Monday, November 29, 2010


Thursday was Thanksgiving.  And I have been caught up in the holiday and haven't been able to blog.

At the PB's, we have a tradition where we all go around and say what we are thankful for.  This year, Gerren and I had something exciting to be thankful for.  We shared it with our family, and now we are ready to share it with you, my 16 followers.

Gerren and I are proud to announce that we are expecting.

A Macbook Pro.

Our little bundle of joy gets delivered by the Apple Stork today.  We are so proud and blessed to have this new addition to our small family.

We are registered at if you want to get us a gift.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Color me Confused

I like pop music.  I wont lie.  I love me some Rihanna, some (not all, but some) Black Eyed Peas, a little bit of Usher.  But color me confused when it comes to this so-called singer who calls her self Ke$ha.

Sure, I bopped my head along to her first two songs, even though I was generally embarrassed to be caught listening to anybody who brushes her teeth with booze.  But her latest songs?  They make me want to gauge out my ears.  I want to call this young woman's parents and ask them if they are proud of their daughter.  Because let me tell you, if momma and poppa PB heard me singing about sleeping with boys in my basement, being drunkity all the time, and having a general lack of hygiene, taste, class, etc, they would disown me.

While spending some time Googling Ke$ha, I cam across this little gem.  In case you still don't understand all that is wrong with Ke$ha, maybe this will help.

Glozelle translates Ke$ha song

If you like Ke$ha, I am going to lump you into a group of all of the other people that I judge:  Girls who make kissy/pouty faces in their pictures, have over plucked eyebrows, have acrylic nails; boys who wear white sneakers, have diamond studded earrings, who overly groom their facial hair;  hipsters.  I can't help it.  If you like Ke$ha and her "I don't know how to sing, only talk in a whiny annoying rhyme" voice, then I am no longer your friend.

I know it might sound harsh, but listen, if you like Ke$ha, the same music that makes me want to vomit, then obviously we are very different.  And not different in the "I like Macs, you like PCs" kind of way.  Different in that you like the worst music ever created and I don't.  And if you like the worst music ever created, then it is not negotiable, just like if you are a guy with diamond studs in his ears, we are simply never going to be friends.

And I am just fine with that.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A Leeky Love Affair

I love my husband.  I really do.  But last night, I experienced something that made me question what love really is.  I thought I knew what love was.  But until experiencing this new experience, I really just didn't know what I was missing.

I am in love.  With a pasta dish.  It is heavenonaplate.  And lord is it easy.  Pasta, cream, leeks, pancetta (which is fancy for bacon), white wine, butter.  What is in that list that is not to like?  Unless you are my husband, who hates flavor.  For a list of likes and dislike's by Mr. G, please see the bottom of this post.

If you do not try this recipe, you are either a vegetarian or an idiot.  (NOTE, not calling veg heads idiots.  Just people who do eat meat that do not try this recipe.)  Or you hate flavor like Mr. G (which is idiotic).

Here is the finished product:

No, I did not take that picture.  I already have a blog.  I do not have time to photograph and document my cooking experiences.  But to see more photos and details on the recipe and all around improve your life, you can visit P. Dub.

Ok, here are the deets:
-Package of bow tie pasta.  Cook it as usual.  Scoop out about a cup of pasta water before you drain it and keep it aside.
-A bunch of pancetta or bacon chopped up.  I say a bunch because I suck at measuring.  I think it was 3 oz. Which means a big handful of chopped pancetta or bacon.  Put it in a sauté pan and cook it until it is brown.
-When the pancetta/bacon is cooked, throw in three sliced leeks that have been thoroughly cleaned.
-With the leeks, add a generous pat of butter.  Cook for about 7 minutes until leeks are all soft.
-Add a good glug of dry white wine.  Let it simmer for a minute or so.
-Add about 1/2 cup of cream.  Let it simmer for about 2 minutes.
-Sprinkle in some parm and add the pasta and call it a day.  (If pasta seems too thick, add a little of the reserved pasta water.)

You will thank me.  Your waistline wont, but when you take your first (and second, and 100th) bite of this dish, your brain and stomach will over-rule your rational thinking about any form of diet and you will  continue to eat.  And you will thank me.  Unless you are Mr. G.  Then you will look at me and say "I don't like leeks."  And then I will cry a little at first.  And then I will say "thank you" and proceed to eat your portion of this dish and enjoy every bite of it.

As promised, here are some lists of Mr. G's likes and dislikes.  You wonder why I have heartburn.  (Please excuse the "wavy lines" that the lists make.  I suck at blogging.  I'm working on it.)

LIKES                                                              DISLIKES
Spaghettios                                                       Any vegetables but carrots
Prego Pasta Sauce                                            Any fruits except for apples
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese                              Any tomato sauce with a chunk in it
Plain Cheese Pizza                                           Anything with onions in it
Bacon                                                               Desserts of almost any form
Pulled Pork                                                       Anything with peppers in it
Plain Cheese Quesadilla                                   Spicy Food
White Bread                                                     Chinese Food
Sliced American Cheese                                   Indian Food
Welch's Grape Jelly                                          Real Italian Food
Carrots                                                              Shrimp
Stove Top Stuffing                                           Any shellfish really
BBQ Chicken                                                   Salt
Stuffed Shells                                                    Pot Roast
Artichokes                                                         Short Ribs
Lasagna                                                             Ribs of any kind
Beef Stew                                                         Anything with the words "whole wheat"
                                                                          All candy except for Peppermint Patties
                                                                          Salad (except for caesar)
                                                                          Any and all Jewish foods
                                                                          Anything else you can possibly think of


Monday, November 15, 2010

Weekend Warrior

Boy oh boy did I have a wild weekend.

Friday night, with intentions of going out with my young, hot, and hip cousin Katie ringing through my head, I fell asleep on the couch at around 9:45 pm.  Oops.

Not to fear.  Saturday, beautiful, sunny, warm, glorious Saturday, I went for a 45 minute bike ride.  And no, there was not gun being pointed at my head.  I just did it on my own free will.  I promptly came home and took a nap in front of the fire place.

Eventually, I woke up and took a shower and Mr. G and I went on a cheap date to the classiest restaurant known to man: Chilis.  Why yes, we did enjoy our $2 bud lights, thank you.  We got home by about 8, and on this night, it was Mr. G's turn to fall asleep on the couch at about 9:15.

Sunday was far more exciting.  I got a massage.  I did the shopping.  I did the cooking and the cleaning (aka, I asked Mr. G to vacuum).  I watched 3 episodes of Deadliest Catch on DVD.  Had an exciting night of playing games (celebrity and scattergories) and called it a night by 8:45.

Man, I am completely wiped out.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


 Etiquette is an important part of society.  And most sane people agree on what is good etiquette.  For example, we all know that saying fuck, shit, ball sack, and talking about poop in front of small children/old people/in public in general, is bad etiquette.  We all know not to spit our used gum out anywhere but the trashcan.  We agree that you should always try to say "please" and "thank you."  And most people would probably agree that it is bad etiquette to talk smack about someone else behind their back.  

Even though I know that I should be following good etiquette rules,  I have, on occasion, been known to forget about good etiquette and break these rules.  Just this week I dropped an F bomb when I thought I lost my ID when in line at the store to buy Mr. G some classy natty ice (he yelled at me).

However, there are some rules of etiquette that I never, ever, EVER break.  And you shouldn't either.  Let me outline them here.


1) Do not post chain messages about showing your support for the troops, your favorite nurse, your loving daughter, etc.  Nobody likes getting chain emails, right?  So why would we like to see chain Facebook statuses?  If you really cared about supporting out troops, then you would not just post it on Facebook, you would go and vote, at every election.  Or if you really loved a nurse, you would send money to some nurses foundations.  Or hug your daughter to prove you love her.  Just don't paste it on Facebook as your status.  It doesn't make it real, it just makes you look dumb.

2) NOBODY cares what you are doing today.  Sure, if it is something really exciting, fun, neat, post it.  I DO care if you are going skydiving, moving to Turkey, or you have something funny to say.  I don't care if you just took a shower, it was nice, the sun is shining, and now you are going to take a walk.  This is as boring to the world as watching paint dry.

3) I don't care how good looking you are, it is rarely ok to create entire Facebook albums dedicated to yourself or you and your significant other.  THE ONLY THREE EXCEPTIONS to this are: engagement photos, wedding photos, growing baby belly photos (yes, I know I am slightly biased here).  Albums of just yourself make you look self centered. Get over yourself.

4) If you are pregnant, do NOT update your Facebook status as you are getting ready to go into labor, you are in labor, or for gods sake, if you are actually pushing.  I have no problem with the "Little Benny is already the size of a watermelon.  holy crap the last 9 months flew by!" or "going to the hospital to have little Benny!" posts.  Or the "Little Benny was born on Sept. 1st and mom and baby are both happy and healthy" post.  I do not want to read about you dilating, the problems you are having with your baby not turning, the fact that labor is so hard, etc.  Not only is this pretty private stuff, but you need to be focusing on your well being and your babies well being.  And constantly updating Facebook should not even be a priority of yours at a time like this.  Just go have your baby.  (For the record, Ms. Jackie soon-to-be-Rachdorf, your Facebook status updates while pregnant and after have been spot on.  You are the epitome of the perfect pregnant poster.)

5) Here is a really bad one folks, but I think it mostly pertains to the younger kids out there.  Do not have conversations with your significant other on Facebook.  Have the decency to pick up the phone and talk to each other.  Do not post all over each others walls "i luv you!" "no, i LUV YOU! cant wait to see you  for our date" "me neither babe, it is going to be so fun, see you in 12 minutes."  What is even more disturbing is seeing arguments or people breaking up on Facebook: "i'm sorry, but i just can't do this anymore.  i love you, but we can't keep doing this""i know but you mean so much to me, this break is going to be really hard on me."  Just stop.  This is like nails scraping on a black board.

6) Do not abbreviate.  Just speak like a normal person.  "Cannot w8 2 c u 2nite 4 dnr!" is not english.  I don't even know what people who abbreviate are saying half the time.

7) Do not post cryptic "woe is me" Facebook statuses.  "I just wish this would all end,"  "oh my god, this is such big news, but don't ask me, i can't talk about it!" statuses are just making you out to look like an attention whore.  Desperate.  Just spill it already or don't post it at all.

8) This is the all time worse, I literally cringe (and then un-friend you) if I see these constant posts.  It is the opposite of class to post your drama with your significant other, friend, etc.  I cannot emphasize this enough.  If I see "damnit, how could he/she do this to me?  you didn't pay your child support this month, you crazy mother f8#&er!" I want to die.  If I see a status like that and then three days later (which is generally the case) I see a new status saying "I love you, I am so glad we worked this out. You are the best thing that ever happened to me" then I actually have a coronary and need resuscitation.   Do not air all of your dirty laundry in Facebook!  For the love of god and all things holy, just don't.

If you break any of these etiquette rules, I will have to talk smack about you behind your back (or worse, on my blog) and then I will have been forced to break one of the nationally known etiquette rules.  So just follow the simple 8 rules of good Facebook Etiquette as listed above and you will be all set.  Because no one ever wants to have a Granny talking smack about them behind their back.

Luv u 4 eva,

Monday, November 8, 2010

Rambling Thoughts of a 25 year old Antacid Poppin' Food Loving Totally Boring Granny

  • It is just 11:32 and I have already destroyed my lunch (left over baked ziti, amazeballs).  When 11:19 rolled around, I couldn't take it anymore.  I was starving.  So baked ziti it was.  I do not regret this decision, but I likely will when it is 12:30 and everyone else is eating lunch and I am not.
  • I have a theory/hypothesis/philosophy that if you do not like Taylor Swift that you are un-American.  (Please say "un-Amuricun" with a redneck accent for the full affect.)  My younger cousin, who is hot, hip, and totally with it, disagrees and says that Taylor Swift is awful, she hates her, and she is a fake.  My feelings were hurt every time Ms. Katie Rachel said another mean thing about my close and personal friend Taylor.  I chucked it up to Katie being hot, young, and hip, and me being 96 and liking the wholesome, sweet, cute, and talented musicians that are a rare breed out there these days.  It could also have something to do with the fact that I am obsessed with every song that Ms. Swift has ever had played on the radio ever.  I stand by my theory/hypothesis/philosophy. 
  • After finishing a healthy (ie, large) portion of baked ziti, I am still hungry.  I want cookies.
  • All of this talk on Facebook of snow and ice is upsetting me.  And Caroline the Corolla.  She hasn't yet gotten her winter sneakers on and if Mother Nature doesn't calm the eff down, Caroline is going to be pissed.  It's not like I am neglecting Caroline (although the poor girl is about 3,000 miles over due for an oil change), it is just that Ricky the Recession Rat is making me wait until Thanksgiving week when the bills are all paid to buy the girl some winter sneaks.  So everybody who is excited about this tragic weather, simmer down, let it be for another 2 weeks, and THEN start your excited Facebook banter about snow and winter arriving. 
  • Mr. G took me on a date on Friday night to see Rhonda Vincent and the Rage.  If you are like me, and think you like some bluegrass, and particularly love Allison Krauss, Nickel Creek (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH NICKEL BACK.  ever.), the Dixie Chicks, or Dolly Parton, then you must must must start listening to Rhonda.  I had never heard of her before, but lawd have mercy, I thought I had died and gone to heaven listening to her and her wonderful band sing.  However, if you are like my young, hot, and hip cousin Katie Rachel and think that all of the above singers suck (shaking my head with disappointment in today's youth) then maybe don't listen to Rhonda and the Rage.  (It should also be said that after this concert on Friday night, I went to little Miss Katie Rachel's house and stayed there until 11!  She told me I was a loser and an old maid for leaving at 11 to go home to bed rather than going out with her to hit up the bars.  I am going to use the fact that she said these mean things to me to discredit her comments on Taylor Swift and Rhonda Vincent et al.  There, I feel better about it already.)
  • After finishing a healthy (ie large) portion of baked ziti, I need some tums.  And some cookies because I really am still hungry.

Achy breaky heartburn-y bubbie.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Weight a minute

Last night, I had a consult with a trainer at my fancy gym.  It was like a slap to my (fat!?) face.  It was a nightmare.  I wanted to cry.  As previously mentioned, my nickname used to be Scrawny Shauni.  A more appropriate nickname now would be Tub of Lard Shauni.  I know I am not huge, but compared to Scrawny Shauni (and to my stick of a husband) I am a house sized person.  It's not that I don't exercise.  I do (usually).  However, I LOVE food.  LOVE love love love love it.  I love food in all of its forms.  Fruits, veggies, pasta, sauces, desserts, seafood, steaks, you name it, I most likely love it.  Except for maybe under ripe bananas.  Gross.  Unfortunately, when I crave something, like really want to eat something REAL BAD, it is never a craving for an apple.  I crave cake.  All of the damn time.  And in the summer, I crave soft serve raspberry ice cream with chocolate jimmies in a cake cone, please.  But 90% of the time I do not give into these cravings.  I can control myself and just bitch to Mr. G about it and then it passes.  Except for this one time...

Living in glorious Truckee, CA, there were no scoop shops like there are every 4 miles in New England.  (Well, actually there was one, but it cost about $13 for a small scoop.  Ricky the Recession Rate forbade it.)  Since there were no scoop shops, I was never tempted to just go get a scoop of ice cream.  Then I got engaged and I gave up desserts entirely.  For about 4 months.  It was miserable.  Then we moved to Vermont.  Imagine moving to the ice cream scoop shop capital of the universe and being tempted to get a raspberry soft serve ice cream with chocolate jimmies, please,  and not being able to eat it because you have a wedding dress to fit into.  Awful.  So every night after dinner I would cry into Mr. G's shoulder screaming "I NEED ICE CREAM!" and then pop a piece of unsatisfying gum into my mouth instead.

For those of you who are married, you will know that as soon as the wedding is over, you start gorging.  It all starts with the honeymoon, and then it doesn't stop.  Like, ever.  So Mr. G and I ran off and got hitched (in a wedding dress I fit in just fine thankyouverymuch) and came back from our honeymoon and we were sitting on our couch one night watching a movie.  And I had a craving.  An itching for some chocolate ice cream (the soft serve raspberry ice cream with chocolate jimmies season was over at this point).  It was a craving that was impossible to ignore.  Mid-movie I shouted to Mr. G (who was right next to me, but I needed to make sure he heard me) that "I NEED ICE CREAM!"  Now, Mr. G is used to me shouting about my love of food.  What he is not used to is me then standing up, pausing the movie, putting shoes on, grabbing my purse, running to the door, and driving down the street to get a pint of Ben and Jerrie's "Everything but the" without a discussion.  I just got up and left.  I neeeeeeded that ice cream.  It had been YEARS.  I came home about 8 minutes later with the tub of chocolatey gooey goodness, grabbed a spoon, turned the movie back on and sat down with my husband again, and the pint of Ben and Jerrie's.  No big deal.  Until I realized Mr. G had not spoken a word since I left.  I looked over at him and he was staring at me with shock on his face.  No, not just shock.  The man was horrified.  He did not know I could have a craving for ice cream so bad that I would just pause the middle of our very suspenseful movie so I could run out of the house for some "Everything but the."  He told me I was like a lion going for the kill--completely determined and unstoppable.

Thus you understand my issues with my weight.  Let me leave you with this thought.  The beautiful and thin supermodel Kate Moss is famous for saying "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."  Well, Ms. Katie, stick this in your skinny-ass mouth and chew it around for awhile--ice cream tastes better than skinny feels.

Until next time,
Putting-on-the-pounds Granny

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Greetings Friend(s)

I've done it.  I have finally given in.  After always saying "who has time to create a blog?!" to all of my (two) friends who already have blogs, I have created a blog.

It was hard to decide on a name.  A few I threw around:
-Shaun John does your mom
-GOOD times with Mrs. GOODwin
-Granny Shauni's indigestion and more
-Scrawny Shauni's antacids (this obviously failed as my nickname is no longer Scrawny Shauni.  That died in the 11th grade.)

Clearly these potential names really prove that I lead an exciting life.

Although I do on occasion go do some fun and crazy things that normal 25 year olds do (just this weekend I stayed out until 3 am AND got an ankle tattoo.  So there.), generally you can find me living the life of a 83 year old.  I love to sleep.  Puzzles spike my blood pressure (yes, it really is high).   A glass of wine is almost always preferred over a snazzy cocktail.  I read about 112 books a year.  I sleep at least 8 hours a night and prefer to be in bed weeknight or not, by 10-11.  I sleep with a neck support thingy for my aching back.  I take antacids all.the.time because I have the digestive system of a 100 year old.  I like opera (sometimes).  I want to spend my Sunday's baking.  I am always cold.  I think young kids these days dress horribly.  I want to only wear pants with an elastic waist.  I carry everything you might ever need in my purse.  Replace Trident with Chick-lets and I am my bubbie.  So you see, it is only natural for the title of my fancy new blog to have a reference to my granny-ness.

Do you need further proof that I am a granny?

Ok, here I am halloween of 2007.  As a bubbie:

Ok, now that the three of you reading this know why I named my bloggity, let me get on to the actual post.

Today it is mid-term election day.  I voted.  Did you?  I hope so, or else you cannot read any more of my blog.  GOOD DAY SIR.

After stressing the importance of voting over Facebook, I came to work.  I made a matrix.  Then I spoke to my serial killing friend about really important things in life.  Like voting.  And the Kardashians.  (I should note, my friend is not a real serial killer.  At least I don't think she is.  Only time will tell...)  Then I ate some leftover Thai Curry that I made last night. 

 Last night when I made the curry I used regular coconut milk instead of the light stuff I usually like.  P. Chops was sold out of the light stuff, so I had to buy the OG stuff instead.  Stupid P. Chops.  Anyway, I made the curry with said OG coconut milk and instantly felt ill.  It was too heavy and fatty for my poor digestion.  I spent the night curled up next to Mr. G thinking that at any minute I was going to vomit.  I didn't, but I sure burped a lot.

Cut to this morning, when packing my lunch I packed the left over curry.  I did not want to, as it had made me ill the night before.  But Ricky the Recession Rat was at my house and he glared at me and said "Bitch, you cannot afford to throw away food.  You have to EAT it.  This is a damned recession!"  Try as I might to stare him down, Ricky won, as usual.  If you don't know Ricky, you are quite lucky.  He loves visiting my friend Stephanie and myself and telling us "how dare you even think about the $500 Frye boots you want.  Eff you, this is a recession, and you will buy your boots from Famous Footware."

Alas, I ate the too-rich-for-my-frail-stomach-leftover curry for lunch today, and yet again I felt ill.  Not even 6 antacids helped.

The moral of the story?  I have awful 90+ year old digestion.  This recession sucks.  And you should vote.

Love, peace, and Tums,
Shauni the Granny