That Will Be $168.00, Please. 

or only  four long months until the Farmers Market opens

Okay, so I'm hosting Card Club this Saturday. Now before you get all crazy thinking we actually sit around a table playing card games all night like our Mums, let me clarify. There are seven of us gals who get together once a month to basically bond and catch up over food, liquor and vibrant conversations about everything and nothing. Every year we go away together (sans husbands) for a long weekend at a Lake. Every other year we take our sisterly act on the road to Marco Island, Florida. We call it "Card Club" because, really what else would we name it? It's just simpler this way. 

Anywho, I went to the grocery store to buy some veggies for us gals to munch on, you know, to round out the party food pyramid... one part nutritious vegetable tray, three parts chocolate, salty snack goodness and liquor. 

Holy crap! I cannot believe how expensive fruit and vegetables are this time of year. 

Cashier: That will be $1,216.24.

Me: What? I only bought three red peppers, a zucchini, a pineapple and this pack of gum!?!?"

Cashier: Oh. I didn't ring up the gum. *cha-ching* That's be $1,218.24.

Me: Good thing I put the yellow-cake uranium back on the shelf

As I continue to hemorrhage money food shopping, I am reminded how much I miss our summer Farmers Markets during this time of year. They have the freshest produce (picked that morning) at the absolute best prices. The markets are a true joy of summer. We are blessed in Pennsylvania with lots and lots of local farmers. The market we shop at has a gyro/pita stand, Amish desserts booth, Italian breads vendor and five local family farms including those fabulous farm-boy Adonises, The King brothers. Wow.

 The King family has been farming for generations. True to form, Lisa (the amazing Mother of this gene pool of hotness) bore ten children--the oldest a girl, the rest boys. I've never had the pleasure of seeing the oldest son, but the next two in line Pete and perhaps Tim are worth the price of admission to the farmers' market alone. They are tall, blonde, strapping. Fewer sites are as compelling as the dread-locked brother hoisting burlap sacks of corn from the truck to the table, shirtless. 

*Sigh*  

Even my 87-year-old Mom, Big Mar, plays along. She was actually running cover for me to sneak a picture. How cool is she? Fortunately, their produce is as spectacular as they are. So there actually is a legitimate reason for stopping by.

I admit I didn't have the balls to actually go up to the boys last summer and ask to take their picture, so the photos aren't as ideal as one might like. However, you can still get the idea. I just don't have the nerve yet to walk up and nonchalantly say, "Hey fellas, do you mind if I fire off a few shots of the two of you so I can post them on my blog to allow other members of the female persuasion to ogle you in the comfort of their own homes?" without feeling like, you know, a creepy old chick. I guess I shouldn't feel weird, because eventually all of us ladies, young and old, make our way over to their section to chat up the King boys. Not only are these dudes hotter than Georgia asphalt in July, they're really sweet and respectful to their admiring public. 

Farmers Markets...great for the pocketbook, easy on the eyes.

Just A Little Quickie 

(that's what HE said) 

Okay, so quick story... we subscribe, okay I subscribe to an online daily hororscope--just for shits and giggles. It's fun to read. According to these folks, apparently we are all in a positive spin even though that bastard of a planet, Mercury is lurking in our unmentionables..er, atmospheres. Seems the rest of the ruling planets have effectively bitch-slapped his ass into behaving. But I digress...

Anyway, this is today's general forecast:

"Get ready for a bit of excitement today as emotional lightning strikes to shake, rattle and roll our lives. Our desires are strong and we may not be satisfied by the same old routines now as romantic Venus joins unorthodox Uranus for a cosmic dance. Additionally, feisty Mars forms a cooperative sextile (what is that?) with Venus and (planetary party animal) Uranus, raising the stakes and encouraging us to take a risk. The adventurous Sagittarius Moon fuels the fires and lifts our spirits." 

Along with our skirts, perhaps?

Looks like the Cosmos is getting freaky-deaky today. Grab your fancy dancin' duds, Ladies. Apparently it's not a party until you're getting down with Uranus. And THAT is what she said.

The World According to Enzyte

or the gift that keeps on "giving"...if you know what I mean

Okay, so one of my many duties at work (she said doodie) is inserting commercial spots into our server. Now I don't know about you, but I'm sick of all the dong-drug advertising on the boob tube these days. I mean really...what the eff does a couple sitting in two separate tubs have to do with "male enhancement"? Or is that sh*t so powerful, the dude's johnson is going bust through the porcelain and come at his intended like a heat seeking missile. I don't think so.

Honestly...do we really need a bunch of bitter, old men walking around sporting crotch rockets in search of a landing strip. Again...I think not. And besides... EEeewwwww!

Anyhoo, one of the many gazillion spots I dubbed today was an Enzyte ad, the "male enhancement" drug that claims to magnify your man-marbles. For a pork steeple drug advert, at least these are highly entertaining. You know the one where this goofy dude is dressed as Santa and he's smiling like a butcher's dog while the voice over guy says clever stuff like... "Bob has a sleigh full of confidence and a sack full of pride and the one thing that every lady likes...the joy of the gift that keeps on giving." Tongue firmly planted in cheek.  

This put me in mind of an email I received at home the other night, coincidentally about male enhancement drugs. The peculiar thing is the sending address was my actual home email address...like I sent it to myself. What the?!? I had been totally Spammed. I'm virtually clueless about computers, but I did see a notation to "click here to unsubscribe". So I clicked unsubscribe.

Holy Crap!?!? My Eyes! My Eyes!

Usually when you unsubscribe it takes you to a fairly blank page wherein you type your email address to be rid of the foul spam. Not this one.

It was...uh, rather colorful and eye popping, if you know what I mean...and I think you do. Filled in fact with multitudes of man-meat in before and after photos. I searched the page...albeit, sloooooowly... for the unsubscribe link. Not finding a link, I thought, well...since I'm here already... you know... what the hell. Why not have a look-see. Check out the before and afters to see if the comparative packages had the same dimples or the images were *gasp* doctored. Purely for research purposes, mind you. Besides I was already emotionally scarred by my initial viewing, so what's another week or two of therapy.

Damn if the pix didn't have the same weird dingly-dang dents and scrotum saggage before and after. G0 figure. Maybe there's something to this stuff. *snort* Yeah, right. Whatever.

In any case, note to self: do not reach for the "unsubscribe" button unless you want an eyeful of the south pole, if you get my meaning... and I think you do.

"It's A New Day From Now On"

(Ron Sexsmith) full lyrics here  

Ladies and Gentlemen...may we present to you our 44th President of the United States of America, Barak H. Obama.

In an extremely unsettled world, the transfer of power happened without gunfire, guerilla warfare or any other violent force. It happened peacefully in a dignified and orderly manner.

As I choked back tears witnessing this momentous occasion, I was filled with renewed pride to be an American.

May God bless him with wisdom, courage, grace and the ability to inspire those here and abroad to do the right thing.

Here We Go Steelers! Here We Go!

or pack your bags, Lucille... we're going to Tampa

Okay, so today is a holiday in honor of Martin Luther King. Most folks, except for us morons who chose a 24/7 profession, are off today. Good thing, too. You see last night the Steelers managed to win a berth in the Holiest of High Holy games...the Super Bowl. They didn't just win the game...they won the game at HOME, which hasn't happened here for a long 13 years.

Even though the evening's performance was less than inspiring, all was forgiven when the long-flowing, raven-haired Adonis, Troy Polamalu intercepted a Raven's pass and scrambled into the end zone with 4:24 left on the clock--bringing the 65,000+ to their feet in a golden Terrible Towel waving frenzy. (Of course I had to call my big sister in NJ to celebrate her boy's victory. I knew she'd be cheering her head off. She was.)

A coworker was at the game and said about three quarters of the fans hung around for the ceremony and Zambelli fireworks. It's Pittsburgh...there are ALWAYS fireworks. We're fireworks happy here. And they are the best! Somehow I don't think these folks minded the long wait to get out of the parking lot. I know people in our neighborhood were hooting and hollering long into the night.

Here's another reason why I love my town...

At the Pens game earlier in the day, fans were encouraged to bring their Terrible Towels to wave in support of the Steelers match. Which they did, along with signs like "You're in Steelers Country". I'm happy to report my beloved Boys of Winter defeated the Rangers 3-0. When our goalie, Marc-Andre Fleury skated out to acknowledge being the #1 star of the game, guess what...he was donning a gold throwback Steelers helmet and waving a towel. You gotta love it.

Yep. We're all family here.

Friday Photo #10  

what the??!?? *teeth chattering* 

Okay, so I wake up this morning to a definite chill in the air. I run downstairs to punch up the heat when I see this... 45 degrees!?!!! What the?!? 45 degrees...the HOUSE is 45 degrees!?! 

The furnace, she is making noise, but she no produce the heat. Sassy wench. 

It is literally -5 degrees outside...and the furnace isn't working. Are you KIDDING ME? I'm like freaking Bob Cratchet here! I'm in layers...I'm in a coat and scarf...my hands are so cold, I have to stuff them in my crotch for warmth between sentences. YOW! That's cold...even through the long johns. 

The furnace dude promises me he'll be here some time between now and the vernal equinox. Great. Take your time. I should be an ice fossil by then.

AND to top it off, I exited iPhoto without ejecting my photo card properly and have now lost all of my videos of my beloved fantasy second husband and hottie, Rhett Miller from said card. Stupid Stupid procedures!

 *whimpers* ice crystal tears scraping her cheek*

*sigh* This day has the potential to really blow. 

On a positive note though, I won't need ice cubes for the numerous cocktails I plan to consume today... you know, for warmth. Yeah, for warmth. Cheers! 

A Hockey Night In Pittsburgh 

or hmmmm...who knew it could be so dirty 

Okay, so our little nephew won free tickets to last night's Penguins game. It was a crushing 6-3 loss for my beloved Pens. The final humiliating blow being an empty net goal with three minutes left and us with a TWO-MAN ADVANTAGE!!?! Oh the pain! *sob*

Anywho, I'm very vocal at games. Surprise! (not) It's difficult not to get caught up in the atmosphere and start screaming things at random. The thing is... I never noticed how dirty sounding the crowd banter is when taken out of context. Last night I suddenly became aware of the off-color nature of my (and others) remarks...

"Get it in!!"

"Get it out!!!"

"Keep it in!

"Get back in the crease!!"

"Get out of that end!"

That'swhatshsaid!That'swhatshesaid!That'swhatshesaid!That'swhatshesaid!That'swhatshesaid!

...I think I need a cigarette.