A Memo from Miss Sicklypants

Dear friends,

Yes, I am once again Miss Sicklypants. My sinuses are swollen to the size of small canteloupes. I’ll tell you, it ain’t pretty.

Anyway, while I spent the day sleeping and trying to breathe (always a fun time!), I had some time to ponder the events of the past weekend.

Last weekend, Iwanski and I had the opportunity to visit the city of Green Bay, Wisconsin, to see my good friend Diane. First on the Friday evening agenda was the grand tour of Chateau Diane. Chateau Diane was in a beautiful residential area with many trees and many nosy neighbors. (As Iwanski and I arrived a bit early—before the arrival of Lady Diane—we were witness to the suspicious stares through a couple of the neighbors’ windows.)

The inside of Chateau Diane was beautiful and also very clean. Oh, to be in a new house! I looked at her pristine carpet and thought about our living room carpet, which is always dotted with a few cat-vomit stains (those damn cats!), and I felt slightly jealous of Diane.) I know, I’ll just have to convince Diane to get a cat. That’ll even the score. (Muh-ha-ha-ha…)

Iwanski, Diane, and I then trodded off for a tour of neighborhood bars. First came “The Bar,” which is apparently the “place to be” in Green Bay. It was loud and smoky with bad music (No, “Cottoneye Joe” by Rednex is not good music!)—the highlight of “The Bar” was when Diane approached a complete stranger and asked him if he had been my first boyfriend (hey, he looked like him!). Of course he wasn’t. Diane loves to embarrass me like that. And then Diane embarrassed both Iwanski and me by beating us both at pool. That was fun.

The next couple of bars were no less smoky, but definitely smaller and more like down-home neighborhood bars. Iwanski and I liked that. We even saw a very drunk guy yelling at a woman in a Chicago Bears t-shirt about how stupid she was for thinking that Obama was born in this country. Yeah, buddy—she's the stupid one.

The next day, we woke up early to a lovely breakfast cooked by chef Diane, and then headed over to her childhood home. Shortly after arriving there, we had a fascinating impromptu course in bee-keeping taught by her very gracious Dad, Hank. Hank owns about 40 bee-hives and after more than 30 years in the business, knows about everything there is to know about bees. We stood next to the hives and watched the bees buzz around as Hank told us tales of the queen bee, worker bees, drone bees, and nurse bees. Honestly, it was quite interesting. Iwanski and I kept asking more and more questions, and Hank was kind enough to answer all of them. Later, we also were entertained by the thick Wisconsin accent of Diane’s mother, who, when giving directions, talked about turning at the “stop and go-ah” lights. They were very nice people who—it turns out—are also voting for Obama. I love to see that!

The rest of the day, Diane acted as our gracious tour guide as we visited many Green Bay sights, including the Wildlife Sanctuary, an oil & vinegar store and a chocolate store (yay!), and of course, Lambeau Field. Oh, how exciting it was to see Lambeau Field. It was so exciting that I almost became a Packer fan again. (Yeah, right! Go Bears!)

Wow, now that I think about it…with all that excitement, I didn’t really get a chance to rest and get my 12 hours of sleep that I normally get on both Friday and Saturday nights. No wonder why I’m sick!

Well, today I slept about 14 hours. I think I made up for it. I should start feeling better soon.

Yours in health (cough, sneeze!),

Miss Sicklypants

And Yet Another Spam Story!

I almost forgot, I have another Spam story to share!

Many years ago, on the Late Show with David Letterman, Letterman would sometimes give away hams as prizes to members of the audience.

Why hams? I have no idea. But it was funny.

Around that same time was our big day—the wedding date for Iwanski and Miss Healthypants. After the ceremony, wedding guests arrived in the reception hall carrying beautifully wrapped presents and cards.

Iwanski’s Mom came in carrying a box with at least a half a dozen cans of Spam and one big canned ham.

“Mom, what are we supposed to do with this?” Iwanski asked incredulously. I just laughed.

“Well, I thought you could hand them out or something,” my mother-in-law replied.

Later, after dinner, the box of Spam and ham was still sitting there.

We had to figure out some way to get rid of them—or else risk having to take home a big box full of Spam (and ham). God forbid!

So finally, we decided on a Spam plan.

Iwanski’s sister and I got on the microphone and started repeating over and over again, “Ham, ham, ham, ham, ham, ham, ham…”

As we did that, Iwanski ran around handing out Spams to friends and family, while the crowd laughed. After he handed out the last Spam, he reached for the big canned ham and held it up to the sky.

A collective gasp of “Ahhh” came up from the crowd.

He then proceeded to run around with it for few minutes, almost giving it to several people before finally handing it to my brother-in-law, Andy.

The crowd laughed and laughed.

I have to thank my fun-loving mother-in-law. Because of her, Spam--and Iwanski--had created a funny memory.

Spam!

Last week, Spam was on sale at Walgreen’s, for $1.99 for a 12-ounce can.

I have no idea if this is a good deal or not, since I don’t eat Spam. Ever. Ever, ever, ever, ever.

Nevertheless, I said to Iwanski, “Spam’s on sale.” I just felt like it was something I should tell him.

So who are these crazy people that are buying Spam at reduced prices? Who exactly is Walgreen’s marketing to?

Wait a minute, I HAVE had Spam at least once within the past five years! Yes, indeed I have! My wonderful Wisconsin mother includes Spam in her famous recipe for “pizzaburgers.”

Now, I know you’re dying to hear her whole “pizzaburgers” recipe…so I would be remiss if I did not include it here:

**********************************************
1 LB. Ground beef (Browned & Cooled)
1/2 LB. Spam
1/2 LB. Mozzarella cheese

Grind or dice the above and mix together well
with the hamburger.

Add: 1 can tomato soup

Then add: 1/2 tsp. oregano
1 tbsp. parsley flakes
2 tbsp. onion (minced)

Mix well and spread on each side of hamburger buns.
Place open faced on Cookie sheet.
Bake at 450* oven for 10 to 12 minutes, or until cheese gets bubbly.
*************************************

I know what you’re thinking: “Spam in ‘pizzaburgers’?” But it’s good! Trust me. Well, at least I think it’s good.

Wow, I just wrote a whole blog entry about Spam. That’s it, folks—I am officially tapped out.

It's A Keeper!

What’s the weirdest thing that you’ve ever kept for years and years?

I bet I can beat them all.

And no, I’m not talking about the ten years of basketball, baseball, and football preview magazines that Iwanski for some reason insists on holding onto.

I’m talking about a HOT DOG that was sitting in a desk drawer for SEVEN YEARS.

That’s right, I said a HOT DOG, IN A DRAWER, for SEVEN YEARS.

Iwanski’s Mom thought that it would be just wonderful if she could keep one of the last hot dogs sold at the old Comiskey Park (which was torn down in 1990).

So she kept it. In a wrapper. In a desk drawer.

Years later, when Iwanski and I were given that desk, his brother-in-law Tony (who had helped move the desk) told him, "Your Mom said she kept the last hot dog sold at Comiskey in the bottom drawer of the desk. She thought you might want it."

And did Iwanski want it?

Well, not really. But hell, since it was there, he had to take a look. He carefully unwrapped the package. According to him, it had basically "mummified." (That should tell you how many preservatives and chemicals are in a hot dog!)

And what happened next?

Iwanski sent the hot dog to its grave in the bottom of the trash.

Thank GOD it’s gone.

If You Care About Chickens

If you want a laugh, check out this link to today's bit of Iwanski wackiness.

Although I myself don't think it's EVER appropriate to joke about chickens, he's gone and done just that.

Enjoy!

A Rough Stone Amid Diamonds

Whenever I tell a new acquaintance that I live in downtown Chicago, their first reaction is usually:

“Wow! Right in downtown?”

To which I reply, “Yep, right downtown.”

Then they look at me as if seeing me for the first time—and I swear, I can see the dollar signs lighting up in their eyes.

It’s true, we do live in a really nice area of Chicago, in a modern high-rise building with a doorman, a pool, and an exercise room—the whole shebang, if you will.

However, we wouldn’t live here if it wasn’t reasonably priced. And extremely convenient—so convenient we don’t own a car. (Just think of all the money that saves us!)

And truth be told, my husband and I are not exactly what you would call “the elite.” Actually, we are quite the opposite of that. I like to shop at Target, eat grilled cheese sandwiches, and watch old episodes of “Hee Haw” on t.v. I am SO not the “rich person” people think of when they think of living downtown.

To illustrate this, let me tell you about the coffee table in our living room.

This coffee table has been with us the whole time we’ve been married, and we don’t plan on ever giving it up.

It’s really old and worn, and the wood is so chipped that it has almost more chipped areas than unchipped areas.

But I have really grown to love this table.

I remember back when I was first dating Iwanski, and I decided for the first time to spend Christmas with his family. Even though my Mom and Dad were not happy to not have me with them for Christmas, it turned out to be a great introduction for me into the wacky Iwanski family.

That Christmas was in the house that Iwanski grew up in (which is now owned by another family), and our beloved coffee table—still owned by Iwanski’s parents--sat in the middle of the front room. (I never heard of a “front room” before meeting Iwanski. For those of you that don’t know, it’s basically a living room in the front of the house.)

We all gathered in the front room, and presents were piled on that table. I remember that John’s female cousin—who for some reason always enjoyed buying new underwear—was presented with a gift box containing a bunch of old granny panties. She got a puzzled look on her face and just said, “Oh, gee, thanks” until the gifter (I think it was Iwanski’s Mom) just started cracking up.

So it wasn’t just Iwanski who was wacky, after all—it was his whole family! And I remember that the coffee table was in the center of all of it.

Years later, when we were given the table, I was grateful, but I didn’t think much of it. We had other hand-me-downs, too, so it wasn’t a rare item.

But eventually, all of our hand-me-downs were replaced by new furniture. We got a new computer desk, a new sofa and recliner, and a new bookshelf. But we still had the same old coffee table.

I remember when we first bought our new sofa and recliner, and a coffee table in the furniture store showroom caught my eye. I wanted to buy it, but fortunately, Iwanski had the level head to say, “We just spent (however much money it was at the time). The old coffee table will do for now.”

Later, at home, I thought the coffee table looked strangely out of place with the new furniture.

But then I sat and looked at it for a few minutes.

It was the table we had when we were first married.

It’s the table our cats love to climb on (and Iwanski likes to yell at them to get off of).

It’s the table that held our meals for many years before we had enough room to put up a small dining table.

It’s the table that holds our magazines and books and sodas and beers and assorted snackies.

And I began to think, “I really like this table.”

And now I don’t think I could give it up.

But maybe someday, we’ll think differently. Maybe when we have kids, we’ll decide that we don’t want a table with glass in it any more.

For now, I am happy with our old, worn-out, chipped table with so many memories surrounding it.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Boogers!

I have recently discovered the blog of the very talented and funny writer, Maria.

She made me laugh aloud with her recent blog entry about boogers. (Yes, boogers.)

Check it out--you won't regret it--here's the link to the story.