in the spirit of halloween

a post about chocolate.

apparently, most chocolate is made with child slave labor. did not know this.

read this blog post yesterday. "we can lick the chocolate off, but the blood is still there."

yuck.

tonight, the international justice mission is showing the documentary "the dark side of chocolate" on the UM campus. link here for info. i encourage you to see it if you live in this area.

coincidence? probably not. i love it when God just kind of sets things down in my lap like that. so, now i'm totally convicted about my chocolate purchasing habits. i found this list of fair trade chocolate, but it's over a year old, so you may want to research more.

4 links in one post. i'm helpful like that.

so, now you know. read, be educated, pray, and then DO.

costumes of halloween past

a list, with pictures if possible. enjoy.

note: i have had considerable trouble a) finding time to try to finish this post, b) uploading pictures with our non-awesome scanner and c) locating pictures of all mentioned costumes. please accept my apologies as i make do with what the facebook offers.

2001 - dixie chicks with kristi and laura. really just an excuse to wear a small shirt. we did make it into the 2001 - 2002 revellie though. i believe we were dancing on a pool table, not that this was anything unusual. at all.

2002 - avril lavigne. someone, somewhere, has a video of me singing "sk8ter boi" while likely very tipsy and hopelessly out of tune. i have tried to upload this picture, because i was wicked accurate in my portrayal of miss lavigne, but our scanner blows goats.

2003 - fairy. yet another excuse to wear a ridiculously small costume. jessica, this was our best idea ever, i'm sure of it.

2004 - a road sign. yellow t-shirt reading "dangerous curves ahead" with my black dance pants. comfy. ben & aaron were black eyed Ps in ellay. i have this picture as well. somewhere.

2005 and 2006 - i have no idea. probably nothing. feel free to correct me.

2007 - thing 1 and thing 2. we were super cute.

2008 - nothing. someone forgot to tell me about the annual law school costume party.

2009 - please see 2008.

2010 - i had hopes of being the cutest-ever sophia petrillo, but have all but abandoned them when i realized it would probably cost me upwards of $50. i'm cheap. i may be thing 2 again, or maybe thing 1 to change it up, but if i happen upon an iconic bamboo purse, it's on.

domestic goddess

so, last night, i cleaned out my cabinets (well, the ones that store food). this little adventure started out with me just wanting to get some glass out of the cabinets to give to my grandmother. i've told you i inexplicably save glass jars, right? well, i do, and until last night i had a whole shelf full. but i digress.

my grandmother makes jelly for fun. she really has no one to cook for, and can't possibly consume or give away all the jelly she makes, but make it she does. and it is gooooooood. i currently have multiples of muscadine, strawberry, apple, and blueberry peach in my fridge, along with 2 jars of sweet pickles and some jarred figs. bad thing is, i don't often eat breakfast, so all that jelly just sits there in the top shelf of my fridge, being lonely and looking yummy. don't tell my grandmother this.

well, i tend to get carried away. my grandmother told me that if i had any glass, i could give it to her. so i started collecting the forgotten jars from my cabinets last night to clean and de-label to give to her. that turned into me cleaning out and re-organizing the entire upper north face of my kitchen cabinets (next, the lower levels). the law student kept coming into the kitchen periodically to ask me when i was making dinner and found me standing on the oven, with our entire non-perishable food supply crammed onto any available counter space. he did get dinner, but not until after i made him look at my handy-work and make the obligatory compliments to my awesome domestic skills.

i didn't give all my glass away, though. i saved some out of principle. tonight, we shall drink from mason jars.

next on my list: mom's pecan pie and grandma's dream cookies.

car wash

i grew up washing my own car. we had (and still have, i imagine) a big white bucket and large handled brush with green bristles, shimmy cloths, tire foam and whitewall cleaner, and a big heavy shop-vac.

dad would help us wash, or supervise, or sometimes just be in the general vicinity and timeframe of a car wash. every time we thought we were done, he'd ask us, "well, if you're proud of it and satisfied that you did the best you could, then you're done." that usually instigated a more thorough re-wash and once-over.

these years of training and guilt produced some mad car-washing skills. every time i've taken my car to get it cleaned, they've still never done as good a job as i would have. but, i'm lazy. i haven't washed my car myself in probably 2 years or more. it's been cleaned since then, but not much. my car is usually pretty filthy with grime and bug guts on the outside and littered on the inside. it's not sticky or anything gross on the inside, but there are usually dusty paw prints and lots of dog hair and general dirt in the floorboards. plus, we didn't get a hose until a random neighbor left one outside our door.

so, while my skills may often lie dormant, they are still wicked good. last weekend, i washed my car. i washed the spilled coffee off my car. i foamed the tires and scrubbed the wheels. i armor-alled the interior AND the leather. i cleaned the inside and outside of the glass. i waxed the bugs off the front end of my car. i vacuumed the mats, floor and under the seat cushions. i cleaned out the trash. it took me two days to finish it all. and it sparkled.

the other day at work, my coworker asked me if i had gotten a new car.

mission accomplished.

thanks, dad.

these boots are made for

...me.

i have the hardest time shopping for boots (and pants, if you must know) for several reasons: 1) short short legs and 2) extremely large and long calf muscles. i feel like i'm a physical anomaly whenever i shop.

but every now and then i happen upon an awesome, seemingly made-for-me item (joe's jeans plug here). and these boots below are just that.

diba cute intent in black

diba calico in tan

i love these boots.
the problem is, i find something i love and then proceed to wear it incessantly, which has happened with the tan calico boots. this is probably going to be their last season. and i'm desperate to replace them.

desperate.

i've given my email address out to more online websites these past few weeks than i have in the past few years. i've looked everywhere for another pair of these tan boots in a size 6.5, and there. aren't. any.

(tear, sniff)

so, friends, if you see these,

or these...

please buy them for me in a size 6.5 and i will giddily reimburse you for
price and shipping and be eternally grateful.

thanks ever so much. y'all are the best.

THE etouffee recipe

the law student (the esquire, the law graduate, et cetera, et al) is quite the little sous chef. i came home to a huge crockpot of black beans and chopped veggies for my dish of the week: crawfish etouffee. etouffee means "smothered," and i'm thinking it must also mean delish. i never make this stuff the same way every time, because i can never find the same etouffee base or sauce or mix or whathaveyou. ever. mom always made it with a jarred sauce - how convenient. must be one of those magical grocery store items only she can find.

so, per amanda's request, here is last night's recipe. not only was it scrumptious, it was also pretty.

you'll need: butter, 1 chopped red pepper, 1 chopped green pepper, 1 stalk chopped celery, garlic, black beans (canned or homemade), onion, crawfish tails (i use bernard's, in the frozen section at the kroger), tony's seasoning and tony's instant roux, and 1 can of rotel tomatoes.

canned black beans are convenient. whole beans are not, but they are infinitely more tasty. giving a grocery list to a man is almost always a crapshoot, which is how we ended up making our own (awesome) black beans. i will learn this one day. be explicit, or you will come home to a plastic bag full of dried black beans. to avoid having to soak the beans, we threw them in the crockpot. recipe follows.

1. pour boiling water over 1 cup of dry beans in water into crockpot--cover beans, plus about 1 inch. *note - 1 cup of dry beans yields way more than 1 cup of cooked beans.
2. throw in garlic (a few cloves, to taste) and chopped white or yellow onion.
3. 3-4 hours on low (we will probably eat around 7:30 like normal)
4. check every few hours to make sure 1) water level is good (add more BOILING if needed) and 2) to stir. taste test for consistency.
5. congratulate yourself by doing a solo happy dance in the kitchen in your socks.

next, the roux. here's last night's recipe. boil the rice while you are making this.

1. melt 3/4 stick of butter in large pan.
2. throw in chopped veggies - peppers, onion, celery, whatever
3. pour in one can of rotel tomatoes, juice included.
4. sprinkle generous amounts of tony's roux mix into pan. stir. bring to boil. add more as needed to thicken. lower heat when to desired consistency.
5. dump in crawfish tails. stir.
6. spoon in black beans, making sure to get a little of the bean water. stir to mix.
7. you can smother your rice with the etouffee to be super literal, or you can just stir in the rice, like i did. season to taste.

and voila, you now have the prettiest, tastiest crawfish etouffee ever! the colors in this dish look fabulous.

amanda, you're welcome.

youth in revolt

getting old sucks. and as daddy always says, when i complain about it, "hang on, it'll get worse."

awesome.

complaint #1: wonky hip. i do not remember this being a problem until college, when i realized it felt weird to sit indian style. my right leg does not turn out all the way and sometimes feels like it's going to pop out of place when i run more than half a mile. but i hate running, so this sometimes works in my hip's favor.

complaint #2: mybackaches. mybackaches when i stand up washing dishes. mybackaches when i do pilates too much. mybackaches when i lean over to bathe the roxy. mybackaches when i stay in one position too long and then move to another. i am in constant need of a chiropractor and/or a good massage.

complaint #3: my inability to stop inexplicably saving glass jars. i'm turning into my mother.

complaint #4: gray. hair. s. they're multiplying. oh, and random other hairs in socially inappropriate places, like the end of my chin. oddly enough, my hair is getting darker, on its own. everyone keeps asking me if i've colored it - not since july 4th. think it may have to do with the vitamins? does iron turn your hair darker? i have no idea.

complaint #5: adult acne. this sucks. at this moment, i not only have multiple small pimples on my face, but also a big mean monster zit inside my ear. it hurts. a lot. it hurts to smile. and i have to grit my teeth every time i try to pop it because 1) it is impossible and 2) it will throb for 30 minutes afterwards. an ear pimple reduces me to tears, and i'm supposed to be able to give birth?

also, what are these light brown spots on my face?

complaint #6: metabolism = FAIL. i can still fit in my clothes, but don't always feel great in them. it's like russian roulette every morning. ice cream is my biggest enemy, and i really hate running. it seems like working out is set on devouring what little personal time i have every day. and you'd think at this point, i'd have learned that eating like crap all weekend and not working out doesn't make a happy monday.

complaint #7: i can have informed conversations with my grandmother about the efficacy of different laxatives.

complaint #8: i can no longer drink whiskey. not sure that this really counts as a complaint, per se, but i don't like being told what to do.

there's an app for that

this morning's gchat from friend:

started my period today

just like iPeriod said i would

i keep up w/ it on my phone

there really is an app for everything.

kinda makes my stack (stack! success!) of nfp charts seem lame.

up next: something completely unrelated!

so, the law student and i are still reading (though woefully behind) the bible all the way through. last night, he tricked me into reading the family lineage of esau (we take turns reading). all was going well until i got to the name oholibamah. the bible has never made me laugh until last night. can you imagine if she got lost? ohoooooooooolibamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! where aaaaaaaaaaaaaare yooooooooooooooooooou? so every time i read that name (and it was a lot), i said it like that. and laughed like it was the funniest thing i'd ever said.

note: genesis is long and repetitive. can't wait until we get to leviticus, numbers and deuteronomy, which is bound to be full of names i can't pronounce, printed over and over again in differently-arranged-but-still-same-ole-thing sentences.

hello, gigglebox

it's been a while since you've been turned upside down.

meet new blog stalkee allie.

wiping tears from my eyes now. all productivity at work is shot. quarterly reports be damned.

open letter to jessica simpson

dear jessica,

or can i call you jess? with all of your "candidness," i feel like i can.

speaking of candid, let's get to the point of my letter. i'm tired of reading another celebrity gossip article tidbit about your farts. seriously.

yes, you're pretty. kind of gorgeous, actually. you have bigger boobs than me.

and yes, everyone toots, just like you. yes, it sounds funny and usually smells, just like when you do it. i can make the law student leave the room with one pffft, and i often silently celebrate my obvious victory. or giggle. in fact, i'm pretty sure i know a lot of people who could out-toot you. i'm directly related to some of them. we even had a club. booyah.

i am a firm believer in austin power's mantra of "better out than in." but i don't tweet about it. or talk about it when i'm interviewed by national magazines. or do it at work or in business meetings. or walking around in wal-mart (like some man i know). personally, i get excited about a different bodily function (well, a couple, really) but that's another story for another time. surely you're no longer surprised by this ability, which in no way distinguishes you from the rest of the world. it's kinda funny when people do it on accident. but letting one rip just because you can - congratulations, you're on par with babies, 9th graders and drunk frat boys! awesome. who needs a grammy?

so, to conclude - yes, you toot. yes, we do too. yes, we know you toot and you think it's cute, because you tell us enough. but not all exposure is good exposure. trust me on this. public gas-blasting can only get you so far in life. stop tooting about your pooting. it can only go up from here.

sincerely,

kissey, founding member of the rootin'-tootin'-pootin' club.

new blog!

i want to move to dallas to be friends with these people.

aren't they fun? i may start living vicariously through them.
like taking perfect artsy pictures of us being goofy and being more candid
and witty than i thought possible.

it could work.

note to self: become a picture-taking person.
2nd note to self: get a new camera. snap with abandon.
3rd note to self: convince the law student to go along with it.

perk: being able to see my sissy as well.

that's her.

those are her dogs.
her boyfriend loves them.
like his own children.

plus, dallas would be waaaaay cool.

speaking of, the law student (yes, i'm reverting back to the original name. for now.),
he did get some substantial job leads yesterday.

yay!

by substantial, i mean job leads that did not include such phrases as:

"we're not hiring, but please send us your resume."
"i don't know if he's looking for anyone right now, but email your resume."
"i may know someone. email me your resume."

yay!

sadly, they are not in dallas.
or ashville.
or nashville.
or anywhere really happenin'.

poot.

but more yay than poot.

monday night heartbreak

dear dolphins,

your special teams - woof.

you were the first to score. the golden mullet didn't score a touchdown. you held the patriots to 2 field goals in the first half. you walked back onto the field leading 7-6.

and then you let them score in the first 14 seconds of the second half. your quarterback threw 2 interceptions that resulted in 14 points, and a pick-6 to round out the game. not to mention i had to hear the name benjarvus green-ellis over and over again, which is not only a mouthful but also a player of my alma mater's rival. salt in the wound.

but nothing compares to the special teams. wow. y'all really showed out. after last game's blocked punt, surely you practiced this. you must have, because you are a professional football team and you get paid to do a job. how many blocked punts did you have last night? three? i lost count. i'm pretty sure your total lack of ability to simply execute a play that for any regular team is a given directly contributed to that bigger number on the scoreboard. your number one fan, my husband, stopped watching. he even stopped screaming. he probably won't even whistle all day today. if you don't know, it's a bad sign. in fact, my home life is directly related to your win-loss record.

i married into this loyalty, but i now support you as a true fan (even though jason taylor left). so, in the name of happy households and husbands everywhere,

get. it. together.

sincerely,

kissey, dolphin fan

what's in a name?

i'm so so so happy and proud that ben graduated law school (with honors!), passed the bar exam and got sworn in to the mississippi courts. but i really don't like the name "the esquire." it just hasn't grown on me like "the law student" did. i guess it partly makes sense--he was the law student for much longer than he's been "the law graduate" or "the esquire." but aren't you technically always a student of the law? i mean, you never really stop learning--there are always new cases to read and new things to learn, so maybe i could still refer to him as "the law student." i don't know. nevertheless, i'm still ambivalent about his current title here on the blog.

so, any thoughts? what say ye, blog readers, followers and creepers?

monday morning confession

i can't remember the last time i shopped for groceries. or vacuumed. or washed a sink full of dirty dishes after preparing a nutritious, locally-grown homemade meal. or even wanted to. i'm regressing as a housewife. something about this summer and this fall schedule and new football season have conspired against my good intentions and sapped my energy. i've let all this bar exam stuff go to my head. all my years of housewifery, all my standards, are slowly spiraling down.

and let me just tell you, the newly-sworn-in-and-able-to-argue-in-mississippi-courts-but-currently-still-open-to-employment-opportunities esquire does not make it any easier for me. how in the world am i supposed to polish my skills and stay on task when he so willingly washes last night's dishes for me every morning? or dusts and vacuums on sunday afternoons so i don't come home to a dirty house? i left him saturday morning painting bleach on a stain on his shirt, and when i returned home i found he had folded the clean towels and put them in their proper place in our bathroom. this means he pulled them out of the dryer. he doesn't even fuss when i send him a grocery list, at least not so i can hear him. and as a result, i never really remember what we have in the pantry, even though i made the list and the menu, which i can no longer find.

i think back to our first days together. i was often more than annoyed to see cereal bowls with spoons stuck to them on the side table, or half full glasses from the night before in random spots around the house, and i hated stepping on forgotten underwear in the bathroom. but he caught on and began to share in the work of wifely domain. it was such a welcomed help! but i fear i've created a monster. i've made myself totally expendable. i now know just how efficient my little househusband is. he's running circles around me with the vacuum, while i just lay on the couch with a glazed look on my face. i have got to get it together, pull myself up by my apron strings. because i know he's going to get a job soon, and then where will we be? looking at each other over a sink full of dirty dishes while i try to remember how to fold a shirt.

i'm not complaining. really. i know how good i've got it. and i know he enjoys making and keeping me happy more than he actually likes cleaning. and by no means do i want him to stop. i loooooooove basking in the faint glow of a really clean home, and doubly so when i didn't do the cleaning. i could really get used to this. stay away, ladies. this one's mine.