Pause.

I want to offer an explanation for what might appear to be a brief pause in my bloggingnessmentship.

I've got a mega mass humungo ginormous test to study for, which I will be taking THIS COMING SATURDAY. This test will determine if I am fit to be licensed as a K-8 grade educator in the state of Oregon, so...it's kind of a big deal.



There have been attempts made to come up with some blog material in the last few days, but all I can think about is how full I am from eating Thanksgiving food, and then I just slip into a food coma.

I didn't do Black Friday shopping (am I supposed to capitalize that, like it's a nationally recognized day?)...so I have nothing to share in that respect either. Most of my days of late have been spent studying and wearing a microplush Snuggie, stuffing myself to the gills with turkey and the like.


So, now that I've stated that there's obviously nothing interesting going on, and I'm probably going to be too mentally occupied to e-catalogue my life/interests/etc., I say this to you: I'll be back.


Soon and very soon.

Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa.

Today's inspiration comes from this movie:



Of course, if you're anyone who has ever lived, you've at least heard of Steel Magnolias (I, embarrassingly, had not actually watched this movie until about two or three months ago). Naturally, I loved the film. The flick features a full spectrum of good things, such as: sassy Southern women, love, loss, best friends, and big hair.

In addition to the quotable laugh lines and predictable, yet, heartfelt storyline, Steel Magnolias offers a few baking recipies and tips that leave one curious to exlpore. With my only other option being to make a red velvet armadillo cake, I opted to make what is referred to at the beginning of the movie by Dolly Parton's character as "Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa". The logic behind the name of this recipe cuts straight to the chase; the only ingredients that are called for in this mixture are 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar, and 1 cup fruit cocktail. CUPPA. CUPPA. CUPPA.



Once the ingredients are mixed together, the mixture is then spread into a non-stick cooking spray prepped 9x9 baking dish.



The baking dish is then placed in a 350 degree oven for about 35 - 40 minutes, until the top is golden brown and bubbly.



The finished product doesn't look much different than the pre-baked product.



This is where the worry starts setting in.




For the sake of keeping things official (I mean, someone could stumble across this in a Google search, right?), I've decided to write a formal review for Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa:

"This famed dish is something that initially feels right in your heart, but leaves much to be desired in the taste department. If I could use three words to describe Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa (in flavor), they would be: gummy, flat, and puke. It wasn't quite a cake. It wasn't quite pudding. And then, there was just a lot of random fruit floating around in there. There was a salty or buttery element that was missing which, if added, would have helped the flavor and texture a great deal. The point of this recipe seems to be for the sake of time-saving and having something to hand out to your girlfriends on index cards at craft parties, but it goes nothing beyond that. Yes, it's easy and fast to make, but it tastes terrible. Final grade: F."


I'm trying not to let this feel like Dolly Parton has personally let me down, but it kind of feels that way right now. I think I'm going to need some inner healing from this experience.




Needless to say, the rest of the triple C got put in the special filing cabinet where I put my offers for cell phones and insurance quotes (aka, the garbage).

Good things.

Sometimes you just have to make a list of what you like. Here are some blurbs of my current favorites:


Favorite book

A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel.


Favorite drink

Earl grey, hot. For best results, tea is enjoyed in this mug.


Favorite song

Mumford & Sons, "The Cave" (pause music at bottom of page...this live performance is TOPS).


Favorite monthly publication

"Real Simple".


Favorite webcomic

www.toothpastefordinner.com


Favorite blog
www.eurosatemydollars.com


Favorite food

Nutella.


Favorite TV show

30 Rock.

Lip scarves.

Guess what?




I actually love mustaches.

Not just for an ironic/I'm white/I only like this for comedy thing; I truly like them. I like the way they look on men and I think it increases one's handsome factor.


From smaller, thinner mustaches...



...to thicker, fuller mustaches.



I find them so masculine and dapper.











Mustaches took their place in Hollywood fashion early.






There are also products on the market to help those who cannot grow mustaches (or want a temporary one).




Even pooches can sport lip scarves.





Please know that I understand that not all mustaches are a good thing.




But, those are very rare.

Memoirs.

Here's a little ditty from my childhood...

...I'm going to set up all the facts for you, so you may be better prepared as a reader and understand the context. You're welcome.


Fact #1 - We were dirt poor growing up.
Fact #2 - My Mom has always had a desire to be a rural pioneer woman.
Fact #3 - Our family car, for a majority of my childhood, was a teal Geo Metro (more detailed physical description given in following text).

STOP


This is the best look-alike I could find.


Fact #4 - Often, growing up, we frequented livestock auctions as a form of "family entertainment".
Fact #5 - One time, my Mom bought a cow at an above mentioned auction.

STOP


This is a baby cow, similar to the one who is going to be the leading character in this story.



Now that you have the facts, let me tell you how this all went down.

It was just another night at at the barn/amphitheater/auction house, and the bidding wars were getting heated.

"$100!"

"$250!"

"$500!"

Huge bids were flying and prized animals were being sold to downright serious farmers. Plaid. Jeans. Ginormous belt buckles and hats. It was quite the scene.

A small group of calves came out to be auctioned later in the evening. The calf we ended up buying could be likened to the smallest, weakest child who was picked last for a game of dodgeball in an elementary school playground.

I can't recall where the actual bidding began, but I can remember what price it ended on.

"$7!"

Mom's hand was the only one up; she got gutsy and just went for it. All the farmers stepped down from the bid. The little runt calf would be no use to them, plus they could see the sparkle in Mom's eye.

"Sold!"

So, my Mom compulsively bought a $7 baby cow at a livestock auction that day.


We certainly weren't in a place to be making such a purchase (as far as where we would actually store the calf). We lived in a cul-de-sac in a little suburb of Southern Oregon, and there was NO WAY that thing would fit in the Geo Metro.

False.

Quick sidebar: our Geo Metro came equipped with luxury seating. The front passenger side seat somehow got broke, and had to always be in the reclined position. The headrest on the driver's seat also bent back like a limp noodle.



Next steps...

...we pushed the calf over to Mom's side of the Geo in the backseat so it had some space, and my brother sat behind me, so he got squished by me in the front reclined passenger seat.

We knew that if we could just make it home and then figure out some kind of makeshift living area for the cow, we'd be in business. We, unfortunately, only made it into the driveway of our house when the calf had an episode of explosive diarrhea in the backseat with my poor, frantic brother.

The calf was dehydrated and nervous, so we had to buy it a cow-version of Gatorade to help the situation out.


From there, the story is all a blur in my mind. I know that we eventually found an actual farm location to keep the little guy at, and we eventually gave the cow to my Grandpa for Father's Day. Nothing says "Happy Father's Day" more than an unwanted barnyard animal.


That's a tale I love sharing with people. So many funny things happen when you're forced to be creative in your ways of having fun.

Thanks for buying the $7 cow, Mom. The story shall always be told in all it's glory.