Pumpkin Pie in 3 Easy Steps. And Brittany Murphy, Sort of.

Did someone say pie? Man, I love pie. If eating more than one piece of it on Christmas Day didn't make me sick, swearing to God "I'll never eat any more pie just please make the Grim Dizzy Icky Vomit Reaper go away", then I'd eat the whole freaking thing. And none of that bland Reddy-Whip crap. Bring on the plastic no-food-value-whatsoever Cool Whip, yo. 

Yes, it's that time of year. And where better than Nanny Goats in Panties will you find an easier pumpkin pie recipe? Are you ready? Here we go:

Step 1
First, go to Thunder Valley Casino on a night they are giving away free pies. If you get as much crap from them in the mail as I do, you will find out readily enough when that occurs. All you have to do is spend an inordinate amount of money on the slot machines. Then, when you're out of money and thanking God you filled the gas tank on the way TO the casino, go stand in a really long line and wait for the casino employees to process your club card to claim your free pie. They will walk across the casino to the actual machine that works because the one they have set up at the temporary pie distribution center is on the blink and they have to do everything manually and they don't get it working again until you get to the front of the line and you've already handed your card to the runner so now everyone behind you is getting their card processed and walking away with free pies with lightning speed.

BONUS HINT:  Get four pies. Why? Because you are a greedy pig and even though there is only two of you in your whole house you figure you deserve these pies after all the time you spent waiting in line. I mean, there are two of you standing in line and they already said there's a limit of two pies per person. A minute ago, you would have been happy walking out with just one pie, but now that you've read on some sign that there is a limit of two pies per person, you want your maximum entitlement.

Also? These pies aren't that free. You've been spending your allowance getting robbed by a machine that goes by the name of Hot Shot Super Progressive Lucky Dollar Slammarama. Do you want one eighty-dollar pie? Or do you want four twenty-dollar pies? OK, then.

When you get home, immediately cram, stuff and shove the pies into your already-packed freezer that you didn't think of when your greedy ass back at the casino just HAD to have four pies.

Step 2
When for the next couple of weeks, you really aren't ever in the mood for a pumpkin pie, but your freezer is bloated with pies and you'd probably better eat them before they get that crystally icy freezer burn so you're really now having to eat this pie when you don't really want it, but you HAD to have it so by golly you're going to eat it, pull one of these pies out of your freezer and pull the wrapper off.

Place pie on a baking sheet. Now pay close attention. This next part is the absolute most complex and tricky part of this recipe. It is vitally important that it look exactly like this...

...otherwise, you'll screw the whole thing up. Again, don't put put the pan on top of the pie; put the pie on top of the pan. Double check your work against the above photo if you're not sure.

Step 3
Throw in the oven at 375 degrees for 60 minutes. This is what your digital display should look like after the pie has been in the oven for about five seconds: 

After that you just pull out the pie, let it cool for thirty minutes and enjoy.

With Cool Whip, of course.






RIP - Brittany Murphy

I don't know if you knew Brittany Murphy, but I did for about five minutes. Here we are at the Hollywood wrap party for the movie, Just Married   in April, 2002. I'm the one with the polka dots.

 

Have you started your New Year's Resolution list yet?  Me neither.


But I'll have mine up on Monday, December 28 and you can come over and add yours to the Linky widget that day so I (and everyone else at the party) can read yours! Invite your friends and neighbors - the more the merrier. We can share all week long during the This Time I Really Mean It! campaign.

For more information, or to grab a button to tell your friends about it, go to the Details of "This Time I Really Mean It!" campaign for 2010.

Some Restaurants You Don't Go For the Food. At All.

I wish I could highly recommend a restaurant on the long drive through California from Los Angeles to Sacramento, and if I did, it would rhyme with Sin 'N' Doubt. But there is only one of those and you have to be hungry by the time you hit that particular mile marker, otherwise you might find yourself, once again, going to Apricot Tree Restaurant even though the food is not all that.

Where is Apricot Tree you ask? I'm glad you asked, because I was just about to tell you. It is in the Fresno-ish part of California on I-5 (or "The Five" if you're from Southern California.) It's in a little town called Firebaugh - formerly, Firebaugh's Ferry. You're probably wondering why it used to be called Firebaugh's Ferry. As it happens, there used to be a ferry that took greedy bastards Goldrushers across the San Joaquin River. This was back before bridges. And sidewalks. And black presidents. Also, if any of you are punk rock fans and know of a band called the Circle Jerks, you may recall a song of theirs that goes...  "If your car breaks down, don't take a tow to Firebaugh..."

So now you might be asking yourself, why in the H.E. Double-Hockey Sticks would I stop at such a God-forsaken place? Because of the lunch boxes, of course. And if you'd just quit interrupting me and let me finish my dang story, you'd know why already.


Know what's on the menu at Apricot Tree? Apricot bread pudding, apricot milkshakes, apricot pie...it's the Bubba Gump of Apricots. Also? The Whatever Platter....whatever that is. I wouldn't order that if I were you.

But who cares about the food, I go for the sites. Here, let me show you:

 

(click on pics to enlarge)

There are all these lunch boxes that line the ceilings.

Galactica,  Astronauts, Buck Rogers, The Black Hole

  

Road Runner, Smurfs, Woody Woodpecker

 

Superheroes (I'm not typing them all out. I said click to enlarge, didn't I?)

Hundreds, maybe thousands of 'em.

And thermoses line the booth dividers:

 

 

The woman at the table on the other side of those thermoses couldn't stand it, I guess, and she came around to our table and said something about seeing me take pictures of the lunch boxes and how she had a Woody Woodpecker lunch box when she was a kid and doesn't this place take you back and blah blah blah.

This kind of thing always sets my husband and I off on a conversation afterwards about how if we approached some stranger and started blathering on about our childhood, they would think we were social misfits or completely crazy. This woman, we thought, was just being nice....or was she? You know, Coalinga  State Hospital isn't too far down the road...{BONG! - cuckoo!... cuckoo!}

Anyway, up near the front, encased in glass, are the special collector's lunch boxes, like these here:

 

Partridge Family, Star Trek

  

 Action Jackson, Emergency!, The Jetsons & Evil Kneivel

Porky's, KISS, and ???

And if that doesn't burn your wickie, you can waltz on over to the gift shop and buy yourself some of this crap:

Tut Bust, anyone?

Cause you know, they only have this stuff in Firebaugh, so you HAVE to buy it NOW.

Or perhaps a pelican cookie jar is more up your alley...

And if you still have room for fun, you can always throw a few quarters (or is it dollars now?) in this:

That's the Apricot tree, 150 miles south of Sacramento (and San Francisco) on I-5. Just keep your eyes peeled for this sign:

 

And then look for the orange pyramid with the fountain out front.

And expect food not quite as good as Denny's.

And I can't tell you whether or not to order the "Whatever Platter". It might be best to stick with something apricotty. People seem to LOVE the apricot muffins and apricot pie, but you are kind of risking your life by ordering any type of meal. Reviews vary widely.

Thank You Letter(s)

While the rest of you are wagging your fingers at me in disapproval, SOME people are rewarding me for my smart-ass, juvenile-at-times, silly behavior. Take for example, Cari over at Not Quite a Fairy Tale. I get all silly up in her comment section and win some yummy Seattle goodies. I have no idea what I've won exactly - I guess I'll have to call Johnny so he can tell me what I've won (You know, as in, "Tell her what she's won, Johnny!" ... Ohhhh, did you hear that? That was the death knell of the game show.)  So, thank you, Carebear! MWAH!!

An Open Letter to My Fat Cells

Dear Fat Cells,

I have a bone to pick with you. You are a million tiny dark clouds that, en masse, have been growing inside of me, haunting me. Terrorizing me, really.

You are like pigeons who hang around garbage dumpsters, waiting for half-eaten burritos. You are scavengers who lie in wait scooping up pancake molecules that swish past you in the current, feeding on them like starving savages. You are evil and you are not wanted here. I’m thinking of having you exorcised. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who has talked about a guy known as a gym priest, a personal exorcist, if you will.

First he will come a calling and clean out all signs of the gastronomic devil: Hostess Cupcakes, Oreo Cookies, Cheetos Cheese Puffs, oh I could go on. And that’s the problem.

This black-outfitted, lean-muscled priest will exorcise you, making me scream in pain as I repeatedly and incessantly flap about. He'll yell at me. Or you. It’s hard to tell, frankly.

“Get out!” he will yell. “Get out of this body!” Oh, he’ll be talking to you, then.

Every twenty minutes he will sprinkle holy water on you by making me drink bottles of the blessed stuff. I will beg him to stop.

“If it hurts, that means it’s working.” The personal exorcist’s lips will curl with a sardonic smile. I imagine he will not like you.

When the exorcism is done, he will mutter something about what a fine job I have done.

“This body needs work, but now there is less poison.”

He'll say the only reason you hang around, the reason you “possess” me is because I keep feeding you, enabling you. If I quit throwing bacon cheeseburgers and Mother’s Iced Oatmeal cookies into my dumpster, you will leave me and look for sustenance elsewhere.

But I don’t know if I can. You tempt me so. I fear I’ve already sold my soul to you and it’s too late for redemption.

The priest will strongly suggest that the only path to salvation is to attend his church regularly, like three to four times a week!

“A pound for a pound.”

But I’ve seen his church and it’s full of freaks. These people hit it religiously.

But they do have fewer fat cells. And they do look happy.

But then they want you to evangelize. To recruit your friends and family. And I’m not really comfortable with that. Pushing a belief system on someone else when I’m having my own crisis of faith.

Maybe I can just do this on my own. At home. I mean, church is where two or more gather, right? And my husband has just announced that dinner is here: Pizza and Cinnamon Twisters.

Hey, stop tickling me! I’m still mad at you guys.

Sincerely,
Nanny Goats

Holiday of the Day: National Pie Day

In celebration of National Handwriting Day, we'll be celebrating National Pie Day, for obvious reasons. First of all, this is a blog, and it is virtually impossible to celebrate National Handwriting Day on a keyboard. Second of all, it's pie!

I would like to thank Erin for contributing the juicy strawberry and crusty goodness to the right as well as this link.

Now go out and have some pie!