The Blog of Bex

I think that we are at the point in our relationship where I can share things with you. Important things. Sacred things. And you won't judge me, right? Because that's how we roll. Yo. One of these things is the reason why I will NOT drink white zinfandel. Ever. Again. I'd like to start off by acknowledging that white zin sucks. In fact, white zinfandel is kind of like ALL of my ex-boyfriends in that I cannot imagine what I EVER saw in them in the first place. Many moons ago I invited my boyfriend to go to the Steeplechase with me in North Carolina. We packed a huge cooler full of food, beer and a 1.5 liter bottle of Sutter Home white zinfandel (Mmmm). My boyfriends' car was a 1976 Fiat Spider convertible which was really cool. That is until it broke down on the interstate 2 miles from where we needed to be. Not easily dissuaded we picked up our ENORMOUS cooler and began to schlep it to the park. It was about 90 degree's and very humid as we began our trek down the i...

I live in the South and, as most people know, Southerners are very fond of deep fried food. Chicken, okra (shudder), onions, and even pickles are all fried southern favorites. So it should come as no surprise that we also deep fry turkeys. We are southern imports (born and raised elsewhere) so when my husband first mentioned to me that he would like to spend one hundred dollars for an Official Turkey Fryer I thought that he was joking. Like we need one more way to consume too many calories on our favorite Thursday of the year. But he insisted that this would be a Good Purchase that would get Good Use every year. So we bought the damned thing. The first year we had it I bought two turkeys. One for the oven and one to fuck up in the fryer. Mine took many hours in the oven. The one Don cooked was done in about 45 minutes. I still wasn't impressed. I hate fried chicken so I assumed that I would hate a big, greasy turkey that had been deep fried. But here is the thing - it wasn't gr...

When Don and I were newlyweds we got jobs with a local catering company for weekend work. We enjoyed the extra income and it barely felt like we were working as we were spending time together (All together now - aawwwhhhh...). One night we were employed to work at a very elegant company Christmas party at the Convention Center. The event was beautiful - everyone was in either a tux or a gown. There was a band, lots of beautifully displayed food and an open bar. Don and I were bartending and got to share a bar which was fun. Our bar had been decorated for us and was extremely festive with many votive candles, holly leaves and confetti. Just working there was putting me in the holiday mood. There was a table of ten sitting close to our bar and they were rocking the margarita's this evening. Everyone was pretty shit faced. What can I say? I make a mean 'rita. Towards the end of the evening one of my margarita ladies stood up at her table and looked longingly towards me. Or past me...

Many years ago, when Amanda was around two, we had a very scary incident at the house. I had put her down for a nap and was trying to get some stuff done around the house. The hallway where our bedrooms are has a few creaky spots and the loudest spot is right outside of Amanda's bedroom. Through the years I've learned where they are and can, when necessary, avoid them by carefully stepping around them. I needed to go to the other side of the house so I limbered up and began my Twister-esque maneuver to prevent squeaking the spot. I was getting ready to tip toe by her closed door and was VERY focused on not waking her up. As I was creeping by something caught my eye on the floor, so I looked down. There was an arm laying there. I stopped in my tracks, startled by it. Suddenly - the fingers jumped and began wiggling! I screamed and somehow threw myself backwards - in slow motion a la The Matrix - into the wall. Then I became aware of someone else screaming...the hand withdrew its...

I know, I know. If you've been reading this blog with any regularity you've been wondering - just what kind of idiot AM I anyway?? Well, I'd like to tell you EXACTLY what kind of idiot I am. Where to begin...chronologically...alphabetically...it's a tough call. What I can tell you is that I didn't want to call this blog the Blog of Bex. I wanted it to be Bex's Blog. But I couldn't remember if it was written like that or like Bex' Blog. Or Bexs' Blog. The saddest part of all that is I really thought long and hard about it. I didn't actually do any research or anything, but I was thinking about it. So The Blog of Bex I became. It sounded slightly better than (or is that 'then') The Blog Belonging To Bex. BUT I do know how to tell someone in French to go and sodomize himself. So I have that going for me. And, for the record, that phrase comes in handy more times than you would think! www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com

This morning I thought that I would take an hour or so to straighten up my house. This is something I don't normally do. I don't like doing it, I'm not good at it and I really look for just about any excuse to avoid it. But today...I decided to suck it up and give it my best shot. My son (who is almost 2) tried valiantly to undo me by following me and unfolding whatever had just been folded, pulling off of the shelf whatever had just been put on, etc. But I shouldered on. Eventually Jax seemed to catch on and began to hand me things that were on the floor. To encourage this I would shower him with "Good BOY!!" comments. He handed me all sorts of things and I would finish what I was doing and then either throw away or put away his contribution. The last thing he handed me felt kind of funny. As I was caressing it with my fingers I noticed that its' texture was not unlike that of a biscotti. So I looked at it. Hmmm. It was brown with florescent specs throughout....

Yikes! My blog was just visited by someone from Chuck E. Cheese's headquarters! I can only assume that he or she did not come to read the boring dribble of a housewife on the edge and that the purpose of the visit was to inspect the comments I made on Friday about their establishment. I felt very defensive and immediately reread my entry in case I was unfair or too harsh in my assessment. As a result I've decided to make two positive comments about Chuck E. Cheese: You are obviously no slouch, considering your lightning-speed inspection of Chuck E. Cheese related writings on the internet (I'll admit I was a little startled by it. But hey, you're just protecting your brand, right?) Chuck E. Cheese restaurants are loud and obnoxious places. But my kids love them. AND at least you have the decency to serve beer to the parents. You have no idea how much that means to us parents out here in the trenches. Seriously. Thanks for that. So you are not the worst, Chuck E. Cheese!...