Dandy Szandy, Helter Skelter, Rosemary’s Baby, and Other Items Of Inspiration

Ok. So, if you recall from my earlier posts from yesterday, the last few weeks have been a bit emotionally tumultuous for LeDonna. After a sudden, but much needed move away from her emotionally bloodsucking psychic vampire of a job at Matt’s In The Market, LeDonna ended up with too much time on her hands and no refills on her psychotropics, and plunged head first into yet another dreaded ShameSpiral. {Personally, I’m beginning to believe she quite likes these ShameSpirals she’s always twisting about in, since she seems to travel down them quite frequently. I think they are kind of like an amusement park ride for her, like that Barrel Of Monkeys ride she loved so much at AstroWorld as a young child. It’s the adrenaline. You know how those addictive types are!} In fact, this was not just any old ShameSpiral…this one was supermassive, more like a ShameVortex. (Hey, I like that. Can I get a patent on that?)

So, as I was feeding the flames of the firey inferno of despair in my mind with the DuraFlame Logs of misery via Sylvia Plath, I became completely entranced and intoxicated with the macabre and fiendishly morbid parallels between the suicide deaths of Plath and later Assia Wevill…both poets, both the female companions of Ted Hughes, himself one of the most brilliant poets of his generation. Obviously, Plath was his his wife, and was suffering from her own mental maladies well before her relationship began with Hughes, but arguably it was Hughes infidelity with Wevill that led to the couple’s separation, and ultimately, what pushed Plath over the edge to suicide. But what was even more disturbing was the fact that Wevill ended up taking her own life six years after Sylvia…in the exact same manner, with a gas oven. Creepy, huh? Oh but WAIT, there’s more! Prior to gassing herself to death, Assia Wevill snuffed out the 3-year-old child she shared with Hughes, a little girl they called Shura.

Well, Hughes Shura had a clusterfuck of just royally bad luck snowball of his lying, cheating, devil-worshipping ass. Karma’s a bitch, huh, sucka?! What kind of freakish monster would drive two women beyond the point of madness, to a place where they felt an open gas oven would be the best place to poke their head in to get a breath of fresh air?

I don’t know. He looks pretty creepy to me. I don’t know what they saw in him to begin with, maybe he put a love spell on them with all that black magic he was doing.

So, after spending sufficient time sniffing out the coffers of the Plath tragedy, I decided to further feed my insatiable desire to devour all things aberrant, ghoulish and utterly disturbing by feasting at the Old Country Buffet of internet urban legends and conspiracy theories. Before me was a smorgasborg of saucy soul-sapping tales of Illuminati, covert messages, backwards maskings, Hollywood covens and sacrifices to satan, assasination plots, apocalyptic doomsday prophesies…

Why, why, WHY??? am I so fascinated by what is peculiar, weird, anti-social, and slightly off? Now don’t get me wrong, I certainly have that ultra-femme girly girl in me that loves all things luminous, sparkling and pretty, but there is also this really dark streak in me that is just fantastically entertained by the foul and profane. If given the choice of watching either a story about fluffy bunnies making the cancer kids happy, or picking apart the autopsy details of a murder-suicide…I’ll pick the cadaver, every time.

Except at Easter. Then fluffy bunnies are kewl.

So, for whatever reason, since I’m ruminating on Ted Hughes and the negative consequences resulting from his careless and glib invocations of demons and such (Handy Hint, people…if there is any nugget of advice you can take away from this post today, it should be this…please, please, PLEASE, never just ‘casually’ summon a demon or some other nefarious death force, just because you think it’s ‘fun!’ or ‘exciting!’, or ‘I’m not even sure this bullshit is real!’-because-IT IS. Even if you don’t think you’ve seen something big bad and ugly and all you conjuring has been in vain…trust me people. Folks who tend to go around asking for the presence of evil to show itself, unfortunately, end up getting just what they asked for…and often times it’s not what, when, or where it was expected. )

Ok. Ted Hughes, occult, black magic, bad luck…where do I turn to next for more stories of idiots who sell their souls to the Unfriendly One and lived to tell (or maybe not!)??

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!! JUST JOKING!!! Ok, for real:

I think my abnornal fear of the devil stems from my early childhood. This was one of the first records Mama gave me as a little girl, it was under the Christmas Tree along with The Sesame Street Alphabet Album.

As a sign of my innate musical proclivities, I soon became bored with the banal whimperings of Grover and Big Bird, and knew all my devil-hating inspirational hymns by heart. I yearned for a new sound, something fresh, but with an edge.

I recalled how profoundly The Beatles had affected me as a young child. Did you know this album was dedicated to Aleister Crowley, the famous occultist? He’s on the cover. You know, since I was lonely and ignored most of the time as a kid, it left me all kinds of time for deep thoughts and meditation. I would lay on my belly and spend hours staring and drooling at all the famous faces on the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s. One time Mama gave me too much of my asthma syrup, and one night when I was lying in my playpen I started trippin’ balls while listening to A Day In the Life...and I swear, I started having visions of this guy:

That’s Mr. Lavey. His full name is Anton Szandor Lavey, but I like to call him Szandy. At first, I thought he might be my real daddy, since he was real pale and bald, just like me. Plus, he looked really mean and like he didn’t like me too much, probably another characteristic my biological father possessed. I quickly realized that whew, much to my relief, he wasn’t my father…(or…was he??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!***** )

Turns out, Dandy Szandy there heads up a special church called The Church Of Satan. It’s a chuch for people who don’t seem to like God, or believe in the Baby Jesus. These are people who feel the traditional Christian philosophy , which consists of boring laws like don’t lie, steal, or kill (YAWN!)which are just a drag! and they want to reserve their God- given hedonistic right to do cool stuff like sacrifice small animals while wearing sassy capes, throw curses on dimwitted idiots who cut them off on the freeway or leave the toilet seat up, be really really mad all the time, just cause they can, and to compulsively ram/rub their genitalia up, on or about anything, and absolutely everything they damn well please.

UP NEXT: The amazing link I discovered (gasps!) between Satan, The Beatles, Aleister Crowley, Charles Manson, Roman Polanski, Rosemary’s Baby, Me, David Hasselhoff, and potted meat products.

***** indicates more information regarding this ridiculous delusion will be provided in the upcoming post.

It’s Been An Interesting Week Here In Loonsville

Look everybody, I finally got a book written about me! It’s about damn time.

Wow. It has been a hell of time for me these past few weeks, and “hell” would be an amusingly appropriate metaphor, as the firey bowels of the netherworld seem to have been the most prevalent topic on my mind. I spent a lot of time this week immersed in subjects of the occult, the bizarre, the strange. I like to feed on news of the paranormal much like a mosquito likes to siphon the putrescent blood of the diseased. I ingest it greedily, then it festers in my brain for a while until it transmutes into a giant tumor of dread and paranoia. This tumor of terror will continue to grow and metastasize rampantly throughout my head, heart, and gut until any prognosis of clear and rational thinking is completely eradicated. This is probably not a good afternoon pastime for someone like myself who is prone to bouts of paranoia and illogical thinking. But since when has that ever stopped me? Sometimes the worse I know something is for my health and sanity, the more likely I am to engorge myself with it.

I think that is called ’self-destructive behavior’. Hmmpf. I may have to look into that one.

Thank God I found myself a new job and I am back in the saddle again. I was off for about 3 weeks after leaving Matt’s. Although it was a good move for me and produced a much needed change in my life, the way it all went down really shoved me right back down into {ANOTHER! YAWN!!!!} massive shame spiral that plummeted me down to depths of darkness I hadn’t seen in at least 2 or 3 days prior to stumbling into this particular spiral. Yeah, I was feeling pretty low.

*Helpful Hint* Really depressed people really probably shouldn’t read Sylvia Plath, or listen to Sylvia Plath reading Sylvia Plath. Yeah. Probably not a good idea.

Oh Sylvia. How I love you. You are the emotionally imbalanced lunachick’s ultimate muse. I’m not sure which is more facinating-the darkly bewitching madness of your writing, or the even crazier truth behind your life. And has anyone ever told you, that the way you read those poems of yours is kinda creepy, too ? I never realized your voice was so…well,haunting. Yeah, it is, really. It really is. I got sucked into watching some clips about you on YouTube and heard the audio of you reciting “Daddy” and “Lady Lazarus” among others. Really brilliant, I have to hand it to you, but as if you and all your damn insanity and suicide and creepy husband Ted Hughes and all weren’t enough to disturb the bejeezus out of me, the malfeasant sound of your voice as you pound out word after word with such an angry froth…it was just downright diabolical. Don’t do that next time, ok, Sylvia? Try to lighten up a little bit, you’re not the only one who gets bummed out, you know. You don’t have to be such a downer. The way you drone on, it’s enough to make someone stick their head in an oven and turn the gas up, and you don’t want that to happen, do you? No, of course not, because gas is really fucking expensive right now, whether it’s for your car or to light your oven to kill yourself.

Try looking on the bright side once in a while, maybe catch an old episode of the Brady Bunch. Especially the ones where the kids sing “Sunshine Day”.

See! Those crazy Bradys always bring a little sunshine into my day. That is, until I notice how thin, popular and pretty Marcia is…and I’m not! Everybody always pays attention to Marcia, and never to me. Marcia always gets the boys, Marcia always gets good grades, Marcia never ever has a bad hair day, Marcia’s poop smells like Chanel No. 5. FUCK MARCIA! MARCIA! MARCIA! MARCIA!

Wow. Gotta get that neurosis of mine under control…

More Pics of The Stay Puff Marshmallow Girl

I am not quite sure what I was thinking here when I designed this sassy Thinking Cap. It was my first foray into the world of fashion design. Early on, you can sense the eccentricities of my style, as well as the obvious Red China influence my father had on me. Fierce!

I think I was going for a “Little Red Popette” theme with my look. I wasn’t even Catholic, but somewhere in me, there was a Cardinal!

“Daddy, wake-up! It’s time to take me to chemo!! DADDY!!!!! DADDY!!!!!!!!”

Behold The Stay Puff Marshmallow Girl in all her blinding white glory!

So bald. So white. So chubby. Really, in many ways, I haven’t changed a bit.

YAY ALEX!!!!

Yo GO GUUURL!

I know who really loves me. My boo Alex is more than happy to accompany her fatuous maternal unit to the Wild Waves sooper kewl happy times funtastic waterpark. Yay Alex, you just made my day. Now I can put off all thoughts of suicide until at least after the May 31 Big Splash event, it’s gonna be so much fun, with all the innertubes and my favorite Christian recording artists are performing! Yay! I’m gonna go buy my sunscreen and fake tan-in-a-bottle right now!

But before I go, I just want to give a quick shout out and props to my kick-ass baby girl, who just kicked to the curb her dungnugget of a boyfriend and showing him the importance of treating a young lady with the utmost kindness,love and respect, and never to take her wonderfulness for granted. Hopefully he will recognize now that she is gone that he has lost out on a beautiful, charming, dynamic and funnier than hell sugar cookie of a girl. That’s what you get hosehead! Pay attention next time, if you get to be so lucky.

Yay Alex!!! I am so proud of you! You rock my world. Keep up the good work, sweets, and I’ll see ya at the Hooks Lagoon activity pool!

My New ?’s For The eHarmony Profile

Ok, I admit it. I am a completely sheep-minded, easily malleable, suggestible, susceptible, bidable, manipulable foon. My is brain is like a magnetic lump of silly putty-I am just that impressionable. Palm trees in Florida in the midst of hurricane season are not as easily swayed as I. I am the ultimate marketing quarry, a fledgling ad exec’s wet dream.

I am a sucker.

And because I am a sucker, I am easily worn down by repetition. Just ask my daughter. She has calculated out that although it can take an upwards of 86-90 pleas for me to break down and give into whatever the hell it is she wants at a given whim, I will give in eventually, and that’s more important than the time she has to invest in the asking. Some may frown upon this as wishy-washy and ineffectual parenting, but I beg to differ. By taking the time to wear me down with her incessant whimpers and demands, she learned early on very valuable life-skills such as persistence, goal-setting, and determination-the importance of never taking no for an answer!

So, it’s easy to see why, after years of being barraged by hundreds of thousands of exponentially annoying eHarmony commercials-you know the ones-with all the images of your prototypical white-bread,vanilla-bean-makes-me-reach-for-my-kaopectate-perfect couples( You know,like this one:

“Oh, we’re so normal! We’re so successful, but in a no-too-showy way! Oh, and we’re happy! So very very happy!!”) and promises to find MY perfect match-yes, MY perfect match -a match made based on pivotal information about me,my life, and all it’s inner tinkererings, gathered by detailed questionnaires focusing on 29-YES! TWENTY-NINE key Dimensions Of Compatibilty. Not 25. Not 26! Not even twen-ty-seven or twen-ty-EIGHT, but fuckin’ A, no shit, TWENTY NINE MOTHERFUCKING DIMENSIONS OF COSMIC COMPATIBILITY! Drop kick me,Jesus, through the goal posts of life! Hallefuckinlooyah, but that’s a certifiable shitton of personality dimensions. Now, I don’t know why there’s not thirty dimensions-I’m guessing the folks writing the profile have attention issues like myself, got bored and went, fuck it! Twenty-nine’s good enough! I’m takin’a nap! At anyrate,I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to take their free personality profile and find out for myself what all the hoohah was about, and honestly, I just couldn’t wait to find my soulmate.

So, I go through about 35 minutes of vaguely worded questions that I’m sure are supposed to be deep, complex, esoteric and soul-seeking, but are really flimsy little feel good beat-around-the-bush-isms that all center back to three key points of concern:

1) Are you happy,motivated,success-driven?

2) Do you have a lot of money?

3) Do you love the Baby Jesus? ***

*** Although ‘loving Baby Jesus’ is actually an implied theme, it is glaringly apparent this service is geared towards a more conservative, middle of the road client, folk who are most likely homely and have fostered an artificially superficial and optimistic outlook on life. Although I’m not one to generalize,these types generally tend to tend to fall into the Bible=thumping category.***

I felt there were large gaps in critical data one would need to decide if someone was an ideal match-hell, I wouldn’t even go out on a first date with the 7 hose-heads they wanted to hook me up with. The reality is the current eHarmony profile is a lot like a track house. It’s pretty on the outside, but on the inside, it’s a worthless piece of shit. And being the spearheading kind of gal I am, I took the liberty of contacting eHarmony and shared with them my critiques, and surprisingly, they were very open to suggestions and asked me to compile my own set of questions to enhance the current personality profile. Energized by the prospect of creating a vehicle that could deeply delve into the inner bowels of a persons soul and extract out the true essence of their fetid nature, I have come up with an amazing personality profiling tool. These questions get to the “meat” of the matter, so to speak, and reveal what we all truly want to know about our potential mates and their character.

NEW AND IMPROVED ADDENDUM TO LAMEASS eHARMONY QUESTIONNAIRE

rate on a scale of 1-5, with 1 suggesting Strongly Do Not Agree, 3 Neutral, 5 Strongly Agree:

1. I like to drink wine with my dinner.

2. I like to drink wine,or perhaps even beer,or possibly refreshing mixed drink beverage such as margaritas after dinner.

3. I like to drink wine, beer,whisky,vodka,mouthwash,or rubbing alcohol up until bedtime, or I pass out,whichever comes first.

4. I like to start my mornings with a breakfast of PBR and the Bible, and maybe some some sausage while I’m reading.

5.Drinking at lunchtime is one of my favorite pastimes.

6. Drinking on the job is how I aced my last promotion.

7.Drinking and driving doesn’t count if you’re a)less than a mile away from home or b) under 25 mph.

8. I would consider myself an advocate for the legalization of marijuana.

9. Video games are a great way to spend “together time”.

10. I would say cocaine or methamphetamine users often get a bad rap.

11. I am in favor of better dental care provisions to be available to crackheads and tweakers.

12. I look at Grand Theft Auto the same way I look at library books.

13. I routinely put out on a first date.

14. 100 one night stands with people whose names I cannot recall is really the norm for me.

15. I have sold my body for money. Or drugs. Or a piece of pizza.

16. Manufacturing illegal substances is a great way to supplement your income.

17. Jail time is not much more than a bar mitzvah-it’s a rite of passage.

18. Recycling bins are great makeshift nap areas in a pinch.

19. Criminal charges are a great way to meet sexy lawyers.

20.Living with schizophrenia really isn’t as debilitating as I thought it would be.

21. The voices I hear in my head mainly say positive things.

22. My neighbor’s medicine cabinet is a great source for Vicodin.

23. Hot tub parties with your neighbor’s spouse/partner is ok, as long as their spouse/partner is a great big bitch/asshole/douchebag.

24. I feel most comfortable when I’m at an orgy.

25.I rarely, if ever, have sexual relations with relatives.

26. I am happiest when I secretly have a vibrating anal plug pleasuring me while I work/shop for groceries.

27. I always check out my poop and giggle at it monstrous size before I flush it away.

28. I am prone to fits of explosive diarrhea.

29. My feet are free of corns, callouses, excess dry skin and assorted toenail fungii.

30.I was not molested as a child.

31.I best express my negative feelings and emotions by punching things.

32. I only argue with stupid people and those who don’t agree with me.

33. Monogamy is really so yesterday.

34. Compulsive masturbation is just what one has to do to get through those “dry” dating periods.

35. Anal sex is totally kewl.

36. Midgets turn me on.

37.I haven’t tortured or sexually mutilated anyone since I was a wee child.

38. Felonies are a great way for a potential employee to provide business owners much needed tax breaks.

39. I believe that the GED stands for “Great Education, Dude!”

40. I think adults who still live with their parents are sweet people who value family bonds.

41. I really am a MGD ,football, buffalo wing loving guy/gal.

42. I would much rather dine at a Sizzler than at a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse.

43. I LOVE SHOPPING MALLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

44. Babies are more like tiny drunks to me than precious angels.

45. I have a lot of tattoos.

46. I would rather have a sharp stick jammed in my eye than listen to a Dave Matthews song.

47. You can tell a lot about a person by their choice of karoake tunes.

48. The recreational use of psychedelics allows me a precious opportunity to connect with God.

49. I think recycling is for sissies.

50. In the morning, I tend to resemble a muppet.

I have many more, but they will come later. For now, I sleep! If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share.

life is so unfair

This is me and my friends at 18, circa 1988:

Can you guess which one is me? Hint: I’m wearing something made out of stolen trailer park drapes.

Now, this is my daughter and her friends at 18:

Actually, they’re not quite 18 in this pic, but still??? WTF??? These kids all look like supermodels.! Me-I looked like a reject from a Depeche Mode video casting call. What the hell happened? Is it something in the water? What are we feeding these kids that’s causing them to mature so damn fast? We simply cannot be from the same genepool. My theory is I was kidnapped by the government and held unconscious for several days at a CIA Population Control Camp, where my own aesthetically inferior fetus was extracted and replaced by a genetically perfect cyborg babybot vastly superior in both beauty and intellect to her subpar maternal host. This was part of a covert environmental welfare initiative started by our nations leaders targeted at homely or odd looking individuals who have the potential to further pollute our nation’s landscape by spawning future generations of ugly children.Removal of the uncomely child was considered to be beneficial to the overall psychiatric well being of the parents, as well as the entire nation, because let’s face it-nobody wants to look at an ugly child, let alone be burdened with the awesome responsibilty of loving it and nuturing it for 18 years. It was a bold move by our leaders to drop the number of child neglect and abandonment cases nationwide, as well as a cooperative effort with Abercrombie and Fitch to secure their future customer base.

Indeed, this child is far too spectacular to be the authentic fruit of my womb. But I’m proud of her, and I love her as if she were a chip off the ol’ ovary. {Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to all the left over ugly fetuses…I’m not sure, but I think the government recycled most of them into cattle feed, although I did hear of some going on to be used in some innovative new research and development in the health and beauty field, quite possibly extracting the collagen and other vital tissues to make some really kick ass lip-plumpers and wrinkle-fillers for the rich and celebutized. Which is great, if you think of it, because it’s using something that once would have been ugly, and using it to make something pretty and tolerable to the mutton-headed masses! Hoo-ray!

Great New Recipe Idea!

While we’re on the subject of food, and since I’m a bonafide chef myself (LOL! Ok, I can’t make that claim with a straight face, not even sarcastically)…well, I mean, since I work close to chefs, and do manage to absorb some of their outstanding food knowledge via osmosis {and also by rubbing some of the dishes into my skin, much like a salve. Sssshh, don’t tell, they may think it’s weird and revoke my Food Handler’s Permit) I figure I may as well add a cooking segment to my regular line-up of blog topics, so I can share my vast and profound love of all things edible with you all. After, no better way to unite friends and family than via the stomach, right? {And especially stomach lining…cause after all, everybody loves menudo! No silly, not the all-mexican boy band! Tripe, dorkus! Tripe!}

So today, I’m going to start by sharing with you a long-forgotten favorite of mine, but I’m going to show you how to prepare it with a chic new twist that’s really gonna knock the socks off your friends and family the next time you entertain. This will the first installment in my Cooking With Canned Meats series, as most of you know my affection for processed and potted meat products, not only for their superior texture and complex flavor profile, but also because they are non-perishable and we should all have a pantry full of these deliciously salty lifesavers on hand to get us by in case of a terrorist attack or if the big one hits. You think it can’t happen? You just wait and see what happens once that Barack Obama gets elected into the oval office! You’ll wish you’d stocked up on all that Spam when it was on sale during Spring Dollar Days at Albertson’s! 10 cans for $One Dollar!$ Only a damn fool would pass up a deal like that. Anyways, I’d advise you to print these handy recipes out and paste them onto convenient 3X5 index cards and keep them in a safe spot in your kitchen, because come election day, trust me, you’re gonna need them.

Ok, I’d like to introduce to you a favorite, but oft-forgotten member of the canned meat family. Some of you may not be familiar, or may have in the past even been a little frightened of this little fella, but I want to take this opportunity to ease those fears and encourage you to have an open mind. We’re about to embark on a culinary adventure that’s sure to surprise your tastebuds and leave you scratching your head, wondering why you were such a scared little sissy pants to begin with. So with no further adue, I’d like to bring out the delectible and delightful Ye Olde Oak Brand Lunch Tongue.

Now, Ye Olde Oak is my personal choice because of it’s long standing history of quality, but some of you may have a hard time finding it in stores, as it is a UK import. So, if Ye Olde Oak cannot be found, you can always substitute Tom Piper tongues in a pinch.

Now, do be aware that Tom Piper is not 100% pure beef tongue, like Ye Olde Oak, so you’re going to detect some lamb in there, and maybe some elk, antelope, llama, yak, and I think I’ve even detected a hint of dingo once or twice. The nice thing though, is although you would expect a gamier taste, it is surprisingly mild, with possesses a richness and complexity in character that straight beef tongue just really doesn’t have. So choose which ever one is most pleasing to you.

Alright, now that our secret ingredient has been unveiled, it’s onto the recipe of the day. We are going to be making a luscious Lunch Tongue and Fois Gras Terrine served with a refreshing Pomegranate Chardonnay Jelly. It’s an elegant and refined take on a popular french favorite that your family is sure to love, and bonus! it takes great smeared on a triscuit.

LUNCH TONGUE AND FOIS GRAS TERRINE

12 cans lunch tongue, pureed

1/2 (approx. .75lbs) duck or goose liver/fois gras, cleaned and deveined (or leave the veins in, if you want more texture)

3 tsp. juice of pickled pigs feet

1 cup finely diced shallots

1 packet Lipton Onion Soup mix (this shit makes EVERYTHING taste good!)

Enough bacon strips to line loaf pan

Terrine dish or loaf pan, 5-6 cup capacity

Preheat oven to 200°F and line a small roasting pan with a folded kitchen towel or 6 layers of paper towels (this provides insulation so bottom of terrine won’t cook too quickly).

Sprinkle each lobe and any loose pieces of foie gras on both sides with halh of your pack of Lipton Onion Soup Mix. Sprinkle remaining mix into lunch tongue puree, mix well. Line the bottom and sides of terrine dish with bacon strips, be careful not to overlap.(Also, do not snack on any remaining leftover pieces of raw bacon, no matter how tempted you may be. I got really sick doing that one time.) Next,firmly press large lobe of foie gras, smooth side down, into bottom. (Wedge any loose pieces of foie gras into terrine to make lobe fit snugly.) Sprinkle with diced onions. Now, slather the lunch tongue mixture into terrine and firmly press down to create a flat surface and snug fit. Sprinkle with remaining diced onions. Cover surface with plastic wrap, then cover terrine with lid or foil.

Put terrine (with plastic wrap and lid) in roasting pan and fill roasting pan with enough hot water to reach halfway up side of terrine. Bake in middle of oven until an instant-read thermometer inserted diagonally into center of foie gras registers 120°F, 1 to 1 1/2 hours, or 160°F (for USDA standards), about 3 1/2 hours.

Remove terrine from pan. Discard water and remove towel. Return terrine to roasting pan and remove lid. Put wrapped cardboard directly on surface of terrine and set a weight on cardboard (this will force fat to surface; don’t worry if fat overflows). Let stand at room temperature 20 minutes.

Remove weight and cardboard and spoon any fat that has dripped over side of terrine back onto top (fat will seal terrine). Chill, covered, until solid, at least 1 day.

Unmold foie gras by running a hot knife around edge. Invert onto a plate and reinvert, fat side up, onto serving dish. Cut into slices with a heated sharp knife, serve with Pomegranate Chardonnay Jelly (see below)

POMEGRANATE CHARDONNAY JELLY

3 1/2 cups chardonnay (try to use the good stuff for the best flavor, save your Boone’s Farm for the after dinner party)

1/2 cup fresh pomegranate juice

1 (2 ounce) package dry pectin

4 1/2 cups white sugar

1. Combine wine, lemon juice, and pectin in a large saucepot. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Add sugar, stirring until dissolved. Return to a rolling boil. Boil hard 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim foam off top, if necessary.
2. Ladle hot jelly into hot, sterilized jars, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Tighten 2 piece lids. Process for 5 minutes in boiling water bath.

***** On-The-Go Ho’s tip: If pinched for time, a shortcut solution of a half jug of wine to 1 pack cherry jello works just as well.Just tell em it’s pomegranate, they’ll never know the difference!*****

Bon Appetit!

This is Alex

Hey everybody, I would like to introduce you all to the light of my life, my beautiful daughter Alexandra. She’s the one on the right. Which I guess is kinda obvious, as there is only one female in this photograph, and although her friend here is pretty, I don’t think pretty enough to confuse with a girl. But you never know these days with kids and all the gender-bender cornfusion so prevalent in today’s heathenistic paganized devil-worshipping youth culture. Damn trannies are everywhere, you don’t know who is what, and what’s an optical illusion. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m looking at a man, woman, something somewhere in between, if I’m suffering an acid flashback or if I just got something smudged on my glasses. Frankly, it’s frustrating.

I don’t even know who this kid is in this picture. But I’ll tell you what, he needs to get is damn arm up from around my baby, he’s a little to close for my comfort there and I don’t want to have to go grab my shotgun. Do you see his hand there on her knee? I swear these damn kids only have one thing on their minds, and that’s filth.

Would you believe my sweet little petunia there is 18 years old? I know I certainly can’t. It’s really hard for me to grasp that my tiny little sack of taters has blossomed up into a full-grown spud. It seems like only yesterday I was bottlefeeding her favorite blend of rice cereal and spaghettios, reading to her my favorite excerpts from Macbeth, and telling her fun fairy tales like the one about the Easter Bunny living outside the back of Walgreens in a cardboard box.( He needed to live close to where all the candy was, and Walgreens cut him a much better deal than that evil over-priced Eckerd Drugs. Alex and I were having an important conversation about entrepreneurship, and it was really helpful for me to paint a picture of how to launch a successful start-up using the legendary Easter Bunny Buisness Model Method.) Alex and I were just like the Gilmore Girls-if Lorelai and Rory were escapees from the psychaitric unit of some other planetary dimension.

That poor child deserves a Purple Heart for surviving 18 years growing up with me as a mother and living to tell about it.

You will be hearing many more Alex stories as this blog continues on. Some will be happy, some will be sad, some will be surprising,but you can guarantee that with Alejandra as the subject, all will be entertaining. (And don’t freak out on me, child, they will only be mildly embarrassing.

I love my woobie. *smiles*

My F’in’ HOT New Look! (you are gonna be soooo jealous!)

Just got back from the hot new Fancie Farms Mega Mormon Hair Hut And Style Emporium down the street, I decided my current look had grown a bit stale, and I just wasn’t feeling so pretty any more. Since I am all about keepin’ up the hotness at all costs, I decided to turn myself in to the beautah authoritahs down on the Farm, and treat myself to their fabulous Quaker Queen (TM)PolyPro Ultimate Prairie Princess Day Spa Experience and All-You-Can-Eat Root Vegetable Buffet! Lemme know what you guys think:

Sassy, no? I really dig the singular brow, it’s a fresher look and so much easier to maintain than two seperate ones. I’m just way too on-the-go to mess with all that. And I hope I can recreate the pompadour by myself at home…I have my hairgami tool and a tub of Dippity Doo, hopefully that will help. Check out the back:

Sexy, huh? And I love, love love the retro colonial-cuteness of this frontierswoman frock with the sporty shoes! Really edgy, it’s like Pioneer Punk! In the fall, I’m gonna rock the same shape, but in jewel-tone velvets and maybe a leopard-print. Fierce!

And here I am striking a pose with two of my Style Sisters, looking coy and sweet for our new husband, Mr. Clegg DeAaron Jeddies. I can’t stand it, he is such a hottie:

I know, I know, I’m a lucky woman. I wasn’t expecting him, but he was a bonus gift since they were running low on fennel and parsnips at the buffet. I have to share him with about 16 other girls but I don’t mind, I think of it as sorta like a timeshare.

Mom!

You know, it figures it would have started right at the exact moment I just happened to hit puberty. The universe has its way of jacking with me like that. It gets a real big kick out of fucking with me, likes to tell me I’m an “easy target”. Yeah, I guess I always have been kinda gullible like that.

What the fuck am I talking about, you ask? And what is this nefarious “it” I’m pissing on about,and what does it have to do with that magical, yet subtly perturbing rite of passage that occurs when a girl takes her first wobbly steps down the golden path of her burgeoning womanhood? And, I don’t mean a bat mitzvah-that’s crazy, I’m not even Jewish. You know what I’m talking about.

That “it” is HER. HER!! Yeah, that her, as in the very famous lady in the picture you’re staring right at, who just happens to bear a name that is just too ridiculously similar to mine? You know who I’m talking about. That Miss Queen Of Media herself (no wait, that’s Perez!)…I mean, you know, Queen Of Pop, Queen of the World, Queen Of Sheba, Queen Of Shame, Queen Fucking Bee..whatever. Fucking queen of everything, MADONNA.

Do you have ANY idea what this woman has done to my life? Beginning at about age 13, she latched on to my psyche like a bloodsucking lamprey and has been gnawing her way through the corpulent bowels of my ego ever since. I mean, you remember when Madonna first exploded on the scene, and began herTerminator- esque quest for her Holy Grail of Complete and Total World Domination? Yeah, it was crazy, right? She was every where, you couldn’t escape her- radio, MTV, (or, Friday Night Videos for lame-o’s like me whose parents refused to get cable), the TV, magazines, album covers, posters, cds and cassettes flying all over the place…bad movies…Madonna t-shirts, bandannas, pins, notebooks,mugs, hats, underwear, outerwear, decorative tea cozys,vibrators…you name it, her face, name, ass, something-was on it. (Ok, I’m making up the vibrator part…but you know, now that I think of it…I wonder why there are no Madonna vibrators, dildos, scented massage oils…you think there would be, it’s a natural market…oh, wait,I’m getting a message here… what’s that? An anal plug? Really???? Ok, so, what you’re telling me is there was a limited edition anal plug Madonna was endorsing somewhere around 1987? Huh, interesting. I was not aware of that. Now, that little nugget should come in handy next trivia night!)

The point is that the 80’s were complete Madonna Mania for everyone, everywhere. Now, just stop for a second and put yourself in the shoes of someone whose name is almost just fucking like hers. It was hell, that’s what it was, pure and utter hell. The moment Borderline became a hit and the world fell under that damn strumpet’s spell, was the moment I ceased to be LeDonna…and morphed into LeDonna, The Ultimate Madonna Wannabe.

I didn’t even WANT to be like Madonna, really…ok, you got me. I suppose there was a certain moment when I would look upon her ever-increasing status as an entertainment, fashion and sex icon with perhaps a faint whisper of envy. And not that I particularly ever wanted to be any such thing myself…you know, beautiful, famous, wealthy, desired by the masses…oh, good heavens, no! Not me. No no no no no no.

Around the Sean Penn had dumped Madonna and she started showing up to awards shows with Micheal Jackson, I threw up my hands in defeat. Obviously, she was a creative force to be reckoned with, and much like that blasted ingrown toenail I’d been battling with since my freshman year that refused to heal-she certainly wasn’t about to give up and just go away, and in fact, was growing larger and more noticeable each and every day. I had to accept that Madonna had become a permanent cross-stitch in the fabric of my life.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered me so much that she had started this fashion phenomenon and all the hip girls were dressing like her and looking cute if I hadn’t been so damn fat. Those ripped tees,mesh tanks and black rubber bracelets that looked so cute on all the skinny girls-if you put that same outfit on me, I looked like something fished up out of the Hudson River. Now I’ll just throw on a dead body and maybe one of those plastic 6-pack holders…alright! Let’s go! I’m into the groove!

Everytime my name was mentioned, I would hear someone-somewhere-”Madonna”? As if, where?  Here?! No, dipshit. Madonna is no where in the vicinity, today’s not your lucky day, you didn’t win the lottery or anything. It’s just me. LE-D0N-NA.

When I’m introduced to someone, 9 times out of ten, they will look at me quizically and say,“Madonna?!”, like I’m fucking with them somehow, playing some silly name game. “You’re not Madonna!” is one I get a lot. “I’m NOT?” I’d shoot back in astonishment. “Good God, you’re absolutely right. What was I thinking? There I go again, just assuming the identity of some random celebrity as my own…damn shrink was supposed to adjust my medication. I’m so sorry, this won’t happen again”.

Then I would be forced to clarify. “No, It’s LeDonna, kinda like Madonna, but with an ‘L’ instead of ‘M’…and ‘e’ instead of ‘a’, but it still sounds the same! Oh, and I get a big D, not a little one like hers”.

“So it’s like two names?” gggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I always dreaded the start of each new school year, because it was inevitable at least half the teachers would totally bungle my name, they could never tell if it was “Lee” or “Donna” or “Lee-Donna”,none of which were correct.

“So is your first name ‘Lee’, or is it ‘Donna’, and your middle name’s Lee?”

Yeah, Miss Lady with The Master’s Degree. My first name is Donna, middle name is Le, and my last name is Lee. That makes perfect sense. Donna Le Lee. Donna Le Lee, that’s me! You know, my mother was crazy, and yes, a touch redneck,but she wasn’t so out of her freaking mental galaxy that she would dream up a name as stoopid as “Donna Le Lee”. If she had, I surely would not be standing before right now, because I would have already committed suicide the moment I realized I was actually supposed to spend the rest of my days with a name that sounds like I’m a back-up dancer for Don Ho.

And please, let’s not even get started on my middle name.

“Alright, what’s your middle initial?”

“K.”

“What does that stand for?”

“Kay.”

“No, what does it stand for?”

“Kay.”

“No, I mean, what does the “K” stand for? “

“Kay!”

“Honey, are you speaking spanish, is that it, are you trying to say ‘what’? I didn’t mean “que” as in “que-so”,I meant, what does the letter ‘K’ stand for in your name?”

“IT STANDS FOR KAY. K-A-Y, MOTHERFUCKING KAY! AS IN MARY ‘KAY’, RHYMES WITH GAY, KAY!!!! Do you understand me now?”

“Oh, yes, I see, Kay! LeDonna Kay Lee. My, isn’t that just the prettiest name!”

You four-eyed fat fuck of a liar. You don’t have to patronize. I know my name sucks.

Actually, I have made peace and grown to like my name. I think it sounds kinda cool, kinda like a movie star. LeDonna Lee. Which is awesome, because one day, I will be. I haven’t given up dreams of entertainment glory. As long as there are webcams and pornos, I still have hope.