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Custom List: Margarita Bar Recipe

Margarita Bar Recipe


Leaving Love Notes

Poor Ken. He's been sick for a week and I'm convinced it's a case of mono so I've badgered him enough to get tested for it tomorrow. In the meantime, some things concerning one Miss Angelina Jolie have been occurring in my house.

Much to my detriment.

It's my own fault, too. I've talked about her, read about her (spent a lot of time in waiting rooms with magazines this week), and downloaded her episode on Inside the Actor's Studio. In short: she's my new obsession. Joking with Ken I reminded him that he is never, and I mean NEVER to see that gorgeous babe in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Since Mallory is home and wishes to join in my suffering of living in a world that would create such a creature as Angelina, she rented it at the video store for him to watch WHILE HE WAS HOME SICK. I took matters into my own hands before leaving for work and left these messages for my darling husband, the one whom has promised to cherish me until death parts us. (Because, after that, you know, it's useless.)

My intention was to be creative in my pursuit to get him not to watch it. I'm also addicted to Post-It notes. For the most part it worked. He slept all day Friday and didn't have the energy to make it downstairs to watch it. When I came home from work he got up, had something to eat and then began to feel better.

Just better enough to watch the movie in front of me while I was home.

I have a serious case of Middle Child Syndrome and it reared it's ugly head after listening to THE ENTIRE FAMILY HAVING A GREAT TIME WATCHING THAT MOVIE. While I could blame just about any one of them, I blamed Mallory the most for renting the very movie I said not to rent. It just so happened that I didn't eat lunch on Friday from working too hard and overscheduling myself. I was awfully hungry. I mean super hungry. In the fridge I found this:

The pad thai with chicken was delicious. All of my limbs are still intact.

Thinking and Speaking

At the Mocha household we are all getting quite a kick out of Cheerleader Girl, and it just gets funnier and funnier. It's the petty side of me that can't quite contain itself when I'm being silly and pre-menstrual all at once.

This morning, while watching VH-1's Best Week Ever (which I never miss because I simply don't have time to watch the real news) we saw it YET AGAIN. We hope her "week" ends soon because I just can't take the looks my children are giving me while continuing to make fun of the whole thing.

Except, it's nice when they say something stupid from time to time.

Mason shook his head and looked incredulously at the screen and said, "They said that like 5 cheerleaders every year die from accidents like this and you don't see them interviewing them."

We are so proud. After Ken and I exchanged "huh" glances, we questioned whether or not Mason had fallen on his head one too many times as a baby.
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