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Casting Call

I’m not sure how many of you are aware but TWTG is single again and on the prowl. I had been using a lovely little internet dating site called OKCupid. Now, I’m a big girl, and I can handle some bullshit but I’ve already taken my profile down. See, being the Queen of Everything has its advantages, one of which is having men flock to you by virtues of your, um, God given attributes. (Thank you parents and sweet baby Jesus for the boobies!) It didn’t take long to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of responses, which led me to consider a different approach:

I’m taking applications.

Now Hiring at TWTG Incorporated!

Position to be filled:         Boyfriend

Position vacated:             August 13, 2012


Day job (not as boyfriend, husband or gigolo)

Car (2009 or newer)

House (no roommates, kids don’t count)

Children OK but no psycho ex-wives

Adventure seeking, vodka drinking, affable and outgoing

Handsome (in my opinion)

Brains (mmmm, yummy, brains)

A sense of humor (if you can’t laugh at life, I have no use for you)

Please submit resume to along with a photo and drink invitation (you are buying, buddy), to apply for a face to face interview. VEGANS NEED NOT APPLY! Anyone under the age of 33, I do not need to hear how age is just a number and you are so mature and don’t get along with women your age. I know damn well why you are cougar hunting and I just have to say, if I’m the cougar, I get to choose my prey.

Fig Seeks Bacon 

  • Fresh figs
  • Bacon
  • Chèvre (goat cheese)

    Cuddled up together

I didn’t include ingredient amounts because you can make as few or as many as you want.

Preheat oven to 400˚. Wash figs and pat dry with a paper towel. Slice each fig in half just below the stem (keeping the stem intact). Place about a teaspoon of chèvre between the two fig halves. Cut bacon slices in half. Wrap each fig with a half slice of bacon and secure with a toothpick. Place on baking sheet and roast for 20 minutes. Voila! Perfect small bite to impress dates.

Those loyal Subjects that have been reading the blog for a while know that I’ve had my share of internet stalkers. No big deal when you have a man in the house to deal with such threats. I could depend on my 18 yr old being home but that occasion is too rare to rely on. This is why no one gets an invitation to my house until I’ve first met them in a crowded, public place and sent a picture of their ID to my bite sized friend Autumn. Maybe I’ll acquire a hand gun, some mace and a large dog, just in case… not that I’m threatening you. I swear, I’m a sweetheart. Promise…

TWTG says, “I’ve had it with you people and your fuckery!”


TWTG Rides Again

I’m sheepishly, squeamishly, certainly sharing

I’ve had just about enough of your caring

My subjects, I’m sorry

Abruptly I fled, my head, oh my head

Slowly I’m dipping

My toe in the blog pool

Happily single – this girl ain’t no fool

Losing a lover, a friend and a partner

It hasn’t been easy

My art, my heart suffer

I’ll claw my way back

I’ll conquer the kitchen

Because we all know it’s me you’ve been missing

Clown Spawn


I take pride in being a single, working mom. Well, “single” in the fictitious sense. I’m in the process of getting divorced, as well as tethered to a boyfriend. Well, “boyfriend” in the fictitious sense. Russell’s just that thing we keep in the attic. He’s like the opposite of of fine china, we put him away when guests come over. Did I digress? Motherhood. Rereading three months of entries, I realize I’ve only referenced the wee ones (and my superb parenting skills) without really exploiting them for profit. I thought I was doing them a favor—preserving their anonymity, not airing their dirty laundry out to potential sex perverts and whatnot. I guess I was entirely wrong, as all three of them have chastised me for not giving a proper shout-out on the blog. Be careful what you wish for, children. By the time this post is done, the world will know your hopes, your dreams, your fears, class schedules and the lies guaranteed to lure you into a van.


Meet the family:

Katie is my youngest, my only daughter and my shadow. Pretty as a princess and can be just as insistent. She’s the most honest of the three, if only because nine-year-olds don’t understand the value of discretion. There are only two notches on her enjoyment gauge, and momma’s cooking is either deemed “disgusting” or becomes her “favorite” thing ever. She’s an adamant supporter of snacks as food. For example, when I asked which of my blog recipes was her favorite thus far, she immediately chose my chipotle dip (“that nacho-y thing with the chips”).  As you can imagine, this makes it tough to get a balanced meal in her come dinnertime. I know I should be pushing more regimented nutrition (hard as that can be with latchkey kids), but she’s just so damn cute when she’s happy. Love you, Boo!

Middle child syndrome at full tilt.

Chris will be your guild leader of choice during the zombie invasion. Loves knives, guns and starting fires. He sends himself to bed just after sunset and rouses himself up way before sunrise—he gets more done by five in the morning than most turtles get done by five in the morning. Always my brave little angel, he’ll eat anything momma puts in front of him. Whereas his siblings cried over that most excellent rabbit I made earlier this week, he dove headfirst into the leftovers (and was genuinely sad I wouldn’t let him take a baggie of it to school). When we went to a French restaurant for a family function last year, he demanded to have frog legs. So, yeah, even as twelve-year-olds go, he’s pretty weird… and neither he nor I could be prouder. Love you, Steve Steve!

Sean is on the cusp of eighteen and, therefore, can’t let himself enjoy anything ever. He’s my eldest, my gentle giant and, most importantly, my psychically-linked brain twin. You never want to play against us as a team, doesn’t matter the board game. Probably the most natural musician I could’ve made, he went from Guitar Hero to headlining local acts in less than four years (entirely self-taught). He used to be my sushi buddy, but his newish girlfriend seems to have taken over feeding-his-ass duty. He’s going to start college soon, so hopefully he remembers momma when a steady diet of cheap Asian noodles turns his Irish innards into Scottish haggis. Love you, Jimmy the Enemy!

My other, more motherly tattoo.

You might notice that I’ve described my brood almost entirely in the context of their palates. This is because I believe food is one of the sincerest windows into a person’s character. It’s a synecdoche—a part that defines the whole. If this were not true, most first dates wouldn’t happen over dinner. I never wanted to break up with a former boyfriend more than when he kept sending his omelette back for being too cold (boohoo!) then called our server an asshole in so many words. Conversely, I knew Russell was worth knowing the first time we went out for sushi and he taught me chopstick etiquette. It was important to him that we not only respect our hosts, but the values of their culture as well. It’s almost like I enjoy it when my fellow man is treated with dignity. Go figure.

Going back to the spirit of family, today’s recipe might not be special in a universal sense, but it means everything to my little posse. It’s a simple syrup named after my brother Matt (for very arbitrary reasons), and nary a pancake or waffle in this house gets eaten without copious amounts of it.

Matt’s Favorite Syrup

  • 1 cup water
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 2 tbsp corn starch
  • 1 tsp vanilla

Bring water and sugar to a boil in a saucepan. To prevent lumps, dissolve corn syrup in a bit of water and add to syrup. Boil until thickened. Add vanilla, stir and enjoy. This is probably one of the easiest and most versatile things I make. In place of vanilla you can add any extract that suits you (maple, coconut, almond, etc.), or lemon juice (a couple tablespoons), or berries (fresh or frozen). I’ve even added strawberries, coconut and pineapple on an especially experimental day.

Even though it’s probably the best you’ve ever had, I decided not to include a picture of my family’s syrup. Know why? Because it’s freaking syrup. It’s brown. It’s translucent. It’s viscous. Use your imagination a little and… oh look! You guessed exactly right. Russell suggested I model with it by slathering the stuff all over myself. After all, food is one of the sincerest windows into a person’s character…

TWTG says, “It’s good for you—it makes you poop!”