Don't Hate the Playa

At the law firm where I work, for the past several years, five, I believe, we've had a chili cook-off with the proceeds going toward the money spent on the families we "adopt" for the holidays.  It's generally quite a hit with lots of people bringing in many different varieties of chili and lots more coming in to eat/vote.  And I'm thinking that each year there's been a whiff of ballot-stuffing and hanging brads...er.. chads.  This year was no different.

In 2009, I made a damn good pot of chili and I think I should have won.  I was robbed.  Let me point out that the most important key to winning is LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION... of your crock pot, that is.  In 2009, I got there late that day, I don't recall why, and by the time I got there all of the prime spots were taken and my lowly little crock pot was stuffed in the far corner with another crock pot filled with grey chili - it was grey in color and in flavor.  It was gross - and the attorney who brought it in knew it and boldly said that he just put anything that was in his refrigerator into it.  So consequently, anyone who went over to that table, saw the grey stuff and immediately turned away without giving my lovely chili any consideration. 

In 2010, I wasn't able to do anything about my miffedness over being robbed because I was in Washington DC attending the Stewart/Colbert Rally for Insanity.  But I knew my day would come.

This year, the theme was "Little Schop of Horrors."  Don't write in and tell me I misspelled the name, I didn't make a mistake.  One of the managing partners is named Schopmeyer and Greg, the attorney/creative mind behind the chili cook-off thought it was a great idea and that we could superimpose Schop's picture over the plant in photos/decorations.  (see below)

The rules of the cook off are simple, there are three categories: traditional, spicy, and non-traditional.  The votes are $1 each with no limit as to how many you can purchase.  The top vote-getters in each category win the medal for best in category.  The top vote getter of the category winners wins the travelling trophy and bragging rights.  This year, for the first time, Greg also got an adorable smaller trophy that the grand champion got to keep - it was adorable.  I wanted it.

My friend Ashley and I discussed it to death and came to the following conclusions:  no entrants in the spicy or non-traditional categories have ever won the grand prize.  We both wanted to win - her because she wanted the travelling trophy for the next year and me because I wanted the cute little keeper.  Therefore, we both needed to make traditional chili.  But our running against each other might result in a splitting of the vote and allow a dark horse to come from behind and snipe it from us.  So first we discussed my not entering any chili.  But I really wanted to make chili. 

So I contemplated making a spicy chili.  But honestly, I don't know how to make a "spicy" chili.  My  mom thinks my chili is plenty spicy, but she has a wussy palate.  So then we contemplated Ashley making and entering her traditional chili and making and ME entering her spicy chili (which in retrospect would've worked because she said that the ONLY spicy entrant that we ended up with ...ergo the winner of that category...was no way as spicy as her spicy chili!)  Ah, hindsight. 

Then I set my sight on the non-traditional category.  Shawn, our HR peep, was going to make chocolate chili cupcakes - in another life, Shawn was/will be a famous cupcake maker.  So, being a fan of the Food Network, having read Like Water for Chocolate, and seen the movie "Chocolat" many times over, I knew that chocolate and chili (the spice, not the dish) go well together.  I got on the Google and found several recipes for Chocolate Chili.  I picked the one that had ingredients we were likely to have or be able to find and decided I'd enter the non-traditional category with chocolate chili.  But, having never made it before, thought maybe we should make it before hand to see how it was.  This was a good idea because while it wasn't bad, it wasn't a winner.  And I really ought to get on and find that recipe again, just so I can make a comment to the person who commented on the recipe about how it's such a fab dish and gets raves everywhere she takes it.  LIAR!!

Now it's Saturday (the cook off was on Monday), and I'm back to the start.  I just decided WTF!  I was going to make my chili and what happened, happened. 

Sunday afternoon, I dug out all of my chili ingredients which I had purchased before all of the above waffley angst and started making chili.  Meat, check.  Onion, a big one.  Celery, potatoes and beans, enough but not a lot.  Tomatoes, diced and sauce, check.  Salt, garlic, chili powder, check, check. check.  Hot sauce.  I got to the fridge and look for the bottle that I know mom not too long ago because we ran out back when I was in the baby food stage post-op.  I find the bottle and it has a Big Lots price tag on it and I'm thinking "hmm.. how strange that she went and got that at Big Lots."  But I put it in my chili nonetheless.  As I'm returning the bottle to the fridge, I find the bottle that mom bought at Schnucks a couple of months ago and realize that the Big Lots bottle was the one that was in my fridge for years at one or both of my apartments... therefore, nice and, uh.. well-aged.  If I say so myself, it was very good.  Duncan thought it could use more spice.  Mom said it was spicy enough and had a big glass of milk with hers for dinner.

Monday morning, I reheated it, tasted it, added more salt (as the potatoes must've soaked it all up) and chili power, and poured it into my lucky crockpot.  Ok, our only crockpot.  I've been working a lot of OT at work lately on a big project, so I got there shortly after 7am and put my crockpot in a good spot.  (Remember, LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION!)  I then emailed Boss #1 Steve, Boss #2 Carrie, and Jake (one of the attorney who has a special place in his heart for my biscuits and gravy) that if, when they go in to eat at lunchtime, they recognize my adorable little white crockpot with purple grapes and green leaves on it and feel sentimental toward it because of all the good biscuit and gravy memories and it compels them to vote for it's contents, to go with the feeling.  (No one said that campaigning was against the rules!)

Long story short, when all the votes were tallied, my chili had won not only the non-traditional category, but the big trophy too boot!  (see picture).

As usual, there were rumblings about ballot-stuffing.  I say that no one prevented them from spending all the money that they would normally donate toward the holiday family in December in October on chili voting.  Plus, my chili got 95 votes.  I know that I did not 1) spend $95 dollars; or B) even put all of my votes into my pot - I shared some with Ashley and I put some in Deborah's Buffalo Wing Chili (I got the recipe, BTW) which was terrific and won it's category.  Therefore, other people must've voted for my chili! 

I did offer Ashley possession of the big trophy, but she declined.  Next year, she will win.  I'm sure.  :)

The (Evil) Plans of Mice and Men...

I have an appointment today, over lunch, in Newburgh to get my chin zapped.  (Laser hair removal)  Anyway, I had this evil plan for the day and it's all been spoiled.  See, I'd told both my bosses that I have an appointment in Newburgh over lunch.  But I'm NOT going to tell Steve (Boss MAN #1) that it's laser hair removal!  Come on!  Some things I only tell the world via the internets.

 

So Item #1, I was going to have this mysterious appointment in Newburgh.

 

THEN, I was going to wear this suit that my friend Royale gave me when she gave me some of her formerly fat clothes.  It's a wool suit and it's been too warm to wear before now, but the high today is supposed to be in the 50's, so I thought today would be a perfect day.  I even nabbed a pair of panty hose from mom because I don't own any.  And said pair was just "Queen Size" as opposed to the 4X of Just My Size that I used to shoe horn myself into! 

 

So Item #2, I was going to be in this suit, looking ultra professional, in hose and heels.

 

The result of item 1 and 2, I hoped, would be that Mr. Steve's chain would yanked a little and he'd be sweating over the thought that maybe I had a job interview.  Because it would be the first time in the 11-plus years that I've worked here that he's seen me in a suit.  Plus, I was going to try to get Carrie (Boss Woman #2) to help by coming in and asking him if he knew why I was dressed so nice!  tee hee!

 

So this was my evil scheme.

 

The only fly in the ointment turned out to be when I went to put on the pants to the suit this morning, I pulled them up, and they literally fell off of me!  OMG!!!!!  So although my evil plan was thwarted, it was because I've lost so much that the pants that were too tight on my back in mid-August now do not fit at all!

Position Available

I have the sad responsibility to pass along the info that my foremost foreign fan (yep, Rose knows how to use a thesaurus) has returned to the States and she is, in fact, now bad in the Tri-State area.  Yes, due to Heather's wimpy-ness, I no longer have an International Blog readership.  (At least that I know of.)  I guess that makes her my formerly foremost foreign fan! 

 

So, I'm happy to announce that I will be taking offers to fill the vacancy left by Heather.  The only requirement is that you 1) live in a foreign country – Kentucky does not count; b) read my blog regularly; and lastly, have a mutual friend pass along the fact that you LOVE my blog to me occasionally.  Unfortunately, this is not a paid position, other than the obvious joy gained from reading Rose's Ramblings regularly.

 

My nephew, Duncan, has volunteered for the position.  However, he currently resides with me and Mom and while I don't go up there very often, I don't think the upstairs bedroom qualifies as a foreign country.  I'm pretty sure, though, that Winifred would gladly secede from the Condo with Duncan if he chose to do so.  Although that might not be a wise alliance on her part, as there is no food or water up there.

 

Duncan also would not qualify as I don't think he is a regular Ramblings reader.  That stumbling block can be easily overcome, though, and we have plenty of mutual friends (mostly his mother and sister – although I don't think he'd call his sister a "friend.") so he has potential.  His availability to fill the position and therefore move to a foreign country probably depends on how well he does at USI this year.  If he passes, he may be moving into the dorms next year, which, while down the road a wee bit, still doesn't count as a foreign country.  If he doesn't do so well, his parents may help him pack his hobo sack and he can hit the road with his passport.

 

So until final grades come in, I will assume the best and continue my search for Heather's replacement.  Now, I realize that the silent majority of my fanbase may contain a foreign fan.  I am well aware that Blogspot does not make it convenient to post comments on their blogs and I'm too lazy to investigate moving it.  But if you're out there, feel free to let me know.  The position is yours for the taking.  And you will get a shout out!  I like to give my peeps their proper!  (Yes, I'm very white and in my 40's so I'm totally lame.)

 

So to sum up:  Must live outside the US, read my blog, and shower praise on me via a mutual friend (or I suppose Facebook praises would work, too) and all for the whopping sum of NO DOLLARS.  The dollar isn't worth much at the moment any way!

It's Fall Festival Time!!

In Evansville, the first full week of October means one thing to the majority of the populace:  the Fall Festival.  Now, I've heard it said, and will pass it along here even though I don't know if it's true, that Evansville's Fall Festival is the 2^nd largest street fair/festival thingee after Mardi Gras.

 

I do not generally go to the Fall Festival and I have friends who are just shocked everytime they invite me and I tell them no thanks.  Post-op, now they assume it's because I can't eat what all they serve down there.  But no, I'm sure I could eat a lot of the food there.  I just do not like 1) large crowds; second, eating standing up; and C) paying highway robbery prices for bizarre food. 

 

The first time I went was as a child… probably 8 yrs old.  I know Holly and Haley were there so it was before they graduated high school.  There was food, there were rides, and 3 billion people!  I don't recall, but I assume I had a good time but I never really had a desire to go again.  Been there, done that, you know. 

 

Now, post-high school, my friend Karen insisted it was the most fabulous event on earth.  She would save an entire week of her vacation time from work to take the first week of October.  She would be down there every day.  Against my better judgment, she convinced me to go with her one afternoon – meaning it probably wasn't even all that crowded.  The Fall Festival that year was where I won the monkey in the picture with Dad that was a part of my October 5^th Blog entry.  The monkey is the one on the left. 

 

Then about seven years later, another friend, regular Rambling's reader Rebecca (Becky), convinced me to go with her one evening luring me in with talk of the world's best chicken and dumplings.  Wrong!  My mother's chicken and dumplings are the world's best.  Sigh..

 

And there have been a few (VERY few) times that I've been suckered into going with the gang for lunch over the years.  One time that stands out in my memory, Jennifer found a $20 bill on the ground as we walked from the car to the madness.  I was jealous, but she bought us each something with it, so I got over it.

 

Last year, mom and I had to go down there to the bank to meet about our mortgage application during Fall Festival week.  Afterwards, we purchased and split a celebratory cupcake from the booth directly outside the bank.

 

For the past several years… I think this year is #3, or maybe #4.. hmm… yeah, it's #4, or #5....  Anyway, I've "volunteered" to go to the Life Choice Center two blocks from Franklin Street and the madness, to help de-bone chicken for dumplings (again, not as good as my mothers, but the people who make them seem to think that the person making them was given the recipe by God Himself) and make piggy toes (cocktail wienies, wrapped in bacon, covered in brown sugar, and baked until they are caramelized and wha-ha-ha they are good).  I could eat my weight in piggy toes.  I mean, they're meat and sugar.  What's not to love!?  I guess I can't eat my weight in them this year.  Too bad.

 

Life Choice is a home for unwed mothers in our church's former church building.  Mom and I will be there at 8 am on Saturday.  We'll get a primo parking spot which, a few short hours later, people would be willing to PAY for, and we'll go wrap those wienies!  At noon, we'll reward the person who just happens to be weaving down 12^th Avenue at that moment with the parking spot and we'll go home.

 

Meanwhile, where is Ashley with the deep-fried Thin Mints she was going to get me!?

Status Update

I know that the blog-fans... Ramblers?... hmm... I'll have to come up with a name for you.  Anyway, I know that those of you who are NOT on Facebook.  Ok, probably just Becky.  Asks for photographic updates on my progress periodically because they (Becky) do not get to see the pics on FB. 

 

So the above picture was taken this morning.  Yesterday was Week 23 (1 week away from 6 months! - assuming my math is correct...)  And I'm at 98 pounds.  Frankly, I've been there for a couple of weeks, but it's ok.  I'm feeling great.  Still doing my walk/jogging despite it being DARK in the mornings when I get ready to set out. 

 

I actually purchased (because yes, they fit... VERY tightly, but they fit) size 14/16 pants a couple of weeks ago.  I ought to try them on again to see how they fit now. 

 

I have no warm sweaters and I get cold easily since I've lost a lot of insulation.  So I'm either going to have to go shopping for sweaters or raid Mom's closet, or both!

 

I've been letting my hair grow out, because I want to see what I'll look like skinny and with long blond hair.  (Remember, I grew up in the 70's, so Farrah Fawcett is there in the back of my mind and I want to look like her!)  But with the hair loss (and I confirmed this with my doctor) and the protein loss over the whole Scotland/appendix event, my hair is of a straw-like texture, so I had mom chop off a couple of inches of crappy scarecrow hair and now it's looking pretty good.  I have bangs that, when they hang straight, go to my lips!  Maybe by the end of the year they'll be even with the rest of it!

 

Ok, so that's my update at the moment.  I've settled nicely into my routine, getting all of my protein, calcium and vitamins in.  I struggle daily with getting enough liquids in, but that'll probably be the usual from now on.

 

Almost six months in, I'm very happy with my progress and have NO regrets from my surgery.  I appreicate everyone's prayers for me, interest in my progress, and compliments.  I'm pretty sure I will NEVER get tired of hearing how good I'm looking. 

They Say It's Your Birthday!

Today is my father's birthday.  He would be 71 years old.   (Is that right?... 2011-1940.. yeah, that's right.)  The picture above is one of my favorites.  Dad is the one on the right.

 

I've been thinking of him a lot in the past few months.  I think it all started when Mom made the comment that Dad would think her using some of their retirement money on my surgery would be well worth it.  That, of course, made me cry. 

 

Then whenever I was feeling blue, post-op, she'd tell me that she was proud of me, and I'd cry.  She'd tell me that Dad was proud of me, and I'd smile through the tears.  She'd tell me that Sophie and Gizmo were proud of me, and I'd have to laugh at that!

 

There was a gentleman at our church, Lloyd.  He knew and respected Dad.  Lloyd would frequently tell me how much he was praying for my success at the weight loss and that he knew Dad was up in heaven happy for me.  Lloyd passed away last week.   He was like 93 years old, I think, and he'd been going downhill for the past several weeks and his children had to sit by and watch it happen.  I'm grateful that if Dad had to go, he went like he did.  I didn't get a chance to visit Lloyd in the hospital before he died.  I know it's silly, but I wanted to go and visit him and ask him to say "Hi" to Dad for me.

 

Then yesterday evening, I'm sitting at home, logged onto Facebook, killing zombies and I get a notice that one of my friends (not someone I actually know, obviously) posted early birthday wishes to Dad on his Facebook page.  I'm sure I've mentioned that we keep Dad's Facebook page so we (Holly, Haley and I) can log on and have him send us necessary farm or zombie killing supplies.  But this person obviously doesn't know that Dad is no longer physically with us.  I'm looking forward to logging on tonight and finding out how many of his Farm/Zombie "friends" have sent him birthday wishes. 

 

My friend Shawna is like 14 months pregnant and her actual due date is 10/16.  I keep telling her that October 5^th would be a lovely day to have her child, especially since she isn't going to name him Wade, after my father, for me.  (They're going to name it after her husband's grandfather, or something… that's just selfish!)  And then we made lunch plans for tomorrow, so I truly feel that she'll have the baby today (and spoil our lunch plans).  She comes into the office today and tells me that October 5^th is the day of the year with the most babies born on it.  I find that interesting.  I would have thought July 22^nd would've been more popular.

 

Anyway, thanks for listening to me ramble about my Dad. 

Identity Crisis

All of my life, I've been called by many different names.  My mommy called me "Pumpkin" when I was a wee little girl.  My college roommate called me "Bunz"… after I told her once that I had the "Barger butt" … she ran with it and I became "Bunz!"  Frankly, I'm surprised that I was listed as Rosemary "Bunz" Barger in her wedding handout thingee. 

 

My mother, grandmother, aunts and uncles have all called me "Christine" at one time or many others.  The reason behind this being that I have an Aunt Christine who is "blond"… or at least started out blond like me.,, and I suppose, well.. I just don't know the reasoning beyond that.

 

It's not just a me/Christine thing either.  My sisters inherited this weirdness.  They frequently call me by their daughter's names and vice versa.  I've been called Natalie and Hollian… I don't recall if I've been called Brynn, but odds are that I have.  I'd have to ask her if she's been called Rose or Rosemary, but I know the other two have, because I've overheard it.

 

It doesn't bother me - it's one of those things that you put up with.  The only name I've been called that really has ever bothered me is "Rosie" and I'm sure that stems from the whole "ring-around-the-rosie" crap to which I was subjected in elementary school.  And of course the famous Rosies out there (Barr, O'Donnell) don't make me want to embrace the name either.

 

I, however, have never really had a problem with names.  Well, there was that one time that I was overly stressed at work and I couldn't remember Melba's name despite the fact that we'd worked together for, then, at least 7 years and she was standing there talking to me and all I could think of was that I had no clue what her name was.  And of course when I turned 40 and my mental light bulb started flickering, but with that everyone's name has an equal opportunity to be forgotten… and plus it's a memory thing, not an interchanging thing.

 

Now, however, I've realized that I have in fact inherited the sickness.  "But Rosemary, you say (because you know that I won't respond to "Rosie"), you don't have any daughters whose names you can switch!"  And you would be right.  I do have a "son," so to speak.  His name is Gizmo and he's a very handsome blue-grey 6 year old cat.   So that's one half.  The other half is my nephew Duncan who is currently living at the 'do with me and Mom.

 

Yup, you guessed it.  On more than one occasion I have called Duncan by the name "Gizmo."  He doesn't seem to mind.  But like me, I'm sure he'll put up with it and feel morally superior until one day he calls his daughter Rosemary or Natalie or Bunz!