CatDecenzo’s Weblog

Just some mundane madness

Don’t Bothaa with My Butter

Ahhh, c’mon!!!  How can you screw up PEANUT BUTTER!!  OK, I’ve adjusted to the world not being an episode of Father Knows Best.  I’ve adjusted to never seeing kids skipping rope on the sidewalk anymore, or playing hop-skotch with chalk.  Wouldn’t want to ruffle the feathers of the homeowners association. And I still sometimes have a tendency to actually get up out of my seat to change the t.v. station, and sometimes have the urge to wear an apron and high heels when I cook. I still believe in cocktail hour, and just rediscovered Necco wafers the other day at the candy counter, and devoured them, pretending I was going to communion.

pntbutterBut screwin’ with my PB&J sandwich is just not right on so many levels. There are certain memories of childhood that you just don’t screw around with, and I hope they get to the bottom of this salmonella scare, and fast! Last night, I found myself hoarding the one jar I have in the cupboard, safe in the fact that we’ve been eating from this particular jar without visits to the porcelain goddess or getting our stomachs pumped.  I felt like a drug addict going through withdrawal who had just found some residue of delight lurking in that forgotten secret hiding place.  I flung open the spoon drawer and proceeded to pillage that jar full of spreadable edible crunchy cream. Then I waited.  Let’s see.  No hives, itching, swelling, dizziness, lightheadedness or trouble breathing.  Oh, woops, I’m confusing peanut butter with Viagra.

I’ll be glad when they’ve determined the source of this invasive outbreak, because my milk is getting sour in the fridge.  Can’t have a glass of milk without a PB&J sandwich! Of course, my lactose intolerant gut is probably enjoying the break.

Wonder what the Beav would do….

lactoseintol1

January 30, 2009 Posted by | Fear of the Day | , , , , | Leave a comment

Come on ah’my house, ah’my house!

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Boys and Girls! You, too, can have your very own Guantanamo Bay replica doll house – complete with semi-furnished rooms, collectible items, decorative touches and idle soldier figurines. Just plug into any water source for simulated water boarding and drowning effects. And if you order now, you’ll also receive tiny replicas of 250 one-way airline tickets for the most recent occupants to fly to Kansas, where they will be housed with the Wicked Witch of the East and Toto, too.

imagesTen detainee figurines available. Also, if you call within the next 30 minutes, we’ll include actual passports and paperwork tucked into the pockets of uniforms with an actual stamp of approval which will provide your fun figurines with the same legal rights as U.S. citizens.  (Certain figures not available, including Khalid Shaikh Mohammed.)

ACT NOW! Only $19.99 – taxes and shipping not included…

January 23, 2009 Posted by | Politics | , , , , | Leave a comment

Mantyhose, pansy toes!

manhoseOK, first they steal our earrings, now they’re raiding our delicates drawer. The newest rage for men is “mantyhose.”

Ew. OK, so I understand men need just as much support, comfort and aesthetic purpose as us gals, but something about the idea of The Mister stuffing his hairy legs into a pair of industrial-strength pantyhose is about as sexy to me as a guy in a thong.

This “spanx” for men idea is just not right on so many levels.  I personally sort of like the little case of DUNLOP’s Disease (the Belly Done Lopped over the Belt) my man has, and don’t really want him lifting and separating his beer belly from his nether regions. There’s only room for one of us in front of THAT mirror!

These man-girdles are supposedly emancipating men from centuries of gender hangups.  Oh, God, what next? Are they going to start making boybras for their man-boobs? (You know who you are…) Just flaunt those babies, and be proud.  Do you know how many bra-burnings we ladies have gone through to get where we are today!?

mantyhoseI’m envisioning receiving a “Victor’s Secret” catalog in the mail soon, complete with silk man-thongs, lace-trimmed tighty whities and fuscia colored mantyhose with secret fly openings. I’m so hiding that credit card from him.

Just the fact that you even worry about the way your ass looks in those jeans without your uplift skivvies is making me want to go and wash and iron your wife-beater shirt for you.

It’s called HO-siery for a reason…leave the driving to us.initial

January 9, 2009 Posted by | Random | , , | 3 Comments

“And Let Them Gather All the Food of Those Good Years”

appalachia1After a week of repetitive holiday get-togethers, gastronomic overload and glaring light sensitivity to the little twinkling lights, the Mister and I decided to high-tail it to the mountains of West Virginia for a little rest and relaxation a few days after Christmas.

Although there’s little to do in the college town of Morgantown, WV, especially when the students are gone, we found solice in doing absolutely nothing – just relaxing by our little fake electric fireplace, watching some playoff games, and putzing around our little investment condo in an area we consider God’s best kept little secret. There were no telephone calls to be made, no bills to be paid, and no work to be done.  I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I was in almost heaven.

appalachiacooking1I was going bezerk trying to find something to read and, in my desperation, was actually going to read a few cookbooks, when I remembered tucked in between them was  a little gem of a book I purchased off of E-Bay once, which is a collection of early West Virginia Food and Philosophy.  I love to collect cookbooks, although I think I’ve only referenced one maybe twice in my entire life to actually cook something. Manuals and I don’t get along…

appalachiapanI started wading through this bible, and was mesmerized by the concoctions and recipes passed down through the generations of Appalachian homemakers who had nothing but a kettle and fire with which to cook. Even more amazing, the book is a rag-tag compilation typed on a manual typewriter with hand drawn illustrations, lovingly printed and bound in a little town way out in Iowa.

Besides the strange, albeit basic recipes I came across – with their names obviously resurrected from family names or treasured “hollers” in and around Appalachia, it was apparent these heritage foods and philosphies rose from these simple people who retained a pure and basic concept, one that “accepted things as they are”  in their use of fruits, vegetables, domestic animals and game – no aspertame, preservatives (except salt), chemicals, plastics, etc.

Besides names that bring to mind fields of tiny wildflowers and mountain streams,  like Permilia Trail’s Yellow Cake, Green Valley Pudding, Preston County Buckwheat Cakes, Leather Britches Beans, and West Virginia Corn Pone, there are basic recipes drenched in soul and simplicity: Fire Roasted Onions,  Pickled Corn, Stone Jar Sauerkraut, Corn Cob Syrup and Candied Orange Peel, apparently favored by Martha Washington.

And tucked in between the recipes are little noted wisdoms, “Every story has three sides – yers, mine and the facts,” or “The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of man than the discovery of a star.”

And in case I can’t find those tips from Heloise I cut out three years ago, there are many from the 1860 section of “Household Treasures.” I may not find them useful for keeping spots off my dishes from my high-tech dishwasher, but next time I complain about having to change a light bulb, I’m going to remember these little ditties from the folks from ages gone by:

“If you stir your hot custard with a small branch from a peach tree, it will flavor it nicely.”

“Oat straw is the best to fill beds with.”

“A lump of hard soap is good to stop up them mouse holes with.”

“A piece of bread put into a kettle of rendering lard will prevent it from boiling over.”

Survival of the fittest….I wouldn’t mess with Ma or Pa, that’s fer sure.initial

January 5, 2009 Posted by | Random, Recipes/Food | , , | Leave a comment