I think it must be gratitude.” – Benjamin Disraeli

I was recently challenged by a friend to consider writing down three gratitudes each day. I guess research shows that gratitude is linked to life satisfaction, self-esteem, hope, empathy and vitality. Who couldn’t use more of that?? My friend and I decided to text our gratitudes to each other for accountability. Crap - now I really had to do it! But I’m a big believer in positive thinking – positive thinking with a big irreverent, provocative twist. Here are some of my gratitudes:

I am grateful….

…..when I’ve peed just prior to a good laugh. It saves laundry.

…..that I am at an age where I can afford good vodka instead of that fermented potato water crap.

…..that no one can read the thought bubbles in my head. It saves me from sexual harassment charges.

…..for long-lasting batteries in my vibrator because … well, sometimes it just takes awhile ...

…..for the words “Fuck” and “Shit” because “Douchfart” and “Syphilis Stick” take too long to say and “Darn” just isn’t satisfying.

…..that long shirts are back in style because my muffin top just isn’t Pillsbury Boy cute.

…..for indoor plumbing - otherwise I’d be in deep shit more than I already am.

…..that no one shows up for my pity parties. They’re not Estrofests fun.

…..for the ability to laugh at myself because I never cease to be amused and entertained.

But I really do believe in intentional gratitude. So encourage your girlfriends to take the 30 Day Gratitude Challenge. Have them keep a daily journal of personal gratitudes and  then throw a party at the end of the 30 days to talk about it.

Ask everyone to bring a dish that they are grateful for. Create a gratitude tree as a decoration. Write each girlfriends name on a leaf and what you appreciate about her. Then talk about your journals. Here are some discussion questions:

- What did you learn about yourself as you wrote down daily gratitudes?

- What were the obstacles to keeping the journal? How did you overcome them? What does that say about you?

- Did you ever reflect back on previous gratitudes once you had written them down? What was that like?

- Did you ever share your gratitidudes with anyone? Who? Why? What was the outcome?

- Did you see any themes in your gratitudes (people, abilities, objects, etc)? What do you think this says about you?

Now tell us what YOU are grateful for in the comments below!

“You need to learn how to select your thoughts just the same way you select your clothes every day. This is a power you can cultivate. If you want to control things in your life, work on the mind.” – Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Room Motherzilla

by Rachel

I’m one of THOSE moms. The kind you love to hate. I’m a driven, obsessive-compulsive, competitive, do-it-up-big, overachieving, get-the-hell-out-of-my-way mom. If I could keep this at home I might actually get my closets cleaned but NOOOOOOOO, I have to take it public. I’m a homeroom mother.

As homeroom mother I organized the 3rd grade Valentine’s party this year. Spending weeks and weeks and weeks in preparation, my husband threatened to put valium in my coffee if I didn’t chill out. I. Couldn’t. Stop. Myself.

After all the prep work, it took me three trips to the school to unload all of the party crap items. Then I had to negotiate extra set-up time from the teacher because I had so much party crap stuff. When I actually got to the room and hurriedly started setting up, I broke out in a sweat. I then realized that, in my haste, I forgot to put on deodorant. No time now to run home. Had to improvise. I decided to use some anti-bacterial wipes.

As I was scrubbing my armpits with the vigor of an adolescent boy with his joy stick, the principal walked in. We made eye contact - followed by weeks moments of painful silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say other than “Would you like a wipe?”

The actual party was like crack sugar-addicted kids gone psychotic. That’s what happens when overachieving moms bring too many desserts. The Cupid game which was supposed to be kids shooting arrows at targets (but was modified due to the school’s no weapons policy) became the Cupid dart gun riot. Using straws to blow Q-tips, Q-tips flew flew through the air like poison darts in an African hunt!

When the party was over other parents had to load party crap gear in their cars and follow me home because, of course, it wouldn’t all fit in my car. Overachiever does NOT equal perfect mom. In fact, perfect moms are a myth – kind of like men who genuinely want to help out around the house – they don’t exist.

For your next girlfriends party, make these fabulous chocolate chip cookies and keep the Q-tips out of the kitchen:

Divine Chocolate Chip Cookies

½ cup cocoa powder

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup softened butter

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

¾ cup brown sugar

¾ cup white sugar

2 eggs

1.5 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 package of chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the cocoa powder, flour, baking soda, and salt. In a separate bowl, cream the sugars, butter, eggs and vanilla. Stir in the flour mixture. Add the chocolate chips. Drop by heaped teaspoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake 9 to 12 minutes, or until edges are golden brown. Allow to cool on the baking sheet for 1 minute prior to placing on a wire rack to cool completely.

Naked at the YMCA

Estrofests is thrilled to host guest blogger, Kerry Rossow. Kerry is a hilarious house blogger. If there is anything you want to know about houses and were too afraid to ask, she's your woman!  http://housetalkn.blogspot.com/ 

by Kerry Rossow

I've noticed some beautiful Valentine this year. Not one to be outdone, I thought I would share an ode to my mister. There are those moments in a marriage when you take that snapshot in your mind ...  the "This is why I love him" moments. Here’s mine:

We had taken our four little darlings to the YMCA for some family basketball and a quick swim. As we were winding up our nightly shenanigans visit, my mister offered, "Why don't I take the kids home and you stay here to relax in the women's hot tub?" By the time he uttered "hot tub" I was already sprinting toward the "Women Only" sign. In my rush I forgot that I had (literally) left my mister holding the bag - the bag with all of our suits - the bag with MY suit. I spent the next 37 seconds having a mental argument with myself. Here is a sampling of the thoughts that were flying through my head:

 - "It's almost closing time...I bet everyone else is gone already."
 - "I. Cannot. Get. In. There. Naked!" 
 - "Just do it, stop being a chicken!" 
 - "God is smiting me for making fun of the casually naked folks that stand around the locker room talking/drying hair/applying make-up/doing jumping jacks -while naked- as if doing these things NAKED is totally normal. Would you do these things while naked in front of house guests or in any other setting?" 

 - "Look what has happened to me! I'm afraid to get naked all by my d**n self in a women's locker room hot tub."

I finally threw caution to the wind, stripped down and climbed into the hot tub. A full 6 seconds passed before I heard the dreaded squeak of the door. I quickly positioned myself so that the intruder would not be able to see my ... er, situation.

Big mistake.

As Ms. Stepford bounced into the hot tub, in full make-up, coiffed hair and her very appropriate tankini, she was unprepared for what awaited her. Her smile quickly faded as we both stared at the wall for answers. She lasted in the hot tub for 9 seconds. She didn't even warn the young swimmer that she knocked over on her way out. 

That's right. 

Next up- a college hard body swimmer type. She also met the sneak attack. Not having the sophistication of Ms. Stepford to look away, Ms. Hard Body actually gawked. I could see that this was going to be a standoff. She was either too competitive to bolt or she was frozen with fear. I contemplated an attempt at conversation. What would I say? "Just you wait, this will happen to your body, too?" I knew that "You want a piece of this?" could be misconstrued. It was the creak of the door that put me over the edge ... sent me into naked freak out land. I couldn't take it anymore. I panicked. I bolted. As I was leaping over Ms. Hard Body Gawker, I assured myself that it couldn't get any worse.

Wrong.

The newest addition to my hell was a woman with a headscarf. The very picture of modesty had entered the YMCA locker room precisely in time to see a naked American woman flying through the air.  It took another 13 seconds to get dressed and perform the run of shame to the lobby. I was shocked to see that my family had just reached the lobby. Had all of that just happened in such a short amount of time? Was I in the Twilight Zone? 

Here is the part about why I love my husband. Besides the part about family YMCA nights, and besides the part about taking the kids home. My mister took one look at me and knew that this was no time for silly questions. He spoke the sweetest, most romantic words ever. "Kids, run for the van!" 

My gal pals and I look for any old reason to par-taay together. As the resident hillbilly, I host "Drinks in the driveway." My decorator friend hosts "Cocktails on the veranda." Our sporty friend plans "Get your game on tailgates" and now we apparently need to add "Get your clothes on!" par-taays. Here's a drink for it:

Ladies Only!

10 fresh mint leaves

1/2 lime, cut into 4 wedges

2 tablespoons sugar - or to taste

1 cup ice cubes

1 1/2 fluid ounces white rum

1/2 cup club soda

Directions:

Place mint leaves and 1 lime wedge into a sturdy glass. Use a muddler to crush the mint and lime to release the mint oils and lime juice. Add 2 more lime wedges and the sugar, and muddle again to release the lime juice. Do not strain the mixture. Fill the glass almost to the top with ice. Pour the rum over the ice and fill the glass with club soda. Stir, taste, and add more sugar if desired. Garnish with remaining lime wedge.

Kerry Rossow blogs at HouseTalkN where life's important questions are answered. Questions like, "When folks build a McMansion on a small lot, what are they compensating for?" or "Was the real estate agent drunk when they staged this house?" or "Why don't the Smiths' ever leave their drapes open when I am on a harmless walk-by?" Check out her blog HERE You'll be glad you did!

Singles Awareness Day – aka Valentines

By Tonia

“If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?”
- Anonymous

I don't understand why Cupid is Valentine’s representative. First of all, Cupid is a GUY – and most guys are not exactly experts in romance. Second of all, when I think about falling in love, I DON’T think of a chubby, half naked toddler aiming a weapon at me. And, lastly, has anyone noticed that Cupid rhymes with Stupid?

APHRODITE should be the symbol for Valentine’s Day. She was the Greek goddess of love. Instead of flying around shooting people, she actually brought a statue to life when the sculptor, Pygmalion, fell in love with it. THAT’S a love story!

I’ve recently reentered the dating scene - not to be confused with a crime scene. If Cupids are shooting at me I’m feeling the attack and not so much the love. On one recent first date the guy got mad at me for paying half the bill, threw my coat at me and walked out of the restaurant. You’d think he’d be happy saving some money! Another guy canceled our date before we even met because I didn’t answer his text message quick enough. (And they say WOMEN are emotional! Geez.)

So obviously I’m dateless on Valentines Day. But whether you’re coupled or single, celebrate your love for girlfriends by having a Girlfriends Valentines party. Use the party to -

(1) Celebrate healthy hearts by serving heart-healthy foods and disseminating information from the American Heart Association. Have everyone wear red.

OR

(2)  Revel in some naughtiness by drawing names ahead of time and doing a gift exchange of lucky red panties. Distribute playful discussion cards to keep conversations mischievous. Here are some starters:

Who is your dream lover?

If you could kiss a celebrity, who would it be?

What is your favorite romantic destination?

What is your most romantic dream?

What is your wildest sexual fantasy?

Who was your first crush?

What is the wildest thing that you have done, ever?

What is the craziest pick up line that you have ever heard?

What is the craziest pick up line that you have used?

Have you ever lied to your partner to avoid sex?

Scouting for Cookies

By Rachel

"Chocolate is an antidepressant, which is especially useful as you start to gain weight."  ~Jason Love

It’s here! The time that we harass and stalk our friends, relatives, neighbors, and any stranger that crosses our path - to buy Girl Scout cookies. My daughter LOVES being a Girl Scout, but I would rather put my hand through a meat grinder than try to hawk cookies. Here’s this year’s story:

Since I am a tax widow from Feb. 1 - April 15 (hubby is a CPA), I had to take my four year old son with us when we went door-to-door peddling the damn cookies. He was great for about the first 15 minutes (well, ALMOST 15 minutes) but then he discovered the excitement of going house-to-house ringing doorbells. He decided that HE was the only one who should ring the doorbells - which did NOT set well with his sister. So, each time we approached a house, the two of them made a mad dash to the front door, knocking over pots, yard art and anything in their way. One poor woman opened her door to a fist fight when my son punched his sister because she got there first and rang the doorbell. He was sent promptly to the wagon for “time out” but proceeded to open and sample three boxes of cookies while I wasn’t looking.

Between my kids sneaking boxes to their room and my own secret addiction to Samoas and Thin Mints, I am now out $52. My clothes don’t fit any more and I have to take afternoon naps after my sugar high. Thank God the cookies are only available once a year.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a cookie party. Ask everyone to bring their favorite cookie recipe and samples. It’s a great way to get your sugar fix and gather new recipes. But wear pants with elastic waists and leave the kids with their dads.

Homestyle Thin Mints

2 1/4 cups flour

1 cup white sugar


1/4 cup cornstarch


6 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder


1/2 tsp salt

1/3 cup milk


1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature


1/3 cup milk


3/4 tsp vanilla extract


1 tsp peppermint extract

10 oz. dark or semisweet chocolate


1/2 cup butter, room temperature

In a small bowl, whisk together flour, cocoa powder, cocoa powder and salt.

In a medium bowl, cream together the sugar and butter. Mix in the milk, and the vanilla and peppermint extracts. Gradually, add in the flour mixture.

Shape dough into two logs, about 1 1/2 inches in diameter, wrap in plastic wrap and freeze for at least 1-2 hours, until dough is very firm.

Preheat oven to 375F.
Slice dough into ¼ inch thick rounds and place on a parchment lined baking sheet. Bake for 13-15 minutes, until cookies are firm at the edges. Cool cookies completely on a wire rack before dipping in chocolate.

Dark Chocolate Coating: In a double broiler, combine chocolate and butter. Stir every 45 - 60 seconds, until chocolate is smooth. Dip each cookie in melted chocolate and then transfer to wax paper or parchment paper.  Wait until chocolate is set (cool and firm) before eating.

Makes 3 1/2 dozen cookies.