Soup Is Not A Finger Food

Making it up as I go along

HI! Remember me? I used to blog here until I stopped making time. I miss it. But you didn't come here to read my whining about how I'm just so so so busy with work and the kids and the pets and the house (beating back the squalor!) and whatever else. So instead of that, I wanted to share a post about some stuff I've made lately. some pretty awesome stuff, actually.

LAUNDRY DETERGENT. A cousin of mine swears by making her own - not only for its cleaning ability but also because it's super frugal, costing just pennies per load. And because milk is $4/gallon and a head of iceberg lettuce is $2.69 (?!), we have to pinch pennies wherever we can. So I tried her recipe. OMG. I LOVE IT! It's easy to make and it really works. It's low-sudsing which makes it safe for use in HE machines, and you know exactly what's in it. And did I mention how inexpensive it is?  There are lots of recipes on the internet, some for liquid and some for powder, but I make the liquid.

Be sure you have a CLEAN bucket (buy one new and dedicate it for exclusive use) and something to transfer your finished product into - plastic pitchers, or re-use laundry detergent bottles or milk jugs (a funnel makes transfer easier). Also, after you let it sit overnight, it's kind of like runny Jell-O, so give it a good stir or, even better, jam an immersion blender in there to reliquify it before you transfer it into storage containers. Bonus points if you make clever labels such as "Caroline Ingalls's Pioneer Laundry Soap".

DISHWASHER DETERGENT. I got to thinking, if I can whip up my own laundry detergent, why couldn't I concoct, say, some dishwasher detergent? Turns out, the two main ingredients you need make the laundry detergent  - Borax Powder and Washing Soda - are also the main ingredients in dishwasher soap! So if you're making one, you might as well make the other. Again there are many versions of this posted on the internet, but  check out this recipe. I used FruitFresh for the citric acid. I also saw one recipe that suggested you add a squirt of Dawn liquid, then mix it in, so I did. It smells great, but of course the liquid makes the mixture want to clump up. You can bust the clumps with a fork before adding to the detergent compartment. (I probably won't add the Dawn next time.) So far it seems to work great. And again - it's so... cheap!  Have you priced dishwasher detergent? Especially those pods or tablets? Crazy expensive.

BREAD. I've been making my own bread for ages... people go crazy for homemade bread but really, it's so easy to make. (It's like that commercial from a few years ago, where the mom makes Rice Krispies treats, then splashes flour onto her face so everyone thinks she slaved for hours in the kitchen when in fact she never broke a sweat.)

I came upon this no-knead recipe a few years ago and it's my favorite when I want a crispy crust. Only drawback is, you need to plan ahead so there's plenty of rising time. Also, I would suggest that you not use a Pyrex bowl in that hot of an oven. Have you ever had one of those babies shatter? BAD NEWS. Instead, invest in a cast-iron dutch oven with a lid... watch the department store sales, or try off-price stores such as TJ Maxx or Ross. It's worth having one just for the bread, but you can make all kinds of other things in it too.

A few weeks ago, I discovered this recipe for peasant bread. It's another no-knead recipe, and it can be made in just a couple of hours. Instead of a crisp crust, it comes out softer. It tastes great! This recipe also calls for Pyrex bowls, but the oven isn't as hot for as long as it is for the Rocket Bread recipe. Don't be scared by how long the blog post recipe appears to be; it's super-easy to make.

I don't have the exact cost figures but you can make rolls or bread at home for a fraction of the cost of what you pay retail. And if you ask me, homemade bread is just better.

YOGURT. Seriously. I saw this making the rounds and wondered, could I really make my own yogurt? Turns out you can, in a crock pot. It's ridiculously easy and it tastes really good! And it's got to be less expensive than buying all those little cups of it... and if you aren't buying those, you aren't throwing them away, which is good for the Earth.  You can even strain it to separate out the whey, and you end up with a thick, Greek-style yogurt. YUM.

If, like me, you are intrigued about whether to buy something or try to make it yourself, you might want to check out these blog posts, written by Amy Keyishian (who happens to be a Facebook friend of mine), wherein she tackles not only making yogurt (cheaper than buying!), but also whether or not to buy or make your own candy corn (buy!) or pie crust (make; duh!). 

I'm not sure what I'll tackle next. I don't see myself making my own wine - though when I was a kid, a guy used to come collect pears that had dropped from our trees so he could make his own pear wine. And I have friends who brew their own beer, so I can just go drink theirs. I'd love your suggestions - leave 'em in the comments!

Speaking the language

I ALMOST NEVER go to Starbucks. Most times when I do, it’s because someone gave me a gift card. I'll happily spend someone else's $5 on a super-caffeinated beverage; I can’t in good conscience do it with my own heard-earned cash.

Despite my infrequent visits, I usually order the same thing, in the same way. This morning, gift card in hand, three extra minutes to spare, I decided to not walk by Starbucks today. I went in. And this is what happened.

ME: I’d like a triple grande vanilla latte, sugar-free, fat-free.

BARISTA: So, you want a triple grande SKINNY vanilla latte?

ME: Yeah, if that’s what you call it.

BARISTA: If you say “skinny,” they know you want it sugar-free, fat free.

ME: Do I have to say “skinny?”

BARISTA: Well, they’ll know you want it with the skim milk and the sugar-free syrup if you do.

ME: Okay, then, I want one of those. What you said.

BARISTA: [yells to other barista] I need a triple grande SKINNY vanilla latte please! [To me] Would you like anything to eat with that this morning?

ME: No… tryin’ to, you know, keep it SKINNY.

BARISTA: They make me ask.

ME: I ate breakfast at home.

Beware, ye who do not speak the language! For the barista might just correct your choice of words, and then you might go from feeling a teensy bit smug for having remembered to call it a “triple grande” instead of asking for a grande with an extra shot, to feeling like an idiot who doesn’t order her drink like how all the cool kids do it.

This reminds me of the time in 1993 when I ordered a Diet Coke from a street vendor in Paris. Eager to use my French, I said, “Un Coke Diete, s’il vous plait,” to which the vendor replied, “EIGHTY FRANCS.” She knew I didn’t speak the language, even though I tried.

But, meh, who cares. It’s only Starbucks. I think it’s more important to order your cocktail correctly at a bar. Grey Goose martini, extra dry, up, with olives. Por favor.

More breakage

IN JANUARY, I wrote a post about broken things... specifically, my car, my DSL connection, and Seth's foot. It was just one of those "bad things come in threes" times, where it just seemed everyting was breaking at once.

Well here we are again, friends, it's the sequel, and it's bigger and badder than the original! The biggest issue right now is our roof. You know, the one on the house that keeps the rain out. It was aging when we bought the house and we've been talking about how one of these days we'll have to replace it. We even joked a little bit after last year's fire about how if only the firemen hadn't been so prompt, we might have gotten a new kitchen roof. But we didn't really mean it.

Apparently we have a big bullseye hovering over our property that says MOTHER NATURE AIM HERE!, because there a rare derecho muscled through our area on June 29, and it sent one of our neighbor's fire-weakened trees right into our roof:

...and it punched a small-ish hole right through. A nice man with a chainsaw happened by, took some of our cash and removed the thing from the roof, then Curt went up into the attic and ghetto-patched it while I started calling roofing contractors. Please know that in a couple of weeks we will be inviting everyone to a party here, where we will make everyone scale a ladder to admire our new car kitchen  major dental work roof. We will serve drinks up there - Solo cups only! - and we will be expecting you to shower us with compliments on shingle color selection, the new skylight, and in particular, the jammin' new roof vents. Bonus points if you also compliment us on our new gutters and downspouts. 

That's the biggie. But at the same time, there was a series of smaller malfunctions: Our high-end Simple Human trash can's lid stopped working. (Don't judge; how many times do you go into your trash can each day? It's worth spending money on a good one.) One bolt that secured the toilet seat in the main bathroom broke clean off, and the plastic nut on the other bolt is stripped and we can't remove it. That was enough to send Curt outside to grill dinner, only the gas line seems to have stopped working. The grill's old anyway; we can try cleaning the line, but it needs new burners again and till you buy four new cast-iron burners you may as well buy a new grill. After that frustration, he decided to mow, only he ran the push mower over a small stump and it... broke. The mower repair guy flipped it over, took one look, and said, "You know, we sell mowers here, too..."

So there you have it. Things breaking left and right. But things can be replaced. When the CHILDREN start breaking, it's a whole new ballgame:

 

Peezer fell off the monkey bars at camp last Thursday. He cried, but "hockeyed up" and hardly complained. He went to camp Friday, then we dragged him up to PA for a family weekend. Saturday afternoon, I noticed he was still holding his arm still and it was still swollen. So yesterday, Curt ran him to the doctor, then for X-rays, then back to the doctor, then over to the orthopedist, and now Peezer has a full arm cast to protect the aligned distal ulnar fracture. And of course, I'm feeling like Mother of the Year for telling him to take a Tufferin and quit complaining. 

And that's the second broken bone in our family this year. But at least it wasn't a BAD break! And now Peezer has a cast - he chose red, for the Washington Capitals and Nationals - and he thinks he's pretty cool. Of course, this puts the kibash on swimming for a few weeks, and also puts taekwondo on hold for a while. 

I don't like to wallow in self-pity or bitch and moan too much, because when it comes down to it, we really do have it much better than so many people. Things could have been so much worse! That said, we've had more than our share this year. I'm done with breakage. OVER. IT.

 

What happens at Vegas Night...

STAYS AT VEGAS NIGHT!

Except I'm a blogger, which means I'm prone to oversharing, so I didn't think it was appropriate to blather on about what I was wearing without providing a full recap of the evening.

I had good luck shopping on Wednesday evening - I ended up finding a perfect Little Black Dress (if anything I ever wear can be described as "little") at Lord & Taylor. Of course, ladies, you know what that meant: I also needed what we euphemistically refer to as "Shapewear" so that the dress would "hang right" without any unsightly bulges. I am of the belief that "shapewear" was invented by men, the same as high-heeled shoes must have been. Makes you looks great, but sofa king uncomfortable. Yes, I know that a woman invented Spanx, and now she is crazy-rich (you're welcome, Sara!), because we willingly pay obscene amounts of money to wear something no one will ever see have a smooth silhouette, but all she really did was improve upon a product that already existed. Don't you remember your mom wearing girdles when you were a kid? And the contraption I wore under my wedding gown was positively Medieval!

And after I shelled out for a "shaper", then I decided I needed a new bra, too, and then I found out what Victoria's "Secret" really is: She charges half a hundo for a good bra! GAH. I usually buy my bras while running through Target to buy underwear for the boys, laundry detergent and a gallon of milk. I had no idea anyone paid more than $11.99 for a bra! Until I did.

I finished my shopping spree at Claire's, where the helpful clerk kindly said that no, I was not too old to be shopping there, even as she rang up purchases by giggling gangs of teenage girls. Blingy fake-gold jewelry, procured.

I scrubbed and shaved and  polished and primped and curled and sprayed. I won a bravely-fought battle while trying to pour myself into put on the shapewear. I zipped up my little black dress.  All of that took 90 minutes. Whereas, Curt rolled in from work, unloaded the dishwasher, picked up the Peezer from aftercare, then pulled clothes from his closet, threw 'em on, and within 7 minutes he looked like a million bucks, just like I predicted he would in Tuesday's post. 

The Las Vegas night was held at the at the National Museum of Women in the Arts and it was an elegant venue:

We's Fancy!

Since we weren't gambling with "real" money, I decided I would take advantage of the opportunity to learn some casino games. So I approached the guys manning the craps table (what are they called? Not dealers... Crapmasters, maybe? Men of Dice??) and said, "Are you patient? Because I'd like to learn the basics of this game so that I don't get myself thrown out of a real casino one day." And they taught me how it works! The 100-level version, anyway. And I might remember some of it.  it was definitely fun! Till that one man kept crapping out (apparently, that's where the expression comes from!) and I lost an obscene amount of Monopoly Money.

Then I played some mindless roulette game and won back some of my losses... then we played Blackjack, which was also educational because the dealer gave us a little bit of coaching. Which they'll never do in Vegas. All they do in Vegas is give you the stink-eye if you take a hit on 13. I think. They will say things like, if you hadn't taken that card, then you would have had that next card and you would have won. And I'm all yeah, but you can't know that! It's called gambling for a reason. Am I right?

I think the husband and I clean up pretty nice:

And sadly, that is the only photo of us together. Sorry, kids. After all that fussin' about what I was going to wear, this is it. You can't even really see the dress. 

Anyway - we had a great time! Even if we didn't win any of the raffle prizes or silent auction items. It was a fun night out. We didn't embarass ourselves. Much. But I can't talk about that, because what happens in Vegas...

Dear Angela at Citibank,

I'M REALLY SORRY I PUT YOU IN AN AWKWARD POSITION earlier today when I visited your branch. The thing is, Angela, the last time I was in - remember, when Citibank  threatened to freeze my dormant accounts unless I "used" them - I added just enough money just to keep them open. Because a girl never knows when she might need to have a bank account. You weren't charging me to have them, so I just.... kept them. 

But then I noticed that my already low balance was... negative! And then I got a letter from Citibank telling me my accounts were "overdrawn" and I needed to visit a branch and pay the negative balance in order to "unlock" them. Which seemed funny, because I didn't have to visit a branch to open the accounts - Citibank did that for me for free when we transferred an equity line of credit there a few years ago.

So I called, Angela, but the frosty lady I spoke to when I phoned Citibank said she couldn't help me unless I deposited enough money to cover the negative $21.32 that your repeated fees caused, which could only be accomplished by visiting a branch. That's not your fault; it's policy, right? And it probably isn't your fault that the nice guy who met me at the door and asked me how he could help, couldn't. "I can't waive the fees, Ma'am," he said as he stared at his monitor. "Those are the rules."

"I'd like to speak with a manager, please," I replied.

Anyway, Angela, even though you didn't smile at me, you handled the transaction pretty well, considering how peeved I was when I walked into your branch. I simply stated that I'd be willing to let the whole thing go if you would just zero out the negative balance and close the accounts. You said you could do that! Unlike that nice guy who also works with you, you had the power to do something.  And you did. 

So thanks again, Angela, for your help today. Considering your bank was trying to tell me, in a greedy, passive-aggressive way, that they no longer wanted me as a customer, you were pretty nice about it. Even if you did make me wait 10 minutes while you queued up for the one teller working the window (who staffs only one teller at lunchtime??) to credit my account to wipe out the negative balance that was caused because Citibank decided they would rather have $60 of mine than my business.

Citibank got their wish, finally. Hey - you don't have to hit me between the eyes with it! You should have just come right out and asked me. Now you will have a lot more time to pay attention to your customers who actually USE their accounts. At least until they realize it's ROBBERY to charge $20 a month to maintain an account with a balance of less than $1,500. 

I know when I'm not wanted. And now you know, Angela, why I have been a loyal customer of my credit union since the late 1990s. They don't charge me ridiculous fees. They're straight up with me; none of this "let's fee her to death till she figures out we no longer want her stupid little accounts" bullshit. 

It's been real, Angela. Vaya con dios, Citibank.

Sincerely,

Your Former Customer