The Valentine Blues

Valentine’s Day is not my fave. 

If you love someone, you should tell them all the time… not just on one over-the-top day. Just sayin’. 

I told my husband this when we first started dating back in 1995 as part of my “I’m really low-maintenance… you hit the jackpot with me, pal” façade. Mistake. Big mistake. Now the man thinks he can just skirt through every holiday without giving me cards and flowers and candy and jewels. Dammit. I had no earthly idea that in less than a decade I would become an invisible vessel for grandkids and PTA sponsored fundraising. That changed everything. I am definitely no longer as low-maintenance as I was 10 years ago… and not just because of all the new hormone induced facial hair. I need some attention, fuckers. Is it me, or can you relate, ladies? 

Maybe I’m just bitter because I didn’t get a single Valentine this year. Yeah yeah, I know, I’m being a hypocrite. That whole “T’is better to give than to receive” thing is a load of crap, sorry Jesus. I want to receive. And by receive, I’m talking about more than just a bean burrito dinner followed by falling asleep farting in our Snuggies watching You Don’t Mess with the Zohan (note to self: must reorder my Netflix queue to coincide with holidays more appropriately.)  Mama needs some romance. And for the record, “Are we gonna do it later, or what?” doesn’t really get the juices flowin’, if you know what I mean. 

Unlike their bitter mama, my lovey-dovey kids really dig this Hallmark holiday. So, for them, I did my darndest to hide my “cupid-is-stupid” ire and rise to the occasion. Awwww. I helped them make their Valentine’s Boxes and cards and we even whipped up a fabulous and funky Valentine  Tree, which took near heroic measures since I absolutely abhor crafting with children. Don’t get me wrong, I love crafting. I’m crafty. I can make pretty much anything. Anything. Seriously. But bring a kid into the equation, and I’d rather donate a cornea or two. 

Isn’t that just fabulous? Klepto and I decoupaged tissue paper onto an old plastic flower pot we found in the garage. I cut the branches off a big old fallen tree limb that was cluttering up my yard. And Klepto made a majority of those ornaments herself with crap we had lying around the house. My friend Jennifer says I have no right to be making fun of “Über Moms” when I have a homemade Valentine Tree like this in my house. But Jennifer, I gotta tell you, not only was I probably drunk as a skunk when we made it, but I am pretty sure I made Klepto cry five minutes into the decoupage process when she got bored and started to decoupage her hands to the table with the glue. So no, drunk screaming lunatics and Über Moms are mutually exclusive groups, in my humble opinion. 

Speaking of being crafty… I am learning how to crochet. My BFF/neighbor Tammy (you remember her… the one who always one-ups me and tries to improve my recipes and then take credit for them?) gave me the most amazing birthday present last year. She cleaned out her overflowing craft closet and put together a lovingly recycled “Teach Yourself to Crochet” basket containing an instruction book, a bunch of crochet needles, some yarn, and a few handfuls of stale Easter candy that was calling her name a little too close to swimsuit season. Bitch. Anyhooo, the thought behind this gift was extraordinary. She knew that I had always wanted to learn to crochet and she gave me a gift to help me achieve that goal. That’s a good friend, ya’ll, stale candy or not. 

The only problem with trying to teach yourself to crochet from a book is that it is really hard. I tried and I tried, but I just wasn’t getting it. Oh, I’m left-handed too, which makes everything harder, except making obscene gestures out my window while I drive. I do that with excellent dexterity and enthusiasm. 

But you know what they say… when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. About a month ago, a lovely muse named Lara appeared on my doorstep. She and her groovy husband are my kids’ music teachers. They come to my house once a week and fill my home with song and love and a variety of talents. Lara can crochet like nobody’s beeswax. She sat down with me and showed me how to do some stitches and instilled me with confidence that crochet is really not that hard. Reading crochet patterns is not for pussies though. I still can’t really do that. 

But Lara also taught me something phenomenal. She taught me that you can learn pretty much anything you ever wanted to know on YouTube. And the coolest thing about it is that you can start/stop/repeat lessons until you get it and not have to worry about annoying your teacher to death. 

Want to learn how to use a Neti Pot? How about Body Party Math?  Would you like to rewire a lamp? Learn to do the splits? Be prepared to deliver a baby in the backseat of a taxicab? (Check out the giant rubber teaching vajayjay!!!)  Learn Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” dance moves step by step? (OMG, “The Spank It” and “The Pump Walk”… these are must-have-moves for any dance repertoire!!!)  Or hey, aren’t you the least bit curious about what happens when a goat licks an electric fence?  You can learn all this and more on YouTube. 

Me? Well, after I mastered all that stuff, I taught myself how to crochet a heart for my sweet little girl. I even found a crochet heart tutorial for left-handed mamacitas like me! YouTube rocks, ya’ll. See? I did it!

 

Bet you didn’t know I was such a crafty beaver, did you?! Well I am. Get over it. Don’t worry, I can combine all my favorite things and still be the same slutty booze whore you’ve come to know and love.  Next, I want to learn how to make one of these:

No, it’s not a papoose in a canoe. It’s a hand-knitted vulva I found on the Internet. God bless you, Al Gore! Wouldn’t that be the most darling change purse?! Imagine the looks you’d get at church if you pulled that out when they pass the basket!  Or how about a set of vulva coasters or beer can coozies? See, with all this crafting to do, I won’t have time to feel sorry for myself that I didn’t get any Valentines. And for those of you who missed the boat this year, you have a whole year to shop. Buy me some yarn, would ya? I’ve got some vulvas to knit.

Gilding the Lily

Well, who knew this whole vulva candy thang would be such a crowd pleaser?

Kidding… of course it is! They are delicious, easy to make, and fun Fun FUN to talk about and share with all sorts of people!  I have a feeling we’ll all be eating these little salty/chocolaty/creamy-in-the-middle delicacies for years to come. Vulva candies… they’re not just for Christmas anymore. In fact, several of my friends and I have been brainstorming about other ways we could share the fun. One suggested bringing a tray of them to the gyno/midwife for their annual pap smear. They would also be a suitable snack for any bachelor/bachelorette party, don’t you think? Of course, a lovingly garnished plate of vulva candies would be the perfect salty-sweet treat for any menstruating woman on the verge of a shooting spree. Or for my hispanic readers, nothing says “Happy Quinceaños!” to a budding 15 year old Latina like a pretty tin full of delicious vulvas! Welcome to womanhood, chica! De nada. (Thanks L.L. – that one’s for you, sister!)

But wait. There’s more. 

My super fun and über competitive neighbor/BFF “Tammy” called me last night, giggling like a hyena and said, “Oh my GOD! I made the vulva candies to mail to my Aunt Catherine, the Nun! Only, I added my own twist!”

To which I lovingly replied: “Of course you did, you whore! You always have to one-up me, dammit! Remember when I gave you my recipe for broccoli salad? And then a few months later I asked you for a suggestion on what to bring to a pot-luck and you said, ‘I make a great broccoli salad!’ to which I said, ‘BEAVER! I am the one who gave you that recipe!’ and you then FYI’d me that you doctored it a bit and so now it is YOUR recipe. Then you showed up at my house with a vat of it for Nature Boy’s First Holy Communion party and it was indeed spectacular. Of course, adding a pound of cheddar cheese cubes would make my kitty litter spectacular, but whatever. I’m not bitter.”

And then I continued, “And how about that time I introduced you to the Internet Scrabble Club and you started playing it like a crack whore, got wicked-good at it, and ritualistically beat my hairy ass with Q-laden triple word score bingos every time we played? Yeah. I’m used to it. Your sole purpose for living is to be better than me at everything I do. Lay it on me. I can take it. How’d you improve the vulvas?… beeotch.” 

“Well… (she giggled)  I toasted the pecans. It added such a nice nutty flavor! Then, after I smooshed the nut into the melted Rolo, I rolled the whole thing in coconut! You know I love coconut!  Well get this, the coconut just sticks to the outer edges of the smooshed melted Rolo… and it looks like… a sparse (giggle)… white (chuckle)… geriatric (trouble breathing)… BUSH!” At this point she was literally cackling. I totally would have had no idea what she was saying if we weren’t capable of finishing each others’ sentences. 

“GET OUT! Geriatric bush?!” Oh man. She’s good. I never would have thought to do the coconutty senior-beave! Wow. I love/hate this woman. Damn her!… she’s fabulous. 

Then she had to rub it in a little: “You have to try it! It is SO GOOD! The toasted nuts are the perfect compliment to the pretzel/chocolate/caramel trio. And then the coconut on the edges… it is amazing.” 

Of course it is! She is a fucking VAGenius. I should have known she’d take this idea and run with it. That’s what I get for having a blog and telling everyone and their mother my secrets (Hi Mary!). Damn that Tammy… her kid is smarter than my kid. Her husband _______s more/better/faster/longer/smarter than my husband (pick a verb, any verb). Even her dog is better than my dog. There is not one thing I have ever done in my entire life that tops what this woman can do blindfolded, backwards, in her sleep, and with a coupon. So naturally, her vulva candies are going to be better than mine. Duh. Who wouldn’t want their nuts slightly toasted? And the coconut? Come on. That is just brilliant. Damn, I suck. Why do I even bother? What do I possibly have to contribute to the world that can’t be IMPROVED upon by people like Tammy? Oh look, it’s time for a cocktail. Be right back.  

Fast forward thirty minutes. 

OK, poured my “after-school special.” Made some geriatric vulvas, ate about half a dozen, and washed ‘em down with my fish bowl of Twisted Pig. And all while supervising the children doing homework, practicing musical instruments, and rescuing vintage Fisher-Price Little People from vacuum attachments. 

Well, what do you know? I am just a teensy bit excited to report that the geriatric vulvas WERE NOT all that and a bag of chips. Neener neener neeeeeeener! And, how symbolic! The bearded vulva was not as good as the plain and simple one. Wow… that is deep, dude. 

But I had to try it. Tammy is a flat out baking genius. I just couldn’t stand the idea of missing out on a new-and-improved vulva candy! So I did what she said. First, I toasted my nuts (heh heh heh). It makes them slightly darker than the raw pecans, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m all about multicultural vulvas. But it also makes them a little brittle. This is a problem. When you are smooshing your nuts into the ever-so-slightly-melted Rolos, you don’t want the nuts to break. Quelle horror! I don’t care how good they taste, nobody wants brittle nuts, thankyouverymuch. (Tammy says I over-toasted them… but she is also a poor sport and a sore loser.) 

So then, as I’m gently smooshing my ethnic, brittle nuts into the melted Rolos, they are totally cracking and the chocolate isn’t fanning out in the perfect labia majora formation. Instead, I’m getting fingertip indentations all over the chocolaty labia as the chocolate and caramel oozes up between the cracks of the dark, brittle, breaking pecan.  Now they look like war-torn post-partum vulvas… very messy. Don’t ask, don’t tell. 

Surely, rolling them in coconut will hide all the ugliness! Well, yes. Kind of. But the coconut also hides all the splendor. Kinda like pubes in general, eh? And again, just like the nut-toasting, the coconut rolling is yet another step, and more mess. Who needs that? The simple elegance of the pure untoasted pecan vulva is totally compromised by the messy, distracting coconut. Oh Lord, what have I done?! Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone and appreciate a good thing when I had it. I’m so sorry, sweet simple vulva candy. I have forsaken thee. 

 

BEFORE TAMMY: simple, elegant, unsullied vulva candy.

 

AFTER TAMMY: messy, chaotic, "is-there-even-a-vulva-under-there?" candies.

Now, I would like to give my dear Tammy the benefit of the doubt. This woman bakes like I cuss – effortlessly and with panache. The coconut and the toasted pecan actually did taste delicious. No doubt. Although the sweetened coconut tips the scale a bit and makes the whole thing a little too sweet for my taste. I prefer the balance of salty and sweet in the original recipe. And frankly, the extra effort and lack of visual appeal make this recipe redux a royal reject in my book. Sorry Tammy. Stick to the pumpkin bread, honey, and leave the vulvas to me.  

Folks, I don’t mind tellin’ ya that I learned an important life lesson today. Believe in yourself. Stand up for what you know in your heart and don’t be a follower. When you have a good thing, recognize it and treasure it, even if your friends are doing something different. It’s perfectly fine to respect others’ ideas, but like my Mama always said, “If Tammy jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?” (Clearly, my answer is yes, Mama… thanks for the great self esteem.) To which I think my Mama would say,”let Tammy slather her vulva in coconut if that is what floats her boat… but don’t go copy-catting that red-headed-hussie if you know that your vulva is just fine the way it is. Now quit your bellyachin’ and fix your Mama another cocktail.”  

I guess another way to say it is: keep it simple and don’t gild the lily. The lily is gorgeous just the way God made it. And Lordhavemercy, when you stumble across a simple, delicious, fun little pleasure in life – just enjoy it. Don’t complicate it. Don’t try to make it better. Don’t mess with it. Don’t toast it and roll it in coconut. Just enjoy it. This little nugget of wisdom applies to candy and men. 

Unless of course you actually like your vulva candies messy, more fattening, and  labor intensive.  Then have at it, sugar. It’s your vulva. You can gild if you want to.

“Yes, Vagina, there is a Santa Claus.”

Well I’m happy to report that my vulva candies were a HUGE hit at the annual Church’s Babysitting Co-Op Christmas Party! Nobody greeted me at the door with torches and pitchforks and even some of the most conservative members of the group were eager to learn the recipe. There were a few women who were a little hesitant at first to embrace the vulvas, but once they saw the rest of us gobbling them down and raving about how good they were, they relented and joined in on the vulva-nibbling-fun. And I was totally shocked to hear one of them quoting that recent Oprah episode by saying “Hey, if you don’t love your vulva, nobody else will.” WOW! Wonders never cease. 

And what’s more… I had a wonderful time the other night. You know, I think a big old tray of vulvas was just what this group needed to loosen up a little. Of course the never ending supply of wine surely helped. But also, the vulvas. Definitely the vulvas. 

One of the most spiritual members of the group, who always leads us in a prayer before we eat, even included the tray of vulva candies in her blessing as we all held hands and formed a circle around the kitchen island/buffet table: “Let us pray… oh, let’s pray around the food, including the vulvas! Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us all together safely tonight. Bless us O Lord, and these, Thy Gifts, which we are about to receive. And Lord, please bless this food and all the people who prepared it.”  Rock on, sistah friends. I think I underestimated these broads. I’m going to guess that until I showed up with that tray of goodies, a majority of these women had never even uttered the word “vulva” before. In fact two of them confessed that they call their nether regions their “girl parts”… and these are mothers of girls. I do believe I performed a valuable service to my community by bringing those edible vulvas to the Christmas Party. 

So there we were, some of us in our Mom Jeans and holiday themed L.L. Bean turtlenecks, and some of us in our True Religion jeans and heels, but all of us sharing a lovingly created meal of condensed-soup-based-carb-casseroles, venison meatballs (surprisingly good!), and vulva candies.  We drank way too much wine and talked about things like plastic surgery and our kids’ school challenges and weight loss secrets. But for me, the best part was learning that even though most of these other moms seem so together and organized, that they too are really struggling with the insane amount of extra work that goes along with being a Mom in the month of December.

This is a pretty special group of women. I have never heard any of them gossip about another member of the group. Ever. They are smart, talented, and compassionate. Some work at full time jobs ranging from teaching to physical therapy to human resources. Several are stay-at-home moms. One of us is divorced. Several of us would like to be divorced. Many are on some kind of pharmacological support. Some of us are transplanted Yankees… and I just learned that TWO of us are Yinzers (a.k.a. from Pittsburgh…how did I miss that accent on Nina before?) But all of us are loving mothers, struggling to manage all the day-to-day drudgery and still get out of bed every day. We each have different hobbies and passions and it is wonderful to have a built in resource pool to go to for questions about anything from Autism to Zoo trips. And you know what, I think many of them actually enjoy my company as well… apparently I fill the role of comic relief. Of course, none of them take me very seriously, so I never have to worry about being recruited for the role of Co-Op President, thank you Jeeeeezus, but it is nice to feel appreciated for my own unique skill set. And apparently they respect my parenting (or just geographic proximity) as well because several of them use me regularly for babysitting. 

And now that I know they can handle the vulva candies, I’ll feel a little more comfortable just being myself. And that’s a good thing. 

Of course, the bar has been raised for the next Babysitting Co-Op event! Now I’m going to have to whip my pastry bag into submission and figure out how to make these.  Definitely not as easy to make as the pretzel/Rolo/pecan vulvas, but aren’t they pretty?! Or these. Everyone LOVES cupcakes! Or this. Although, on second thought… I don’t like the idea of a vagina cheese cake… reminds me of my last yeast infection. Oh well, I have a whole year to decide. And my next mission will be to teach them the difference between the labia majora and labia minora! Oh what fun!!! I just love a project, don’t you? 

So I guess the moral of the story is this… be yourself. If the people around you can’t handle it, then find new people. But always be yourself. And also, nothing loosens up a party like a tray of delicious vulva candies.

Pot Luck

 

Ooooh, these candies look delicious! Mind if I... wait... that looks familiar! Hmmm. I can't put my finger on it. What IS that? I know I've seen it somewhere before...

 

Ya’ll, check out what I’m bringing to my church’s Babysitting Co-Op Christmas Party this year! 

I originally signed up to bring a corn casserole, but then had a change of heart. Here is the email I recently sent out to the group:

“OK, I’m a little freaked out by all the starchy sides here, gals. Do we really need all these soup-based-carb-casseroles?  Geez m’knees! We’ll have to have a defibrillator at the ready! 

So even though I was one of the first to sign up and offer to bring my oh-so-popular corn casserole, I’m going to nix it and bring a dessert instead. Just in case Michelle and Alice can’t make it, I don’t want us to be stuck without a sweet treat! And besides, I just found a recipe for “vagina candies!” I swear to God. I could not make this up if I tried. It is a cookie/candy confection that looks like female anatomy. Actually, I believe the correct term should be “vulva,” not vagina. Yeah, that’s right. I watch Oprah and I’m embracing my vulva (although, not right this minute, because ewwww… hard to type.)  But I just wanted to prepare you all in advance because I am bringing AT LEAST one for everyone. Maybe two, so you can take one home and educate your husbands.

 

See you Wednesday! Oh, here’s the revised list for your convenience. I took the liberty of rearranging it by category. Looks like we’re good on the sides… but we don’t have any appetizers. 

Salad – Pauleen
Sweet Potato Souffle – Ginny
Onion Casserole – Caroline
Green Bean Casserole – Lucinda
Potato Casserole – Teresa
Meat Dish – Tammy
Raspberry Tarts – Alice
Cheese Cake w/Chocolate Ganache – Michelle
Vulva Candies – Iris

Well, imagine my surprise when only one person in the group replied to my email with an e-chuckle. Hmmm. Let me see. Church based Babysitting Co-Op, Christmas Party, and vaginas. Yes… one of these things just doesn’t belong. Kind of like me. 

But that is all part of my evil plan. You see, this is a group of twenty women who are incredibly conservative. I was invited to join purely by accident about 5 years ago because one of the founding members’ kids liked my kids. It was a great way to meet people when I was new in town and the free baby-sitting by very decent, caring, CPR certified mommies just rocks. So much better than opening my home to some meth-crazed teenager who is gonna neglect my kids, raid my prescription pill stash, and do it with her pimply teen beau in my bed. 

On the downside, however, is that fact that I simply don’t fit in with this group of women. There are 20 of us, and I am pretty sure that only two of us use the word “vagina.” Naturally I’m one of them. And the other one recently resigned from the co-op, unfortunately. Damn, she was great. One time we went to McDonalds together with our kids so they could run wild in the germ-infested indoor-climbing thingy while we hung out and talked about anything BUT our kids. She got a Filet O’ Fish sandwich and afterward she smelled her fingers and said, “Oh shit, my husband’s gonna think I was cheatin’ on him with you.” We belly-laughed until our Shamrock Shakes came out of our noses. Yeah, good times. But now she’s gone and it is just me and 18 women in “mom jeans” with holiday sweaters that you would expect to only see in a Dr. Seuss movie, talking about things like “I  just refuse to let my kids watch Nickelodeon! That Spongebob is an instrument of the Devil!” and “Don’t you just love the whole ‘Elf on the Shelf‘ thing! I wish we could keep him out all year!” ACK. I’m just there for the free babysitting. 

Can you blame me? Yes, I was feeling a little mischievous and bored; this is true. But I just could not sit idly by and watch the buffet table be overrun with soupy-casseroles! My goodness! Plus, I just had to do something to make this shindig a little more entertaining. Sorry gals, but the “Yankee Swap” ornament exchange just doesn’t cut it.  

So anyway, it’s tonight. Normally I just dread these things, but today I am just filled with anticipation!  This could either be *really* fun, or *really* bad. We’ll just have to see! Oooh, don’t you just love a good surprise?! In the meantime, I’m about to go whip up a tray of those vulva candies. I promised my husband I’d save him one. A big one. He’s pretty excited. 

Hopefully these women won’t greet me at the door with torches and pitchforks. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, won’t you?

And just in case you want to try making these for your next pot luck, the recipe is below. Give unto others, eh? 

Oven at 250° F    

Lay out waffle pretzels on cookie sheet.

Top each one with a Rolo.

Bake for 3 minutes.

Top each with a Pecan and smoosh it down.

Cool before serving.

Eat. Moan about how yummy it is. Eat. Giggle. Eat. Repeat!

© 2008 The Bearded Iris