haute cuisine

18 11 2010

Dontchu judge me!

Inexplicably, once a year I allow myself the delight of indulging in a can of squeezy cheeze and Chicken-in-a-Biskit.

It’s a quirky Momma thing. Although she would not approve of the wine, preferring a pony Miller beer instead.

Mr. Geauxgirl just nabbed my cracker! (he did share though.)

I highly recommend the American. ‘Scuze me, got to get some before they’re all snarfed up.

Bon appetit!





you SAY you wanna….

12 11 2010

… but do you really wanna?

You want to lose 10 pounds. You want to learn a new language. You want to be an early riser.  You want to eat only locally. You want to save the puppies. You want.

again … but do you REALLY wanna?

Maybe it’s that you want to want to.  But you really don’t wanna.

Don’t get it? It’s just like that I want to like peanut butter. But I don’t. (Emphatically, irrevocably, undeniably, DO NOT LIKE.) But it sure would be convenient if I did.

Interesting food for thought from my master yogini goddess sistah gurl.

Something to chew on. And happy Friday, folks. Get out there and do something you REALLY want! (Just keep your peanut butter to yourself.)

It looks lovely, and danged convenient, sure wish I liked it.





at least they could buy a gal dinner first

11 11 2010

I’m not particularly shy. Nor demure for that matter. And going through this twice this past week left even me feeling mighty violated. As if I were nekkid and everyone knew it but me. And nevermind that, what kind of x-ray crap am I absorbing? I’ve tried to research it, but it’s all noise, no real data. Oye. I ADORE travel, and damn, I’m actually rethinking a whole lot of it right about now.

Agreed. The airlines could step up, and make a fuss.

  • Save our rights.
  • Bolster their bottom line.
  • By telling the TSA to keep their hands off OUR bottoms.

Thanks, Nicole. Oh yeah, and happy Veteran’s Day. 🙂





cover your bits, clown nose optional

9 11 2010

My dog wears a tu-tu. Everyone thinks it’s “cute”. We have her wearing it because it makes her no-licky-the-hoohah collar more effective, rather than for cute factor, but the cuteness is a nice gravy benefit.

But who cares? Why should a piece of fabric cause a reaction anyway? If it were someone’s 5-year old son, there’d be the well meaning but ultimately clueless and judgmental crass asses to deal with, and the potential for a sweet shiny eyed big hearted kid to learn way too soon that Being Yourself sometimes has consequences from people whose hearts haven’t grown as big as his has yet. What a harsh lesson so early, but what a neat person this kid has the potential to become with the support he’s got around him.

My man knows how to wear a dress. Frankly, he can rock one. And he’s manly, PLUS sweet, sensitive, and funny– a damned fine catch that I won the lottery by finding. (And dammit, he’s got nice gams too.)

In an ideal world, clothes’ function is simple: cover your naughty bits, protect you from the elements, and be comfortable for the task at hand. But we all know it’s more than that. It’s a brand. It’s a statement of YOU and how you view yourself, or want others to view you.

Every day, you put on a costume. Seriously. No, you don’t put on ONE outfit for each place, but you do have a set range of “acceptable” wear for each situation. My friend Delightful made a good point the other day that even the Goth kids have a “uniform” of sorts. Goth kid: I dress this way because it’s different. Reply: Yeah. But why do you look just like your other goth friends? (Disclaimer: I adore goths, and I confess to having a recessive goth gene myself– it’s the teen angst logic mismatch that gives me a giggle.) 

Some costuming examples for your amusement:

  • Church/Office/Nursing Home visit: Conservative suit or dress, yes. Hoochie sequins, fishnets, and the pink wig? No.
  • Susan Komen Run: Running shorts/etc, yes. Last year’s thrift store bubble-gum pink prom dress customized with grommets & ribbon up the back, with feather boa, YES. Conservative suit or dress, no.
  • Evening out on the town: Little black dress, flowy pants, hot designer jeans, heels, YES. Paint stained & holey old unshapen flannel sweatshirt, hubby’s jeans, hiking boots, No.
  • A day picking strawberries & flying kites: Paint stained & holey old unshapen flannel sweatshirt, hubby’s jeans, hiking boots, Yes. Little black dress, flowy pants, hot designer jeans, heels, No.

But somehow, no one needs to be told that it’s not a good idea to show up to the office in an elvis cape or a clown costume.

Even if a clown is THE most ironically appropriate thing. Rubber nose optional.

Elvis is thumbs up for Saving Hooters. Clearly this is promotion worthy attire, no?





not for the easily offended. dog hoohah trials & tribulations

5 11 2010

Hi. My name is geauxgirl, and my dog has crotch rot.

There. I said it. Whew.

Leeloo, despite our affinity for calling her Madame Queen, or the more formalized version Madame Queen Fuzzy Butt,  has never really been a diva dog. She’s wash & wear, a generally laid back kind of gal (except for the doorbell, then all bets are off). She’s never had an in-your-face kind of personality. Mellow. Chill. Happy go lucky. Aloof almost, and dare I say it: cool. She has an air about her that’s the popular kids’ table at school. As in “thank you very much, I have enough friends already, now give me the treat or leave.  Whatever.”

But lately, she’s had some, er, medical issues. Specifically, her twat got all inflamed, and her dragging it on the ground pushed it up to her butt. Yeah, she’s a delicate flower.

When the vet stammers, hems & haws, shuffles from foot to foot, and finally spits out in a nervous rush: “Weeellll…… ithinkshemightneedacoochietuck”, all in one word, then don’t be surprised when I laugh so fast and hard that I spit chai out my nose.

Her delicate skin has to get a little less inflamed before we can “take care of bidness” for her. So in the meantime she’s been in a pillow collar (the new & improved version of the cone-of-shame, looks like an airplane neck pillow to me) for about 6 or 7 weeks now. It’s been fairly effective, but if she’s really determined she can contort just barely enough so that she can lick the good stuff. And that keeps her at about 80% healed, rather than all the way. Oye. So what to do?

Happy accidents happen. The other day, we found a tu-tu in the closet (it’s out of the closet! bad pun, couldn’t resist) and threw it on for grins. Well as it turns out, the tu-tu makes the collar MORE effective– as it pushes it just a bit closer to her ears, making it harder to get to the bits that need lickin’.

So she’s been in a tu-tu AND a collar ever since. You’d think she’d be miserable, but I swear she’s enjoying the hell out of it– check out that smile. Maybe she’s a diva afterall, we just never noticed.

America's Next Top Model is... LEELOO!





don’t take yourself that seriously, I’m BEGGIN’ ya. sheesh.

4 11 2010

Thought for the day:

Please know that just because I’m having fun while doing something doesn’t mean that I’m not serious about it. Seriousness does not have to look frowny, mean or worse yet: boring. Sadly, sometimes people think they go hand in hand.

Now get out there and help me change that.

So there.

Carry on.





what makes a favorite a favorite?

4 11 2010

There’s a local watering hole bar, perched on the lake. It’s really NOT our favorite spot, but somehow we always end up drawn there, and always have a great time. Usually we’re there pre or post boating, but this particular day was a crisp fall day. Too gorgeous not to get out and enjoy the view of the water. We sure seem to be at this spot often enough that it could easily be moniker’d as one of our favorites. But yet we still don’t label it that way ourselves.

Hmm. Why IS that? The places/things that are NOT your favorites, somehow you’re still drawn to. Heh?

Like that ratty-ass sweatshirt you really (REALLY) should let go of, that you’re not so fond of either for that matter, that still gets way more wear than your absolute mostest favoritest that sits unused and lonely in the closet. By the time you do get around to wearing the favorite one, somewhere along the way it changed on you (gasp!) and now doesn’t fit quite the way you remember, and were the sleeves always like that? In the meantime, you missed out on it when it WAS your favorite, and for what? A crowded closet, and a neglected pristine shirt that is no longer your favorite afterall and is well past its expiration date.

Doesn’t have a dang thing to do with olives, but there ya have it. We enjoyed the day and the maybe-it-is-your-favorite-afterall-but-you-don’t-realize-it bar so much we created a little friend to enjoy it with us. It appears he eventually had a little too much to drink though. Must’ve been tipsy from marinating in the bloody mary for too long, I guess.

Get out there with your favorite (whatever), and wear/use/love the hell out of it. While it still IS your favorite!

PS—Olives are my favoritest garnish on a bloody mary. Who wants one?

mmm, tasty

THANK you, Delightful, for documenting our little friend.
And to EastOfTheWest for getting us out of the house to begin with.
(Both of whom I’m honored to call favorites, and to wear/use/love the hell out of!)