Nutella Rocks!

This is a picture of my niece Emily. If you needed any more proof that we're related, OR that Nutella truly is god's gift to the world, here it is. When her Mom (my sister) heard that I let Emily do this, she wasn't too impressed with me. Then again, if I wasn't corrupting her from a young age, I'd be very lax in fulfilling my role as an Aunt. I consider sitting down with my niece and sharing an entire jar of Nutella with a spoon to be part of her education: one should always know (from a young age) when the calories are totally, totally worth it.

Pinkberry

Anyone who is anyone who reads food blogs (and specifically those based in Los Angeles) knows that the latest, greatest, must-have food item of the moment is a Pinkberry. When I first heard about this, I couldn't quite see what the excitement was about. Frozen yoghurt shops were a thing of the 80's - we used to get them all the time. What could be so fantastic about a frozen yoghurt with stuff on top?

When we were in LA, we passed literally a dozen or more Pinkberry stores - but it wasn't until our last weekend there that DH and I had the chance to wander in and try it for ourselves. We happened to be at the Pantages Theatre, which is at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. What more LA-ish thing to do than eat a Pinkberry smack in the middle of Hollywood?


DH chose the original/pomegranate flavour with carob chips, blackberries and raspberries. I had the original/green tea flavour with Cap'n Crunch cereal, raspberries and oreos.


A couple of things struck me about the Pinkberry store. Firstly that it's a classic case of everything old is new again - it's the same frozen yoghurt shops of my teenage years, just now they sell trendy flavours and have trendy toppings and sell trendy Alessi homewares in the store. They also have uber-cool seating and lighting...but other than all that, it's just another frozen yoghurt joint (and an expensive one at that!). I will say that the toppings looked like they came out of a magazine - perfectly plump berries, artfully arranged carob chips, a perfect mound of Oreo chunks and really white, clean benchtops: it was straight out of Martha Stewart. At this point I was thinking that this yoghurt better taste as thought it came straight from heaven.

So here's the rub - it IS bloody delicious. DH and I happily dug into our trendy concoctions, but then disaster struck when I discovered that my mound of Pinkberry was in fact a mound of air with some Pinkberry around it:


....and as proof it wasn't just me who got totally jipped...DH's was missing the middle as well!


I'm not sure if this is a deliberate act on the part of the Pinkberry company to deny us their product but make it LOOK as though they are giving us lots, or if we just had a particularly incompetent frozen yoghurt twirling lady. Either way, it was a crushing disappointment because that stuff is truly delicious. I will say that I'm still not entirely sure what the excitement is about this stuff (because change the decore and it's back to 1984) but it was a fantastic treat to have on a fun tourist day in Hollywierd.

Craziness is a Family Trait

Several months ago I wrote a blog post about my Dad. In that post (in case you're too lazy to go read it) I said that his most admirable trait is that he can make cool stuff happen. My Dad is like Santa, Willy Wonka, the Wizard of Oz and other cool fictional guys all rolled into one. Not only does he make the craziest stuff happen, but he's also one of these tenacious people who, once he commits to something, won't let it go until he's made good on the promise or has died trying.

The back story here is that my DH is a total carnivore. He tolerates chicken (and sushi on occassion) but on the whole if it doesn't moo or baa, he's not interested in eating it. My childhood, on the other hand, was pretty much endless amounts of chicken, since my Dad was vegetarian and my Mom is no great fan of either beef or lamb. So chicken 7 days a week was the norm. Here, if I serve chicken more than once a week (or - gasp!- a vegetarian option) DH feels as though he's not had a real meal. Real men - and certainly real Aussie men - eat meat, and lots of it, cholesterol be damned.

By the end of our chicken-tastic American holiday, DH was hankering for some real meat. My parents decide that DH and I could use an adult night out, so they invite us to dinner. Not just ANY dinner, but to dinner where there are world famous steaks involved. So far, this sounds like a good plan.

Apparently, my parents (in the pre-vegetarian days) used to drive to San Dimas (a good 70 minutes out of LA) with some friends of theirs every couple of weeks. They used to shlep out to some joint called Pinnacle Peak, just to eat steaks. Pinncale Peak is the kind of place where the menu has not changed since 1967 (!), green vegetables are a dirty word, and they do this shtick where if you show up wearing a tie, they cut it off (but not before ringing a cow bell, of course.) Go check out the website...wait a sec...they have one of these in SHANGHAI?

Anyway so we drag our asses out to San Dimas to eat what are supposedly the best steaks in the West. The place wins major points for being theme, but long before theme was cool. So it's all about the pictures of cows, the wood tables, the jeans, the menu on a paper bag and so on. While I can't claim it's the best steak I've ever eaten, I can claim that my Dad decided we were going to this joint... 25 years AFTER he had first been there. In fact when he suggested we go there, he didn't even know if it still existed. See? He decides to go to dinner at some random, far away meat joint...and then there it is, exactly as promised.

DH got his meat allocation for the day, and I laughed my ass off at the idea of my well-off Jewish parents hanging out at a red neck joint like this one. It's like imagining Donald Trump walking into Taco Bell every couple of weeks for his burrito fix.

This, my friends, is not where the story ends. Ohhh NO. My Dad, Mr Santa/Wonka/Oz, had yet more tricks up his sleeve. Apparently in those days they also used to go to some bar (who knew my parents went to bars?) whose shtick was to let you throw peanut shells on the ground while you drank. Not only that, the place looked like a SWISS CHALET with faux icicles hanging down. All my Dad could remember was the way it looked and that it wasn't far from Pinnacle Peak.

We asked the waiter about it (who had no idea). He, in turn, asked the oldest employee, who said she thought it was a joint called the North Woods Inn. My Dad was sure that wasn't right, so we ate our steak and left.

Knowing my Dad like I do, I knew this whole bar/peanuts thing was annoying him and that he was going to find this joint (or the dirt lot where it once stood). Once he SAYS something exists, he's gotta prove it exists. So my Dad asks if anyone is willing to give him a shot at finding this joint. A place he hasn't seen in 25 years, a place he has NO idea where to find. The 50/50 vote meant we were heading home (much to my Dad's disappointment), until my Dad shouts, "EXIT 19! EXIT 19! That's it!" and nearly gets us all killed as he veers off the freeway across several lanes of traffic.

So there we are. Middle of nowhere, exit 19. Dad says, "Okay, people, I'm giving this little adventure 5 miles. If at the end of 5 miles we can't find it, we'll give up and go home." (and me in the back seat is thinking, "YEAH, right. Dad? Give up? Whatever!")

Me, DH, my Dad, Mom and brother are sitting in my Dad's SUV, tooling down some random road in some random town and frankly, I think more than one person in that car was hoping not to find it. It's 11pm, we're all tired and full of steak and the streets are almost empty - and it's mostly resedential so we all think, frankly, that Dad is full of shit.

...and then, of course, my Dad says, "We're just about at the 5...oh wait a minute! There it IS!" and nearly kills us again by veering off to the left.

See? Faux snow and all...

Too-frickin-right. There it was, in all it's glory. A faux Swiss chalet (complete with icicles). We go inside (because my Dad, who doesn't drink, was going to have that damn beer) and we see THIS sign:


The bar still exists, 25 years later. It still has plenty of drinkers at the bar, plenty of peanuts, and plenty of old-world charm. Given the time, the bar was closed, but at least we found it, it really exists, they still throw peanut shells on the floor.

Gotta hand it to my Dad...a true man of his word.

...that being said, here's the name of the place:

...so if we'd listened to the waiter, we probably would have found the place a lot quicker. Then again, it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun...and what is life without a little adventure?

And they call it puppy love...

Okay so he's not a puppy, but as for the love part...well, I think that's obvious, isn't it? This is DH and Teddy, our dog we've got on a two week trial to see if he fits into our home and life and if the kids can handle it. He's from the local Greyhound Adoption Program, so he's an ex-racer. I don't think you would know that, though, from how much he just kinda lopes around the house all mellow and chilled out. We took him to school pick up today and although he was rushed by a mob of kids, he just kinda stood there and let them pat him. Not a jump, not a bark...what a gentleman he is!

...the trial lasts for two weeks, at which point we decide if we want to give the kids back or not. As far as DH is concerned, the dog stays.

Cuisine Americaine

The disclaimer to this is that I spent my time in California (SoCal) and a bit in Hawaii and a bit in Monterey ... so it's possible my opinions on this topic are slightly skewed from those locations. I'm willing to believe things in other parts of the US are different. Plus, I'm going to make a whole lot of sweeping generalisations, knowing full well there are of course exceptions to every rule.

In no particular order, here are my observations on Cali-merican cuisine, of the every day variety (so no, I didn't get to go to the French Laundry or Beso or anywhere else fabulous, but I DID eat 1,233 bagels and visit at least a half dozen different supermarkets of varying financial standing.)

1. Among endless articles about the American obesity epidemic, children getting fatter, people having higher cholesterol and basically loads of media attention surrounding the whole WE ARE FAT AND SHOULD PROBABLY DO SOMETHING issue, the cheapest food to eat is high fat, low nutrition fast food. Drive down Ventura Blvd and see how many things you can buy for 99c or less - 3 different kids of burgers at Carl's Jnr, and entire meal of things of the McD's $1 menu, pizza slices the size of your head for 99c and so on. It amazed me that our whole family could eat a substantial meal at a fast food joint for less than it costs me (alone) to have a reasonable lunch here in Melbourne. Anyone else see a small hypocrisy problem with this?

2. There seem to be endless excuses to eat, even in situations where you don't really need to. Shopping for toilet paper at Costco? Here! Have a sample of a burger/granola/drink/hot dog/whatever. It's free! You don't actually need to go out to dinner any more ... just get a Costco membership and eat out between aisle 11 and 18 every night. Going to the movies? Here, have some free samples and also a burger. Food is literally everywhere. I realise this in part is because of the population ... but sheesh, do I really need to eat while getting my hair done?

3. Wait a sec, wait a sec. You want fresh, healthy, good quality, well presented food? Let me introduce you to a small place called "Whole Paycheck" (sometimes also known as Whole Foods). Nowhere else can you buy overpriced exotic Indian incense sticks with your organic pomegranate juice...but nowhere else would you want to, either.

4. There is a guy named Trader Joe's and he is apparently some sort of deity.

5. Food at Disneyland was expected to be overpriced, unhealthy, and be made up of small portions of deep fried crap. Surprisingly, none of that was true as there were plenty of healthy, well priced, family friendly eating options all over the park and we could obtain fresh fruit, water, and vegetable matter without even trying hard. I'm not sure why the rest of SoCal has not yet gotten the memo. It's also the scene of the amazing cancelling out food: when you buy a corn dog, they give you a free bag of apple slices. I wonder if they think the apple cancels out the corn dog, or the corn dog cancels out the apples? Hmmm.

6. Drinks, drinks, and more drinks...oy the endless drinks! Bottomless this, Snapple that, 'lite' this and 'zero' that and my god, drinks are everywhere. Americans are obsessed by giant drinks with free refills and an obnoxious amount of ice in the cup thus garnering you no actual drink per se. On the plus side, iced tea is available everywhere you go and I for one was bloody grateful as I love that stuff (and I also love ice, except when it means by 415 oz drink only has 3 oz of actual liquid in it.)

7. BACON. It's a wonder the Ford company has not yet come out with a hybrid car which runs on bacon grease. Watch Food Network for a couple of hours and you'll realise that there is no food in the world which cannot be improved with some bacon. Or so say the chefs of America anyway. Bacon is like...the national foodstuff, or something.

8. Iron Chef America: It's total bullshit. A whole pastry kitchen, sous chefs, a required number of dishes, ingredients which are a) not that hard and b) kinda stupid (milk AND cream? what, milk wasn't a good enough ingredient?) They don't really seem to be trying all that hard, you know? It all is so very planned out before they even get to find out the ingredient. Alton Brown, I totally adore you - but this show isn't a patch on the original so I think it's time you stopped assaulting the American public with crap shows like this.

9. Paula Deen, in ONE show, cooked deep fried lasagna, and deep fried battered barbeque pork ribs. She had an entire audience split into two, cheering for either the 'BAHHHR-BEE-QUUU" or the "FRAAAAHHHHDD." They were shouting and waving banners and stuff. Either she's a total genius or has some sort of kick-back deal going with the makers of heart medication...and speaking of...

10. Is it just me? I don't really want to watch an ad for *ahem* women's business medication - which may cause itching, redness, infection, pus-filled pimples, discomfort, wind, irritable bowels and 34 other side effects ... in the middle of a cooking show. Food and pustules? No, no, and NO. You have to do something about all those drug ads. They're revolting, no matter how many happy looking people there are running through fields of yellow flowers. Also food and bodily functions do not belong on the same channel.

11. Bread and salad BEFORE a meal. This is a very American thing which I actually think is a good idea and a bad idea all rolled into one. Good idea: You eat some vegetables and grains before your meal. Bad idea: You eat so much butter and dressing on both of those, you negate the value of the vegetables and grains.

12. Have I mentioned the bacon?

13. There is just no substitute for Hebrew National hot dogs in a fluffy white bun with ridiculous amounts of Heinz ketchup. Simply the best food EVER. (As usual the chef-slash-hippie in me dies a little each time I eat one of these, but the lazy junkfood eating beeatch loves the damn things to death. My tastebuds are doing a happy dance just thinking about them.)

14. Crappy bagels. Los Angeles is awash with endless crappy bagels...and they're multiplying! You can buy crappy bagels everywhere from donut shops to pharmacies to car washes to bookstores. The crappy bagels are like Gremlins...pour a bit o' water on them and the damn things can't be stopped! (nor can they be swallowed.)

...and finally...

15. Did I mention the bacon? Enough with the bacon, people! Enough!
__

(and by the way, I did take the time to visit 3 cupcake bakeries...all sadly disappointing...and I did watch endless episodes of Ace of Cakes...Oh, to be able to charge what he charges!)

A Valentine's Tale

Ed's Note: DH and I don't do much for Valentine's Day and that's fine by me. This year he got me a really sweet card, a long stemmed red rose, and on our behalf made a donation to the Red Cross Bushfire Appeal. He couldn't have gotten it more right. I love you, DH! - as I remind you sixty thousand times a day - but that doesn't make it any less true.

___

So for today I thought I would tell you about my single worst Valentine's Day ever. I'm pretty sure my parents don't know I even HAD this boyfriend, so it'll be a revelation for them as well (Hi Mom). Let me preface this by saying that I am a closet hippie ... I've always had a vaguely alternative, free love, yay the trees and our forest friends sort of part of my personality. These days it doesn't come out quite as much but in college it was in full force. As a result I had a vaguely alternative boyfriend named M. M, among other things, wore a black leather jacket with the Chechnian (sp?) flag on it, wore 10-eyelet Doc Martens, wore blue plaid flannel pants all the time and shaved all his hair off except a 3 inch long fluffy stripe off to one side. He also had flame red hair, so it was in fact a bright red 3 inch long fluffy stripe. He also had the dubious honour of running away from home but on the way getting into a train wreck (really!). He escaped unscathed from the wreck so he just went back home and never said anything to anyone, nobody noticed, and then some months later tried again (and was sucessful.)

Anyway let's get onto the Valentine's biz, shall we? So M was perpetually broke because he spent his every last dollar (what few there were) on CD's and random music and/art stuff because he reckoned he was a bit of of ar-teest. He had a string of crazy jobs - wierd phone line things, selling schemes, whatever. On Valentine's Day he asked me to meet him at the bus depot so we could head into downtown Denver for a night nice out which he planned. Seeing as he was working (at the phone line thing) we had to start out night fairly late - he was going to call when his shift ended. In the meantime I got nicely dressed and I think I even (gasp!) put on lipstick. Neither of us owned a car at that point, hence the whole romance of public transport thing.

He called around 9 pm (!) several hours after I expected, and asked me to meet him at the light rail interchange - which required a bus ride for me anyway. I get there and he is waiting, leather jacket and all, and with a mysterious bag in his hand. There I am thinking he has bought me a V Day present! We get on the light rail (to head into town) and he says nothing about the bag. We're waiting for the train to start, sitting there, and I say, "So where are we headed?" and he says, "I don't know. I'm not sure what's open this time of night."

Wait a sec. Back up. Wasn't HE planning this night out?

"Wait a sec - back up...you don't know what's open? Didn't you make reservations or something? It's Valentine's Day!"

He just kinda sat there, looking abashed. Determined to set this night straight I asked, "So what's in the mystery bag?" and he says, "Ooh! Do you want to see? I got the COOLEST new CDs by [insert vague alternative ska band]." He then proceeds to give me a blow by blow account of his CD hunting in the city earlier that day. In other words, the shmuck did not spend one single red cent on me. Sure, sure, it's all about the thought that counts...but there WAS no thought, was there?

In emzee fashion, I was having none of this. So mid-sentence I just stood up, left the train (which thankfully had been delayed) and got back on the bus heading back to school. It took him a minute but he followed me onto the bus and was all, "Wha...?? Michelle? Are you okay?"

Now at this point I should have opened a can of whup ass on this guy, but I was all hippy and free love and whatever, so I didn't. I just told him there was no point (at now 10pm) going out with no reservations and that I was going home. He meekly asked if he could follow me back to the apartment, and I agreed. When we got back, he complained he was hungry (no SHIT, Sherlock) and wanted some dinner. Being in suburban Denver, there wasn't much but a Safeway down the road. So he decides he's going to go out and get us dinner at the supermarket.

I should have locked the door and shut the lights off and pretended to be asleep, but then hindsight is a beautiful thing.

About half an hour later he knocks at the door. I answer, and there he is with a supermarket bag in one hand, and a big ol' red heart balloon in the other. He holds it out with a puppy dog look on his face and says, "I'm sorry I kinda messed up." Me being me, I thought it was all sweet and thanked him.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "Yeah, it's totally sweet, thank you!" "Yeah the best part is that it was FREE! The night manager was taking down all the Valentine's decorations at the supermarket and he let me have it for nothing! How cool is that?"

Actually, DEAR, it's totally NOT cool. People who say it's the thought that counts LIE.

I grudgingly take it and walk back into my room. I hear loads of dishes rattling around and whatnot and some time later he asks if I want to eat dinner with him. What the hell, I was hungry, right?

Let me stop here just to say that I generally (and then not at all) eat meat and milk together, AND at that time I was a vegetarian.

I come out to find ONE plate of dinner, and on that ONE plate is a chicken shnitzel. With a slice of melted American cheese on top.

At this point words escape me, so I just turned on my heel and went back into my room and slammed the door. He followed, knocked and said, "Michelle? Hello? What's wrong? What happened?"

I didn't answer for a moment (probably trying to come up with something witty) and so he waits about 3 seconds and then says, "Okay, well do you mind if I watch the [hockey] game?" and then proceeds to go back to the living room, eat his animal product dinner, and watch hockey.

In the morning I found him asleep on my couch and I kicked his ass out....with him seemingly clueless as to how and why it had all suddenly gone so terribly, horribly wrong.

I'm not sure why (or how) but we did date for a while after that...although I have to say not exactly with full enthusiasm on my part. We eventually ended it (okay, I ended it) when I returned to SoCal and he got hit by a bus. Yes, in that order. No, not because of the bus, that was just incidental (and yet strangely both amusing and somewhat isn't-karma-a-bitch-esque.)

I did see him once after that (sadly, in Denver General Hospital) and we emailed maybe twice after that...but, really, the worst part about the whole thing is that he NEVER seemed to understand what went wrong that night. Part of me wonders what happened to him (although last I heard he was engaged to a girl from Idaho who he met on the Internet and had yet to meet in real life).

NONE of this story (including details of this guy's life) are made up....and freakier still, I still own a mix tape he made for me. Question is, who out there in Internet land can beat me for weird and terrible Valentine Day stories?

You Say Tomah-Toe

One of the more amusing past times during our trip to the States was listening to my kids trying to pronounce American words. This time around, they can all read...and they all have strong opinions about what they want to eat or not eat - so they would look in stores and at menus and basically make their own decisions. The major problem was that most of the time, I had NO IDEA what they were saying, to whit:

C: Mom, can I have a snack? (Yes, she changed from Mum to Mom. When in Rome and all that.)
Me: Sure. What do you feel like?
C: Well, I'd really like a bag of Cheh-toss.
Me: A bag of what?!
C: Cheh-toss.
Me: What?
C: (getting increasingly frustrated) MOM! You know, the bag with those twisty orange things in them. CHEH-TOSS! CHEH-TOSS!
Me: OH! You mean CHEETOS? *insert hysterical laugher* Yeah, you can have some, but they are pronounced CHEE-TOES.
C: No, they're not. See? Right there on the pack. C-h-e-e- is "CHEH" and t-o-s is "TOSS" so they are CHEH-TOSS.

At this point I stopped arguing and decided that Chehtoss sounded cuter than Cheetos anyway.

However, we then had run ins with:

Dorie-toss (Doritos)
Ennerman's (Enteman's)
Hear-she's (Hershey's)
Roofles (Ruffles)

...and so on and so forth. Bloody hilarious, I tell you. I could spend HOURS with my kids wandering the junk food aisles of American supermarkets, just to hear them say funny stuff.

Funnier still? Listening to my Aussie-accented, super-lisp-afflicted son, trying to imitate Paula Deen. "Hawww-dee, Yooolll. We's goinna cuhk sumfin' FRAHH-D tonight!"

(and the post about American food will follow soon enough. Hold onto your hats, Yoll.)

There's overachieving, and then there's being a moron

The first week we arrived in the States, two remarkable things happened.

1) I discovered that Disneyland is a cheap entertainment option for a family of five,

and

2) Some dumb ass woman had 8 kids at once. That's not giving birth, that's having a litter.

I'll allow you to digest that comment for a moment.

Everyone we met who knew we were parents of higher order multiples asked us our opinion about the topic. Not that it really matters what I think, because she's had the damn kids already. I mean if she'd asked me way back when she was first contemplating this, I might've said, "Dude...seriously?" but now, I can't change what's already happened. That being said, it was interesting to see the debate over this family taking place both in the media and in the general public. The general public, of course, being the people I am related to.

My sound-byte opinion is as follows: this woman is insane.

My official, for the record opinion of this is as follows: children are a wonderful thing, but too many children are a burden. A burden on society, on the environment, on their parents and possibly even on each other. While I am part of a faith who says it is the greatest of good deeds to "go forth and multiply" I think there is a point in time when you need to consider the world at large before making these kinds of decisions. Did she CHOOSE to have 8 kids? No...but she did choose to pursue IVF again, and the fact of the matter is that some doctor thought it was a good idea to implant 6 embroys back into a woman who already had 6 live babies. She made a choice to try and bring another child into the world, and was blessed (or cursed depending on your view) with 8 more.

Here's where you might be saying, ummm, hellooo... pot/kettle/black. When we went through IVF, we made the choice to put back 3 embryos, knowing full well that those 3 might develop into actual human beings. Truth be told it's possible that all 3 of those might have split, giving me 3 sets of twins. Point is, I made a choice too. A risky choice. In all honesty, at the time I never thought I'd have triplets, but similarly I made damn sure I knew (as much as one can know without first hand experience) what I was getting myself into. By choosing to put back 3 embryos, I was ALSO choosing to potentially accept being a mother to triplets and all that entails. If I had my time over again, I can't say what choice I would make...but I would say that I don't think choosing the multiples option was necessarily the best for all concerned.

I think this woman also made a choice...a choice to potentially bring SIX more children into the world, when she already had six at home. From what I've read this woman is a single mother, who lives with her parents. What enormous burden is she putting on not only herself, but also her parents, and society? I find it impossible to believe she will be able to support all these kids - even if she is finishing a degree in order to get a higher paying job. At some point, some government agency will need to help her out. She made a choice, and that choice may very well take resources away from people who did NOT choose to bring all these kids into the world.

I do not truly believe she really considered the consequences of her actions. I think on some level she was thinking only about her selfish desire for more child(ren)...and nothing at all about what impact that choice might have in the long term. Babies are not just for Christmas.

Some people have been comparing her to the Duggars, who have 18 kids. Difference? They are financially stable people who own their own home, can support all their kids, and who are basically leaving their child-bearing up to God. Now whether you agree with their methods or not, the fact is that they can actually sustain all these kids. There is still the environmental angle to consider - at what environmental cost is such a population boom? That aside, they're basically just a large family by luck rather than design.

This, my friends, is where this whole story just sticks in my craw. This woman is completely, utterly, irresponsible.

There are so many different angles to this story, that I could probably keep talking about it for several pages. Instead I'm going to lighten the mood and leave you with this top ten list, which comes from the blog sweetened*taters:

Top ten reasons to LOVE the octuplet mom, Nadya Suleman

10. Tom Cruise now seems mentally well-adjusted.

9. She gives new meaning to the word Octopussy.

8. Bill O'Reilly finally has something to bitch about besides those crazy socialist lefties.

7. Angelina Jolie, in comparison, no longer looks like a blowfish.

6. Oprah will buy her story only to have to recant it six months later.

5. Because, let's face it, people are running out of things to talk about with moms of multiples as they juggle their children in the checkout lane.

4. The Duggars finally have some competition.

3. We'll now be seeing PSAs on "What NOT to do in case of infertility" every 30 minutes on TLC.

2. Rosie O'Donnell is no longer the person voted Last Person On Earth I'd Like to Have as a Mother.

And the #1 reason to love Nadya Suleman...

1. Jon and Kate who?

I am in desperate need of a staycation

After bagging the heck out of the old staycation, I now find myself in need of one. Long story short we had a fabulous holiday - filled to the brim with loads of planned adventures (Disneyland, Monterey, Mexico and more) and plenty of unplanned ones, too (breaking down on the I-5 in the middle of the night...with very little cell battery life left in the phone.)

We've been home since Saturday night, which means we've had exactly enough time to:

1) Do lots of laundry
2) Panic about getting my head around work related stuff
3) Panic about getting my head around house-related stuff
4) Panic some more, for good measure

and

5) Decorate a cupcake or ten.

However, I've also had time to update my facebook profile, which then proved that at least 3 people out there actually read my blog...so I had to at least let those people know I am alive, well, and back on Australian terra firma. I've got several hundred pictures (but won't bore you with the good ones, only the embarassing ones, natch!) and loads of stories to tell (because while my accent has changed, my personality hasn't.)

It'll take me another day or two to get settled (and stop panicking!) - so in the meantime, talk amongst yourselves and enjoy a virtual cupcake on moi.

Just when you're reaching for the bottle...

You get an email like this from a friend:

"...I have always been in awe of your strength, commitment, organisational skills and ability to be able to do what seems like 15 things at once!! You are an amazing woman and I do not say things like this lightly nor directly to the person – if the truth be known. So yes, you bake cakes for living, but by doing that you also help people to celebrate all the good things in life, so YEAH YOU!!!

Your very proud friend,

Friend."

Well, sheesh! That's WAY better than any visualisation, don't you think?

If you can see it

This evening I went out to the movies with some girlfriends...(sidebar: We went to see Slumdog Millionaire. Go see it.) Anyway I was telling the girls how I am filled to the brim with anxiety about our upcoming trip to California. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to see my family, thrilled for my nephew about his Bar Mitzvah, and I am almost counting the minutes to giving my best friend the biggest hug of her life. For a whole host of reasons, I'm feeling very anxious about it all.

Anxiety is something I've dealt with a lot this year. I think previously I might have called it stress, but the reality of it is that stress is not what happens when you freak out totally over things which have not yet happened. Stress is not what you're under when you are imagining several bad outcomes to a problem and become convinced that there can be nothing BUT a bad outcome. Stress is also not what you're dealing with when you call your DH and start talking a mile a minute and getting louder and louder until he literally has to shout, 'STOP. WAIT. Just stop! And breathe!"

Anywhoo, before you all send me to the head shrinker for this, suffice it to say I've promised myself that this year will be a bit less...well...stressful. (And no, it's not an actual resolution. Please!) It's just an effort to be more mindful of it all, and to not let my imagination run away with me quite so much and quite so often.

So back to the movie night...so I'm telling the girls how I'm chock-full of anxiety about it all. Truthfully, some of the reasons for this feeling are warranted - because I know myself, I know the players involved, and I know how I feel when confronted with the things which surely will come up. Truth be told, some of the reasons for this feeling are not warranted - I'm worrying in advance about things happening, people saying things, and my reactions to those words.

My friend Cocoa had a suggestion which I am now mulling over. She suggested that I sit down and visualise what I want this trip to be like. In your mind, says Cocoa, paint a picture of what things will happen while you're there. Imagine what you, DH and the trio will be doing, all the fun you'll be having...and just, imagine a happy, bright time. Don't waste your time and energy thinking about all the emotional crap stuff - because - thinking and worrying about those things will only BRING THEM ON. In Cocoa's view, we INVITE in the bad stuff because we allow it to become part of our expectations...and therefore when our expectations are met, we're somehow relieved, but not in a good way.

I have to admit, it's food for thought. However, I am such a literal, non-spiritual, non-alternative thinking-stuff sort of person that it's a little hard for me to believe her. It's all a bit to "The Secret" for me, you know? At the same time, I've been mulling it over ever since she suggested it. I kinda like the idea of a little space in my brain where everything is all happy and nice and, well, CALM. The "yeah, right" side of my brain knows that people, attitudes, circumstances and history don't ever change...so why waste my time imagining that all these things will not be there when I arrive at the other end?

Hmmm. The jury's still out on this one.

Resolution, Shmesolution

I've not bothered to even THINK about resolutions this year...mostly because I think they are really just another holiday invention sponsored by the makers of Zoloft. What better way to feel like shit than to make a goal, then break it, then feel like hell about it? Sure! Let's all get together and make up a bunch of crap about stuff we kinda feel we should do but have no real intention of doing. What a great idea!

Not.

I'm taking DH's approach to all this. A couple of days ago I asked him if he had any New Year's Resolutions. He thought about it for a second or two and then said, "Yeah. I do." and then didn't say another word about it. Those who know me in real life will know just how freakin' annoying this answer was...because like a Jewish mother, I need to know everything. I need to talk it to death and I need all the details, right NOW.

I let him get away with it (although my tongue was bleeding because I bit down on it so hard), and right then I decided that I wasn't going to have any real resolutions. Instead I am going to come up with a bunch which are really easy to achieve, and then I can spend the entire year feeling clever and smug and i-am-so-special-it's-scary. I am going to be the first person in known history to keep every single one of their resolutions.

Without further ado, here are my not-quite-resolutions for the year:

1. Never agree to making another pig cake. Or really any barnyard animal.
2. Order my own birthday cake.
   
3. Bake some cupcakes.
4. Decorate some cakes.
5. Continue to celebrate ice cream o'clock without a skerrick of guilt, but possibly try something other than cookies and cream once in a while.
   

That's it. Pretty good, right? Your turn, people...come up with a really ridiculous resolution which you have a 100% chance of actually achieving. Go on then - make me proud.

A Not-So-Kosher Cake

Edited: Photos added below for your viewing pleasure.

I thought I'd share this story since all of you are my avid cake fans (and if you're not...well, really, what excuse do you have?) I get a lot of requests for 3D cakes - Thomas the Tank Engine, pirate ships, beer bottles, etc. To be honest I don't love doing them as they require a lot of engineering, and it can be a bit of a challenge. My 3D cake carving skills have improved enormously this year, but sometimes even us professionals get it all a bit wrong.

A few months ago a client came to me wanting a cake for Jan 2 - she brought in a stuffed pig which was a) wearing a tiara, b) had "drama queen" on it in glitter letters and c) it was also a money box. How random can you get? She wanted me to make this pig into 3D cake for her, minus the words and money box part. Apparently it was for her daughter's first birthday ... because when she was pregnant her DH bought this pig for her. Personally, I totally did not understand what the heck one thing has to do with another, but there you go! I get strange requests all the time, so this one wasn't too terrible...although I did doubt the taste of the idea.

Can we just go back to the pig part? If it were me, and I was all pregnant and hormonal and feeling huge and whatnot, and my partner brought me a PIG which says DRAMA QUEEN on it...you know what? I'd shove it up his sorry ass. Sorry, but it's true. What better way to piss off a pregnant woman than to make reference to the fact that she's a) huge and b) hormonal?

Anyway... I sculpted and iced it on the 31st, to allow time for the fondant to dry - I was worried about it's stability and also the tiara holding it's shape. I came in today (Jan 2) in the morning to do some work...and my poor piggie had been sheared completely in half! Even though I'd supported it well (I thought!) the weight of the head (also made of cake) obviously caused it to fail in a big way. Literally I had half a pig on one end of the board, and the other half at the other end of the board!

3D Pig cake. FAIL.

It is a testament to my new-found patience that I didn't just fall into a jolly great heap and start crying. Instead I just laughed at the damn thing and set to work repairing the poor guy. Not even alive one day and already he's been carved!

I ended up having to re-do the entire thing in the one hour I had before she came to pick it up. Of course when she got there, she didn't really like it at all! I think it actually hit home to her that while it was a good idea in theory, in practice serving pig head at your kids' birthday party might just be a TAD weird (even if it is cake.)

If I'm completely honest, I was very glad to see that little curly tail heading out the door. I'd had enough of Wilbur by then and it was a relief to see him go.

All day I've been imagining them carving up this pig head andserving it up to kids, and eating it...it totally makes me gag. Then again, maybe I should've made her red velvet cake (a la the armadillo in Steel Magnolias!)

...and for those who are dying to see (and I know you are, since you said so)

Here is the original piggy bank (can you believe this thing is $24?!)
Here is my version. Admittedly, it's not one I'm particularly proud of (which is why I did not post it earlier) ...it's not my usual standard because I had to start all over again and finish it inside of an hour. I did, however, have all the details including that one ear is folded and one curled, the seams on the face and so on.

And here is another one I found while trying to find the original. Seriously, who knew there was a market for bling-bling piggy banks?

Feed The Man Meat

Ever since I've lived in Australia, my American friends have made the mistake of assuming that just because we've got McDonald's, Target and Toys R' Us, Australia is pretty much like America. Except, of course, that the people are nicer and they speak with a funny accent. For years now I've been saying (mostly upon deaf ears) that in fact the two places are very, very different. The differences are largely cultural, and many of them don't really become obvious to the average Down Under traveller. You really need to live in Australia for a while before you realise just how different this place is.

I could probably come up with several examples, but a recent NYE BBQ experience reminded me of a specific, really funny Australian trait. I am, of course, talking about the BYO phenomenon. Many restaurants here have a BYO policy - where literally you can walk in the door holding as much wine and beer as you can carry, and you can enjoy it with your meal. There is sometimes a charge associated with this, but often not. See? It's just another example of how nice Australians can be. Don't want to pay the inflated wine prices? Bring your own! Here, I'll even pour it for you.

Where this whole BYO thing gets out of hand is with barbecues. We all know that the sunburned, blond and water-loving Australians love a good barbie, mate! What they don't love is actually having to cater for it. It is a very common phenomenon here to be invited to a barbecue which is "BYO meat."

I'll let you digest that for a moment (pun intended.)

You are actually expected to pack yourself a little esky (cooler thingie) with some raw meat (of whatever sort you like) and bring it WITH YOU to the party. Then either you or the host cook it up for you. Usually the host will provide salads and chips and soft drinks - so really you're just bringing along the, *ahem*, EXPENSIVE part of the meal. Is it just me who thinks that it's totally weird to be inviting people over but then saying, "Oh, sorry, the budget didn't stretch to protein!" Is it not weird to be showing up carrying a bag of raw meat? "Oh, hi, sorry about the drips of blood all down your driveway, it's the side of raw beef I'm shlepping."

I especially do not understand this phenomenon when the people issuing the invitation live in a McMansion and drive a 4WD Lexus, but there you go. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with people offering to bring something and the host accepting ... we could all use a spare salad, some extra dessert, but meat? Seriously? Just how freakin' cheap are you people?

As far as I am concerned, the only parties where this BYO meat business is appropriate are those where the hosts are 19 year old university students whose usual diet is 2-minute noodles and whatever free crap they can steal. Everyone else has no excuse.

Now I haven't spent time in all 50 states, but I have lived in at least 3 states, and I'm pretty sure the other 47 would agree with me when I say that there is no such thing as BYO meat to an American barbecue. Unless, of course, it's dear old Uncle Hal, who is bringing you bits of the elk he shot down last summer. Him, I can understand BYO meat, because, you know, elk is not always on the menu. Anyone else? Just a cheap bastard.

Welcome to Australia! Please make sure you clear your meat through customs.