Get Mom to the Greek. OR... Weekend Recap.

You know those awful blog entries that are total cop-outs because they're just a shitload of pictures and nothing of real value? Yeah. This is going to be one of those.

GREEK FESTIVAL

Pile of gyro.

The kids doing arts and crafts.

Me, mom, and sister.


This is my friend, Aris. He has strong teeth.

I had to include this video is of my nephew, Hogan. It was taken there at the Greek festival. It still made me laugh this morning.

TALL SHIPS

We went to see the Tall Ships on Sunday. But these aren't them. These are just regular boats.

Coasty, the talking animated boat.

Apparently, I was the only one making an "Arrggghh!" face. Losers.

The "Surgery". You can tell by the amount of blood on the doctor's apron that he knows what he's doing. Pay no attention to the stash of arms and legs under the table.

Civil War kids playing cards.


Isn't this a great pic??!? It totally goes with my screenname, You're Lucky I Don't Have a Gun.

Anyshoot.

This is a "Ladies" gun. I need it for when I get in a hairy situation. Like when the line at the grocery store is too long and they refuse to call another cashier.

What did you do this weekend? More importantly, were you wishing you had a ladies gun?

In other nonsense, check out my entry at Sprocket Ink if you follow The Next Food Network Star.

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Greek Festival.

If you live in the southern California area, you should head up to Camarillo for the Greek Festival this weekend. It's small, but the dancing is fun, the people are friendly, and the food is frighteningly good. And if you need some help deciding what to eat, well that's where I come in.

GYRO: Gyro is actually the name of the meat that is typically served in this pita delight. From what I know, it's a combination of lamb and beef that's been slowly cooked on a rotating spit for a long ass time. As it cooks, the outer layers are sliced off. Add some tomato, lettuce, onion, and tzatziki sauce, and you've got a fucking Greek treasure.

SAGANAKI: Saganaki is basically a flaming cheese. When you order it at a restaurant, the waiter will dazzle your balls off by dousing it with some unknown alcohol and lighting it on fire. Americans love this kind of stuff. When you order it at the Greek festival, it probably won't be on fire because they will be serving it up en masse. But I can guarantee it's still going to taste like the bomb shizzle. If you're a greasy-cheese connoisseur like me, this is right up your alley.

TZATZIKI SAUCE: Greeks use tzatziki sauce like Americans use ketchup. This shit goes with everything. The recipe usually consists of Greek yogurt (there's a difference, trust me), lemon, garlic, cucumber, olive oil, and dill, but it can probably vary depending on who's making it. This sauce really does go with everything, so don't be afraid to dip any of your favorite Greek savories into it.

BAKLAVA: This is the sticky sweet dessert that everyone is familiar with. If you happen to be reading this and you're actually NOT one of my family members, then there's a chance you don't receive a box of this every Christmas and have no idea what it is. Baklava is a dessert made up of crispy phyllo dough, chopped nuts, cinnamon, and lots of syrup. If you're not into ooey, gooey sweets, this might not be the thing for you. But if you're anything like me (lucky you), you're going to want a few for the road.

GALATABOUREKO: This dessert is similar to baklava, only it has custard instead of nuts. It uses phyllo dough and has syrup, but it's not crispy. If you have issues eating softer foods like cooked peaches or cooked mushrooms, you might want to skip this one. But if you like custards, give this lesser known treat a shot.



KOURAMBIETHES: This is the safest route if you're not feeling very adventurous. They're basically airy shortbread cookies, covered in powdered sugar. If you're bringing the kids, these are a surefire crowd pleaser. Just make sure not to inhale as your biting. I've made that mistake more than once.

Lastly, no Greek party would be complete without a beer tent. See? There's something for everyone.

Admission is only $3. And if you go the festival link above, you can even print out free admission vouchers so you can visit my friend, Manolis.

So don't forget this weekend: Drop that zero and get with a gyro.

DISCLAIMER: If any of this information was incorrect, I apologize. It was based on my extensive knowledge of hostessing in a Greek restaurant and eating my way through the entire menu.

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St. Patrick: I Love Him.

In case you missed the updates plastered all over Facebook, Twitter, blogcity, the internet, children at your kid's school, coworkers in the next cubicle, or the world in general, today is St. Patrick's Day. You know what that means... Time for me to eat my weight's worth in corned beef and cabbage (and some potato skins for good measure) because clearly this is the only day all year long when I can eat these items. Did I mention I LOoOOoOoOVE this shit???

But while we're on the subject of getting intoxicated off beef products, I'm going to take a quiiiick second to remind you not to be a drunk driver tonight. And when your stupidass friend INSISTS that he's totally fine to drive, but can't remember where he placed his ID and is sporting a shirt soaked in Guinness and/ or a stupid, green and white striped Cat-in-the-Hat style piece of shit on his head, find him a ride home.

MADD paid for this Wreckage on Display and placed in front of a local Irish pub. Apparently, the driver of this car walked away fine, while the driver of the other car was killed. Moral of the story: Don't be an asshole.

Last night, I decided to whip up some mini cupcakes for Pearl's class. Not because I'm Mother Theresa or anything. But more because I just like baking and I LOVE the idea of making baked goods for a kid to share with classmates. Ten 4-year-olds are going to be verrrrry happy today. -At least, in my head they are.

This morning, Pearl was dressed to impress.

A little St. Patrick... A little Cheech N Chong. (re Fashion: I LOVE when they're too young to know better.) I wonder where on earth she sees crazy looking outfits and thinks they're okay to wear out in public...

Happy St. Patricks!


In other nonsense...

Don't forget to check out my post today at Sprocket Ink!

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The Big Mother Trucking Reveal.

Before we get down to biznass, let's take a look at the costume pix that were sent to me (THANK YOU to Liz, Julia, and Biscuit. I think we see who my true friends are.).

Liz as...

...Frida Kahlo.


Attack of the Killer Hot Dog. (Hide yo kids- Hide yo wife.)



The cutest little gnome that makes me aaaaalmost reconsider eating gnomes.

Vampire Cinderella- She will fuck you up. While wearing glass slippers.



And lastly, the SunMaid Raisin girl (I totes stole this off a friend's Facebook page because I just love it- Holla atcha girl, Marika).


Sooooo, guess who was sick on the most raddest of rad days. I'll give you one guess.

-It was me.

After all that hype about how much I fucking LoOoOoOve Halloween and how I was SooOoOoOo looking forward to it and how I'd already staked out the not one- but TWOoOoOo locations I was planning on going to, I got a migraine. It rendured me suicidal and although I managed to get pix in my blessed costume, I ended up crawling straight into bed and falling asleep in it.

. . . .

So here you have it, friends. TILTE as...

...Gallagher.
I know, I look a little like Super Mario. I'm okay with that.

Hope you all had a great Halloween.

And by "you all", I mean my friends that sent me pictures.

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Get Ready to Have Your Face Dazzled Off!!!!

HALLOWEEN IS NEARLY HERE!!!!!!! This means BIG business in the TILTE household (and by "TILTE household", I mean my mom's house). I love Halloween and obssess over it and plan my costume months ahead of time (and usually wait till the last minute to put it together and then get pissed because the thrift stores racks are bare.)

This year's costume is top-mutha-fuggin-secret and will only be unveiled ON Halloween. Of course I'll brag blog about it next week, but until then I know you'll just be slitting your wrists in anticipation.

For now, let's discuss some of my costumes from Halloweens past...

As you can see, I was a Halloween officionado right from the start. While other little girls were dressed as princesses and fairies, I was a Housewife. That's fucking hard core.

Alright, fast forward like twenty years and here I am. This costume was a last minute attempt at being Gogo Yubari from Kill Bill. And by last minute, I mean, I planned, planned, planned and ended up throwing together shit from my own wardrobe.
(I know it's impossible to tell the difference but the real Gogo is the second picture.)

To this day I'm still impressed with my commitment to quality on this Exorcist costume. I bought an old flannel nightgown at the thrift store, which totally kept me warm because I had a tank top and leggings underneath. I made barf out of oatmeal and green food coloring. Colored my teeth with brown eyeliner. And created scars and blood out of homemade glue paste and corn syrup with red food dye. Linda Blair is totally rolling over in her grave right now. -What? She's not dead? Whatever.

UPDATE: My mom totally just found this picture me and and my bestie when we went to a Dead Celebrities Halloween party. I was Mommy Dearest and she was Mrs. Roper. Eat your heart out, Joan Crawford.

Since both my bff and my sister called me out on the whole "sexy costume" thing, I feel like I MUST preface this photo by saying WE WERE GOING TO AN ADULT THEMED PARTY. I know what you're all saying and you're right- I am totally hot stuff and I should sport this outfit like all the time. But I'm just too shy for that kind of stuff. PS: I was a "Sexy Sailor". :::i die:::

Dead Girl Scout. Everyone does the "Dead ____" sooner or later and it's always a goodie because everyone knows what your costume is. And if there's something that really makes me go apeshit, it's having to explain my costume.

Dear, sweet Pippi. This costume is a REG-U-LAR in my Halloween apparel because it's always a GD hit. I bought a kids dress from the thrift store, threw an old apron over it, put some knee socks and old ratty shoes- and don't forget the hair, that's fucking KEY. I master this look by bending a wire hanger over my head and braiding it through my hair. And by "bending a wire hanger over my head and braiding it through my hair", I mean my mom does it and I flip the fuck out when she accidentally pulls too hard.

I think this needs no explanation. Unless you don't know who The Colonel is. -And if that's the case, I don't even want to know you.

I always love Dia de los Muertos costumes. (Mariachi sold separately)

I became obsessed inspired after seeing THIS Barbie make-up tutorial and decided to be that dreamy, babealicious Barbie for Halloween. I found everything for the outfit at the thrift stores and spent a small fortune ($20) on that lifelike wig. The only thing I used of my own were my socks that were used to give me giant Barbie boobs. You say Donatella Versace, I say Barbie.

So, I bet you're all going fucking mental right now trying to figure out how I can top these Hollywood-level theatrics. You're just going to have to wait until next week.

On a related note- Everyone should TOTALLY send me pix of your Halloween costumes and I'll post them on my Halloween entry!!! Send me pix of you, your kids, your pets- I don't care! I will post any pix you send me as long as it's not creepy*.

Send your pix to TILTE@live.com. Also, include your blog link!

PS: If nobody sends me any photos, we're going to pretend this never happened.

*no gentalia

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Farmer's Market

The Farmer's Market does not get enough cred these days. Let me rephrase that. I'm sure it does from people who are used to eating healthy, and avoiding pestacides, and yadda yadda yadda, but I mean, from me, it does NOT get enough cred. So I made a trip this past weekend to my local FM. And let me tell you friends... Those farmers got me: Hook. Line. Sinker.

"Who was the vendor that turned you into a FM lover, TILTE???"

The vendor that sold this:

And this:

That's right. The butter and cheese dealer. She had a wide array of cheeses to choose from AND samples of them all. I originally asked for a sample of "This one..." :::pointing to a block of "unknown cheese"::: to which she informed me "That's butter." I played dumb, but we all know I would have really taken that sample if she'd had it on hand. I ended up purchasing a cuckoo looking mess of Mozzarella cheese (the one on the lower left in the butter picture), and because it was an end piece and the plastic wrap made it look like wall puddy, I got it for a bargain price. Great deal.

The next thing I spotted that sealed the deal on my love for the FM did not fall into any of my food group categories (Dairy, Carbs, Pie). It actually wasn't an edible item at all. It was this duo of violin-playing child hipster prodigies.

They rendered me immobile from the minute I laid my dreamy bedroom eyes on them. Not only do I want my future imaginary offspring to be this incredibly rad, I want to be this incredibly rad. These two played song after song, looking cool and hip and not at all stressed over busting strings (or nearby wine glasses) like I imagine I would.

From here, I moved over to the usual FM items, like fruits and veg.

I don't even know if this is a good price on green beans because we all know I never buy anything healthy. But they looked good to me.

"Rabbit carrots".

A GIANT peach I bought. I had fingers-crossed that its size/ weight was based on the delicious, peachy juicyness inside. In reality, that wasn't the case. But it was still good. Especially when served with fresh mozzarella and Ritz crackers. :::healthy, organic, pesticide-free drool:::

Straight from the home of The Strawberry Festival.

Lastly, every FM needs to have beautiful plants. This one in particular was roughly three feet tall, had several large flowers fully bloomed, and was only $10. Srsly, folks. This same plant would probably be closer to like $1,000 at your local Home Depot or Lowe's. (I've cruised the landscape aisles before. I know what plants go for these days.) This plant was a total bargain. Too bad I don't have a place of my own, much less a welcoming garden, to put it in. :::One day, giant dahlias:::

There was one vendor stall that I had to pass on ONLY because I'd ran out of moola. The fresh baked goods vendor. Ughhhh... I know, I'm almost embarassed to admit that I passed that gem up, but I have full intentions to hit that bitch up next time. From what I let my eyes catch a glimpse of, it looked like they were selling pies, cookies, baguettes, muffins, and sweet breads (and I literally mean SWEET BREADS, not that nasty booshet they CALL "Sweet Breads").

I'll keep you posted on my next visit. For now- SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL FARMER. (I think that's what I'm supposed to say. I'm so organic now.)

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Happy Birthday, America... (there WILL be profanities)

Hope you had a festive and embarrassingly patriotic 4th of July. Here's how mine went...

Keith had a great evening for us planned. We were going to enjoy the fireworks in Long Beach on the Queen Mary aaaaand do a mini ghost hunt, which is something I've been wanting to do like basically all my life. Dreamy? Check. Festive? Check. Entertaining? Check. Except nobody told the city of Long Beach about these great plans of ours.

As soon as we exited the freeway, traffic is backed up because they have three lanes funneled down to one. As each car is taking it's turn merging, this BITCH in a stupid ugly camaro or avenger or something just as stupid refused to let us in even though it was CLEARLY our turn. Keith stayed calm, cool, and collected and proceeded to let her in front to avoid any roid rages. As she slooooowly crept past our car- while doing her full face of firme vato makeup- she was talking 'ish about how she wasn't even about to let any cars in front of her because "all these cars think they can just cut". Escuuuuuuuuse me?!?! Oh haaaaaails no. I told Keith to step on it and not let her in. I could feel my blood boiling like hot lava about to essplode. I yelled "YOUR MAKEUP ISN'T HELPING!", but probably fortunate for my life, my window was almost all the way up and SnowBird didn't hear me. As Keith weighed the options about how much our deductible would be and if it was worth just going for it and hitting her, that bish made her way to the front of the line. I was seething as I stared with a vengence at her classy diamond-framed licence plate. Ughhhhhhh.... this was NOT a good start to the 4th.

As we get closer to the turn for Queen Mary Lane (or whatever), we realize they're making all the cars turn in the opposite direction. It's finally our turn, we pull up next to the Harbor Patrol cop and ask about the QM. He curtly states that parking is full, they're not letting anyone in, and we have to exit the area. W....T....F.... We have no choice and end up on some long road to nowhere in the middle of all the loading docks. We pull up to another harbor patroller and ask him about our nonrefundable, prepaid tickets. He says that's between us and the QM. We ask about shuttles going to the boat. Nope. We ask about taxis going to the boat. Nope. Ughghghghghghg..... Keith thinks it's worth waiting in line one more time to see if we get lucky.

We double back and wait in line- this time flying up the side lane because we know how this works, we've been here before. They turn us away again, but this time Keith think's it's worth flipping around and going in on the new street we're on. After a few minutes we reach another harbor patroller- except this one asks if we have PREPAID TICKETS. It's about time someone asked a relevant question. So, we're nearly there...

Yessssssss! We're so close now! Right after this picture was taken, a guard girl comes up to our window and directs us through the entry to the right. Except there's nobody there to direct traffic, so we pretty much wing it on where to go. Luckily, we end up finding a primo parking spot right next to the elevator! Yessss- it must be our lucky day!

By the time we make it onto the grounds, it was around 6pm. Both of us had to use the restroom after our stressful journey. I'm going to tell it to you like it is, friends... The toilets smelled like bovine colon cancer. And two of the stalls were completely out of toilet paper. Keith and I reconvened in safer territories and decided we'd never speak of that situation again.

After we locked those memories away, we decided to grab dinner. Well, much to my mouth's dismay, the food options consisted of 4 fair-style food shacks with about a hundred people waiting in each line. Keith suggested I go check out the menu so I don't have a meltdown when we get to the front and realize it isn't what I wanted. It was then that I overheard two of these shithole shanties had run out of food and it was going to be 30-45 min till they refilled. Shiiiiiiits.

Keith and I decide to just find an actual restaurant on the boat and get a real meal. I'm feeling queesy by this point because I was actually under the weather, and couple that with all this physical activity sans food.... it was not looking good. We finally found a restaurant on that floating torture chamber... Only to find out there was a 3 hour wait. Oh.My.Lawd. I was about to lose it.

Keith calmed me down and assured me that by this point, the food huts HAD to have restocked. So. We make our way back down through the boat and proceeded to wait in line. Again. The third food line we'd waited in. By this point, I was near hysterical, starving, annoyed, and not at all amused with the shithole job the QM had done to prepare for this whole event.

This goose was anything but spruce. It was 8:30pm by the time we fiiiiiiinally got to the front of the line... we were the LAST people to get food before they ran out for good. I did a quick Hail Mary for delivering the goods and took a big bite out of my tri tip sandwich. And then proceeded to spit it out. My tri tip sandwich was actually a cemetary of fat and grizzle. Thankfully, Keith's pork sandwich was good enough and he managed to eat half of it. But mine was disgusting and unedible and that's when I officially lost it. I cried. Over my shitty tri tip sandwich. I was starving and there was still 20 minutes to go before the fireworks were scheduled to start. And it seemed like the ghost tours were over for the day. Keith was a great sport for not slapping the shat outta me when I decided I'd had enough of this worst-day-ever.

The silver lining on this disasterous cloud was that we at least got to see fireworks going off all around LA on the drive home. That was cool... everywhere we looked, there was another neon bomb exploding in the sky.

Moral of the story: Do not go to the Queen Mary to celebrate the nation's birthday unless you want to be turned away at the gates, starve to death, and catch toilet malaria.

But other than that, we had a good time.

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