tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84177788161930461432024-02-20T14:21:00.347-07:00Deep Thoughts From Mollie McKennieBecause you can't make this shit up. Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.comBlogger348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-79934439929843162402012-02-29T11:47:00.001-07:002012-02-29T11:49:09.398-07:00Howdy, Folks!Holy God........I last posted a "Deep Thought" on January 19th, 2011. That was right about the time my very artfully crafted *CHOKING* world started falling apart. And frankly, there really was nothin' too funny about it and I wasn't feeling particularly eager to share the details of what went down. Let's just suffice to say that when a 23-year long relationship that involves a child ends, it is gut-wrenching. Soul crushing, confusing, primal-scream inducing.......you get the picture. The bottom line is that while I surely have had plenty a Deep Thought over the past year and some change (literally and figuratively), I'm not actually Mollie Christie anymore. I gave the "Christie" part back to that guy. It's McKennie now. Mollie McKennie is a perfectly good name. A rollicking kind of name really. Or the name of some woman who's cow tips over a lantern and burns down Chicago. Something like that. *NOTE TO SELF* BUY COW. I think I'd name it "Bossy". And get it a bell. Then I'd be "That Nice Divorced Lady With the Cow". But I digress. Isn't it nice to have me back to digressing again? Of course it is! It must mean I'm feeling much better. Which I am. WAY. Or maybe I'm just used to NOT being better. <br />
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</div><div>I will say this: when the proverbial shit hits the fan, you really DO find out who your friends are. I had a set of parents and a few very close friends who literally held me together when I didn't think I could do it myself and who helped me realize that I in fact COULD. There's some duct tape and glue involved but I'm still here. Yay, me and yay, Mom and Dad and yay, faithful companions with both two legs and four. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm not really sure what's going to happen to "Deep Thoughts" but I thought I would post something as I was (and remain) somewhat fascinated to look at the "Sitemeter" (a handy measuring tool for us blogging types) and find that people still read this stuff. Amazin'. Gots to go peeps........real estate to sell (we will have another blog about THAT with all kinds of handy tips and polite language and other fascinating information comin' at you hot fairly soon), cows to buy, etc., etc.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I have stated repeatedly, I LOVE me my Jacksta. Madly. That kid is gold. He was being a little punk yesterday when I informed him that NO he could not take $70 to the bowling alley so that he could play VIDEO games. Trust me, I do not bowl for my health. I bowl on rare occasion because the kiddies like it and yesterday was the last day of spring break and I thought something fun was in order. Good old family fun wherein the rest of the patrons look at you like you have a cucumber for a head. Apparently I don't "fit in". But that is not the point. The point is that SCHOOL HAS STARTED. And although I am not a Scientologist nor a Tom Cruise fan, as soon as I finish writing this entry, I am going to take of my pants but leave my socks on and start dancing around my house out of sheer and utter joy. Like having houseguests, school breaks last about three days too long. And in this case, when the rest of the world was slowly finding normal again, I still had two more days to go. Two more days of "I'm bored" and "Can so and so come over" and "I'm hungry". My most recent responses: Complaint A) "You have a home theatre in your bachelor pad. And two Nintendo DS's. And an iPod Touch. And a Wii. And an XBox 360. Figure it out". Complaint B) "Of COURSE so and so can come over. ANYBODY can come over if you'll stop whining". And Complaint C) "THEN GET YOURSELF SOMETHING TO EAT!!!!!!!!". Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a pony. So now, it's all good. And you can't get the smile off of my face. I'm going to actually do some WORK! And get my house restored to its normal state of disorder. And go into Jack's room with a hazmat suit and a blower. I'm not sure I want to know what's been going on in there for the past two weeks but I'm pretty certain it's not good. So to you all of you Mommies out there who like me finally have their domains back to themselves I say, "YEE-FREAKING HA!!!!!!!!!" Let the New Year begin. </div><br />
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-65029961233492707632010-12-31T11:35:00.000-07:002010-12-31T11:35:22.417-07:00Happy Poopy!!!!!!!Ahhhhhh, December 31st........how I have longed for you and now you're here! You're finally here! This poop-crusted mess of a year is just about over. I will not bore you with the details of my trials and tribulations but as far as years go, this one can bite me. I believe I said something similar in this space LAST year at this time. Oh, I hadn't seen anything yet. 2010 trumped 2009. Congratulations, ASS MUNCH. I would simply like to ask 2011 to go a little easier on my delicate constitution. While I am grateful for the gift of the truly wonderful people I have in my life (seriously......a girl could not ASK for cooler or more supportive friends and family........you know who you are.........) I would genuinely like to have a year in which I feel as though I am able to breathe. Breathing is good! Deeeeeeep, cleansing breath.......breathe in, breathe out. I think that it's easier to accomplish shit when you do not feel like you are being strangled by a gorilla 95% of the time. <div><br />
</div><div>That being said, I hope you kids all have a big, big time tonight. Be careful and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Although I'd do just about anything, so maybe you should exercise a bit more caution than that. In the words of my then three-year old cousin Ben (who was really saying a mouthful without knowing it) at the stroke of midnight many, many years ago, "HAPPPPPPYYYYYY POOOPPPYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!". Happy Poopy one and all! <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-84595879379830256692010-12-17T11:27:00.001-07:002010-12-17T11:28:10.991-07:00Over GiftingI'm pretty sure I wrote about this topic at this time last year, probably because it bugged me then just like it bugs me now. Let me first say that I really do like Christmas. Truly. I get that warm fuzzy feeling. Although that may be the wine. They DO say you should carry the Christmas spirit with you all year long. Not a problem here........thank you cheap jug wine! What I have really grown to resent is the expectation that you must come up with a gift for every person you have come into contact with EVER as well as their offspring and sometimes their parents and household staff where applicable. As we get older, this list gets longer and longer and more and more intimidating. Last year I finally put the brakes on it. It's not just a time sucker and financial drain, in most cases it is completely disingenuous. Buying a gift should be something you give with a happy heart and with the true spirit of generosity. When I'm finding myself buying a gift for a teenaged boy I have not seen in years that is probably going to simply grunt when he opens it and tosses it aside, I resent that. That's not the idea, I don't think. Most of my friends kids do not NEED anything. I'm sure they'll get plenty from their parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents, etc. In all likelihood, TOO much. They don't need a $25 iTunes card from some random friend or their moms in Colorado. And then there are MY friends. I used to rack my brain trying to come up with something cute and clever for women who really DO have everything. And keep in mind that I do not really have a ton of CLOSE friends as I'm more a "keep to myself" kind of a gal. The blog notwithstanding. If I like you though, I like you a lot. I'm more about quality than quantity. So, it's not as though it would tax me to find something for the three or four girls that I would actually give a gift to. It's just become the principle of the thing. I would much rather give them a box of cookies and candy that I made to enjoy and share with their family than give them something they don't need because I am supposed to. I'd much rather do something nice for them during the year when they need help. Or if I see something that just screams out for them in June, then I'll buy it. I'd much rather get an unexpected cool gift than an expected one any day of the week. While all of this ridiculous consumption may be good for the economy, I think it erodes the true spirit of giving. Bah humbug. <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-46179674649519640952010-12-16T10:17:00.000-07:002010-12-16T10:17:24.647-07:00PSAOh and one quick thing.......there's been a bump in Deep Thoughts traffic lately which is WAY cool. If ya like it, it's kinda like Beyonce says......put a ring on it! No, don't do that. But pass it along to your friends. Follow. Subscribe. "Like" on facebook. Share the love. 'Cause I love ya back. That concludes my shameless self-promotion for the day. <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-90395630410222470692010-12-16T10:07:00.001-07:002010-12-16T14:27:53.531-07:00Christmas Card<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_MBzeVNYumN6XM9HhaNbQ3Ev-t2uMJ0eaCGqlSEJs6ThNtMRNGT26OGm0ejwie5iP6d47_-atEYnU6e1_C_cVIZyFRG5dwaE7CNom7D88resZCFycRGTQGWDe4uj9G08A2UVbbzKK7s/s1600/IMG_4174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_MBzeVNYumN6XM9HhaNbQ3Ev-t2uMJ0eaCGqlSEJs6ThNtMRNGT26OGm0ejwie5iP6d47_-atEYnU6e1_C_cVIZyFRG5dwaE7CNom7D88resZCFycRGTQGWDe4uj9G08A2UVbbzKK7s/s320/IMG_4174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am not sending Christmas cards this year. Primarily because Christmas cards aren't just "Christmas cards" anymore. They are basically a picture of either your entire family or of your adorable children that shows everybody you know how flipping GREAT your life is. If you look really awesome, you are in the picture for sure. How your husband looks is completely irrelevant. He's just a guy in a turtleneck that completes the happy picture. If you look awesome and are incredibly successful, you will want to make sure that the photo in question was taken at some fabulous locale. "Oh look, honey! It's the Green's! They're repelling down Mt. Kilamanjaro! Even the baby! Isn't that cute!?" Gack. But I digress. I have an 11-year old boy. That's it. And as you can see from the last time I made an attempt at a Christmas card, he's a smart-ass. It doesn't go well. "Look angelic, you little cretin" only goes so far. And after just announcing that if you yourself are in the Christmas card photo you must think you look tremendously tremendous, I sure as shit am not going to hop into the frame. What I should do, and very well might now that I think of it, is assemble my family and go stand in front of a trailer park or something. There's one around here called the "Flying Saucer RV Park" and the sign features an alien. If I can get somebody to take our picture you'd better believe there will at LEAST be a Deep Thoughts Christmas card photo comin' at ya hot. Stay tuned. I'm going to go scout out the location. </div><script type="text/javascript">
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">That's correct, the Grinch has beaten Jesus on his own turf. If you still believe there is Christmas spirit left in America, get off your meds or sober up because it's gone. Some may find my views bitter and twisted, yet they are that of a true realist scorned due to his once kind being.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Growing up as a youths during the 1970's, most have fond memories of what Christmas was. Towns decorated with festive lights, a nativity scene in front of the public library, neighbors who actually knew each other by name getting together for caroling. There was no such thing as last minute gift shopping on Christmas Eve. Retailers were closed and at home, where they should be, with family. A Christmas day movie at the cinema was unheard of. Yes, those thoughts almost make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, even without liquor. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I must ask, where the hell did Christmas go?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Last year I had to run into the Meijer Thrifty Acres, now just called Meijer's, on Christmas Eve for some last minute food crap. First time ever I noticed they were staying open until 10PM that night. Nothing pisses me off more than chains and retailers who work their employees on what should be family time. As I'm a regular, I know most of the staff including the special needs greeters. On my way to the checkout I grabbed an extra bottle of wine for my favorite cashier. After a nice chat about what assholes she worked for I paid and gave her the bottle of wine wishing her a Merry Christmas. She immediately refuses my simple gift token due to it being against corporate policy and she would get fired. Fired for a regular customer giving a diligent, nice store employee a gift???? Screw any motivation for good genuine customer service. No no no, this certainly was not happening and I went and found the manager. To my dismay, the manager reiterated corporate policy is no items purchased from the store can be accepted by employes from patrons as gifts. I then asked if I went across the street to Stinky's party store ( I don't know the actual name of the party store I just know it smells like ass inside ) and bought a bottle of wine for her as a gift could she accept that? Perplexed, the manager was not sure however he was too busy to look it up. His suggestion was to just wish her a happy holiday and not get her in any trouble. At this point I was crazed and told this asswipe “it's not a holiday, it's fucking Christmas!!! If I cannot give a simple gift to one of your employees who works her ass off and always is glad to see me, corporate America has fucked up Christmas beyond repair.” </div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Sadly, the bottle of wine I purchased with the intent of giving it to the cashier was the good kind - corked verses a twist off cap. This made drinking it during my frustrated drive home not in the cards. The time was around 6PM. As I ventured along, I noticed McDonald’s, Chili's, Taco Bell, Lowes, all brightly lit and open for business. Seriously, people need and want fast food on Christmas Eve? For that matter, who the hell is going to be doing home improvements the night before Jesus pops out??? As I passed our town library, there was no nativity scene or even one single sign near it that it was Christmas. My town is 98.7% white Christians. Who the hell are we going to offend by putting baby Jesus on the library front lawn??? This kinda shit didn't happen 30 years ago.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I could ramble more, but Christmas as we once knew it, is gone. On the bright side, maybe they will start letting us be nice at Easter since it is celebrating Jesus's death.....</div><div><br />
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-17199431888611440692010-12-15T12:30:00.000-07:002010-12-15T12:30:18.872-07:00Get Ready for Brainer.........Yikes........I haven't posted this much in a day in forever. Most of you may have noticed that my last post was originally entered LAST December. However my very dear friend Brainer sent me a "guest column" if you will, and it caused me to recall "Ho ho ho, Dumbass". I read it again. And I stand by it. And I also remember why I got kicked off the board of the PTA. Stuff like that entry. And making fun of mom jeans. You'd think wearers of mom jeans would have thicker skin. Hey, I calls it like I see it. If you don't like it, I'm pretty sure you don't have to read it. Recall the person who asked me to please clean up my language. Answer? NO. Anyway, I will be posting Brainer's thoughts shortly. He is an even bigger smartass than me but he also has some interesting shit to say. Oh and PS? Remember to "Follow" the blog if you don't already. And "share" the stuff you like on facebook. And if you don't participate in facebook, forward links to your friends. You're like Mollie's Little Helper's. Well, you and those pills my doctor gave me. They help too. <script type="text/javascript">
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I am sorry but there is a BIG difference between a sick man and a sick woman. As cliche as it may be, it's freaking TRUE. Those of you who are facebook friends of mine are aware that Dave has been sick. He came home from work yesterday and said, "What did you say about me on facebook?" Uh.......I say LOTS of stuff about him on facebook. Apparently the remark in question was in regards to his terrible illness. People at his office were surprised he was not hospitalized given the gravity of the wasting disease described in my posts. When I explained to him that I was simply pointing out that he was horribly ill, (and yes, making fun of him) he said, "That's SUCH a woman thing". Well, being a big fat baby when you're sick is SUCH a man thing. NO PERSON HAS EVER BEEN SICKER THAN A MAN WITH A COLD. It's not just Dave. It's my dad, my brother, my male friends, my friend's husbands, etc., etc. For some reason a sick male (a notable exception being your sick male child......it's a mommy thing) is extra annoying. Maybe it's that our female brains are wired to need our males to be capable and strong. Provide and protect and all that. A sick man is neither capable OR strong. More like a big lump with a box of Kleenex. Scratch that. A MOANING big lump with a box of Kleenex. That sneezes and coughs. It's not that I'm lacking a care-taking instinct. I was not berating him while he was feeling poorly. I asked him if he needed anything, fetched him water, and procured his medications. I even asked him if he would like something special to eat. Oh, and bought him popsicles. POPSICLES, PEOPLE!!!!!! That's above and beyond. But appropriate levels of compassion notwithstanding, I think a big factor in our lack of ability to fully sympathize is this: CHILDBIRTH. Nothing you can do, men........cold, flu, loss of limb will ever make up for the fact that for nine months or more we chicks were pregnant. And then either physically forced a child out of our bodies or had them surgically removed. Splayed open like a halibut I was. So maybe that's what it's all about. Poop out a bowling ball and then maybe we'll feel a little worse when you start sniffling. Maybe we're just a pack of bitter battle axes. But probably not. Or maybe it's the one time a man can let his guard down and be vulnerable. You don't have to be big and strong when you be illin'. You can revert to being a sick little boy in footy pajamas. And maybe you just want your mommy. But your wife is not your mommy, unfortunately and maybe that's why we aren't capable of treating you as such. Ahhhhh, geez......I can hear him about to hack up a lung. Better go check on him. And call 911. Dispatcher: "What's your emergency?" Me: "My husband has a cold". Dispatcher (speaking into radio): "Flight for Life??? We have a pick-up in Morrison. STAT." <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-59033230588345951782010-12-09T10:18:00.002-07:002010-12-09T10:21:05.959-07:00Single Parent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopkIr6OaGoOCvvqHuPgc3nUyuL8fEkwQ2VlnX-KxmKbW_oatsUCQ-F_0duFIBb0IU4XC4kZQTwVWn99gZo_xmx1_CF4Tg3V4_ghScifWqVM_MjwCere7aCn-eovswKCoN1VvPnUpU0cI/s1600/IMG_0224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopkIr6OaGoOCvvqHuPgc3nUyuL8fEkwQ2VlnX-KxmKbW_oatsUCQ-F_0duFIBb0IU4XC4kZQTwVWn99gZo_xmx1_CF4Tg3V4_ghScifWqVM_MjwCere7aCn-eovswKCoN1VvPnUpU0cI/s320/IMG_0224.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Well, it's Thursday everybody! The college kid and bored housewives portal to the weekend! And I'm looking forward to it actually. You see, last weekend Dave was in Michigan for a couple of shows. He's a rock star, in case you didn't know. Well, a guy with a guitar that gets paid money to sing. He's also a real estate broker so that kinda disqualifies him as "rock star" per se. He'll rock your world! Then show you a nice bungalow in Berkeley. Recently remodeled! And then he'll smash a guitar. But anyway, he was in Michigan. His being in Michigan did not bother me so much. What did bother me was figuring out what to do as a "single parent" with my eleven-year old son. I realized that a lot of what goes on around here on the weekends is sports related. It's Dave and Jack watching college football on Saturday. And NFL football on Sunday. And college hoops in between. And when there is a commercial, they are throwing a football around my living room. It's a lot of man shit. So I'm wondering what in the HELL I going to do all weekend to entertain this child. I should have been more worried about entertaining myself. He was plenty occupied. He had his friend over on Friday night. I actually had a friend over too. Sat in the kitchen and chatted while the kids were downstairs. So that wasn't so bad. Saturday morning I made him breakfast and he chilled while I did typical housewife crap. Including running around the back yard frantically waving a piece of pizza in an attempt to save Grady from a gigantic elk. *SEE PHOTO......do I lie?* Then his friend came over. They hung out until it was time to leave for the movie I had promised to take them to that afternoon. We stopped at Walgreen's as in a cost-cutting move, I have started smuggling their candy and drinks into the theatre. Hey, I'm still buying tickets. And popcorn. I'm not completely bucking the system. I'm just walking into a theatre with a gigantic Coach purse that looks like there's a bobcat about to bust out of it at any given second. No biggie. So, we settle into our seats. Eat some corn. Can't take the contraband snacks out until it's dark. I find myself getting sized up by the very obviously single dad's who are trying to entertain the kids they have for the weekend. Kinda like me. Except I'm not single. I should really look into this wedding ring thing so that I can avoid getting the raised eyebrow from imabigfatbalddivorcee.com Ewww. Bottom line, the movie, Megamind, sucked. Jack said, "Wow. That was a big waste of Will Ferrell's talent". Aptly put, Gene Shallot. BUT, it blew some time. We go home. His friend wants to stay. That's cool. But nobody wants to play with me. My friends were either out of town or going on dates with their stupid husbands. Smug marrieds. The kids are downstairs. I offer to make them a nacho bar. That's how bored I was. They come to the kitchen, get their delicious nachos and go downstairs. And start jamming music. Oh, and playing Twister. At this point I realized how truly pathetic my life had become. Well, my Saturday but "life" sounds more dramatic. I wanted to play Twister with MY friends. At this point it's like 7:30. I decide that in a show of protest and self-pity, I will put on my flannel pajamas, get a blanket and sit on the couch. With a Diet Coke. I refused to participate in the nacho bar. It was kind of a hunger strike move. Like the kids cared. So I'm on the couch, watching Sex and the City. The movie. I had sworn I would never watch that simply on the principle that it's retarded. But it made for a good visual. Me, on the couch, in the flannels, with the blanket. Watching Sex and the City. All that was missing was the pint of Haagen Daz. Reference aforementioned hunger strike. It was like I was sick but I wasn't. Sick of that freakin' Saturday, alright. Suffice to say, Dave got home just in time for the Lion's game on Sunday and there was much rejoicing. Being a single parent is not for the faint of heart. Or the easily bored, spoiled girl who is used to having people around to entertain her and do her bidding. Dude. I had to rub my own bunions. And that's just not cool. So happy weekend, everybody! Mine is looking up. <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-45578841187109910132010-12-08T10:04:00.002-07:002010-12-08T10:51:25.894-07:00Spinach Potato SoupI think because I was such a slacker for several months with Deep Thoughts, you guys all missed my "Formerly Fabulous Thrift Initiative" in which no food is left behind. It's kind of a game. And I have all sorts of awesome food in the freezer. I'm working on another blog that focuses on that crap specifically. In the meantime, I'll drop my little culinary bombs on you here at Deep Thoughts HQ. "I dropped a bomb on you......baby......". I was just in my pantry and what to my wandering......I mean wondering........eye did appear but a shit-load of potatoes that were about to turn the corner!!!! So I put on my Formerly Fabulous Thinking Cap (the cap is still fabulous.........I have my standards.......) and came up with THIS: I'm gonna peel those terrible tubers and make two things: <b>Spinach Potato Soup</b> and <b>Potato and Cheese Enchiladas</b>. Because I have a freaking crazy day (fucking charity work.......fucking Pilates.......fucking Christmas.......) I will post the recipe for the soup now and hopefully can sit my ass down and crank out the enchilada recipe for ya this afternoon. As an interesting aside, "<i>This recipe is one that the US Department of Agriculture used to distribute to potato growers in the 1930's. It is rich and thick, almost a meal in itself and is very easy to make".</i> Dude. That's old-timey. <script type="text/javascript">
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<div><br />
</div><div><b>Spinach Potato Soup</b> </div><div><br />
</div><div>(<i>serves four......I usually double this recipe 'cause it's doubly delicious)</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>1/2 cup fresh onion (as opposed to an onion that's been festering in the sun)</i></div><div><i>2 T butter</i></div><div><i>2 c water</i></div><div><i>1 t salt</i></div><div><i>2 c potatoes (about 1 lb raw potatoes......yo' Idaho.....)</i></div><div><i>2 c cooked chopped spinach, fresh or frozen</i></div><div><i>13 oz can of evaporated milk</i></div><div><i>1 T Worcestershire sauce</i></div><div><i>1/2 lb grated cheese (cheddar or Swiss......or a both......)</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>In a 3-quart saucepan, sautee the (fresh!) onion in the butter until the onion is translucent (about three minutes). Add water, potatoes, spinach and salt. Cook until potatoes are tender (about 20 minutes). Add milk and Worcestershire sauce. Reheat to near boiling but do not boil. </i>*at this point I usually take a "boat-motor" and puree the soup so that the potatoes are not in chunks, but do what ya like* <i>Stir in cheese and serve! </i></div><div><br />
</div><div>So there you go. I've got butt-loads of soup recipes. Perhaps I'll start a little something we could call "Soupy Sunday's". Although depending on your Saturday evening that could have a different connotation. Which is why I need a separate blog for the food stuff. Sometimes the Deep Thoughts are not conducive to a hearty appetite. Oh well. </div>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-69475650803559726742010-12-07T10:48:00.001-07:002010-12-07T10:48:53.953-07:00Help!Hey Guys! Just wanted to take a sec before I head out on my day of madness to say a big "THANKS". Since the blog has been back, I've received SO many nice emails, comments, etc. That shit really does warm the cockles of my stony little heart. And it makes me want to keep doing this. When I first started this thing, I figured I'd just be doing it for myself and a few friends who inexplicably find my trials and tribs amusing. So it's been a really big surprise to find that other people kinda like it too. This blogging thing is all about numbers. Big numbers bring you advertisers. And if I have advertisers, I can blog my little heart out. Actually get this to the next level. Videos! Recipes! My friends doing wacky things! So what I need from you, my friends, is to take a sec and "share" any Deep Thoughts you may enjoy on your facebook page. Or just tell your friends. Any help I can get would be appreciated tremendously. And if you don't like them, you can print them up and wipe your bum with them. It's a free country. And it's better than a corn cob. Trust me. <script type="text/javascript">
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And another tree. And little mini trees. These trees eventually developed themes. With names like "Fruity Woodland Splendor". I shit you not. Fruity Fucking Woodland Splendor. There was a tree covered with silk magnolias, white doves and a gilded bird cage as a tree topper. That one didn't have a name but if it did it would be something like "This Woman is Bat Shit Crazy". So this crap goes on until Jack was crawling and sticking anything that was not nailed down into his mouth and knocking shit over. That's when the "good" ornaments started moving up the tree. As any good tree trimmer knows, it's all about balance. So the tree(s) starts losing a bit of luster. But then the kid gets older and order is restored. There are a few good tree years there. Until the kids start getting interested in "helping". Oh God. This is a REALLY sticky wicket because tree trimming is supposed to be a warm, family activity of Rockwellian proportions. It's not supposed to be about showmanship, right? Wrong. Jack "helped" this year as he has since he was able. This helping involves putting the ornaments that I always consider "back of the tree" front and center. And grouping things together. Like ALL of the state of Michigan sports related ornaments together. And everything he ever made at school together. So you've got Detroit Lions and Red Wings ornaments in one group and balls of yarn in the next. Again, in the front of the tree. Thus begins the stealth operation I've begun to think of as "The Dance". The Dance often involves the art of distraction. "Oh look! There's a bat in the house!" Move an ornament. "Oh look! A naked lady!" Move an ornament. Because it is very, very important that the kid does not realize that you have moved an ornament. I'm not sure why, but so far Jack is not on to me. Eleven-year old boys are not all that detail oriented it seems. Once it's up and on the tree, it's out of his mind. Thank God. I'm still fighting the good fight. Sorta. I am down to one tree. This may be an indication that I am reaching the next stage in which you start relinquishing control. My friend Bethany posted a picture on Facebook of her family tree. In a bold move, she let her husband and kids do the trimming. She even left the house. The result was actually rather charming. Colored lights on top, white lights on the bottom and most of the ornaments clustered around the middle. And in groups. She posted a picture of a few angels together. She said her kids probably thought the angels were too insecure to hang out by themselves. Maybe next year I myself will be secure enough to let Jack and Dave take the wheel. But of course, there will come a time that Jack has no interest whatsoever in the tree. He'll be too busy being a belligerent teen to give a crap about ornament placement. And then I'll have my tree back. Can you say "Wintery Pheasant Phantasy"? Of course you can.Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-22101167028504462782010-12-01T11:37:00.000-07:002010-12-01T11:37:51.866-07:00Donkey Show Part DeuxOkay, so the donkey sale continues. I don't think they've had any takers. Which is surprising as for $95, why WOULDN'T you buy a donkey???? It has been suggested that I could stick some antler's on their heads and have them mill about as reindeer during the month of December. Then I came up with the super-great idea of staging a LIVE NATIVITY SCENE in my front yard. I initially thought that I would play the Virgin Mary. But then I was struck by lightning and thought better of it. But surely I could find some hapless spinster to stand there and hold Jack, who will be very convincing as the baby Jesus. All 105 lbs of him. His initials ARE JC after all. And Christmas Eve IS his "half-birthday". He thinks he's got one up on us because he's convinced us that people get "half-birthday" presents. The joke is actually on him as it's CHRISTMAS, dummy.......you'd get to open a present on Christmas Eve ANYWAY. Nothing like pullin' one over on your kid. PSYCH!!!!! But back to the donkey thing. If I can't pull off the live nativity scene (complete with beer sales to the passing parade of cars........gotta turn a profit......if that's illegal we can sell burritos) I have some other ideas. Our country club could buy the whole damn donkey herd and use them as caddies. We'd be known as "that club with the donkey's". Which would be pretty sweet. Barring that, I believe I will simply purchase a donkey and ride him naked through the streets Morrison. That'll get 'em talking! Oh wait. Nevermind. <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-69182967120616919592010-11-29T14:53:00.001-07:002010-11-29T15:00:44.461-07:00Maggiano'sThis entry could alternately be titled "The Disgruntled Nine Top". 'Cause that's what we were. You see, as my parents have been in town for the Thanksgiving Holiday, we decided it would be nice to go out en famille before the oldster's hit it back to AZ until the next 'round of togetherness in a few weeks. So my sis-in-law called Maggiano's to make a four o'clock Sunday reservation. I could hear the discussion now.......Mom: "Oh.....let's go to Maggiano's......Dad LOVES Maggiano's". It was confirmed that this is EXACTLY the conversation that lead up to the decision to dine at this family style Italian establishment. Normally I'm not one to eat that early but whatever........we had two old people and three kids, so I wasn't about to protest. We were to all meet up the restaurant prior to our reservation. In a shocking turn of events, MY part of the family was actually early, so we sat at the bar and had a drink. I noticed Dave, who is not the most particular of gentlemen, swipe a used straw and napkin away from him. I would also like to point out that this place was not at all crowded and had a bunch of waitstaff just standing around. Dave actually commented that you would think one of the people walking around would have wiped off the table tops. We chalked this up to an oversight, and when the rest of the family arrived, we were escorted to a large table in the back corner. Now, normally we have had to frequent a joint before they know to stick us in the back and away from the more civilized diners. None of us had been to this particular Maggiano's (it's a chain, for the uninformed) before. Oh well, big party......guess they had noplace else to put us. In this largely empty restaurant. So we sit down. Eight of the nine plates set out were dirty. Not "Oh a water spot" dirty but "Oh shit, that's somebody's denture's" dirty. We are not a very particular bunch. No silverware checkers here. So we're sitting there. And sitting there. Around 4:15, Dave went to inquire as to where our server might be as no one had yet acknowledged our presence. Everybody knows that if you're demanding satisfaction, you send the guy in the turtleneck. A turtleneck screams authority. A couple of waiters came over and gave us bread and water and announced that they had no idea where our server might be. Around 4:25 and after another round of trips to ask for manager's, etc. our waitress limps (no lie) over and apologizes for the wait but that she was on her break. Uhhhhhhhh.......okay. So we order drinks and immediately order our meal as well. Drinks come back. She's got my vodka tonic, the kid's Shirley Temples, my dad's martini, my mom's wine and Dave's bourbon. My brother, who had ordered a beer was informed that "they are changing the keg". His reply? "I bet they weren't changing it twenty minutes ago". My sister-in-law, who had ordered a glass of Chard, was given something pink. Back that goes. A few minutes later, we hear a crash. My brother: "That was probably my beer". The odd thing is, she eventually brought him a bottle. Thought they were changing the keg? So, everybody is somewhat pacified because we have our cocktails (I was quite happy that we had arrived early and were one up on everybody in the drinks department) and we're trying to have a good time. A car horn starts blaring right behind us. Some smart-ass says, "It's probably our waitress". Now, most of us had worked in food service and understand when you have "one of those" tables. Some people are just asses. We are not. Trust me. We're pretty easy-going fun-loving sorts. This girl just sucked. We did feel for her though as you could tell that every time she was forced to stagger up to our table she would rather have crawled into a hole and died. Still. You're in the wrong business, Hoppy. Eventually, after several more ridiculous turns of events, my dad goes up and talks to the manager. We're all just sitting there wide-eyed. He apparently demanded an "adjustment" and the card of both the manager on duty and the GM. When he came back to the table, my mom said, "Did you give him YOUR card???" which was met with laughter because as my brother said, "Your card saying WHAT???? Disgruntled Retireee????" Which is apt as my dad has been retired since he was in his early fifties. One way or the other, we had to get through the meal and it was hard knowing that all of the other servers were looking at us and referring to us as the said, "Disgruntled Nine Top". Which of course, we were. The good news is that when the server came over to give us what we thought was the bill, it was announced that it was all taken care of. I should have had more to drink. And I don't really think dad loves Maggiano's anymore. <script type="text/javascript">
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</script>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-14499224341281181862010-11-23T08:23:00.001-07:002010-11-23T08:30:45.569-07:00Bristol Pailin and the TSAI honestly think I am just going to stop watching the news altogether. It seems like the media grabs onto a subject and it's like a dog with a bone that it has to gnaw into oblivion. First we had the Chilean miners. That was actually a pretty cool story and I didn't mind that coverage because shit man, they were trapped in a MINE. Big human interest story. But then we had the Carnival Cruisers. They had to eat Spam. Waaahhhhh. Although Spam is pretty gross. We have now moved onto Bristol Pailin and the TSA and the "don't touch my junk" dude. To address the former: WOW!!!!! Shocker!!!!! The Tea Party movement is suspected to be supporting Sarah Pailin's daughter!?!?!?! WHO DO YOU THINK IS WATCHING A BALLROOM DANCING SHOW????? Urban liberal hipsters wearing berets in coffee shops? Do hipsters still wear berets? I'm guessing that show has a pretty conservative base. Call me crazy. I don't think there a bunch of lefties trying to decide whether they should climb a tree and live in it or stay home and watching Dancing With the Stars. That being settled, let us move on to the TSA. First of all, I saw the guy with the "junk". I wouldn't want to touch his junk. I'm pretty sure that touching some doughy white dude's naughty bits was not on that TSA agents bucket list. Eewwww. I do agree that some of this patting down has gone too far as evidenced with the guy with the urine bag thingy. That would suck. That being said, you can stick a cattle prod up my ass if it will keep me from being blown into smithereens. You've got some pretty short memories out there, American public. Remember 9/11? The paranoia and fear? People swearing to never fly again? That event changed the face of air travel and you actually may have to deal with a bit of inconvenience. It could save your life and prevent a whole lot of suffering. Put up with the groping. It might be fun. My dad says he is going to try to go through twice.Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-61007543889478868982010-11-18T06:10:00.008-07:002010-11-18T09:58:08.345-07:00Mommy's Little TweenagerI have just pulled an all-nighter. NO I was not out shaking my bad self around at a club with a boomin' system and bottle service. Besides, I live in Denver. They roll up the sidewalk at 2 am and considering that I am normally in bed by nine, that is just Jim-dandy with me. The reason for my sleepless night? My baby is sick. He started saying that his stomach hurt around dinner time. My baby is not one to miss a meal willingly. The vomiting started around 8:30 and pretty much only just now stopped as he has fallen into a resigned and fitful slumber. I was lying in bed with him around one in the morning and I said, "Do you want me to stay with you or go and just come back and check on you?" and he said, "I want you to stay with me mommy". He NEVER calls me "mommy" anymore. Uh, arrow through heart? I'm up for the duration. He had me at "I want you to stay". The funny thing is, for those of you readers who are not aware, the baby in question is eleven. A fifth grader. A full-on tweenage boy. That sometimes still wants his mommy. The paradox here is rather striking as I have been feeling the beginning of that inevitable (and admittedly parentally painful) separation between mother and child. I have become embarrassing. Well, I always have been embarrassing but he's just getting hip to that fact. Rewind to last August. Jack's at the pool. I stop by to check in and see what's what. He's sitting at an umbrella table having lunch with his homies (more about his extravagant country club cabana spending habits in another post......this one is supposed to be warm and fuzzy......). I walk up and sit down. "Hi guys!!!!" "Hi Mom, Hi Mrs. Christie, Hi Mollie". I've known most of these kids since they were five. I start chattin' 'em up. One of them looks at me and says, "Um.......are you going to sit here the whole time?" Uhhhhhh.......apparently I am not. Look at the time! Places to go!!!! People to see!!! It was one of those "HOLY SHIT" moments. Those kids used to think I was cool!!!!! They would beg me to hang out with them. Now I am an official cramper of style. Freakin' A!!!!! We also had the incident wherein he was in our hot tub with his (female) best friend. They needed something and started yelling for me to come outside. After I retrieved the beverages they required, I was told that I could "go now". Hmmmmph. Oh and do not make the mistake of asking an eleven-year old if he would like to invite a friend over to play. "GOD MOM.......I'm ELEVEN. We don't 'play', we 'hang out'". EXCUSE ME, James Dean. I used to be too cool for school myself, until I was informed differently by the likes of you and your little pals. Oh and then there's the sudden interest in hygiene and appearance. Since when does this kid give a shit what he's wearing? And what is up with this Axe stuff that it was requested I purchase? Some sort of shower gel designed to drive the ladies crazy? Seriously? I walked into his room not that long ago and had my olfactory senses assaulted by a wall of SOMETHING. I said, "Errrrr......you smell good....." and Jack responded, "Yeah, it's because I pretty much marinated my body in Axe". Perfect. So, although this night has been long and exhausting and even a little worrisome, it also reminded me that no matter how cool you are or even how old you are, sometimes you just need your mom. Shit, I'm forty-three years old and I've found myself wanting my mommy lately. So there's hope. That bond is still in there. It just gets buried by hormones and peer groups and the development of a separate self. The human being that deep inside knows that you, his mom, love him best of all, never really goes away. <script type="text/javascript">
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<div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Poor organizational skills.</i> Ya think? If you've ever opened one of my cabinets and been hit in the head with a precariously placed object, you would agree. MOM. </div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Trouble starting and finishing projects.</i> I think this includes having a job. Check.</div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Constantly losing or misplacing things.</i> Now, I'm sure you're all saying, "Sure Mol, everybody does this". I lose CARS. And children. Sometimes at the same time. Actually that's not true. I think telling big lies and exaggerating is a symptom also. </div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Frequently talk over others and interrupt them.</i> NOOOOOOO. But I'm so fucking interesting!!!!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Blurt out thoughts that are rude or inappropriate without thinking.</i> At this point, I'm starting to think this therapist chick may be on to something. As if the other shit wasn't as plain as the nose on my face.</div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Have addictive tendencies.</i> Okaaaayyyyyyy.........I've got it.........I've got it bad........</div><div><br />
</div><div>* <i>Have trouble behaving in socially appropriate fashion such as sitting still during meetings.</i> Or in college classrooms.........or talking to boring people..........</div><div><br />
</div><div>I could go on and about feelings of agitation, irritability, getting bored easily (reference previous sentence), not dealing well with frustration, easily feeling stressed out, talking excessively, blah, blah, blah. Okay, like I said, where do I sign? Well, here's the deal.......I took the test and it strongly indicated that I have it. Again, doi. You have two options: therapy to help you cope with your symptoms or drugs. I don't want to cope. I want the pills. So it was prescribed. The therapist basically told me I needed to be able to think straight before I could tackle the other crap like how fucked up I am. According to my thorough research in which I read exactly what I wanted to read on the world wide web, if you don't actually have ADHD and take Ritalin, which is essentially speed, you will act like, well, like you're on speed. I had first hand knowledge of this when it was suspected awhile back that Jack may have some attentional issues. We tried the drugs and you may as well have just wound the kid up and let him fly around the room. I remember driving him to school and thinking, "Holy shit......I love you, kid but if you don't stick a cork in it, I may well drive off of the road". So that was that. No drugs for him. With me, however, it seems to be working. It slowed me down. A little. And there are no socks in my pantry. Granted, the ones on my feet don't match but I've got 'em in the right vicinity. AND it seems that I can actually sit still for long enough to write my blog. You may ask yourself how in the ass I was able to do it for as long as I did if in fact I have this terrible disease. It's a little thing called "hyper-focus". I was really interested in it. And then I got bored. And couldn't sit still. And was irritable. And had trouble staying motivated. Oh, but I am medicated and motivated now. Just like the napkins with the crazy housewife on 'em say. So, even though you're all out of the habit of reading my ramblings, get back in it. Please. I think being bossy is one of the symptoms. Where are my pills?!?! Probably in the car. Fuck. </div>Mollie McKenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07151509957644252563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8417778816193046143.post-38200736165824624262010-09-09T08:37:00.000-06:002010-09-09T08:37:32.790-06:00YO!!!!!I have not abandoned Deep Thoughts! We are transitioning over to Wordpress! Put on your patience caps, peeps......lotsa shit has gone down and I'm bursting at the seams. Can't wait to share. Stay tuned. <script type="text/javascript">
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