Battle of the Bulge

As you may or may not know, I'm an aficionado of TV commercials with the specialty targeted on weight loss programs, because weight loss and weight gain has been the bane of my existence since adolescence when my weight was too great for my height, but my full height of 5'10" finally caught up with my weight. Bagging a boyfriend (Dick Jones, damn him) wasn't easy to get through while I was happy and eating to celebrate my engagement to him---fat 'n happy! So, I went to Dr. Mallory at the old Link Clinic, and he gave me "diet pills." I exercised half the nights before we married, and I kept it to 700-900 calories a day. I was hopped up on what became "speed," which would have killed me today---amphetamines---I used them later illegally when they were called White Crosses---$20 for 100 pills (bargain basement price from a dear friend---HA!). Both times, I got down to my fighting weight.

My first retail experience with a retail program was wildly successful with Diet Center, which I think was earlier than TV commercials of weight loss programs. I was running Knowles Cafeteria at that time, and some of my customers were telling me, "That's enough, Nancy! Don't lose any more." Made me feel sooo good!

Weight Watchers was my method countless times, and it worked nearly every time, but there were times when I just said "Screw it! I'm sick of this!" And I'd fall into my gluttonous habits once again and always gained any lost weight back.

I lost my daughter in '84, which seemed to trigger my genetic predisposition to Lupus, and it was so severe that long-term prednisone use caused weight gain, a "buffalo hump" on the back of my neck, a "moon face," and I was the heaviest I'd ever been---horrible. It was out of control. Back I went to WW and lost 75 pounds. I was going with two besties, and we all lost together. I still had 25 pounds to go when we lost our drive and just kind of drifted away from WW. We remained besties as neighbors and rebels without a cause, living in a country club neighborhood who thought we were not quite country club material. We pretty much thumbed our noses at them and did our thing. I once got a call from the Mattoon Country Club from one of the besties who was home who said to me, "Get over here! They have free peel & eat shrimp and Margaritas!" We both made fools of ourselves drunk, with ice water and shrimp juices running off our elbows, laughing at the sight of each other, where the next table of old women stiffs glared at us. Made us laugh even harder.

Now, I see Marie Osmond speaking on TV for Nutrisystem. She appears with a red sweater, stylishly ripped jeans, and her long, dark hair perfectly framing her boobs with a wave around the boobs. She's trying desperately to appear 20 years younger than she is, and damn it, I think she has succeeded.

As for Jenny Craig, have you seen the ad where some young, blond woman says, "Are you serious? This is supposed to make me lose weight? I just ate a chocolate cake!" Let's you and I get serious. What do you think of when you think of a chocolate cake? They're not fooling me. I know all their tricks because I'm a lifetime hog, and as Dolly Parton once said after having lost a lot of weight---"Hogs don't get anorexic." The chocolate cake that Jenny Craig provides is no more than one of those cheap Little Debbie pieces-of-crap, and I defy anyone to prove me wrong. In my world, a chocolate cake is 2-4 layers with lots of creamy frosting between each layer and slathered on the outside. Now THAT is eating a cake. I'd have to hide it in the cabinet above the fridge and cut it in 4ths to shove to the back of the fridge to eat a fourth each day. Fat chance he'd ever see it wrapped back there. Yessiree, that's what I call a cake!

I have to be on my deathbed to lose serious weight, and I was on that bed a couple or 3 years ago. Since then, I have gained 15 pounds and am struggling to keep it at that to avoid buying new clothes. At times, I've given serious thought to a crowbar to get 'em up and pliers for the zipper.

PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE JOE BIDEN

I feel I have been blessed with a keen ability to detect BS when I smell it and can call on my God-given common sense when necessary. I'm going to support a dear man outside my own personal political persuasion, and this evening, I'm watching an interview with Howard Swartz with Bret Baier today because I want to see what a reasonable leftie has to say. I'm quite open-minded, but the BS is a big problem that makes me wanna puke. My brother, a devoted leftie, says I was born with a propensity to smell it a mile away (bullshit).

If you're bored, move on please. This isn't entertainment.

Joe Biden and I have much I common, having been born of the same generation and having experienced much tragedy in life. Three for him and three for me. He has lost three precious close family members, and I lost a daughter, and have had two family betrayals that nearly cost me my sanity, tons of money, and two businesses. Legal fees added up to $90,000, and settling with the government (fines and 3/4 of a million$ in judgments, which we did fulfill to be free of a lien on our home. No one else in the group of those indicted paid their judgments, so it almost wiped us out, but we freed the lien on our property and owe the government nothing. We're FREE! We have to really watch our pennies today. Material goods matter very little to us now. We feel fortunate to have a roof, food, clothing, and loyal family and friends. Those betrayals taught us many valuable lessons in life and to not take foolish nothingness so damn seriously, so we just don't.

This crap going on that started with the "me too" movement is nonsensical, BS, and attention getters. Joe Biden was likely raised in a loving home who were demonstratively shown love. Are these women AND MEN who've been shown loving, kind physical gestures by Joe Biden really so hurt? Why did they wait till now? Were they afraid to say something at the time and take care of it themselves? I did.

I very narrowly escaped rape when I was 16. I managed to wriggle out the car door on my back and get myself together while he had his pants down. I said to him, "Zip your pants, dumbass." That was a real 'downer' so to speak, but it was the end of my immediate problem. Did I report it? No, and I never did. He was a family friend, and I handled it then and there. He's dead now (was it something I said?), and I won't divulge his ID with respect to the family name. I don't believe in trying to "cash in" on something that one didn't take care of at the time, and most of those times, it's one's own responsibility.

I can hear it now---"women must be heard." Yes, but grow a pair and say something to the man at the time. Women with a pair are maybe not liked but will be respected and won't be bothered again. Or better yet, go to the cops so there is a record ("see something, say something") In my not-so-humble opinion, why would Uncle Joe rub noses with a woman, smell a woman's hair, take her shoulder and run his hand down her back affectionately---all with many around and cameras running---if he thought it inappropriate? These "safe spaces and personal spaces," etc. have become crippling. I know women have suffered at the hands of men throughout time, and that should be dealt with harshly in the prisons, but this crap is ridiculous! It's petty, and I feel very sorry for its victims---good and decent men with experience, service for our country, and knowledge. I have a great deal of respect for that, and I'd like to think our culture hasn't forgotten how valuable that really is

My Friend, Patty Reid

I hope I can give this post justice for a dear, departed gal that I will forever call 'Patty,' not 'Pat,' as she began to be known and also called herself. You see, Patty was known to me when I was in 7th grade. Her sister, Billie Jo, was one of my best friends in junior high through to high school graduation, and Patty was her older sister, cute and short with full, peck-kissable cheeks, and just enough older that I was a bit in awe of her and her baton twirling majorette status later in high school. She was just enough older that she could drive 3 years before I could, and she showed us little nauseating girls all the things we'd ordinarily had to have to wait till we were older.

Later in high school, since I grew to 5'10" I got a little further in stuff I shouldn't have been doing without Patty's help. I once had a couple of pimple-faced, short boys tell me I looked older, so would I go into one of the bars in Charleston and get them a couple of sixes (six packs). I was brazen and thought I could do anything, so I walked right into Sporty's in Charleston, stuck my non-boobs out as far as my lungs would allow, leaned into the bar and asked the bartender if he knew Patty Reid. He said that yeah, he did and she had left about an hour before. I gave a look like, "Aw, damn the luck," and I just held my breath and said very quickly, Okay, well just give me 2 sixes then." No hesitation, he swung two cold sixes onto the bar, and I gave him the money the pimple faces had given me. He gave me some change, and I nearly ran out. Surely someone could see my heart pounding! I gave the pimplies the beer and told them the change was mine for taking a chance. Okay by them! In those days a quarter bought a pack of cigs and gave someone's gas tank enough gas to drag Broadway and through Gill's numerous times till we had to be home for 50 cents

That was around 1963-64. Patty never talked down to us because of our ages, nor did she ever get us into any trouble or get us into any kind of trouble. She drove us around the main drag before any of us had our licenses. She was a good person, and at one time, I was insanely jealous of her, but she never knew it till later. Where my family lived at the time was just a block from the Burgess-Osborne Auditorium where bands played every weekend. I didn't pay. There was a guy named G.I. Drury that I used to hang off the stage and nearly swoon as I drank him in. He knew I was totally gaga over him, and while he was playing/singing, he'd wink at me. I was totally besotted. I found out years later, he was going with Patty Reid but had it in my mind at the time he would have fallen in love with me and whisked me away, but I got tired of the dream and wearing the same silly dress that I thought made me gorgeous and him not asking me to marry him at my age of 13, so I moved on. 😂😂😂

I met up with Patty much later here on FB and got to know the adult Pat. She and I disagreed, at times vehemently, on politics, but there was kindness and reason behind it at all times. I respected her and she, I. She lovingly encouraged me to write a book for a long time, simply based on my language with injections of quirky humor, and because she loved me and my writing. The strangest comment she ever made on any of my FB writings was quite recent, and then she went silent on FB. Her comment was, "Don't wait. Write the book." I checked her page several times because that one comment chilled me just a dab---so unlike a comment from Patty. I didn't expect her impending death, but I thought perhaps someone in her family or the new beautiful great granddaughter was sick, but if she was ever like me and took long breaks from Facebook, I was unaware of it, so I told myself to give her time to explain her absence.

I never expected the end of Patty HERE. Though I hadn't seen Patty in decades, she was still here, and our friendship continued. I'm just sick thinking of her sudden death. Just tonight her sister, Billie Jo, a best friend of mine since I was 12, is the one who contacted me via messenger and told me how fast her life ended after she was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma, which had spread widely. Patty died within one week of finding out on February 12.

She's one of those special people who live on in our hearts for as long we live. She's really one of the people who formed who I am today.... and I grieve for what was, but I carry her with me still.

Super Bowl Fare

I was watching "Outnumbered" on Fox News that features 5 'on the couch,' consisting of one man, either a Liberal or Conservative, and 4 mostly beautiful women, but always with brains. They try to have at least one Liberal woman for balance, but many Liberals won't accept the invitation, though it's perfectly safe and very much welcomed. Lisa Booth is one of my fave Conservatives there often because she has always reminded me of my cousin, Bonnie Dean---brains, ambition, and beauty. They were discussing the Super Bowl, and Lisa said she would be watching with Fritos Pie and beer with friends. So I went on a search for Frito Pie, and there are a huge number of varying recipes that I assume are all delicious, but I wanted a simple one in an amount that would do for just an intimate group, like us (LOL), though I'm not sure about the intimacy, and not a big crowd. I thought most of what I found for Frito Pie would be fine, and I found this one good and simple and felt it was good enough for Super Bowl. As it turns out, our Chicago Bears lost their chance anyway (G-r-r-r), so the half-time entertainment and Super Bowl commercials will have to do. Bring on the food and beverages, such as Dos Equis, Monterey, Corona with lots of lime, and Diet Dr. Pepper makes me happy too. The sweet Gallo fruit wines (Sweet Apple, Sweet Peach, and Sweet Pineapple) make me sweeter than sweet, warm and fuzzy, and hap, hap, happy. Give me a glass of wine, and I can sit at a keyboard with a glow and words that just flow like liquid silver. I prefer silver or white gold over yellow gold. Give me a 2nd glass and the liquid precious metal color makes no difference. It's all good.


The first time I became familiar with Fritos was we first moved to McAllen TX when I was a very young child. Fritos' home was in TX, as was Dr. Pepper, and that bag of Fritos was on our table at dinner time, eaten with the hottest of hot chillies---the tiny green ones that made you cry and made your nose run---and we all messed around with jalapenos though they got pussy-fied after the mean green baby ones. We all found our niche with Tex-Mex and authentic Mexican faire. We had 3 Mexican ladies working with us in our home-based Knowles Infra-Red Sandwich Services. Carolina helped with the house, and Petra & Margarita helped with recipes and putting together the different sandwiches, heat-sealing them in the correctly ID'ed cellophane bags with simple mechanisms on counters built in the breezeway that was enclosed with screen and narrow louvered windows. It was a very large room that connected the two-car garage to the house (kitchen). It was wonderful. On one side a door that went outside to our grill and picnic table; the other side of windows showed our beautiful banana tree, a bougainvillea and small collection of varied palm tree varieties. My mother, bless her heart, worked so hard on those recipes. She did a lot of the meats in pressure cookers, and the STEAM was incredible in that kitchen. We had to slide the pocket doors closed to the dining room and to the hall from the living room to the bedrooms & baths to keep it from becoming too much of a heat load for the A/C. Her health wasn't the greatest because of that work. She had boils in hidden places on her body and her appendix had to be removed. I doubt the steam & hard work caused it all, but she never let it get her completely down & out. Our hard-working girls were a huge help to us also.


My dad had a new red & white big honkin' '56 Chevy station wagon with add-on A/C (not factory in those days), and he had a refrigeration man build him a big box that had its own refrigeration unit for delivery of sandwiches all over the Rio Grande Valley. Each patron had his/her own infra-red machine with timer, and the cellophane sealed bags had a component that allowed intense heat without burning up, yet heated the content to perfection. It was cutting edge in the 50s, and it was a huge hit. He took me with him on his route when I wanted to go. Used to be cigarettes were given away for samples with 4 in a neat little package. I was fascinated by the charm of the neat little pack, so my dad got me to 'light one up.' He laughed so hard while I was holding back the puke. We delivered to bowling alleys, gas stations (no convenience stores then), taverns, theatres, etc. In summer, when not in school, I took many orders, names, and phone #s to give to my dad when he got home from his Valley route.

We never lost our taste for the authenticity of great Mexican food, and with our beloved Mexican friends/employees, we learned how to seek out the best. When we first arrived in TX, we were sent to this out-of-the-way tin shack with canvas windows that were held up with broomsticks. No screens, no glass, and no public health food inspectors, LOL! I sank 7-year-old teeth into my first cheese & onion enchilada, and at that tender age, I thought I was dying, and by God, I KNEW I was going to heaven without a doubt or prayer. I've never had any like those anywhere else, but I found a recipe that I'm betting is close, but no cigar. My cookbooks define my love: My Sweet Mexico, The Homesick Texan, etc. I've never been able to match the food of the little tin shack or La Hacienda or even some of Luby's Cafeteria's Tex-Mex recipes (yes, I have that cookbook too---chain of cafeterias in TX), but some of the local Mexican ristorantes here are close 2nds, such as Taco Amigos here in Mattoon and the Charleston IL El Rancherito, where Dick has learned all the bad-taste Spanish they will give him. They call him "Ricardo Cabeza," (Dick Head), and I am simply "Nanci." My best friend in McAllen was Sarah Jane, and their little Mexican live-in help, Maria, named me "Nancina." I loved her. I wanted her to live with us.

I was watching "Outnumbered" on Fox News that features 5 'on the couch,' consisting of one man, either a Liberal or Conservative, and 4 mostly beautiful women, but always with brains. They try to have at least one Liberal woman for balance, but many Liberals won't accept the invitation, though it's perfectly safe and very much welcomed. Lisa Booth is one of my fave Conservatives there often because she has always reminded me of my cousin, Bonnie Dean---brains, ambition, and beauty. They were discussing the Super Bowl, and Lisa said she would be watching with Fritos Pie and beer with friends. So I went on a search for Frito Pie, and there are a huge number of varying recipes that I assume are all delicious, but I wanted a simple one in an amount that would do for just an intimate group, like us (LOL), though I'm not sure about the intimacy, and not a big crowd. I thought most of what I found for Frito Pie would be fine, and I found this one good and simple and felt it was good enough for Super Bowl. As it turns out, our Chicago Bears lost their chance anyway (G-r-r-r), so the half-time entertainment and Super Bowl commercials will have to do. Bring on the food and beverages, such as Dos Equis, Monterey, Corona with lots of lime, and Diet Dr. Pepper makes me happy too. The sweet Gallo fruit wines (Sweet Apple, Sweet Peach, and Sweet Pineapple) make me sweeter than sweet, warm and fuzzy, and hap, hap, happy. Give me a glass of wine, and I can sit at a keyboard with a glow and words that just flow like liquid silver. I prefer silver or white gold over yellow gold. Give me a 2nd glass and the liquid precious metal color makes no difference. It's all good.

The first time I became familiar with Fritos was we first moved to McAllen TX when I was a very young child. Fritos' home was in TX, as was Dr. Pepper, and that bag of Fritos was on our table at dinner time, eaten with the hottest of hot chillies---the tiny green ones that made you cry and made your nose run---and we all messed around with jalapenos though they got pussy-fied after the mean green baby ones. We all found our niche with Tex-Mex and authentic Mexican faire. We had 3 Mexican ladies working with us in our home-based Knowles Infra-Red Sandwich Services. Carolina helped with the house, and Petra & Margarita helped with recipes and putting together the different sandwiches, heat-sealing them in the correctly ID'ed cellophane bags with simple mechanisms on counters built in the breezeway that was enclosed with screen and narrow louvered windows. It was a very large room that connected the two-car garage to the house (kitchen). It was wonderful. On one side a door that went outside to our grill and picnic table; the other side of windows showed our beautiful banana tree, a bougainvillea and small collection of varied palm tree varieties. My mother, bless her heart, worked so hard on those recipes. She did a lot of the meats in pressure cookers, and the STEAM was incredible in that kitchen. We had to slide the pocket doors closed to the dining room and to the hall from the living room to the bedrooms & baths to keep it from becoming too much of a heat load for the A/C. Her health wasn't the greatest because of that work. She had boils in hidden places on her body and her appendix had to be removed. I doubt the steam & hard work caused it all, but she never let it get her completely down & out. Our hard-working girls were a huge help to us also.

My dad had a new red & white big honkin' '56 Chevy station wagon with add-on A/C (not factory in those days), and he had a refrigeration man build him a big box that had its own refrigeration unit for delivery of sandwiches all over the Rio Grande Valley. Each patron had his/her own infra-red machine with timer, and the cellophane sealed bags had a component that allowed intense heat without burning up, yet heated the content to perfection. It was cutting edge in the 50s, and it was a huge hit. He took me with him on his route when I wanted to go. Used to be cigarettes were given away for samples with 4 in a neat little package. I was fascinated by the charm of the neat little pack, so my dad got me to 'light one up.' He laughed so hard while I was holding back the puke. We delivered to bowling alleys, gas stations (no convenience stores then), taverns, theatres, etc. In summer, when not in school, I took many orders, names, and phone #s to give to my dad when he got home from his Valley route.

We never lost our taste for the authenticity of great Mexican food, and with our beloved Mexican friends/employees, we learned how to seek out the best. When we first arrived in TX, we were sent to this out-of-the-way tin shack with canvas windows that were held up with broomsticks. No screens, no glass, and no public health food inspectors, LOL! I sank 7-year-old teeth into my first cheese & onion enchilada, and at that tender age, I thought I was dying, and by God, I KNEW I was going to heaven without a doubt or prayer. I've never had any like those anywhere else, but I found a recipe that I'm betting is close, but no cigar. My cookbooks define my love: My Sweet Mexico, The Homesick Texan, etc. I've never been able to match the food of the little tin shack or La Hacienda or even some of Luby's Cafeteria's Tex-Mex recipes (yes, I have that cookbook too---chain of cafeterias in TX), but some of the local Mexican ristorantes here are close 2nds, such as Taco Amigos here in Mattoon and the Charleston IL El Rancherito, where Dick has learned all the bad-taste Spanish they will give him. They call him "Ricardo Cabeza," (Dick Head), and I am simply "Nanci." My best friend in McAllen was Sarah Jane, and their little Mexican live-in help, Maria, named me "Nancina." I loved her. I wanted her to live with us.


There's still time to pick out the simple ingredients of Frito Pie and have some jalapeno poppers, boneless wings in your favorite flavors, chips, dips, and the beauty of most of this is it's all readily available to buy already made. Just throw this simplest of Frito Pie together, and wow yourself and/or anyone you're sharing with. I'll also be switching over to the Puppy Bowl and the Kitten Bowl.

http://www.texascooking.com/recipes/fritopie.htm