Birthday Extravaganza Part 2

Dearest Little Monkey,

 There are many cookies left to ice and you don't yet own the skills necessary to help me. Or the motor control.  On second thought, I may not have the motor control either... if all the cookies look like they say "happy kjhuitg", well, now you know why.

 Things I have learned in this journey of cookie madness and enlightenment:

1. Black icing is harder to make than you think.
2. Black food coloring for icing is very scary when it's in a little pot instead of a squeezy tube.
3. I tried my hardest to find sugar googly eyes for the duckies...but couldn't. Hence the black food coloring.
4. Bakery boxes from Hobby Lobby make my unfinished cookies look like they're way more professional than they are.
5. I am more creative than I ever realized.

Even PT Girl has her limits when it comes to cookies covering the entire dining room table...and kitchen counters at times. Lucky for you, you're a cute little monkey and therefore are exempt from her possible frustration.

 Love, Tante Andrea

For those of you who have developed reading skills, unlike Little Monkey, pictures will be uploaded later this weekend. I want the Momma and Pappa Monkey to see them first!

The Spacefaring Librarian

Seriously, ya'll, check out my Lil' B's blog... http://thespacefaringlibrarian.blogspot.com/ It's a little piece of intrigue.

What's In A Name?

Some of you may be wondering what's behind the name of this here blog. Some of you may not give a flying hoot...or an owl since that's what I've just described. For the former group, read on. For the later group, feel free to move on to other ventures.

The name comes from the fact that I am imperfection personified. I embody the very ideas of being flawed. My face is not symmetrical. My hair has ideas of it's own regardless of what I would like to have happen. My butt is too big for my liking. I am not graceful. I trip over nothing. I often keep talking even when I know that I should just shut up already. I drive too fast. I get irritated by people who don't use their turn signals. I fail repeatedly while trying to attain goals. I eat too much sugar. I don't call my friends when I say I will. I forget to buy birthday presents for people that mean more to me than material goods. I talk about people and situations that I shouldn't. I have an annoying habit of keeping particular items in a certain spot in the refridgerator - ask PT Girl...she can attest to where the milk belongs. I love ears an exorbitant amount and may have a slight obsession. I get a migraine if I drink any kind of Australian wine, and Leuffe Blonde.  It stops me from drinking the wine, but not the Blonde...beer that tastes like honey and milk is too good to give up because of a migraine! I read teen lit like Twilight and enjoy it, all while I rail against the role model that Bella Swan should not be. I tend to have the TV, the computer and a book going all at once. I've bought into the Hollywood idea of what and who a man should be, although I'm breaking down those ideas as I type. I yearn to sing in front of people but lack the courage to do so unless forced...or the Last Call Players are involved. My sense of style is a conglomeration of all the roommates I've ever had. I think I'm most beautiful right after I wash my face but am scared to say so in case I come across as being conceited.  I should be in the Word more often and less focused on what I think about things.

I am flawed in every part of my life because I am human. It is inherent to be less than perfect when human nature is involved. Luckily, I know that I do not need to strive to be the unattainable. I can be imperfect and still be beautiful in the Lord's eyes. Grace and mercy abound around me, allowing me to strive to be the best that I can be despite my real and perceived flaws, while not carrying the burden of striving for perfection.

Imperfection personified.

A Wee Bit of Randomness

An update to Golf Course Living:
I was on my way to the gym the other morning, when I glance to my left as I'm walking through the parking lot. And see a car with it's entire back window smashed in. My first thought? "Glad I didn't park there." Second thought? "I wonder if this is my neighbor's car (they've had a run of bad acquaintances lately) and if it was personal." Third thought? "I wonder if this person knows their back window is currently displaced into their back seat. That's gonna suck in 100 degree heat." Since our management office doesn't open until 10 am, and there are approximately 1753 cars in our parking lot, I figured whoever's car it was would eventually see it and melt down.

The worst thing that's happened here is a considerably obtuse-minded thief stole all of the TVs from the gym (twice) and the computers from the business office. What makes him obtuse? When they tracked him down, he had all 6 TVs in his apartment...and they were stolen at least a month apart. I'm guessing he wasn't that savvy of a black-market consumer or he would have hefted them all much earlier.

I called the office later in the afternoon to see if they could tell me anything about it. Turns out that some particularly heinous Arnold Palmer wanna-be had shanked or sliced a Titleist down the fairway through two apartment buildings, caught a bank shot or two along the way and was still traveling at a velocity capable of shattering the back window of a parked car. Pith helmet? Not anymore. I'll be sporting full goalie gear whenever outside from this point forward.

In Other News:
Little Monkey's Birthday Baking Extravaganza starts tomorrow fo' reals. If you see me at all in the next week expect that I will have royal icing, sugar, flour or a sheen of butter somewhere on my person. And even though it would be more amusing to let me continue out in the big old world that way, please have pity on me and let me know. I will also have an air of exhaustion as I fully anticipate having nightmares about colossal duck shaped sugar cookies pecking me to death as I try to pipe on wings.

As PT Girl is out of town for the evening enjoying her birthday, I stopped at Redbox and rented She's Out of Your League. Loved it although it is NOT mom approved (Susan, you know what I'm talking about)! It was like a whirlwind trip through Da Burgh and just enough of home that I think I'll survive until my next trip home.

Finally, anyone who's a blogging genius (*cough, cough* MIB? Please don't make me wait until I visit Sin City!) would ya'll fill me in on how to change the blogger background to a background from an outside site? When I copy and paste my html code into the gadget, it only applies it to the bottom half of the blog. Kind of like a 21st century chair rail...

Making Banana Pancakes...

Anyone who knows me knows that I am an inordinately huge fan of all things carbohydrate-based. Pancakes are one of my favorite things. I will eat them hot, cold, with peanut butter, on a plate, as I drive. Wherever. They also make really good running fuel, at least for me. So without further commentary...

Banana Walnut Oatmeal Pancakes
Makes 12-14 pancakes

1 1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup quick cooking oats
2 tbsp sugar
4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
Cinnamon - I usually just shake a bunch in
Walnut pieces - a lot or a little
1 3/4 c milk
2 bananas mashed
Couple tbsp vegetable oil
1 egg, well beaten

Mix all your dry ingredients together
Blend your wet ingredients then add to dry mixture. Stir until just blended - it should be a little lumpy.

While you're mixing your batter, heat a griddle and coat with cooking spray or a little vegetable oil. When the griddle is hot enough, drops of cold water will sizzle on it.

Pour about 1/4 batter for each pancake. Flip when they look dry around the edges and there are small bubbles on the top...or when they start to smell like they're burning.

I'd post a picture except I ate them all. On the plus side, they're fairly healthy since I replaced all the oil with banana. If you want the non-healthy version, take out banana and use 1/3 cup oil.

Birthday Extravaganza Part 1

Ok, spunky show kids...there's a little man's very first birthday coming up and I've veered into lunacy...err, volunteered....to make cookies. Not just any cookies but hand piped cookies that A LOT of people are going to see. It's a duck theme, so the cookies will be in yellow. I'm also making ducks, but they are just gonna be yellow unless I really lose my mind and decide to try wings, eyes and beaks. Below are some of my piping practices.

I used wax paper, outlined my cookie cutter, and then piped...while watching Gerard Butler screw up Jamie Foxx's world. Hence, the blue and white stripe under the wax paper (IKEA ottoman, thank you very much).

This is the first attempt at monograms and some capital letters. I switched out from a #4 to #2 tip, for you baking aficionados since my flow was way to fast and the letters just glopped together.

Here are the attempts at "Happy Birthday". I think I really love the lower case letters. Plus they are so much easier to pipe on! You'd think straight lines would be easier, but everywhere they connect becomes a big Royal Icing Blob threatening to take over the world.And finally, my favorite ones of all...the monograms! Which do you like? I'm vacillating between...oh wait, they're all the same! I did attempt a capital letter monogram, but it's way to "Mwah ha ha- Muffy let's go have a drink at the club" for a 1st Birthday.
Little Monkey, who loves you? Tante Andrea, that's who! Now hurry up with the teeth so you can enjoy the goodies at your whole shin-dig!

Golf Course Living

I currently reside on a golf course. When I was moving here from Da Burgh, the idea of living anywhere that offered a pool, a gym and was on a golf course seemed like the epitomy of high class society. Don't judge, I come from a town without a red light, for crying out loud!

My first year was spent with a golf course view that included a rather prominent "parking lot view" then a stand of trees where a pack of coyotes lived. I never saw them, but would sometimes hear them at night. You know, just occasionally, like when a fire engine or ambulance went down the highway, or when a loud car drove through our parking lot, or when one of the many dogs within the apartment complex dared look in their direction.

Enter PT Girl, my roomie. We wisely chose to move to a bigger apartment with two bathrooms - we're women, after all - that also boasts a large balcony truly overlooking the golf course. The view is beautiful, an expanse of manicured green fairway, a water hazard, and an upscale housing development across the way. Just watch that you don't catch a stray golf ball to the temple or look the massive coyotes in the eye as they trot past on the cart path.

When we first moved in, after ogling at the sheer footage of the place despite the boxes dotting the living and dining rooms, PT Girl found us some patio furniture. We wrestled it all together, with the help of various and sundry household items then basked in the glory of the best Wal-Mart had to offer. Well, at least the best that Wal-Mart offered that we could afford.

While sitting outside drinking my morning coffee, I wondered over the small indentation on our storage door the first week. What had caused it? Where did it come from? That door is metal, after all. A well aimed ball-pin hammer? The metal leg of a grill? Fast forward a couple weeks when in the run of seven days our patio, the storage door and our windows were rained upon by Titleists aimed elsewhere but nonetheless making our patio a war zone. If you're especially lucky you'll find one rolling through the parking lot ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BUILDING.

So come on over. We can sit on the patio and watch the coyotes take an evening stroll all while we're styling in our pith helmets.

Beantown

I'm fortunate to have a bestie who is My Person and whom I would help move a body, if ever called upon. My shovel is at the ready, seriously! Anyway, she is fortunate to live in Boston, which makes me fortunate times two!

I took some time off, hopped a jet plane and spent 5 fantastic days there over 4th of July. I was assured that no tea was dumped in the "hahbah" at this year's celebration. Nonetheless, there was an overwhelming amount of history leaping out at me, peaking around cobblestone street corners and sneering down it's nose at me (well, that was mainly on Beacon Hill) everywhere I looked. I grew up in a rural part of PA that is close to Da Burgh. Rural is very different from Historical. I felt smarter for just walking the streets of Boston.

I know, mom, you've been trying to get history under my skin for thirty-one years.

Highlights of the trip included beautiful weather, Lady Gaga completely screwing up our dinner plans - according to D "I always knew she was trouble!" - a visit to The Modern Pastry shop, a Harbor tour, great beer - Guinness, of course, a visit to the medical district, two wonderful days in Maine checking out York and Kennebunk beaches - where I was shat upon by a seagull and assaulted by a wayward beach umbrella -, and watching fireworks explode between the Hancock and Prudential buildings.

I would post video on here that I captured with my snazzy new Flip. I would, if I wasn't worried I'd make everyone seasick. Yes, we spent time on the water. No, I didn't film everything on the water, even though it looks like it.

Err...I was going to add more pictures and film, except I'm still a blogging newbie. MIB is still snickering.

What's that I hear? A grackle?

I haven't asked any of my family members whether they approve of me using their names, likenesses, etc in this very public forum, so until a future time to be determined, we'll continue on with slightly amusing and annoying acronyms and nicknames.

Lil' B texted me today to ask "What does it mean when it sounds like you have a noisy bird in your ear?" I suppose it's a good thing that I can both answer and laugh at such questions. We spent some quality time on the phone discussing the possibilities. He made my job much harder by not having done any of the following:

• had the urge to try out a salt lick,


• drank approximately three pots of coffee,


• had a headache so massive that he ingested an unworldly amount of acetaminophen,


• and had avoided all manner of head injury while playing some puck.

I finally hit home with allergies and it became clear that while I have a Dr. in my title, I don't always appear to be one. Maybe they should think about making it a 5 year program to weed out the likes of me.

P.S. If it had been a grackle, his question would have been more aptly worded as such "What does it mean when it sounds like you have a band of monkeys hopped up on crack in your ear?" I'm pretty sure I would have called Western Psych to just go get him instead of answering him.

New, New, New

As I'm new to the blogging world, I expect this post will read something akin to an awkwardly worded on-line dating profile. How would I know such things, you ask? Well, that's a different story for a different day. It seems that blogging is in the very air lately...or maybe it's that things have been a bit slower at work and I've had time to think about all the tidbits of knowledge that I could share with the world at large. My Illustrious Brother (MIB) has a blog, so I trust that no matter the amount of ludicrous on-line difficulty I find myself in trying to make this thing work, he'll be able to fix whatever I screw-up. That is, once MIB has finished snickering at my attempts to be pithy and my wonderous lemon background.

Oh, sorry, back to the awkward dating style information: I'm an audiologist who yearns to be a baker. Seriously! When I retire at some far off point in the future, I plan on being the oldest person ever to enroll at the CIA. (No, not the one where they teach you to kill people with a mere glance and a ballpoint pen. Besides, they "recruit".) I'm currently taking up space in a suburb of Fort Worth, and despite all predicitions to the contrary, am not overtaken with heat exhaustion every time I step foot outdoors between May and October. That is the expected response when you are an expatriate from rural Yankeeland, otherwise known as Pennsylvania. I've become a runner in the last seven months, which is more alarming to me than to you. I don't know exactly how it happened, just that I wake up wanting to RUN now...it's odd and I'm not sure how ok I am with the whole situation.

I have just realized I think I screwed this up. Isn't that whole paragraph supposed to be in the "About Me" section?

I can hear MIB snickering from several states away.