Ahhhh, the Holidays

Within the past few days I have spent more time baking two pies than it takes to make an entire Thanksgiving meal.  I locked myself out twice.  I ate way too much.  I learned how to rue.  I shopped at 3am.  I spent 4 hours standing in lines.

I sat outside of JCPenny with my dad at 2:45 this morning for the super doorbuster deal on a cozy pair of slippers.  We were the first in line.  We were the line. 

It was his "spreadsheet of savings" that brought us to the store, an organizational tactic you see in only the most seasoned Black Friday shoppers.  However, it was our rookie naïveté that lead us to believe we would actually have to fight an angry mob of shoppers for doorbuster cargo pants.

Needless to say, we got everything we needed without incident...but not without embarrassment.

Tips for future Black Friday shopping:

• If you will be standing in line outside, wear layers that can be easily removed.
• Designate a line holder while others shop.
• Fanny pack to hold water, mints, bandaids, air deodorizer.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Now here is a list of things I would like to be thankful for next month:

• Wii.   Adults can play video games too (Corey), as you will see in the following games I am also wishing for: Wii Fit, Trivial Pursuit, Super Mario Brothers.
• Nikon camera.  The small one.  So I can put it in my pocket and take impromptu pictures of mullets and mom jeans.
• Gym bag.  The cheap canvas bag I currently use is too small.  And it stinks.
• UGGs.  I am about four years behind in this trend, but it has taken me that long to NOT call them UGGlies.  Size 8.  Contact Corey for styles.  There are several to chose from.
• Title Nine vest.  Boss's daughter has one.  I'd like to copy her.  Contact Corey for more information.
• Long Johns.  I, um, get cold.
• Travel size Bible.  Because I can't nag myself about what I should be doing.
• Salt and pepper shakers.  No joke.  We use salt directly out of the tube it came in.  Very primitive.
• Purdue gear.  To combat all of the Notre Dame apparel I see daily.  Victoria's Secret makes a mean Boilermaker hoodie.
• Apple Macbook.  Yes.  This is pricey, but it would be a good time for long forgotten great-aunt Joanne to feel the sudden urge to revive the familial bond with her sister's daughter's daughter and make up for all the lost Christmases and birthdays.  In turn, I will make up for all the macaroni art she never received from me.  I think that's fair.
• Bernina sewing machine.  The mac daddy of sewing machines.  And why shouldn't I have the best?  My ability to put a pot holder together is totally professional.
• Queen's Greatest Hits.  Voted best band of all time by me.  Worst band of all time: Third Eye Blind.

That's all, dear, dearest friends.  May you have the most wonderful, blessed holiday season!

P.S. For shipping purposes, all major department stores have my address on file.  Thanksomuch.

The essence of Thanksgiving

Today I make pies.  Two pies.  From scratch.

They will be pumpkin pies, and I will use real pumpkins.

The crust will be golden brown.  Formed by my own (clean) bare hands.

And they will be gloriously delicious.

Have I ever made a pie before?  No.

Do I really expect these suckers to turn out?  Hecks yeah.

Stay tuned for pictures of me smeared with pumpkin goop.

For real.  I'm a mess.

An Ode to Weight Loss

Ah, last five pounds.

Your effervescence of triumph.

Toil and trial endured

Stinky sweaty towels litter the floor

I await your good news.

Last five pounds you can't possibly know

My joy.  My tears.  My struggle.

My brownie-less days.

Chocolate cake free nights.

I live on broccoli.

Last five pounds you know the words I long to hear.

"Eat up," you will never say.

For you are nothing but a glob of fat sitting on my love handles.

And fat does not have a mouth, or vocal chords, or lungs.

Yet there you still sit.

My sweet silent encourager.

My last five pounds.

by Stacie "Maya Angelou" Lucas

It's all a waiting game

Who can wait the longest for that $100 46" flat screen TV??

I'll tell you who can: me.

And my dad.

And anyone else who is brave-slash-crazy enough to park it in the dark, in the cold, for 5+ hours with nothing to entertain you but your own wit.

By "wit" I mean sarcastic remarks about frozen snot balls.

We'll be among the first to receive Best Buy's golden ticket of savings, giving us the opportunity to spend $200 and walk away with two microwaves, a DVD player, the first season of House, and a fridge.

This is all complete conjecture, of course.  I have never actually seen this coupon, as they are handed out to only the earliest of early birds.  However, I was offered one two years ago.  For $65.  This leads me to believe it either contains an abundance in savings or it is printed on gold leaf.

No matter, I will have one in my hand at 3:30am Friday. 

In my other hand will be a pastry of some kind.  Maybe a turkey sandwich.

Something to sink your teeth into

A little lesson on vampires, because I know you were wondering.

Vampires do exist, in the same way big hairy guys who like to romp in the woods call themselves bigfoots...big feet?

They are a group of people who are sensitive to light and crave blood.  Although this screams photophobia and iron deficiency, it's not.  Them's vampire symptoms. 

Fortunately, their manners have evolved from Bram Stoker's vampire, Count Dracula.  They now ask you for your blood.  And their diets have drastically changed from all blood to something more balanced that includes aura energy and a blend of fruits, vegetables and free range poultry.

I'm not sure if the original vampire, Mr. Dracula, would approve of these changes.  Because he isn't real.

Just like big foot.

They also don't wait to become vampires until after they're dead anymore.  It is so much easier to adjust fangs and apply black eyeliner when you have a reflection.  Honestly, haven't you seen a zombie picking up some milk at the grocery store with bedhead??  Em-barrassing.

Contrary to popular belief, not all vampires drink blood.  I guess you could call them veganpiresHAHAHA....never mind.  Instead of getting their energy fix from the blood, they suck it right out of the air floating around in someone else's comfort zone.  Although they usually ask first, I think it's safe to say if you're at work and feel tired you might be sitting next to a vampire.  Keep an eye out for your aura, just to be on the safe side.

Vampires are human beings.  Just like paler, more outwardly expressive versions of us.  They are not to be feared or ridiculed, but befriended.  I'd imagine if you're nice enough they'll tell you how exactly they eat corn on the cob with those fangs...

Healthy Eating

I love food.. pizza, pasta, chicken, steak, lobster, shrimp, pie, cake, creme brulee, etc..etc...

Judging by the conversation I had with Mrs Saratoga last evening, I might have to start enjoying all these items in the car on the way home from the office, or on the way to the local Irish Pub, or while walking downtown to shop. It's not longer welcome at 130 Regent, Unit 2.

If I had a tape recording of last night's conversation, you'd all pee your pants....it was that comical. There's nothing like listening to her tell me what to eat, and what I can't eat anymore(which is almost nothing according to her).

I'm all for eating healthy; veggies, fruit, salads, etc....but if I want a pizza every now and then, I'm going to have one!

The best part of the conversation though....(and I did my best not to burst out laughing while she was ranting and raving about this), but this is coming from someone who eats chocolate cake, brownies, mac & cheese, rice krispy treats(once ate an entire plate of them), my famous "garbage plate"(tater tots, topped with spicy meat sauce, mustard, chopped onions, and a side of macaroni salad), and the list goes on and on....none which are close to healthy. Now, I know she means well, and I'm happpy she wants me to live a long, healthy life, but come on, telling a person they can't eat pizza, or put sugar on grapefruit, or dip lobster in butter, or sprinkle salt on mashed potatoes....get real already!!

A canine complaint

Dear God,

My folks tell me you’re responsible for all the squirrels and cats running around outside. I have a few concerns I’d like to share with you.


First, the squirrels are jerks. They get me to chase them, and then they run up trees. This is not fair; I am not equipped to run up trees. Also, the one that I almost caught tasted like dirt. The dead one I play with at home tastes like polyester fiber fill. You might want to check your recipe.

Second, the cats are mean. And they have sharp feet. I’d like to say I enjoy our staring contests, but really they creep me out. I still haven’t recovered from the time that neighbor cat swatted at me and I screamed like a Pomeranian. It was scary, and the squirrels still laugh at me. Like I said, they’re jerks. Do the cats know I’m a dog and can eat them?

What I’d like are squirrels that are slow and dumb like my cousin Maggie and taste like bacon, and cats that I can snuggle with.

Thank you,
 
Oliver

Driving

I did a lot of driving this past weekend...traveling here and there, and had Mrs Saratoga (Stacie)with me....

Now, when I drive and have Stacie with me, there is more to just "driving." You have to negotiate punches from her. You see, when you make a sudden move to miss a deer, stop at a stop sign, or just brake for traffic, she believes these sudden moves are intentional, and done to make her sick....I'm not kidding!

She doesn't like driving with me, that's no secret. I have, however, come to realize that it isn't just my driving, its everyones, but.....I'm sure all the others are not punched or attacked in any way. I however am...usually there's a verbal thrashing, and sometimes its followed by a quick uppercut...or just a jab. The alternative is her driving.....in short, that means risking your life and many others....so I guess the beatings I take are well worth it afterall, I suppose I've possibly saved my own life, and the lives of many others!

The freedom of maturity

Boy, if you could've seen eighth grade Stacie. 

Those of you who have,  please keep all comments to yourselves.  Thanksomuch.

Fortunately, throughout high school I became less awkward, wore contacts, found clothing that was my size and did not make declarations of peace or show Kermit the Frog in his underwear.  I learned how to de-frizz my mane and gave up my rainbow colored shoelaces.

And thanks to my newly developed self-doubt and insecurity I also came up with new rules on parental public displays of affection and when playing in the snow with my kid sisters was acceptable.

I still wasn't cool (see marching band references), but I was pretty normal.  However, even that took hours of careful deliberation of what to eat, say and wear, and thousands of she-said-that-he-said-that-he-said-that-she-said-that-she-said conversations.  It was exhausting.

Hallelujah, those days have passed!

Now, I embrace the frizz. 

I wear a bright green jacket in the dull, dead winter.

I run like an idiot in the park with my dog.

I build lopsided snowmen with my dad.

I wear pajamas and slippers to the grocery store.

I am still very embarrased to ride around in my dad's '95 rust-mobile, but that's because I know one of these days it is going to die with me in it and I'll either be trapped inside or you'll see me in the middle of an intersection pushing the dang thing to the side of the road.  But I digress.

I eat chocolate cookies with little regard to my expanding...um, lower section.

And I wear things that are functional.  Like my winter boots.  With my nice work pants tucked in them.

Sometimes I miss those "carefree" days when I was a teenager, but not often.  I'm usually too busy running around, making a fool out of myself and loving every minute of it.

A note to the corporate offices of Taco Bell

To Whom It May Concern,

I appreciate the little bit of humor you add to my day every other week around lunch time.  Honestly, without the cute little sayings on my sauce packets, I would find nothing funny about my bean burrito minus red. 

However, now that they have their own little personalities, I feel bad tearing off a "limb", squeezing out its "guts", and just throwing it away as if our "conversation" (although one-sided) meant nothing.  I can picture my latest packet, who is afraid of the dark, sitting in the trash can wondering what it did wrong.  Was it too forward?  Too soon in the relationship to share its fears?  Did it scare me off?

So, although I felt a moment of happiness from that sauce packet, now I am racked with guilt.

Thank you,

Stacie

A general plea to the masses

People, please, let's practice good grammar.  Take advantage of your computer's spelling advice.  Because you never know if the person you are sending a letter, memo, or note to may have undiagnosed adult attention deficit disorder and is completely thrown off by the most innocently misplaced comma.

I'm speaking generally, of course.

Think about the recipient of that letter.  Is he or she going to read the same sentence 18 times and still not know your dog, John Charles, is sick because you did not separate his name from the rest of the sentence with the proper punctuation?

Is he or she going to eventually become so frustrated over incorrect verb tense that he or she must stand in a corner and rock back and forth while humming Journey songs until the world is right again?

All things to consider when drafting that "Dear John" letter, or the "..doesn't that skirt make Judy's butt look big?" accidental mass email.

We can all make a conscious effort to make good grammar choices so these silently tortured individuals can find some peace.

Speaking of adventures...

I love Christmas.  Love it.

I love the snow, the caroling, goofy snowflake sweaters, egg nog, the smell of pine, fighting old ladies for that last $5 Cuisinart crock pot, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, family, reindeer antlers for Oliver, watching Oliver try to pull off his reindeer antlers, etc., etc.

So, of course, I have been ready to put up our decorations.  Slight problem, we have no decorations.

Problem solved: The Christmas Tree Shop.  The store that has it all, from travel size wet naps to chicken marinades to butt-shakin' Santas.

I make the trip down to Albany and enter the store fully intending to browse for a future purchase(s).  Browsing turned into a handful, which led to a cartful, and that is where our adventure begins.

"I'm in line, it might be 20 minutes before I check out."

"What did you get?"

"Oh, just some Christmas decorations."

Brief silence.

"Is this going to start a fight?"

"It shouldn't, I found some good stuff."

"How much is it?"

"Don't know yet"

"It's not going to be over $20, is it?"

"If so, not by much."

The total came to $69.76.

Needless to say, this did not end well.  But we do have a lovely red and gold themed centerpiece on our dining room table.  Oh, and more dish towels.

Mr. Saratoga has returned

I'm back! Yup, that's right, Mr. Saratoga is back....


To all the daily followers; I took some needed time off, away from the blog....but good news, I have returned! I look forward to sharing many on my (and Mrs. Saratoga's) adventures with you all (well....the 4 or 5 of you who follow this)

From the pages of my recipe book

In the 53 days I've been married I have learned that a man appreciates a good home cooked meal.  The kind of meal where you unbutton and let the fly out a little, or forgo pants altogether. 

I have yet to cook this kind of meal, but I sense it would be well received.

So, for all of you newlyweds, pre-newlyweds, and wanna-be-weds, I'll give you a secret recipe I perfected myself that will make you and your man "wanna slap your mama.  But you won't."  (My pastor says that, I think it's true meaning is lost here in the north...)

Cozy Dogs

Prep time: 3 minutes

Cook time: 20 minutes

Ingredients
1 tube of Pillsbury crescent rolls
1 package of hot dogs
thinly sliced cheese (optional)

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350.  Open the tube of crescent rolls.  Follow instructions on the tube for this.  Unroll and separate triangles.  Lay triangles out on a large, ungreased cookie sheet.  Open package of hot dogs.  Take out a hot dog.  Lay hot dog across shortest edge of crescent roll.  Lay a strip of cheese  under hot dog, if desired.  Roll hot dog.  Repeat.

Bake dogs for 20 minutes or until rolls are a golden brown.  Let cool for 10-15 minutes.

From my kitchen to yours.  Enjoy.

P.S. Check back later and I'll tell you how to bake a delicious frozen raspberry turnover!

A week of epiphanies

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

When you drop something enough, like a cell phone, eventually it doesn't work anymore.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Just because you can, that doesn't mean you should. (ie, spandex, sheet cake, flame throwing, etc.)

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Expiration dates are not always suggestions.

Friday, November 6, 2009

The fourth of July will always fall on the fourth of July...and never on my birthday.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Rhode Island is neither a road, nor an island.  Ok, ok, so I stole that one from Saturday Night Live.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

If you must use your fingers to add and subtract, do it discreetly.  People tend to lose confidence when you don't know simple math.

Monday, November 9, 2009

A headache is your body's way of saying, "Please, no more chocolate today."

How much wood?

Here's something to discuss at parties:

If woodchucks do chuck wood, why would we wonder how much they could chuck if they could chuck wood?

So shouldn't the question be, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck when a woodchuck chucks wood?

Definitely not as fun to say, but much more accurate, wouldn't you say?

Thanks Kimberlie for making us all think a little harder about the important things.

Speaking of chopsticks...

...they are impossible.  Really.  And unless you've built up extra muscles in the meaty part of your palm and you can pop your shoulder out of its socket I wouldn't even bother trying to eat with them.

Wow, Stace, that's a pretty random topic.

Not so.  I just managed to finish off a plate of rice, using chopsticks, 8 grains at a time.  It took me so long, the first few bites have already been digested and the last few were cold.

So, although I have a great deal of respect for those who can eat their meals with chopsticks in under an hour, I am now forever grateful for the invention of the fork; the tool that neither teaches me patience nor encourages a healthy rate of consumption.

My application to the funny farm

Name:  Stacie Jo Di...um Lucas

Age:  27

Address:  123 Main Street #4, Somewheretown, USA 05906

Reason for applying to Beirkowicz Home for the Criminally Insane:  I'm 'bout to lose my mind.

Care to elaborate: Ok, so, this guy I'm married to, we'll call him "Raul," is starting to drive me crazy.  He's always made me a little nuts, like when he peels out of the driveway, or dances down the aisles of the grocery store, or farts right in my face.  But now that I'm living with Raul I'm subjected to more than my sweet, innocent, little ol' self can tolerate...and I just might pop him one.

What exactly is "Raul" doing:  Wow, this is a very specific application, um, he does this thing where he changes his mind.  On everything:  I don't like that guy, I do like that guy, let's invite him to dinner; I'd like a loofah, I'd never use one of those things; I hate that song, let's use that song for our first dance; I'll go with you to Carol's Halloween party, we're going to the Yankee game.  It really is very confusing. 

He also yells at random people he passes.  But not words, like in a language someone on this planet would understand, it's more like screeching and bleating...you know, like what goats and farm animals do.  It's loud, and the people he's harassing look at me as if to scold, "young lady, control your mentally-challenged brother."

I'd have to say, though, the one thing that puts me right over the edge and into Beirkowhatever territory, is the feet tickling.  I have sensitive feet.  You come near them and I'll scream like a gay man who just locked his baby in the car (Modern Family if you didn't recognize the reference...Wednesday nights...ABC...9pm, but I digress). 

Cor...I mean Raul goes after my feet meat like a bear goes after hikers with beef jerky in their back pockets.  For serious.  And what do I do?  I lose all control of myself.  My muscles go wild in a flurry of kicking, punching, and flailing.  Knock on wood laminate I haven't kicked out any teeth, his or my own.

This is why I am applying to the Beerenhoffer Home.  To save us both...from myself.

APPROVED

PSA to my readers

Hey folks, (and by folks I really mean mom) sometimes I don't feel good.  Sometimes I'm in a lousy mood.  Other times I just have nothing to say.  So if you log on for your daily dose of entertainment (I am flattered, though, that you miss my wit...occasionally, but I digress) and I have nothing for you, trust me, you most likely do not want to read what is really on my mind.

If I were to blog every single day, this is what you might find:

What is up with parents letting their whiney brats go through the aisles of the grocery store piling boxes on boxes of sugar snap candy dandy doos...or whatever they're called.

Yikes.  This is mean.

Or this:

So, my snot wasn't green today.

I think you get the idea.

Or there is the would-be-subject of today's post:

Yesterday Corey went to the grocery store to get chicken and he left without the chicken.  Woo!

See what I mean?  Some days I am just not funny.  And if you (mom) are going to pester me for new posts I just might tell you where to go.

...I meant the Cake Wrecks website since it's funny all the time.  What were you thinking??