Point Taken

After walking away to heat up some cinnamon rolls, I came back to the game and asked N if he went already.

"Yes," he said.



 

Got the hint, N.

And the winner is...

What happens when you mix two girls, one of which is due soon, and two dueling chicken restaurants in Pittsburg, KS?  Honestly?Mostly heartburn. But at least there's laughter along the way.

My friend, J, and I met up at Fort Scott, KS to enjoy one last get together before baby H is born. We were coming from opposite directions so this little town seemed a good midway point. I found a hotel right smack in the middle of downtown, in which all streets were bricked.

You know that made me happy.

We pulled up to our hotel, waved at the owner and hopped out.

Move it, J. I know you've just driven a couple hours and need to relax, but we've got some eating to do... and Momma Carolyn is hungry.

Here was the plan:

 

 

VS

 

 

This is not for the faint of heart, my friends. You need to train diligently for this type of assault. No sit-ups, no portioning, and definitely no dieting. Eat grease, nap, and conveniently forget where you put the scale.

I've been in training for this night it seems since the day I was born.



But first, we had to check out the barracks.

And this was our first test. Could we walk in to a multitude of patterns on the bed and the wall without losing focus? J held up well. I, on the other hand, had to sit down and put my head between my legs for a second.

Luckily I only wear solids, otherwise J would've lost me in there.



We didn't waste any time, but headed to our first destination: Chicken Mary's.

Before I get into our analysis of each restaurant, can I point out that J only has two months to go before she's due (not to mention the fact that she's wearing horizontal stripes!)? Don't make me cuss, J.

She looks like me after Thanksgiving dinner. So I was more than happy to shove fried chicken in her mouth.

I don't have as many photos of Chicken Mary's as I do Chicken Annie's, so I'll give you a brief description. We walked in and me, being a bundle of nerves, walked up to the check out lady and asked her seat us. She pointed us to the right person who graciously led us to a corner table. The room was busy and it felt cozy. Country decor, candle on the table.

The waitress, whose name we did not write down (oh yes, folks, we took notes) advised us to *not* drink the tap water. She looked horrified at our suggestion that we could.

J loved the potato salad, stating "It has a dill taste." This is of course after she took a nibble and rolled it around in her mouth like a Top Chef judge. I could only taste potato.  The applesauce was sweeter than Motts, which we later found out had cherry mixed in.

We loved the thigh, to which we agreed, that once you go thigh you just can't go back. The fried skin on all pieces were perfect: crunchy & greasy, or, how we justified it, "juicy."

Then it was off to Chicken Annie's.



We walked there from Chicken Mary's as they are literally side by side, and appreciated the brief reprieve from grease. I spotted a windmill and it instantly got a plus sign in my book.

We entered into a more open floorplan, which made it seem less busy. I had no confusion as to who was the hostess. She took us to a corner table as well, however this one was not yet ready and the cooks in the kitchen yelled at someone to come clean it. Open floorplan, remember.

I guess Annie would've yelled from the kitchen too. Authenticity? check.



Our waitress, Carly, instantly sat down with us to discuss the menu.

She said to J, and I quote "You can drink it. I like the water, but I'm weird." Chicken Mary's - no water. Chicken Annie's - yes water.

We're getting somewhere.

We devoured our meal and discussed:

J thought the potato salad was greasier, with more of saur kraut taste. I could only taste potato. The applesauce was plain. The chicken skins were not extra crispy and the white meat surprisingly ended up being juicer than the dark.



By the looks of my hands, it appears that I was slowly turning into a chicken myself.



Let's take a look at a few more comparisons:

• CM - no stuffed chicken in lobby. CA - chicken proudly displayed.


• CM - smaller butter, but no trans fat. CA - HUGE, but with hydrogenated oil.


• CM - no arcade corner/living room. CA - yes, in which we both dilly-dallied.


• CM - total $12.45  CA - total $9.39 (however, I did buy a lottery ticket at CA and won a dollar, so make that $8.39)


• CM - only lettering on sign. CA - lettering and a chicken that spoke.

The verdict?

Chicken Mary's won on the actual chicken dish. Chicken Annies? Ambiance & Creativity. Who can beat looking eye to eye with the animal you just enjoyed.

Did you think we ended there, though?



Heck no! We took our wild and crazy selves, back to our 20-toned room for some dessert. Chocolate on graham crackers, cheeze whiz style.

J asked if I could make her one. Little did she know that my chocolate to cracker ratio is about 300 to 1.

She didn't touch it.



Afterwards, we watched TV and knitted for a couple hours. Looks like I was trying to knit a spider web of sorts.

But it didn't take long before we fell asleep into a grease-induced coma.



The next morning we hopped on a guided tour of Fort Scott.

We were the only ones on it.

The announcer said that if we had any questions, to feel free and ask him. I did several times and he never answered. Ah, I felt right at home, Fort Scott. Or shall I call you Scott from now on?



The town has got some real beauties of architecture. I was so engrossed with it that I didn't realize how stupid it was to not have a lid on my steaming coffee. Several third-degree burns later, I was still enjoying the views.

It was a quick trip; we only stayed a night and left before noon the next day. But like every time I hang out with J, it's never the amount of time, but the quality. I so enjoy her! Can't wait to make these trips a trio with baby H.

Making Make-Up

Before I write about the Battle of the Bulge, otherwise known as a throwdown between two restaurants undertaken by a friend and me, I thought I'd take a moment and talk about some make-up I made.

The recipe called for:

• 1 ounce beeswax


• 4.5 ounces jojoba oil


• 4-5 tsp mineral mica

When looking for the color of mica to use, I was a bit overwhelmed. I'm looking to eventually make a foundation to wear daily as opposed to the schlack I currently use. What's in that stuff anyway? And why do I love it so? Because I do.

First, you melt the beeswax.

I was home alone that day, and so pulled out a Native-American sushi dish to keep me company. There's a grocery store in town that sells the most random things. They were also selling canisters with old photos of cowboys cooking alongside a chuck wagon. Yes, I bought all of them. I don't know what it is about them, but I have a tendency to buy old photos in whatever capacity they're presented to me. They're just... timeless. This guy was breathing when it was originally taken. And I like having those moments of life surrounding me, even though they're long gone.

But in this case, I bought them because I have a thing for those chiefs. Is this what they call "prairie fever"?

Watch the beeswax melt until they look like a pair of eyes. This bee apparently had a lazy eye from the looks of the melting.

Can I ask a question? Who, in their right mind, would want a photo of themselves on a serving dish 100 years from now. How embarrassing. Do I need to stipulate that in a will or something? "In case of mass-marketing of my face, please use image attached."

Because you know this is the photo they'd choose.

Can you imagine serving a nice chicken piccata on this lovely creature? I know it would help with many people's diets, that's for sure.

Okay, back to the make-up. Pour in the jojoba oil.

It will cause the beeswax to seize up a bit, so just continue stirring until it's all nicely melted again.

And, lastly, dump in the mica. I'd recommend keeping it on the heat until pouring into the tubes, because the beeswax does solidify quickly.

I've made quite a few tube of chapstick (which can also be used as blush) and what I'm currently calling "bronzer". I'm not yet ready to use it only as a foundation. My umbilical cord to thick, plastered war paint has not been severed. One day, though, I will break free. To know that only three ingredients are on my face at any given time sounds really lovely.

We're off to picnic amongst hoop dresses and war uniforms today. Hope the weather holds out.

Until next time!

Just in case you were wondering..

Here are some dos and don'ts of  deciding to camp while attending a dance workshop on a blistery cold & windy weekend.

Yeah, go ahead and pack a really yummy healthy lunch. Some no-knead bread, a jar of carrot juice, maybe even some avocados.



And, sure, why not make a cozy fire to sit around.



Yes, of course use your new cast iron skillet skills for supper that night. You know, the ones you learned at this class. Only, try not to get a flat tire.



But do not.

I repeat, Do Not....



only pack skirts to wear, because you want to "look cute". You will freeze your ass off and you'll also get such a bad cold that it will threaten your Food Network getaway with a girlfriend the following weekend.

Just in case you were wondering, that is.

They're alive, ALIVE!

One night we arrived home late to The Shack and, as usual, forgot to leave the porch light on. Forgetting the porch light in town is one thing; you have the neighbor's light, or one from the street.  In the country it's quite another. You have to feel your way to the front door in a blanket of darkness while trying to resist the pull of Orion's Belt. Sometimes my head is thrown so far back staring at the open expanse, it's difficult to raise it again.

This night we pulled into our driveway, and turned off the car. As I stepped out and immediately looked above, a sound wafted towards me from the fields. It was the unmistakeable sound of footsteps (or paw-steps?) slowly crunching down on the tall, dry grass.

My breath caught, and body went still. But I could see nothing, even with the headlights on.



Sound does travel further in the country, so it must be deeper in the field than I originally thought. It, whatever it is. When R got out, I whispered that something is out there. He listened, and also heard it.

Cruuuuuuuuunch, Cruuuuuuunch, as if it were slowly making its way.

He yelled at me to get in the house. We had been hearing coyotes for some time now and as there is a thicket of woods (and turkeys, mind you) behind us, if they're hungry, then we're in trouble.

We ran inside, pulled out R's trusty flashlight, and went through the back door.

I peeped behind R's shoulder to see the pack of wolves, or by this point, T-Rex dinosaurs that have been incubating in a frozen tundra underneath the fields until just a few moments prior. And they were hungry.



Still, we couldn't see anything. But the sound was closer than before, inching its way to our rabbit hutches. If you didn't know, T-Rex dinosaurs love rabbits.

R felt me over his back and pushed me inside. Stay in there!, he said and I listened. There was something in his tone.

After inspecting the hutches a bit more and trying his best to dinosaur-proof the rabbits, he came back in.

I guess we'll just see if they make it through the night, he said. And we looked at each other, both silently praying that we would make it too. T-rexes are also drawn to gray hair, so I knew I was a gonner.

We climbed into bed and held hands, like the couple in Titanic.

The next morning, I opened my eyes to a new day and yelled 'Huzzah'! We made it! R woke up, and we ran outside to check on the rabbits.

This is what we saw:



Now, I know I grew up in the city and am still getting used to the noises (and in reality, the quietness) of the country, but this one did make me feel like a loser. The cows had been rotated into the fields behind us.

Sigh.

Eat your heart out, Cleopatra

Since I had started making my own soap, I'd also been thinking of expanding the home-ec project into other areas of skin care. Namely: make-up, face wash, and moisturizer. My 8th grade science teacher kept coming back to me, "Skin is your largest organ. Skin is your largest organ, Carolyn. CAROLYN!" ..at which point I would wipe away drool and immediately ask my neighbor for some CornNuts.

What.

I'm hungry when waking up from a nap.



Luckily R agreed that this was important, as there was going to be an initial cost. More than I thought, in fact. But after crunching some numbers, the total amount of product easily exceeds what we would get pre-packaged at the store for the same amount, and with higher quality ingredients.

First up is the almond meal facial scrub recipe I found:

• 4 tbls almond meal


• 1 tsp jojoba oil


• 2 tbls honey

That's it.



There's something so intoxicating about putting honey on my skin. It's like I'm channeling Cleopatra, who used honey on her entire body.

Hell, I'd even settle for Elizabeth Taylor's skin at this point. After she married Richard Burton.

The second time.



I tripled this recipe so as not to have to make it every other day and will admit that it's not the easiest to apply. Honestly, it's downright messy.

But it did take the 7 layers of foundation off without a hitch and my skin doesn't even feel dry. In fact, it's not oily either.

So far so good. We'll see about the homemade foundation, though. I'm predicting that I'll soon be asked to star in the sequel to Killer Clowns from Outer Space.

Stay tuned.

The Battle of Caaahrthage

We fought the battle and won, my friends.



You know, the "weekend spent with 3 sisters, a sister-in-law, and a mother all in the attic of a bed & breakfast during their wine festival without killing each other" battle.

Any time a night hasn't ended with a drink thrown in your face and the silent treatment, consider it a victory.

But it really wasn't hard. And we were tested. Oh yes, we were tested.



Try going to the bathroom in front of four people in a space with no partitions.

No amount of magazines will help that situation.



But, to be true, we won probably because I paced myself....



..or because of the $20 lipstick complete with a built in lighted mirror. You know, in case you go spelunking in a cave with some girlfriends and need to freshen up.

This little gem just might have been the saving grace.



After our freshening up, we stepped out onto the front lawn to have a lunch while sampling the local vendors.

I've often wondered if I couldn't sell at one of these events. With all the grapes left in the back of the fridge, some of them are bound to ferment, right?



After several moves around the lawn and a couple more samples, we hit the town.

Dancing? Why yes, but not us this time.



The Kansas City Marching Cobras happened to be in Carthage this particular weekend! My sister L looked on like a proud mother as she was the only one of us who had seen them before. She continually asked us if we were sure we wanted to go see them, and then afterwards thanked us all for coming as if she hosted the group in her living room.

The Marching Cobras was started up in KC as a way for inner city kids to have a positive outlet, while also having to maintain a certain gpa, etc. They were a nice addition to our weekend!



When we arrived back at the B&B, we convinced the owners to turn on the twinkle lights on the front porch. Oh, to have a spacious, stone front porch like this one.

I would invest in only white linen dresses, cinched at the waist and insist that my hair be pulled up in a loose bun. Sigh.

We sat around sampling more wines, shoving chinese food down our gullets,



while L put on more lipstick.

We talked around the table for a good couple hours before heading up to the attic where it felt like a scene from Little Women.

Why do I always have to play the role of Beth?



Unlike Beth, my heart did survive the night and the next morning we woke up to breakfast downstairs. This is the first time I've had to sit with the hosts and other guests at one table. It was awkward at first, since it felt a little intimate.

Luckily they were the talkative sort and kept up both their and my end of the conversation. Functional Introvert saved once again!

Mom had to wear her sunglasses because of the sun and I laughed inappropriately loud for so early in the morning. The host quickly served our first course after that loud guffaw.



A couple poems were read and some well-rehearsed stories were told by the hosts, then we parted ways from cute Carthage, MO.

Writing this post has made me realize that as soon as I do something, I need to write about it. I'm sure there were a ton of little nuances throughout the stay that made me come away with this feeling of having had such a good time, but for the life of me, I cannot recall them. But maybe that isn't true. Maybe it was just the feeling of being together that left a good mark on my memory. Kind of like reading a book on a crisp sunny afternoon that resulted in a more refreshed version of yourself than when you first sat down. Nothing in particular, but just the whole of the experience.

Thank you girlies!

Kansan Girls Visit

This photo at the top of White Rock Mountain is proof that we are not still hiking at this very moment.

My friends, S & L, came down for a weekend visit a couple weeks ago, and I still have bug bites as memories. They visited The Shack, we went on a hike, and then played board games until 1 in the morning. A pretty well-rounded time I must say.

When I found this hike, I saw the outlook at the top and knew this was the one. It wasn't too far south, and you could still get some good views.

Little did I know that you literally had to call upon the native american navigational skills you've been studying, because there were moments when the trail disappeared. What, you didn't study them? Neither did I, and a broken record of "Are you sure this is the trail" questioning ensued.



What. I was nervous! Two of my friends took time away from their busy lives to visit and then I lead them into the woods never to be seen from again?

L registered our names at the trailhead while reminding us what to do if we encounter a bear. I don't know where I read that you're supposed to scream, trip your neighbor, then run; but it seemed like sound advice to me. So I dismissed everything L read.



It was kind of warm that day and I was happy to have worn shorts, silently gloating over that fact as S & L changed into pants.

And then it started. Or ended, I guess I should say. The trail, that is.

It ended.

And we had to eyeball our way to what looked like a white rock on a mountain. That meant going through bushes. And bushes. And thorny bushes, and kinda thorny bushes, and not thorny bushes.

My legs got tore up, people. And every so often I would turn around and see...



two smiling faces going through any sort of foliage with ease.

Those smarty-pants.

[let me pause here for awkward laughter as I say, "no pun intended" but you really know that I meant to say the pun and suddenly realize that you're required to make some sort of noise, so just do a muffled golf laugh and avoid eye-contact]

ahem.



It eventually got so bad, that after finding a map of the trail, yet not being able to decipher which way was north, we took to turning S into a sundial to figure it out.

We kinda just went forward and hoped to see a white rock somewhere. We'd even take a white flower, at that point. Anything white, in fact and we're followin' ya.



What we found in the meantime was a nice waterfall....



With remnants of someone's campfire, complete with homemade chairs. There were only two, so S rolled a couple stones together and formed a third.

We decided to take a breather and snack on fruit and a sip of wine, cheersing to our inate ability to identify plants. For instance, the extremely rare reese's pieces plant, along with the more common purple gobstopper flower. I know, we're pretty savvy.



We hiked on and enjoyed streams of sunlight.



Then eventually found a spot to eat our lunch before hiking our way to the main overlook.





On the rock wall, we noticed engravings of various places and the distance away from there.

We followed the arrow and looked up.



Ah, there it is.

Take a deep breath and imagine sitting with your legs dangling on the other side of the wall, and a breeze blowing through your now slightly wet hair. I could've sat looking at that view all day.

But we couldn't. We had to get to our little cabin in the woods before sundown. We don't know what happens after sundown in these parts.



But I do know what happens at the cabin after sundown. Did someone say hot-tubbin' time? More exciting than that was forcing L to wear my vintage 1950s swimsuit which I unfortunately did not get a picture of.

Forget Ralphie's shotgun, the bra on this bathing suit could shoot your eye out. And who knows, maybe it did at one time.. because I'm pretty sure a pistol could have clear, level aim through those puppies.



The night was rounded out by a wine board game, which solidified the fact that I should not get into the wine business. S & L tried their best to help me...

Game card: "What color of wine are you drinking?"

Me: I dunno. Lemme see.... wait... it went down too fast. Ask me again.

But having Anne of Green Gables playing in the background solaced my hurt pride.

The next morning we narrowly escaped getting murdered by Garmin, as the road he took us down turned into a dry river bed. Seriously. But with S's help, I did a 40 point turn and we made it out.

All-in-all a relaxing weekend with the girls. Thank you so much for visiting, I had a wonderful time!