Central Florida Bloggers, Food, & Fun

I finally made it to another monthly night out with a group of fun & fabulous Central Florida Lady Bloggers.  Mexican food, an icy Imperial (a Costa Rican beer), and blogging buddies — ingredients for a perfect evening!

 It felt so good trade out my writing wardrobe (a.k.a. yoga pants) for a bright  new dress, ditch the slippers for some espadrilles, and head downtown.  This suburban girl doesn't get out much. Though I'm only about ten miles from the hip downtown area, I felt like I was heading into a different world — one that involves the choice of valet parking or driving in circles for hours to snatch a tiny parallel parking spot. But I found a spot where I wouldn't get towed,  then enjoyed some delicious food, cold drinks, and amazing company.

Carolina, from Peas in a Blog, was smart enough to bring her camera along (because no blogger should EVER leave home without one) and had our young waiter snap this photo. Thanks for letting us all totally steal it!

These ladies are amazing. Not only do they write for a diverse range of blogs, but they run marathons, compete for national fashion blogging awards, host panel discussions at BlogHer Food, produce nationally syndicated television and radio shows, and so much more. I can't help but to feel out of my league. Take a minute to discover some of their unique blogs — you won't be disappointed.

Food
Christine – Cook the Story
Kristina – Love & Zest


Food & Fitness
Carolina — Peas in a Blog
Jessica – Sushi & Sit Ups


Fashion
J – J’s Everyday Fashion

Children's Health & Wellness
Carly & Courtney - Illuminate Blog

Sports
Colleen – Lady Ballers

A bit of everything
Heather – Housewife Glamour
Jackie – Mom Jovi


Social Media/Fitness
Katy – Katy Widrick


Running & Fun
Paula – Eat Watch Run
Victoria – Running Peanut

*Thanks again to Carolina for compiling this list.  And if I miss you, let me know, & I'll gladly add you.

Since I've been trying to eat healthier (swimsuit season is already in full swing around here), I ordered the Lettuce Wrap Fajitas.  Probably not the best choice when wearing a new dress. They proved so messy, I dumped  all the ingredients on one plate and improvised a taco salad.  Not bad. And it gave me inspiration for dinner the next night.

I'd bought some of the new Kraft Fresh Takes (coating, seasoning, & cheese mix) when they were free with coupons.  I baked some chicken breasts coated in the Chili Lime and Panko coating and tossed it on top of a salad of mixed baby greens, red and orange bell peppers, black beans, and green onions.

Pretty good, if I do say so myself. And another example of why I don't eat out much. It's hard to justify spending $10+ bucks on a dinner salad when I can make it at home.

Oh, and while I was making this dinner, Hubby suddenly remembered that he had a potluck at work...tomorrow.  I wasn't making him anything at such the last minute, so I tossed him a box of brownie mix and let him figure it out.

Better luck next time?  They still tasted great though (is it possible for brownies to taste bad?) and I'm sure all the ladies at his work will be tickled he made them himself.

Hot Air Balloon Rides at the New Smyrna Beach Ballon Fest

A hot air balloon ride is on everyone's bucket list. When I saw the ad for the New Smyrna Beach Balloon Festival, I knew we had to go.

I'd been looking forward to it for weeks, examining the schedule, charging my camera battery, and dreaming.  The weather looked iffy though — the balloons could only inflate if the winds stayed below 8 mph. The fest was being held close to the beach where winds gusted stronger than that daily.  AND a storm front was scheduled to move through over the weekend. Iffy.

We decided to go up for two nights, because I knew if I went up for only Friday OR Saturday, the show would not go on.


Friday night we ate a delish surf-Mexican dinner at the Taco Shack, a totally casual open-air place where cats strolled below the wooden benches, the food was quick and hot, while the beer was cheap and cold. Perfect.  We felt as if we were back in Costa Rica. We'll be going back.

We met up with some friends and family at the Balloon Fest. The place was crazy. Normally, New Smyrna is a sleepy little beach town — I think the city by-laws state you must be retired or surf to live there.  Half of Central Florida must have filled the muddy airport parking lot that day.

Vintage planes sat parked along the runways, displays for the airshows taking over the skies all weekend.  Nearly a hundred vendor booths took up far too much space, and of course Kiddo talked his Grandma into buying him a souvenir. The obligatory greasy food court was jammed with people eating anything imaginable that could be fried or stuck on a stick {or both}. But they had REALLY cheap beer — win!  A giant Ferris wheel and a bustling, overpriced carnival lit up the evening sky.

But I didn't care about any of that. I bee-lined it straight for Balloon Island.

A few withered nylon bags were strewn across a field, their colors and shapes not clear in the twilight. People tugged wicker baskets from the backs of vans and trailers. They were so much smaller than I had imagined, only 4 x 5 or so, just big enough for four people to squeeze into, and small enough to easily fit into the back of a pick-up truck.

The winds gusted far higher than the allowed speed, but a few brave crews tried to get their balloons up.  The basket and balloon started down on its side, while the mouth was held open to capture the wind. Once enough air filled the nylon balloon, the flames turned on, sporadic bursts lighting up the sky.

But the balloons never left the ground that night. It was just too windy. We watched jets flare like sparklers, parachutes fall with flaming trails, and a jet-engine rigged school bus roar past at 200+ mph.

We missed the full airshow Saturday, but as we sat on the beach we caught glimpses of the jets and biplanes practicing along the coast, cruising by in tight formation above the sand and sea.

A front threatened to cancel all the night's activities, and rain chances went up as the day grew long. The afternoon brought a few brief showers, but a few of us decided to brave it anyway.

I could see the outlines of balloons as soon as we neared the entrance.  We raced through the crowds, eager to get in line for a ride.  My wonderful Hubby joined the queue while a friend and I took our boys to explore — but not before we enjoyed a smuggled-in champagne toast {shhh}.

Now, this was a tethered balloon ride.  While we would LOVE to go for the hour-long ride gliding high above the Florida countryside, we didn't have the $200 bucks a person to shell out.  I'll save that luxury for a ride over wine country or some foreign destination, thanks.  Heavy ropes connected the balloons to trucks and vans. I would have loved to have ours break free, escaping above the crowds, but that wasn't going to happen.

Tickets in hand, we let Kiddo pick our balloon.  We were third in line. He was impatient, dying to get into the sky — so was I.   It was actually tough to climb into the basket, find the foothold low on the wicker, and I was barely able to swing my leg over the top. Inside, there wasn't any room to maneuver, and I thanked the stars that I vetoed my skirt at the last minute.

The three of us just barely fit in there with the captain. 

The flames burned hot against my slight sunburn, they were close, bright, and blinding as the sun.

The inside of the nylon dome was huge,

 a brilliant hollow Easter egg holding us suspended in the air.

Storm clouds closed in on us, and lightening flickered in the distance. Our time up in the air was far too brief, but the lines snaked across the field, others waiting {some rather impatiently} for their time in the sky.  Kiddo scored a second ride with our friends, and not minutes after they descended the rains came.

We grabbed a cheap beer and stood in the rain watching the balloons deflate. There were going to be many disappointed people that night, but we would not be amongst them. We had a blast.

Fifty Shades of Hype

Source: shine.yahoo.com via Vinobaby on Pinterest

From:  Vinobaby, an avid book lover and budding novelist
Subject: Fifty Shades of  Hype Grey
Date: March 22, 2012
To: Mature Readers Everywhere (that means Mom & Grandma, this is NOT for you)



I fell for the hype. From the Today Show's segment on the new mommy porn and the countless articles about the sultry Twilight for grown-ups overtaking the suburbs, Fifty Shades of Grey was everywhere, a publishers wet dream. I had to see what it was about.

I wanted to be floored. I wasn't impressed.

Fifty Shades of Gray is the story of Anastasia Steele, a naive young virgin, and her romance with Christian Grey, a beautiful billionaire. Days before her college graduation, young, immature Ana fills in for her sick best friend/roommate  and interviews the powerful CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. for her college magazine.  He is devastatingly handsome. He is rather young himself, especially for a self-made billionaire. He is an utter control freak. Plain, normal Ana falls for him, and even though she is just an "every-girl," the filthy-rich hunk falls for her, too.

Right.

We discover quite quickly that Christian is not one for a normal relationship. No touching. No staying the night. Just lots of kinky sex. He opens Ana up to the world of chain-filled playrooms, spankings, and calling her boyfriend "Sir."  He is a dominant and she is supposed to be his submissive. . .she just has a few other ideas in mind.

"I'm no longer angry with him, I suddenly feel unbearably shy. I don't want him to go. For the first time I wish he was — normal — wanting a normal relationship that doesn't need a ten-page agreement, a flogger, and carabiners in his playroom ceiling."

It's not literature.  Not because of the sex scenes, but because it's just not written that well. Anais Nin and  Henry Miller spun controversial and steamy stories, but their works still can be found on the literature shelves of bookstores and libraries. Fifty Shades has the distinct feel of a YA novel, just a NC-17 version. The characters are flat, immature, and Ana's inner dialogue made me want to scream.  Her budding inner goddess thinks, "Holy $hit" every other page. It got old.  She was supposed to be a lit student who easily scored a job with a publishing house. Yet she never owned a laptop. Or, judging by her 13-year-old vocabulary, a thesaurus.

Then there's the whole brouhaha about possible copyright infringement. The novel supposedly developed from the author E L James's Master of the Universe fan fiction piece, a Twilight takeoff. While I don't read fan fiction and the idea of making money on another author's back is odious, honestly, I don't see how it's an issue here.  There are some similarities, yes.  Both of the heroines are naive, unremarkable every-girls who blossom under the watchful eyes of their constant beaus. Only their necessary side of spunk makes them tolerable and different from wet dishrags. And I get it — girls like bad boys with a hidden sensitive side and a sob-story past.  Both Edward and Christian are otherworldly handsome, filthy rich,  and  scarily jealous and controlling.  That whole possessive deal is one of the key issues that scared me with the Twilight saga — millions of young girls and older Twilight Cougars in love with such a controlling freak.  {That's why I was Team Jacob.}

Speaking of Jacob: his would-be parallel character, Jose, is barely mentioned, not developed at all, and seemingly thrown in just to illustrate Christian's overwhelming anger and jealousy.  But that is nothing new to fiction, and even a well-developed love triangle is not copyrightable.

There are also none of Twilight's subplots (or much plot at all, really).  I kept waiting for a  rival pack of rich and carnally hungry dominants to raid the town, leaving a trail of deflowered young girls — some element of mystery or danger.  Instead it is 372 pages of I know I shouldn't like this guy or this crazy sex, but I think I kinda do anyway..holy crap...

Honestly, a young woman falling for a sparkling, sexless (at least for a while) vampire seems more realistic to me than a college-educated virgin jumping panties-first into a BDSM relationship, complete with contract and all.  I couldn't bother to root for any of the characters.

I don't think this book would have received any of the publicity, sales, or a massive book deal if it hadn't hitched its steamy wagon to  the nonstop Twilight train.  It's just not that good. I wanted to attack the manuscript with a red pen in hand, because apparently it was thrown into print without a copy editor. Others have said it's an emotional roller coaster, heartbreaking, and thrilling — I found it to be utterly flat, and as exciting as Disney's Hall of Presidents.  But hype is everything now, and this book is rivaling  Blue Ivy and the slut controversy.

If you are looking to read some smut, excuse me "erotica," but you are to nervous to go to your local bookstore to pick some up, I guess this may be worth your time.  {But, just so you know, you can order online and no one will ever know.}  I'm certainly not recommending this book though. I would have put it down after the first ten pages (long before it got to any of the good stuff) if I wasn't so curious about all the hype. I'm rather disappointed it didn't live up to any of it.

Have you read Fifty Shades?  What did you think? Five star or one (or a shade of grey somewhere between)?

The Booze Canoes {or it must be St. Paddy's Day}

If you want to test a relationship, go canoeing.

I'm serious. I see it happen (and live it) every year. That fine line between this is the most lovely, relaxing day with my significant other and I'm going to kill him.

We have a lovely, near pristine piece of old Florida not far from our home. Far enough that I can't hear the traffic, the constant hum of air conditioners, and the whirl of sirens. Close enough that we still get emergency cell phone service (in case we are eaten by an alligator or bear) and only have a twenty minute drive home.

Source: myscienceproject.org via Vinobaby on Pinterest

Each St. Patrick's Day we gather with a large group of friends from Hubby's soccer team and our local English pub for the St. Paddy's Day Paddle.

The jello shots start at 9 a.m.

Yes, I know. But in pre-kid days, it used to start earlier — as in everyone meet at 8 a.m. for a few beers, but most of us are too old for that now.  And it really does help with whole relationship thing. A little liquor tends to tune down the urge to throw your spouse or significant other overboard.

A  pack of 12 to 20 canoes gather annually for this 8 mile river run. From families to single swearing Scotsmen still drunk from the night before, it's a diverse bunch.  Some paddlers have experience. Some don't know which end of the paddle goes in the water. Those are the guys who drink the most. And tip the most.  And are the most entertaining to watch.

Steering a flimsy fiberglass boat through alligator-infested waters is enough to make some people nervous. Add in hairpin twists and turns, dark water riddled with underwater obstructions which can snag and dunk you, and swampy shoals where you can easily run aground, and the REAL fun begins.

Someone has to steer. Someone has to navigate and listen. And when do couples ever work in such harmony?

Shouts echo down the river.

Why didn't you tell me we were going to hit a log?

Steer right, right, no your OTHER right! {crash}

Ackh! Spiderweb, you steered me into a giant spiderweb!

Watch the damn water, and stop trying to catch jello shots!

You DO NOT jump and lean in the boat when we see a gator. 

What do you mean you forgot the toilet paper? Am I supposed to use a leaf?

If you tip us, so help me God, you will be sleeping on the couch until NEXT YEAR'S paddle.

Paddle faster. Paddle faster!  I hear banjos... {Not really, but I did find a teen serenading three girls with an acoustic guitar.}

Usually, if a couple survives the comedy of errors, their relationship is bound to last. Canoeing should be a part of mandatory premarital counseling, a mini-Survivor, where only the strong-willed and strongest relationships will make it off the island and down the isle. Everyone bickers, from couples just dating to those who have persevered through decades of marriage.

During those moments when things are under control, it's an absolutely lovely day.  No noise but bird calls, frog croaks, and the breeze blowing through towering cypress trees.  Over the years we've spotted otters, snakes, alligators, zillions of water birds, wild turkeys, and resting turtles along the Wekiva River. Deer and black bears frequent the area also, but we've yet to spot one along the river (I'm guessing the banging boats and wild Englishmen's swears scare them away).

Our St. Paddy's Day tradition — booze, canoes, and wilderness. What could possibly go wrong?

You & Me: Wordless Wednesday

Setting: Manual Antonio, Costa Rica

Words: Dave Matthews Band, You and Me

Dream: To be there, right now. 
(and, once again, it ties in with my novel. . .) 




 

Yet Another Reason Pinterest Makes Me Feel Inferior

 As a child, I created my own fashion catalogs and everyday cookbooks, the glossy photos and text snipped from my mom's magazines and  department store flyers. In college I papered my walls with my favorite advertisements and cutting edge photography, images that helped shape my blossoming persona.

I still subscribe to far too many magazines, though now my folders and boxes burst with  home decor and beauty ideas.  I've saved thousands of recipes over the years, first by cutting from magazines and taping into burgeoning three-ring binders, and for the last decade or so, saving into my computerized cookbook.

So naturally, I'm a sucker for Pinterest.

Millions of images, ideas, recipes, forever rotating, begging to be selected, "pinned," and in some cases, recreated?  Heaven.

It's no secret I cannot bake. I am an inspired cook, but if the recipe involves an oven, I'm screwed.   But I'm also persistent. There are just so damn many temptations — cookies and cakes other bloggers said were just so easy to bake — if they could do it, so could I.

Failure #1: Mini Chocolate Pies for an Oscar party. The pie:  Demetrie's Chocolate Pie (minus the 'secret' ingredient) from The Help via The Book Club Cookbook. The crusts: from an adorable blog I found via Pinterest.  I won't share disgustingly perfect little sugar cookie crusts they photographed, filled with delicate cream cheese and fruit, sitting atop a perfectly set table, as if waiting for a royal tea party.  It all seemed so simple.


Place break & bake cookie dough in mini muffin pan.

Once baked, gently press down with your handy dandy Pampered Chef mini-tart press to form a little shell. And voila—

I ended up with lopsided crusts, which sat in the pan for two days, adhered to the non-stick surface with some type of buttery cement, until I was tempted to throw the entire mess away.

Project FAIL.  The blogger said it was easy, the crusts should just drop from the pan like petals from a spent rose. I was a failure, with no gourmet treats for my party. I bought some yogurt covered pretzels and hid my shame.

Failure #2: Yesterday I gave in to a craving for cake. I'd pinned this lovely Red Velvet Snowball cake recently and, really, how hard could it be?

From Country Living Magazine via Pinterest

I didn't bother making the cake from scratch. Betty-In-a-Box, a  fresh bag of coconut, and voila —

It looked like a mauled albino hamster or something. It totally brought to mind the armadillo groom's cake from Steel Magnolias.

It tasted good (only a slight aftertaste of a bottle's worth of red dye), but it was certainly not pin-worthy.  No one else would ever ohh or ahhh over it, follow the stunning photo's link to my blog, and become a faithful follower.

And that's okay. 

We are all not pastry chefs. Or set decorators, food photographers, fashion divas, or craft gurus. But I'll bet there's something we each can do just a little bit better than the next person. The trick is finding that special talent, cultivating it, and rocking it to the best of our abilities...and then some.

Write on. . .


P.S.  Click here to check out my occasionally delusional and often cool Pinterest boards.

Foolproof French Onion Soup — Flippant Foodie Friday

Spring has almost sprung down here in the South, so I'm sneaking in my last warm and hearty dinners before it gets to warm. I eat a steaming bowl of soup for lunch whenever the temperature dips below 70 degrees.  And if I can make a savory pot of homemade deliciousness for dinner, even better.

Foolproof French Onion Soup

Cook Time: about an hour
Serves : 4 main course bowls

• 3 tablespoons butter
• 4 medium onions (I prefer Vidalia, but any sweet or yellow variety will do)
• 1 48 oz. container beef broth/stock (or vegetable if you are meat-free)
• 1 14 oz. can chicken stock (or vegetable)
• 1/2 teaspoons Herbs de Provence
• 2-3 cloves garlic, crushed or finely chopped
• 4 slices hearty bread (cibatta or artisan) OR  croutons
• 4  slices cheese (fonitna, smoked gouda, gruyere, or muenster are all good)
• 1 generous tablespoon brandy
• salt and pepper to taste

Slice the onions — the thinner the better. In a large saucepan, melt butter. Add the onions and cook with the lid on, stirring every few minutes, for at least 10 minutes (just tender) to 30 minutes (caramelized). Your call, but the longer, the sweeter and more tender they will be.  Add in the garlic and Herbs de Provence about the last 2 minutes and stir.

Deglaze the pan with the brandy (scrape up all the good little burnt bits from the pan).  Add the broth. Simmer soup for at least 20 minutes, or until onions are melt-in-your-mouth tender.

Meanwhile, if you are using bread, lightly butter and season with garlic, if you so desire. Toast lightly. Cut into cubes.

Preheat broiler. Ladle soup evenly between 4 ovenproof bowls. Spread bread or croutons over the top. Cover with cheese. Broil for 3-5 minutes, or until the cheese is slightly browned and bubbling.

Garnish with fresh chives or green onions, if you have any on hand.

Serve with fresh bread or sandwiches for a savory meal.

There's a Frog in My Toilet

It was 6:48 a.m. on a lazy Sunday morning. I stumbled out of bed and walked to...well, where most people head when they first wake up...the loo.  My  bladder full, my eyes still half closed and crusted with sleep, I raised the lid.

A giant turd sat at the bottom of the bowl.  I ran through my litany of swear words in my head. I thought I had trained my boys better. They didn't even leave the seat up anymore. How dare they leave me a present!

Then the turd moved.

And I screamed.

Say hello to rana sphenocephala (a.k.a. the Southern leopard frog). While I am quite fond of frogs, I do not care for humongous ones hanging out in my toilet. That thing nearly scared the crap out of me. (Which would have been problematic, considering the toilet was obviously otherwise occupied.)

Apparently, I had the same effect on that slippery critter, because it swam into one of the holes to hide. 

I  fetched the hubby and my camera.

We banged on the bowl a bit and scared him back out. He jumped out of the bowl and hopped around the bathroom until we caught him with the net.

Yes, we actually have a critter net handy at all times. You'd be amazed how many lizards dare to venture onto our porch, even though the cat is waiting to turn them into a gory toy.

Mr. Leopard Frog did not want to go easily. Before I could twist the top of the net shut (I've seen snake catchers do that on Nat Geo and Animal Planet) he leaped across the bedroom and tried to get under our bed.

Now this was just getting nasty. Frog and toilet germs did not belong in my bedroom.

After some antics that would have made the Three Stooges proud,  I trapped him in the net  and dumped him in the backyard.

I have no idea how he got in to my toilet, and I don't want to know.

Meanwhile, we had to keep all this on the down low so Kiddo wouldn't be afraid to flush the potty ever again.

And all this before I even smelled my coffee.  I deserved a freaking a mimosa that morning.