Putting the fun in dysfunctional

On a 1-10 scale-o-trashiness, with 1 being (Champagne and Caviar at a 5-star restaurant with the Queen of England) and 10 being (Mountain Dew and Vienna Sausages on the tailgate of Second Cousin Bobby Earl's 1983 Ford Pickup),....

...I'd say Trailer Bash 2010 ranked somewhere around a 10.3, which is of course (Moonshine and Spam Sammiches in the kitchenette of Grandpappy's Double-Wide). For those of you wondering, Stew's glossy perm-mullet helped push the trash level over the 10-point mark. That may be the only time I ever mention Stew's name and Ten Point in the same sentence. JUST KIDDING, HONEY, YOU'RE A FANTASTIC DEER HUNTER!!

For all you classy people (Yankees) who need a translation: The Party. Was. Awesome. I mean, what party with barbecue pork rinds and aerosol cheese isn't awesome?

Check out some of my favorite photos of the night - taken with my iPhone new-fangled cellular talkin contraption.

Seriously

You know your wife loves you when she lets you store 2000 LIVE CRICKETS on the kitchen countertop. Which is INSIDE THE HOUSE.



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Tastier than tater tots -n- Cheez Whiz

This weekend, a good friend of ours (Hi Gizz!) is throwing a White Trash Bash in honor of Stewzie's Redneckalicious Mardi Gras 2010 costumes.



He requested that I bring the ultimate trailer park dessert; my infamous Kitty Litter Cake.



If you don't happen to have an extra bag of Fresh Step lying around (for the 17 cats living in your double-wide), here's a recipe that tastes almost as good as the real thing. Although nothing is quite as yummy as an authentic, protein-rich nugget of kitty poop. Mmmm boy. It'll make your party guests yell "YEEHAW!"



KITTY LITTER CAKE
1 box German chocolate cake mix
1 box white cake mix
1 large pkg. vanilla instant pudding mix
1 pkg. vanilla sandwich cookies
Green food coloring
12 small Tootsie Rolls
1 new (and definitely unused) kitty litter pan
1 new Pooper Scooper

(all ingredients can be found at the local Piggly Wiggly)

Prepare cake mixes and bake according to directions (any size pans).

Prepare pudding mix and chill until ready to assemble.

Crumble white sandwich cookies in small batches in food processor, scraping often. Set aside all but about 1/4 cup.

To the 1/4 cup cookie crumbs, add a few drops green food coloring and mix using a fork or shake in a jar.

When cakes are cooled to room temperature, crumble into a large bowl. Toss with half the remaining white cookie crumbs and the chilled pudding. (Mix in just enough of the pudding to moisten it. You don't want it soggy. Combine gently).

Put mixture into litter box.

Put a few unwrapped Tootsie rolls in a microwave safe dish and heat until soft and pliable.

Shape ends so they are no longer blunt, curving slightly (to resemble a cat turd). Repeat with several more Tootsie rolls and bury in mixture.

Sprinkle the other half of cookie crumbs over top.

Scatter the green cookie crumbs lightly over the top. (This is supposed to look like the chlorophyll in kitty litter.)

Heat 3 Tootsie Rolls in the microwave until almost melted.

Arrange them on top of the cake; sprinkle with cookie crumbs.

Spread remaining Tootsie Rolls over the top; take one and heat until pliable, hang it over the side of the kitty litter box, sprinkling it lightly with cookie crumbs.

Place the box on a newspaper and sprinkle a few of the cookie crumbs around.

Serve with a new (new is optional) pooper scooper.

Mediterranean Appetizers

I had the pleasure of having dinner at Lebanon Cafe' this past weekend with our wonderful friends Jack & Betsey, Amelia, Katie and June.




Little Miss June has gotten so much bigger and cuter since I last saw her in January.





And seriously people, if she would have loosened her toe grip on my finger, I totally would have dipped those precious little piggies in the hummus and gobbled them up. With a side of pita bread.

SnoBloggery

#2 - Droopy's

Let me start by saying this. I am a loyal fan of Ro-bear's. They are my numero uno of Harahan snoball stands. They are my childhood. My fondest memories. When Droopy's opened up shop many years ago DIRECTLY across the street, it hurt my feelings a bit. Like when Krispy Kreme opened right across Clearview from Tastee Donuts. It just ruffled my feathers and made me want to be fiercely loyal to the original.

That being said, Droopy's is locally owned (as I assume all snoball stands are). They aren't the corporate bad-guy across the street. They aren't Krispy Kreme. When they moved to their temporary Metairie location last year, it was a bit strange. However, they are back (almost) to their old location on Jefferson Highway. And they are tasty.

I had the Red Velvet. The ice was perfection. The syrup was a near exact representation of red velvet cake. And props to the employees for service with a smile despite the fact that we got there 2 minutes before closing time. Oops! I tipped them accordingly.

Boot Camp: Days 1 and 2

I went into this knowing I'd be sore. I haven't lifted anything heavier than a manila file in the past year.

After 2 days of doing "dirty dogs," which are about as close to wholesome fun as they sound, and "skull crushers," which are misleading because your skull is actually the only thing not writhing in pain after doing them, I am indeed sore. Let me rephrase. I AM INDEED SORE.

Before yesterday's session started, my fellow bootcampers and I stood around verbally describing the various leg sorenesses we were experiencing after Day 1. Said pains ranged from "not too bad" to "I couldn't get up off the toilet this morning so I just stayed there all day." Then we were informed that, "Oh, yesterday was only arm day. Today is leg day." Wince.

You would think that if a 400 lb. Japanese wrestler could do it with ease, then little old athletic Suzie would have no trouble doing 6 reps of "sumo squats". Wrong. I got them all done, but not before my thighs turned to Jell-o. In fact, the people at Jell-o headquarters actually approached me at the end of the session to ask me to be their spokesperson. "Hi, my name is Suzie, and I'd like to share with you my recipe for Strawberry Sumo Squat legs. They're a crowd-pleaser at picnics and birthday parties."

All in all though, I'm keeping up pretty well and the only things I'm having real trouble with are the weights (see the 2nd sentence of this post) and the jogging.

Not sure if I've mentioned it before, but I SUCK at running. When you've got a 7 foot wingspan and legs that together are a quarter mile long, it takes a lot of effort to keep them reined in close to your body to achieve the proper jogging technique. That's where all my exertion goes and in turn I have zero endurance leftover for running. Also my torso is literally 6 inches long, so I'm pretty sure I have proportionately tiny lungs, which cannot keep up with any sort of distance jogging.

Today is ab day, which I conveniently get to skip out on due to a previously scheduled hair appointment. Let's face it, what's being in shape worth if I still have split ends and 2 inch roots? Seriously.

Tomorrow is cardio day. Stay tuned for the inevitable post on how my heart imploded.

Happy Stew Year !

Dear Stew,

Today is your 30th Birthday. Don't think of yourself as another year OLDER. Think of yourself as another year BETTER.



I can't say anything more than the words to this song:

You just get better all the time
Darlin' don't you change a thing
Lately you're the only song I wanna sing
And you're my reason to try
You just get sweeter every day
The little things you do and say
If only you could see you through my eyes
You just get better all the time

Oh, and I get the feelin' we can make it baby
As long as you are by my side
You're the music in my ears
The laughter when the tears
Are fallin' down in my life

You just get better all the time
Why just today I heard you read my mind
That kinda magic is so hard to find
You just get better all the time

Always,

Suzie

Irony

I counted 46 items in the basket in front of me while waiting in the 20 ITEMS OR LESS line at Walmart.

One of those items was a calculator.

Sigh.


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SnoBloggery

In complete and total disregard of my previous post about jumping on the fitness bandwagon, it's time for my absolute favorite season of the year: SNOBALL SEASON.

If you know me (or don't, but for some reason still care), I started documenting my snoball encounters last year on my facebook page. Starting this year, I'll give each experience a little review here @ stewzie...that is of course until the Times-Picayune hires me as a professional Snoball Critic.

#1 - The inaugural snoball of 2010. Passion Fruit from Beaucoup. This place, located on Freret Street in New Orleans, is unique (snobally speaking). All of their snoballs are made from FRESH JUICE that comes from LOCAL produce. Yes, I just said that. No sickly sweet concoctions here.

It's a little know fact that I CANNOT bring myself to eat anything more than a kiddie-sized snoball. Sure, that probably lessens my snoball cred, but most syrups (even the ones I love) are just too much sugar for me to handle. That's the perk of Beaucoup. Think fresh-squeezed lemonade vs. Koolaid. No comparison. The Passion Fruit tasted like Passion Fruit. Not Bubbalicious Passion Fruit-Flavored Bubble Gum. Very refreshing.

Sidenote: That ridiculously cute pregnant chic standing next to me is my dear friend Lisa Ruffin (Hi Lisa!) She had the Watermelon (yum). Baby Ruffin enjoyed it as well.

I'm in shape. Round is a shape.

Back in my day (which was a Wednesday, if I had to guess), I was a pretty active little Suzie. I've played nearly every sport the USA has to offer (minus, of course, those silly Canadian "sports" like hockey and ice dancing - eh?)

It all started with softball (fast pitch, not that wussy-slow-pitch stuff) at the age of 5, then progressed to softball, volleyball, soccer (as goalie for the boys' team), soccer (on the girls' team), basketball, shot put, javelin, high jump and a partridge in a pear tree. And that was BEFORE 7 a.m.

Seriously, at one point in my high school athletic career, I would get to school 2 hours early to practice javelin throwing, go to school all day, go straight from school to softball practice, then straight from softball practice to high jump practice followed by a 2-hour nightcap of club volleyball practice. Suffice to say that I was no couch potato. Unless couch potatoing involved jumping backwards over the couch while successfully juggling a 5 pound bag of potatoes and singing the school's fight song.

All of that background data to lead to the point of this post: In the 12 years since high school, I have gradually morphed from SuperAthlete to Laaaaaaaazy.

When I first started college at LSU, I lived in the dorm furthest from civilization, thus requiring me to walk an average of 17 miles a day just to get back and forth to class. Plus, back then I was still IN MY TEENS, so time was on my side. When others gained the "freshman fifteen", I lost the "walk 17 miles a day twenty-five."

After my 2-year stint in Baton Rouge, I held a few jobs that required tons of action. From hauling 50 lb. mufflers around a 1 acre warehouse, to cleaning what seemed like 652,999 tanning beds a day, my activity level was still pretty high.

About 5 years ago, I returned to school. Although my new campuses at Delgado and UNO were not nearly as expansive as the oneat my previous college, I still spent my days hauling around a 30 lb. backpack up and down stairs, back and forth to my car, to and from work, etc. Plus I played volleyball at Coconut Beach 1 or 2 days a week. And I was in my TWENTIES, so time was still reluctantly on my side.

After graduating with my bachelor's degree in (who cares, I'm not doing anything with it anyway) in December 2008, I made a concious decision to do NOTHING. I didn't plan on being permanently sedentary, but if I wanted to come home from my job (where I sit all day) and transfer to my comfy velveteen sofa (and sit some more), then you better believe that's what I was gonna do. And I did. Often.

That was over a year ago. Now I'm pushing THIRTY. Time is not on my side. In fact, time likes to laugh at the way I look in tight jeans. Time stole my high metabolism and pawned it for fifty bucks. Time is a big meanie.

So I had a brilliant idea. Sign up for a 4 week fitness boot camp. HAHA! Time will surely laugh at that too. I start on Monday. Upcoming progress updates should be a hoot.

Optimism says I'll feel great and be full of energy and my blog posts will be full of ponies, skittles and sunshine.

Realism says I hope my fingers won't be too sore to type.

Why I love Mardi Gras: Reason #313

When your dog does THIS to the free stuffed animal, you don't really mind. Because it was FREE.

Now if I could only train him to pick up all of those cotton teddy bear guts...


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Transportation logic

Abbey (the 3 1/2-year-old niece): Suze, why do birds fly?

Me: Because God gave them wings.

Abbey: So that must be why he gave us hands.

Me: Why's that?

Abbey: So we can drive.

Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder.

It's no secret that Stew and I are carnivores.


In fact, I believe that if God didn't want us to eat animals, he wouldn't have made them out of meat. Seriously, who doesn't love bacon? You? Well then you may want to stop reading my blog until you come to your senses and apologize to me. AND THE BACON.

So we hopped in the truck after work on Friday and took ourselves on a spontaneous road trip to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo's Annual BBQ Cookoff. Which is really just a long, wordy title. Basically, we ate meat. And more meat. With a side of meat. And when we couldn't shovel down another bite, we fought through the meat sweats and ATE MORE DELICIOUS BARBECUED MEAT.

To all the cows who met their fates in order for this awesome culinary experience to take place, Thank You. God has a special place for you in cow heaven. And it's probably between 2 slices of bread, next to a side of baked beans. I'm just sayin'...

Here are some photos of all the barbecued awesomeness:


I imagine the gates to heaven will resemble this.





Ribs, Brisket, Tater Salad & Sauce

Cowboy flower arrangements.

Airplane meat smoker. The FAA would be proud.

Hydro-powered pig roast. Genius.






I heeded his warning.