an army of ermas

Ermas Long Day's Journey Into Night

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Fri, 28 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Dear Readers:

My daughters and long-suffering husband have read and loved each of these magnificent writers' work and I'm so happy that for a few years I was able to bring you their talent. The girls have seen their school photos lamblasted, and their sibling rivalry mocked, while my husband showed off his skills with power tools. My parents made appearances in the blog and I regularly look in peanut cans now for my father's hearing aid. It's time to stop the madness -- before someone calls the authorities. Since Ermas started, I've published books, written short stories, recited zombie haiku for National Public Radio and developed a new appreciation for how humor works. It's never funny unless you make yourself smile when you write it.

Thank you to the writers who kept me laughing in the backchannels and for their support to keep Ermas fresh week after week. And a big thank you to Angie Mansfield who swooped in as co-editor when I needed her most.

As I push the writers out into a broader publishing world, please follow them and give them the Ermas high-sign. They're a friendly bunch and I'll miss working with every one of them. I think Erma Bombeck would have liked this merry band; we embodied what I believe she valued most: family, humor, and love.

Thank you for reading us, we're the better for it.

Best wishes,

Stacey Graham
Editor

Battle Buddies

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Julie Weckerlein

Before children, I was the one who was always late to the party, the one making the glamorous entrance after spending a little extra time perfecting the lipliner or hair flip.

Now?

I’m late to the play dates because I have to make 30 trips back into the house, grabbing an extra bottle/diaper/stuffed toy/band-aid/directions before we can finally buckle up and back out of the driveway. No matter how many lists I make, no matter how serious I am about planning ahead, it never fails.

I’m always late.

So it’s fitting that I’m late to the Army of Ermas, squeezing in a singular post before closing time.

But I have to admit, as a longtime lurker, I don’t feel like an FNG. Not when I’ve been following the likes of Stacey Graham, Jason Tudor, and Pauline Campos for years, snickering at the cleverness and laughing at the banter as the Army shared adventures from the front lines of family life.

Because let’s face it: parenthood is psychological warfare.

Nothing challenges, defines, and beats the crap out of our value systems, belief systems, emotions, reasoning, and behavior quiet like the job of raising children, and we get it from all sides.

We get it from Mother Nature as she tap-dances with our hormones from puberty onward. We get it from our spouses or significant others, intentional or not, as they hold us accountable to our promises.

We definitely get it from our children, from the very second they wrap their little hands around our hearts and squeeze, growing too fast and away from us because that’s how it’s supposed to be, even though it hurts.

And we get it from the outside. The pressure. The standards. The labels. The blame. We like to point to television shows, blogs, magazines, books, articles, photos, those other moms who are doing things better, faster, thinner, healthier, more lovely, more perfect. Everywhere we go, there are more than enough things out there ready to amplify our deepest insecurities as mothers.

There’s always incoming psychological artillery, and there’s really no way to avoid it. So, it’s good to have battle buddies.

Battle buddies don’t judge you based on how you’ve named your children.

They don’t judge your yoga pants or your thrift store jeans.

Battle buddies remind you that you don’t have to be the perfect parent by revealing their own imperfections.

Battle buddies get flustered and admit it.

Battle buddies also wear cheap shoes.

Battle buddies will admit, too, that they’ve rewashed their silverware because it takes too much energy to pull ‘em out of the dishwasher.

They offer advice on romance and dating, for those who need it and even for those who don’t.

They give recipes, cleaning tips, some insight about the other gender.

Battle buddies want to help make things better.

Battle buddies love bacon, and the original Erma, almost as much as you do.

Most of all, battle buddies reach...across tables...over telephones...through blogs: it doesn’t matter; they reach out, and they make you laugh.

Thanks for making me laugh, Army of Ermas.

In 2001, Julie Weckerlein started a little website called Julie and Martin for friends and family to follow her wedding plans. At the time, she was in the Air Force and Martin was in the German Army. But then the terrorist attacks on 9/11 happened, and the site took on a new role. Eleven years later, the site continues to be a reflection of their lives, reaching a worldwide audience with stories about juggling married life with home life with work life and everything in between. Now living in the Washington DC area with two daughters and son, Julie and Martin continue to document their lives on www.julieandmartin.com, which recently earned the 2011 Parents Magazine Readers Choice Award for Best All-Around Mom Blog.

Bacon, Boobies and Bad Choices

noreply@blogger.com (Carolee) — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 19:58:00 +0000

Once on-up a time, a merry band of bricoleur scribblers gathered, under the direction of Stacey Graham, with one goal: to make people giggle, and to do it regularly. With laughter being the best medicine of all, and an ever-invasive portion of the world teetering off its meds, this was a good goal. But as anyone who has peered into an empty Valium bottle (three days before it could be refilled) knows, the best of things may come to an end; sometimes, before you even know it.

Writing our monthly essays started out sort of like experimental art. Eager to fill slots, I sometimes wrote more than one a month. We had guests, honorary Ermas and writers who slipped in and back out again. We continually shared what I believe were some of the funniest words-in-a-particular-order to be found anywhere. More than once, I approached Terminal Velocity Cackle. That is the point where something’s gotta give. Either I wrangled in a breath, or, as the Supreme Mr. Barber said, I would go on home to be with the Lord. Luckily I’m a fairly decent wrangler.

So many topics have flowed out of our minds, through our fingers and hit the digital page. Dating, marriage, childbirth and labor (in the middle of winter), empty nests, diapers, college, new houses, pantyhose and bra straps. M*A*S*H episodes, laundry, cooking (as a sport!), diets, death and flaming toast -- who among us can’t relate? We’ve crashed hot air balloons, groaned in commiseration about dysfunctional family gatherings and discussed the ever-intriguing Cupcake. Against a few protests, we’ve even discussed bodily functions. We’ve offered advice to our younger selves, and to complete strangers, all the while discussing everyday things like naming our Christmas trees, surviving dog and cat ownership, putting out kitchen fires and deciding whether to love or hate Spandex.

And finally, we have fulfilled what we set out to do. We wrote, we shared our lives, and many of you found a reason to laugh. We’ve talked about boobies, bacon (Kevin, and otherwise), and bad choices, and now it’s time to climb out of the nest and sail on to our next destinations. If you think that the lot of us are finished, think again. You might have to follow us on our respective blogs to know where we’ve landed next time, but take my word: you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet!

_______________________________________

Carole Lee is a writer whose inquisitive nature sends her frolicking about after more music, more life, more words and more hedonism, because eventually all of the cupcakes and liquor run out. When she’s not renovating her historic folk Victorian nestled in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee or wrestling with her geriatric Chow and neurotic Lab, she’s plunking out freelance DIY articles and writing her first novel. Visit her blogs, Irrational Propensity, and Irrational Propensity - Renovations to see what she’s up to lately.

The Ermas long goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 12:58:00 +0000

As I bubble-wrap the last of the columns for An Army of Ermas, I wanted to thank each of you for visiting us. It's been an amazing run and I couldn't be prouder of the writers and what we've accomplished here and what they're doing on their own. Our last active day on the site will be September 28th but the website will remain open to revisit your favorite columns and writers. I'll even come in and mix up the front page from time to time to keep it funky fresh.

Below are some of the writers who have contributed to Ermas, please pop over to their blogs or follow them on Twitter or Facebook. They're all a bit weepy at the moment and could use a tissue.

Thanks again, we'll see you soon!

Stacey Graham runs the Ermas and is the mother of five girls. She has spent a good part of the last twenty years sitting in dark attics waiting to poke the paranormal and see if it giggles. When not wrestling ghosties, she enjoys reading Jane Austen and writing zombie poetry, humor, and ghost stories. She has been known to feed small armies of Girl Scouts with her granola recipes and is terrified of mice.

Please visit her website , check her goofy self out on the Twitter, and her zombie whoopin' skillz at the Zombie Dating Guide. She is also the author of THE GIRLS' GHOST HUNTING GUIDE, and THE ZOMBIE TAROT.

Angie Mansfield is certifiably insane, and she made herself a certificate to prove it. This made her a perfect candidate to be Stacey's right-hand-woman and Assistant Editor of An Army of Ermas. When she's not wrangling wayward Ermas, talking to her jade plant (named Fred), or compulsively buying betta fish (don't ask), she makes her living as a freelance writer. You can follow her musical adventures at Ocarinas and Didgeridoos.

I’m Amy Mullis. My turn-ons are housebroken puppies, diets that use chocolate as a weight loss tool, and husbands who know which end of the mop to use on the kids and which end to use on the floor. Oh, and world peace. But that’s not likely to start in my house on Monday morning. These days, I'm trying to find myself. Come help me look. Surely if children everywhere can find Waldo, we can locate a short, round woman sporting stretchy pants, a baseball jersey, and dangly earrings and clutching a box of Girl Scout cookies like Thin Mints are the keys to heaven.

Visit my blog: Mind Over Mullis. As long as there's no funny business with the cookies, we'll all get along just fine.

Ever since the Flaming Toast Casserole Incident, Beth Bartlett has sought refuge—and hid from her family—in the pages of Erma Bombeck’s books. While she toils as a freelance article writer by day, at night she dons a superhero outfit that bags at the knees (among other places) and writes about the days when both checks and cookies bounce. When she’s had enough caffeine, she also posts at Wisecrack Zodiac and her newest venture, Pure Geek.

Carol Lee is a caffeine-fueled writer, fiercely-protective mom, blissfully-devoted wife, frightening wielder of power tools and rabid legal research whiz who thinks everyone should strive for a little more music and hedonism in their lives. She gained a starry-eyed view of writing professionally when her first attempt was snatched up by the metaphysical publisher, Llewellyn, within hours; her life has been a pilgrimage toward the brass ring ever since. Hundreds of her articles and essays are sprinkled around the Internet at websites such as National Geographic, Dremel, LegalZoom, eHow Home and Garden and An Army of Ermas.

Stop by and enjoy a cup of crazy at her blog, Irrational Propensity, where she babbles about writing, gardening, cooking (as a sport!), renovating her 121-year-old folk Victorian farmhouse, her two mal-adjusted dogs and finding her way as a stranger in this strange land called life.

Harley May is a wife, mother, and writer. She grew up in South Korea and did not live in a grass hut but thanks for asking. When not living the posh existence of wife, mother, and scattered writer, she enjoys staring at hardwood floors and biting. She likes grapes. Please visit her blog.

Janna Qualman is a freelance and fiction writer. She lives with her family in the Midwest, where she captures life through writing. Janna's stories and essays have appeared both in print and online, and she writes books, too. Learn more about Janna at her blog: Something She Wrote.

Jason Tudor is a tall, dark and handsome American who lives Bavaria with his traveling spouse, Deedee, and his 4-year-old daughter, Annabelle, who will one day "cure cancer and solve all problems economic while continuing a burgeoning career as both super model and television host (all while being well adjusted, friendly and brightly shining star)" -- source: Mom. Jason also keeps his own blog at http://jasontudor.com, where he writes about social media, writing and occasionally rants about things that hurt others. He hangs some poetry on it as well.

Jennifer Caddell enjoys putting her imagination into words while living in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, two children, and two chickens. She has a bachelor’s degree in English and was previously published in a science fiction anthology titled "What If". She enjoys writing in a variety of genres. Her blog, Colander Hat, covers all of her creative endeavors including crochet, suburban farming, healthy recipes, family life, and of course writing.

Kathy T. is the mother of three interesting and talented young adults who have inspired lots of essays, greeting cards, and stories. Her family thinks she's a bit wacky, but why not visit her on her blog, It Bloggles The Mind at: http://itblogglesthemind-kathy.blogspot.com and decide for yourself.

Lisa Dovichi ~~terrorizes~~ enriches the lives of her husband and two sons, 3Ft of Fun and Mr. Grumpybutt, with the help of a killer Boston Fern named Audrey. By day, she’s a freelance writer, blogger, web and graphics designer, artist, children’s book author and illustrator, and a budding novelist. By night, she’s an exercising fiend. In her spare time -- wait she doesn't have any.

Want more of Lisa’s healthy lifestyle adventures? Join her on her wild ride at Melting Before Your Eyes.

Melanie Hooyenga is a freelance writer and graphic designer who recently moved back to Michigan after living in Mexico for three years. A graduate from James Madison University, she worked in Chicago for ten years and now spends her time between design projects writing novels and short stories. You can learn more about Melanie at her blog Hoosblog.

Patti Wigington began writing at the age of seven, when she ran out of books to read in her small-town library. Since then, she's grown up (a little) and published a couple of books, a whole bunch of columns, and a few short stories she's embarrassed to even have on her resume. In addition to writing, Patti spends her free time putzing around in her garden, coming up with new and exciting ways to re-use stuff she didn't think she wanted anymore, dying her hair odd colors, and full-contact recipe experimentation. She is married to the most patient man in the world, and is raising three children who are remarkably well-adjusted, despite their mother's best efforts to turn them into very strange people. Patti lives in central Ohio, and keeps people updated about her shenanigans at http://www.pattiwigington.com.

Pauline M. Campos is wife to The Husband, mother to “Buttercup,” and has decided that it’s time to make peace with her cellulite. Pauline has always known she was going to be a writer and finally got tired of hearing The Husband ask when she was going to make him rich, so she finally stopped dreaming and started doing.

She got started in newspapers and served as city editor for a few local papers before hitting the big time at The Detroit News and freelancing for the Metro-Detroit based Metro Parent Magazine before taking a break after baby. She's a featured blogger at www.owningpink.com and blogs weekly at the nationally recognized fitness support site www.bookieboo.com where she also serves as an editor. Oh right, and her own blog? That's www.aspiringmama.com. You're welcome.

She's also pretty sure God made her lactose intolerant because she refused to stop chewing her ice cream.

Sara Spock is the mother of two rambunctious boys, the wife to a saintly clean freak, a substitute college instructor, a freelance writer and researcher, and a slightly neurotic coffee addict. When she’s not teaching, cooking, or chasing a wild child, Sara can be found building menacing Lego towers, sketching, or blogging over at her green-cooking site, The Hero Complex.

You can find out more about Sara’s work by visiting her website, following her on Twitter, checking out her poetry, or reading about her research over at the Sex Lab. No, that’s not what we’re calling it these days.

Sarah is a collector of intercepted love notes and a facilitator of second grade dictatorship scenarios. She corrects children when they mistakenly use the word “tampons” to mean “tadpoles” and occasionally gets fashion advice from them, too. To read eight-year-olds’ tips for how to have a successful marriage or the most recent thing that eight-year-olds think is really cool (Spoiler alert – it’s most likely going to be Fake-Picking One’s Nose), visit Sarah’s blog, Dead Class Pets. When the stars align, her work can also be found on McSweeney’s.

Terri Lynn Coop lives with her two intrepid Chihuahuas in an 1888 building with good karma and a bad roof. She writes quirky history columns for The Bourbon County Review and blogs about car memorabilia for About.com. Her short stories have appeared in No Rest for the Wicked, Battlespace, and Dream People. She's been known to blog at Readin' Rittin' & Rhetoric and hangs out on Twitter at @terrilcoop.

FringeGirl (Tricia Gillespie) lives on the domestic fringe in denial of her actual age, avidly avoiding scales, and eating too many M&M's. She is mother to two spazzy kids and one electrifying husband. Her blog, The Domestic Fringe, is dedicated to finding humor in daily life. FringeGirl enjoys using her God-given love for the written word to encourage others in the monotony of every-day. She hopes you find your smile today!

The Bucket List

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Fri, 21 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Sara Spock

I’m going to tell you a secret, my biggest secret. I have a super power. I make the most amazing lists. Lists that deserve to be in the List Making Hall of Fame. Lists that can bring order and control to the lives of many. Yes, I am… The List Master!

If your task goes down on my list, it will be completed before you can say "flibbertigibbet"! I have lists for every day, lists for the week, the month, the season, the school year, the fiscal year, the actual year, 5-year lists, 10-year lists, and yes, a lifelong Bucket List.

Most people use a Bucket List for major life goals, epic adventures, and career objectives. Sure, a few of those mundane things end up on my big, bad list of life, but mostly I use this Bucket List to remind me where I should be and what I should be doing to get there.

Exhibit A into my neuroses:

1. Try not to traumatize my children by constantly turning life events into musical theater. They might laugh when they’re 5 and you’re singing to the tune of Mary Poppins “Feed the Birds,” “Feed the toads so they can grow! Two grubs, two grubs, two grubs a toad! Feed the toads so they can grow. Two grubs, two grubs, two grubs a tooooooooaaaadddddddd!” But show tune time is running out and the Poop Song just won’t ring as true by the time they reach 10.

2. Extend myself for others. It’s so much fun to crawl into pajamas at 5pm (while singing songs about llamas, pajamas, and mamas) but it would do my brain more good to invite a friend for dinner or get outside and talk to the neighbors. I know, I know. You’re tired from work, and kids, and laundry, and cooking, and cleaning, and singing, and making eye contact with grownups all day, but stop being a sissy! Make some friends and keep them, Lady!

3. Finish projects. Finish poems. Finish stories. Finish novels. Ideas are awesome. Brainstorming is the most creative you’ll ever feel, but writing the words THE END is even more amazing. Stay focused on a project long enough to see it to fruition. Otherwise, you’ll be filled with wonderful ideas that will never come to – oooh, what’s that? A chocolate covered chili pepper? I wonder if I could bake that into brownies? Or as a truffle? Or a cocktail? I could go for a beer. Hang on.

4. Come back to center. Family, friends, work, writing, home, volunteering. So many obligations. I can just see it now. Everyone with a rope, pulling, and me in the middle getting spun around. Eventually, I’ll fall over because I’m a klutz with low blood sugar. Remember what’s important. Take a deep breath, go all Nancy Reagan, and just say NO. This way, you’ll have more time to sing. Llama, llama, llama. Listen to your Mama. Llama, llama, llama. Get in your pajamas.

~Sara Spock is a Mom, Wife, Penn State Graduate, Substitute Teacher, Freelance Writer, and Chocolate Addict. When she’s not crying because this is her last Erma Column, Sara can be found over on twitter where she discusses chocolate, reading, and football. Way too much football.

Bonus Room

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Bill Mullis

His footfalls echo hollow in the empty space. It looks bigger inside, now that it isn't so crowded. Most everybody has already packed up and left, cleared out their lockers, had their mail forwarded. The desks are bare like the hardwood floor. This has been a working space, things have been created, lives have been changed, the world made a little better.

Looking back, he sees that the door he entered through is now closed, locked, vanished, gone. He smiles a little at how fitting it is. You think you can just stick your head in a door, pop in for just a bit, visit for a while. But you find, eventually, that you can never go out the same way you came in. Because while you were inside, the world outside has changed, blatantly or subtly; or, perhaps, it's you who have changed, subtly or blatantly. But the changes are there, and the way back is gone forever.

Still, he can close his eyes and hear their voices murmuring in the air. There's still laughter, and bickering, a few tears when sadness or joy was shared. And the frustration when the words just wouldn't come out right, when the deadline loomed and the world was insistently butting its nose in. He can walk along the row of desks and feel the spirit still inhabiting the space.

And there they'll be forever, he says to himself. They'll all be gone, like he'll be gone, all gone to other things, to other words, other spaces, but they'll always be here, too. Even when the works are no longer plastered in the storefront window, they'll be here. Even when the storefront isn't here any longer.

Well. Time to go.

They say that when one door closes another opens. That's only partly true. There's never just the one door, and it's never open when you find it. So he walks the length of the room, past the desks, the coffee maker, the chocolate fountain, further back than he's been before, and sees the doors, featureless, set off only by exit signs. He doesn't bother to count them; odds are the number would change every time he tried. They're all identical, but the ritual has to be observed. He passes before each of them, brushing his fingertips against the dark, polished wood, and isn't surprised to feel only that there is in fact something on the other side.

He adjusts his hat and slings the backpack over his shoulder. He raises his cane, pokes it at a random door, and starts to laugh.

Of course. The door he picks wasn't isn't the door he intended. And he's fairly certain it wasn't there a moment ago. And though he has no reason to think so, it's obviously the exact right door.

One last look around, to imprint it on his memory. One last nod to the ghosts of the living. And he turns his back on the room and opens the door. And smiles.

Bonus.

Bill Mullis's own personal door is in the South Carolina Upstate. His online presence is currently limited, but you can reach him at www.facebook.com/bill.mullis or via email at kodbill[at]gmail.com.

Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Terri Coop

Actually, this post has nothing to do with Kevin Bacon. I just believe that everything is better with bacon. A better title would be "Six Degrees of Peter Straub," or "How a small town lawyer closed down a bar with Erma blogmate Carole Oldroyd, author Jamie Mason, and a by-gawd literary legend." I owe it all to Erma Bombeck. Yeah, I said Erma Bombeck.

Let's see if I can sort it out.

Erma Bombeck pretty much invents the genre of household humor and an entire generation grows up knowing that the grass is always greener over the septic tank.
A gang of writers get together and come up with the excellent idea of a blog celebrating the legacy of Bombeck with an updated version of her unique slice-of-life humor. Enter "An Army of Ermas."
Fast forward to a contest to find two more recruits to the army. I entered my essay "The Chihuahua Whisperer" and launched a stormtrooper campaign among my friends and family to vote me in or prepare to spend the next year regretting it.
Yes! I am inducted into a group of the best, funniest, and most wonderful gang of writers ever assembled. Over the many months of Facebook posts, blogs, deadlines, good times, and not so good times, I come to count many of the Ermas as friends, and some as family. I owe my Honorable Mention from the 2012 Erma Bombeck Writing Competition to the encouragement of this wonderful group.
Some more fast-forwarding and I get a Facebook message saying, "Hey, can you come to Nashville in August?" Turns out Ms. Oldroyd was hitting me up to be roomies for the Killer Nashville writers' conference. My answer was a definitive, "heck yeah," and I had my conference registration and flight booked by breakfast.
::rurrururur:: (fast forward sound, roll with it) to the convention and an innocuous sounding suggestion from author-extraordinaire Jamie Mason, "let's check out the bar before we call it."
There, sitting a-freaking-lone at the bar, was non-other than Peter Straub. Alone for about fifteen seconds, that is. And a finer, more charming, and funny person you will never meet. However, he would not answer my burning question, "Was it your idea or Stephen King's to kill Henry in The Talisman?" After all these years, that is still a literary open wound. ::sigh::
Toss in a side order of Jeffery Deaver and you have a formula for one of the best evenings ever. The blaring GET-OUT-DON'T-YOU-PEOPLE-HAVE-HOMES lights came on far too soon.

Not Kevin Bacon.

My eternal thanks to the divine Erma Bombeck, who is certainly chuckling at this merry band of modern-day wo(men), and to each and every one of the Ermas. My wish is to someday close down a bar with every one of you. And to meet Kevin Bacon. Or to have bacon cheeseburgers with you all. You know what I mean. Dang it, I've got dust or something in my eye . . .

Terri Lynn Coop writes about car culture and hot rod collectibles at http://carmemorabilia.about.com and has been known to blog at http://readinrittinrhetoric.blogspot.com. Buddy up on Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/terri.l.coop or say hello on Twitter https://twitter.com/TerriLCoop

Portable Pizza Pockets

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Patti Wigington

I'm a big fan of portable food. Anything I can hold in my hand to eat is practically an automatic win. I'm sure lots of other people feel the same way – hence the popularity of products such as the Hot Pocket. They're cheap and they're quick to prepare. They're also easy to make yourself – and you can get a much better idea of what they contain if you prepare them yourself.

I've had to eat gluten-free since 2007, so I made my pizza pockets with gluten-free Chebe pizza dough. However, you can use any kind of pizza dough you like, either homemade or pre-packaged. The key is that it has to be stretchy. One package of pre-made pizza dough will give you anywhere from two to four pizza pockets, depending on how big you make them.

Ingredients:

One package pizza dough
Pizza sauce
Pizza fillings, such as ham, pepperoni, or veggies
Oregano
Mozarella cheese

Roll out your pizza dough so it's about 1/4” thick. Cut into either two or four rectangles – I made two, so I could get a couple of really good-sized pockets, but you can make them smaller if you like. Add a couple of tablespoons of sauce, pizza fillings, the oregano, and some mozzarella, to one side of each rectangle. Make sure that you leave a gap around the toppings of about 3/4” or your fillings will leak out.

Fold the non-topping half of the rectangle over, just like you're closing a book. Press the edges together all the way around – I actually used a fork to crimp mine together, which seems to have done the trick nicely and kept any stray sauce from escaping.

Bake at 375 for about 20 minutes, or until the crusts are lightly browned. Allow to cool for about five minutes, then serve with marinara dipping sauce or (my personal favorite) garlic butter.

Make a bunch of these and bake them ahead of time, then toss them in individual freezer bags – you can reheat them for snacks or lunches by microwaving about three minutes.

Arts and Gaffes

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 12 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Beth Bartlett

Deadly weapons.

I’m not crafty at all. Martha Stewart might as well be a wizard from Hogwarts as far as I’m concerned. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop me from trying to be one of those people who can knit a doily from cat hair or turn a “Twilight” book into a stunning series of origami castles. I have the passion, I just don’t have the skill, patience or survival instinct of a crafter, which is why I’m no longer allowed near glue guns.

This is not a new thing for me. My mother taught me to sew by hand when I was six. I can’t blame her for giving me pointy objects, because she had only known me for a few years. I sewed so much material to my own pants, every pair of jeans I owned came pre-equipped with chaps. After we ran out of Band-Aids, I was the proud owner of a non-pointy potholder loom, which I promptly managed to turn into a Mobius strip of stretchy doom. Mom finally gave up and bought me an Easy-Bake Oven, which permanently set my culinary skill level for life. (Shut up.)

As the years progressed, so did my failures. When I drew Tippy the Turtle, he came out as a diseased muskrat. If Bob Ross could have seen my paintings, he would have said “Please. Just stop. Let me rescue these trees and get them some therapy.”

In spite of all this, I managed to marry an artist who was also an incurable optimist. He tried to teach me how to build faux Victorian jewelry and knit and watercolor. Like I said, incurable. After 25 years, I thought he had accepted the fact that my only acceptable craft tools were popsicle sticks and painted macaroni.

Recently he presented me with a box emblazoned with the words “Perfect for beginners! Easy to do! For all age levels!” Inside was an etch-by -number kit, where you take a sharp instrument (mistake #1) and with a steady hand (mistake #2) you remove everything from a black-coated metal sheet that doesn’t resemble a detailed Japanese garden in full bloom (mistake #3). I worked delicately, following the lines and scraping bits of black off the sheet to reveal little gold streaks. After a week, he asked me how I was doing. I proudly presented him with an artwork that looked like someone grabbed an angry porcupine and rubbed it hard against Darth Vader’s helmet.

I now have a lifetime supply of popsicle sticks and craft glue.

Beth Bartlett is a freelance writer and humorist who now knows that short shorts and hot glue don’t mix. Feel free to follow her on Twitter (@plaidearthworm) or drop by one of her many sites: www.plaidearthworm.com, www.puregeek.me or www.wisecrackzodiac.com.

Everything ends -- or how the film "Cocktail" is totally like this website

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Jason Tudor

"Everything ends badly, otherwise it wouldn't end" gets uttered by a bartender named Coughlin in a film called "Cocktail." That he uttered those words in "Cocktail," one of the 1980's 10 Worst "Films With Feathered Hair and Acrobatic Drinking Tricks" doesn't mean the phrase isn't worth examining in light of recent events.

I'll just throw out a few as retrospective: Octomom. Jersey Shore. John Edwards. Crystal Pepsi. The Magic Johnson Hour. 24-hour cable news (Wait. That still exists ...). Even "Cocktail" ended by allowing Tom Cruise to make more movies. This is life's little cruel stubbing of its own toe over and over again.

Conversely, An Army of Ermas ends its run Sept. 30. By no means will it end badly. Rather, it will simply end. And there should be more: fireworks, live sign-off, ticker-tape parade, immigrants selling fake Rolex watches and glowing light sticks. You get the idea.

This thing shouldn't end, but it will. So, in reflection, let's peek at what Ermas has brought you:

-- As of this writing, there are 410 columns written by about 30 different columnists. So, almost every other day for the past two years, one of us has told you about driving Fieros, boob smashing or cooking something delicious. To recap: cars, boobs and food. You win.

-- Much like the mixed drinks Cruise's Brian Flanagan makes, the stories you've been introduced to come from a line-up of funny, talented people with diverse, wonderful backgrounds. Stalk them like old boyfriends. Every single one of them will be more famous than Usain Bolt's after-parties before you know it.

-- If the numbers are right, you've shared this stuff like college kids share good weed (or, at least, that's what the college kids tell me). In other words, Ermas are all over the Web like a snotty cold at a daycare center. Again, that's a good thing. So many of my colleagues deserve that electron-warming loving that only you can provide with the stroke of a 'send' or 'like' button.

There's more to be sure. For my own part, I've scratched out about two dozen columns and waited for the comments to roll in. Sometimes there were many and with others, the crickets kept me company as we watched the stars twinkle in the midnight of the Internet. That's okay. Humor, especially the kind that Erma Bombeck wrote, is tough, like seeing Elisabeth Shue suck it up for 104 minutes next to Cruise's Foghorn Leghorn rooster hair. I won some. I lost some.

And rather than Elmer Fudd blasting Daffy Duck's bill around to the other side of his face for the next 20 days or so, you'll get another version of Looney Tunes. Our version. It's more like the colonoscopy that went A-OK. And, no: it won't end badly, but like "Cocktail" with a brand new bar and twins on the way, it will end.

To quote my beloved editor of this site, "Now, scoot."

Jason Tudor is a writer and illustrator. He is also the creator and co-host of the hour-long podcast "The Science Fiction Show." You can continue to find him at www.jasontudor.com or www.myscifishow.com.

All the Right Skills in All the Wrong Places

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Amy Mullis

I have one sister to grow plants and one to do crafts. It’s not that I’m a Diva, I just don’t see a way around that “Police Line - Do Not Cross” tape on my craft box. I don’t know my fertilizer from my fescue or my Popsicle sticks from my pipe cleaners. I’m not allowed to use a soaker hose or a glue gun without an OSHA representative present. I have a criminal past when it comes to construction paper.

But sometimes, when the women’s magazines bordering the grocery checkout like sunflowers beckon to me, I push aside that little voice that reminds me of the soccer banner incident.

“Ouch. No need to shove.” The Captain grabbed a Mars bar off the rack as he regained balance.

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Well, there aren’t many women who prance around with a soccer banner attached to their crotch.”

“I wasn’t prancing. I was trying to shake it loose.”

“I thought you were angling for a tip.”

“It was attached to my pants.”

“Who could tell? You were all Soccer Banner through Interpretive Dance.”

“I had a little trouble with the needle and thread.”

“What did it do? Misfire and sew the banner to your shorts?”

“Well at least I’m not the Poster Child for plumbing disasters.”

“Look. ANYBODY can have a toilet where the water goes down.”

“Now I’m afraid of what’s going to come up. That gives a whole new meaning to the words Interpretive Dance.”

“I made one little mistake. You killed a Peace Plant. That started an International Incident that resulted in your mug shot hanging in garden stores around the world.”

“Those things are so needy. You’d think they could go a few days without water.”

“It was six months.”

“I think those Peace Plants are named wrong. I’m pretty sure that thing growled at me when I took it out of the trunk.”

The Captain paid the cashier and tore into the candy bar. “By the way, you’re still famous around the soccer fields. You’re not allowed in without supervision of a responsible child under the age of 17.”

“Cool! I have an R-17 rating? I guess gardening and sewing are a lot like plumbing. Nobody notices unless you get it wrong.”

Bio: Amy Mullis lives in upstate South Carolina where she hoards glue sticks and bits of ribbon, and leafs through craft magazines planning for the future. Her husband, sons, dogs, and cats feel secure knowing that she’ll never find where the pinking shears and glue gun are buried. Join her for more “Don’t Let This Happen to Me” moments at Mind Over Mullis. She sends her thanks and love to Stacey Graham, Angie Mansfield and all the Ermas for making life a little bit more exciting for the past two and a half years.

BBQ Novice

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 05 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Tricia Gillespie

Last week I was dreaming of white sandy beaches and barbeque. I couldn’t get the luscious dark red sauce out of my mind, so I decided to make pulled pork sandwiches this weekend. I remember seeing, like, thirty thousand barbeque recipes on Pinterest, but when I went looking, I hadn’t pinned a one.

Huh? I always Pin when I’m hungry. They have the most tantalizing photos of food. I can drool all night and not gain an ounce. It’s kind of like the patch for smokers, only it’s for food addicts.

So I did what any fearless culinary novice would do: I improvised. I saw no less than a hundred recipes that used three ingredients – soda, BBQ sauce, and salt/pepper. Lots of people use diet soda in their BBQ, but I decided to throw caution to the wind and use the real stuff. I do not think anyone with sweet tea running through her veins would use Diet Pepsi. Correct me if I’m wrong.

In the lineup is Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ Sauce, Dr. Pepper, and Seasoned Salt.

I sprinkled the roasts with seasoned salt, put the roasts in the crockpot, added Dr. Pepper with abandon, and squeezed about half the large bottle of barbeque sauce all over the meat. Then I let it cook.

After about seven hours, I drained off some fat from the top, and pulled apart the pork. I returned the pulled pork to the crockpot and let it absorb all the juice. In its pulled form, it stayed in the crockpot for another hour. Then I loaded it on whole wheat rolls, because I’m healthy like that, and gave it another good squeeze of sauce.

The only thing missing was the banana pudding, but I’m on a diet, you know.

Bio: Tricia Gillespie cooks up fun over on The Domestic Fringe. When she’s not busy putting out stove fires with sweet tea, she’s finding humor in this reality we call life. She has two kids, one husband, and a Betta fish named Hot Shot. She wishes it rained chocolate and French fries, because then she would never cook again. Go visit her at thedomesticfringe.com.

Chocolate Chip Surprise Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Mon, 03 Sep 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Lisa Dovichi

How do you transform a run-of-the-mill chocolate chip cookie into something that your friends will rave about for days? Shh, come closer. It's a secret.

You make them ginormous and give it a surprise chewy chocolatey brownie center (say that 10 times fast)!

Sounds like it should be complicated, right? Nuh uh. It isn't - just a little time intensive. Stick with me, my little chickadee, and I'll tell you how it's done.

You'll need:

1 box of your favorite chocolate brownie mix: prepared per box instructions with the extra egg for cake-like brownies and just under baked -- the brownie should be a little sticky.
Your favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe: prepared but NOT baked

Directions:

Make cookie dough and put in fridge -- chilled dough works best
Make brownies and let cool
Preheat oven 350 degrees
Mash up the pan of brownies
Measure 1/3 cup cookie dough, ball it, cut in half and flatten each half into a disk.
Measure 3 TBS sticky brownie crumbles and place on one cookie dough disk
Take the other cookie dough disk and place it on top -- making a sandwich
Seal the edges, place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper with an inch between each cookie.
Bake at 350 for 18 minutes or until cookie is golden brown.
Cool on wire rack (or not) and EAT!

So super delicious and worth all the time the preparation takes. I swear it.

Lisa lives in Livermore, CA with her husband and three children. She's the author/illustrator of the Sugar and Spice Cook-It-Yourself children books series (coming soon) and works from home as an artist and web designer. In her dwindling spare time she changes diapers, experiments with food, is a sucker for DIY projects, and watches bad movies on Monday night with her husband. To get more Lisa visit: www.meltingbeforeyoureyes.blogspot.com.

Austentatious Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Patti Wigington

Truth universal

Such passion might pollute the

Shades of Pemberley

Persuaded by Bath

Love found, lost and found again

Her words pierce his soul

Dark gothic abbey

“Mysteries of Udolpho”

Hearts joined in ruins

Matchmaker matching

Finds herself undone by her

Own willful spirit

Sisters three, one young,

One says too much, one speaks not,

Many mixed signals

Poor girl, country house

Sharp social commentary

Love is right next door

Curled up quietly

Cat in lap, coffee in hand,

So lost in Austen

Cat Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 29 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Steve Barber

If dogs can have their Haiku, it's only fair that cats get a shot at it too. Theirs, of course, would be...different. Like this:

You have allergies?

Cats have dander. Deal with it.

Now go bring my food.

The plans are in place

To overthrow the humans.

But first I must nap.

I shall bring dead things

And leave them on your pillow.

'Cause that's what cats do.

Telework: A Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Mon, 27 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by John Banusiewicz

Teleworking rocks,
And not just because it means
Pants without belt loops.

Working in bare feet
With no buttons on my shirt
Definitely helps.

And when the commute
Means just walking down the stairs,
I can handle that.

Focusing on work
Isn’t an issue at all.
It’s very quiet.

Who could ask for more?
With all the comforts of home,
I have it made, right?

But the small pockets
Of down time my work provides
Are my undoing.

The walk to the fridge
Is twenty-two steps, round-trip.
Damn those Klondike Bars.

Golden Oreos
Go nicely with Klondike Bars,
And they’re right nearby.

And I won’t even
Discuss my relationship
With potato chips.

Elastic waitsbands
Aren’t only for my comfort.
They’re necessary.

Besties, Beasties and Frenemies: Oh My!

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Fri, 24 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Beth Bartlett

Doesn’t mind late calls

Refills your wine while you vent

Honey Badger cares.

Makes fun of your shoes

Even Jimmy Choos on sale

Cougars are vicious.

Drunk-dialing your ex

New girlfriend answers the phone.

Snap! Barracuda!

Long neck, stretchy pants

Hears all the gossip, stays mum

Giraffe’s got your back

Mishap avoided;

Turkey knows just what to do.

Put down the hot wax.

What’s white, black and red?

Zebra after dirty jokes

And margaritas.

Image: Flickr/Cristiano Betta

Going a Little HAIKU-KOO

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Kathy Tirrell

Dump out stuff in purse,

Fish through pockets, dig through trash.

Keys found in the fridge!

Traffic lights, stop signs,

Allergy eyes, big, bright zit.

RED things drive me nuts!

Son wails on guitar,

Husband brings iPad to bed.

Think I’ll sleep outdoors!

Kathy Tirrell sometimes goes a little cuckoo over things that happen in life, but tries to find the humor in it all. You can check out some of her observations on “It Bloggles the Mind.”

Haiku For You

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Lisa Dovichi

4ft's creations
Some things shouldn't be on bread
*Shudders* The horror.

Ran out of stickers
Art project needs enhancement
Bandaids for the win.

Lisa lives in Livermore, CA with her husband and three children. She works from home as an artist and web designer. In her dwindling spare time she changes diapers, experiments with food, is a sucker for DIY projects, and watches bad movies on Monday night with her husband. To get more Lisa visit: www.meltingbeforeyoureyes.blogspot.com.

Ode to My New House

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Melanie Hooyenga

New house, I love thee.
Every arch and creaky step
Whispers "Welcome home."

Tumbling down the stairs,
I remind myself how much
I love you, new house.

Windows that won’t budge
In the grip of August’s heat
Test my new-found love.

The cobweb-covered
Basement tests this love further,
But my love stays strong.

I have my life’s dream
And won’t let this love falter.
(At least ‘til it snows.)

Melanie Hooyenga is a graphic designer by day and Haiku-writing fool while stopped at red lights (good thing they’re short). She has a neglected haiku blog, Hoo Can Haiku, which features the talents of several Ermas. She recently bought her first home and is chronicling her adventures in first-time home-ownership at melaniehoo.com/hoosblog. You can also follow her randomness at @melaniehoo.

Bag-For-A-Buck Romance Book-ku

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Terri Coop

It's no secret that I like going to book sales.

Sometimes you find the raw material for dreams.

Many thanks to literary agent Janet Reid and her outrageous book poetry contest.

Terri Lynn Coop would give the local library $10 a year just to be able to go in and look at the books. It's way better when they let her bring her handtruck and take a bunch home. She is a practical dreamer who writes articles about everything from law to the history of pink fuzzy dice when not hacking away at her novel.

Kitchen ‘Ku-Boom

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Mon, 13 Aug 2012 13:19:00 +0000

by Beth Bartlett

Fire extinguisher

Tops off the soufflé with foam

Mmmmm, creamy goodness.

Helpful kitchen tip:

Burned cookies make great trivets

And they last for years.

Summer Refrain

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Fri, 10 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Sara Spock

sprinkler soaks a sun-

drenched lawn while muddy feet squish

blades between their toes

eyes sparkle through paths

of forest shade while grubby

fingers reach for slugs

ice cream melts down a

dimpled chin while sugar highs

crash through toddler brains

~Sara Spock is a Mom, Wife, Penn State Graduate, Substitute Teacher, Freelance Writer, and Chocolate Addict. When she’s not reveling in the summer-time highs and lows, Sara can be found over at The Hero Complex where she tries to save the world, one. recipe. at. a. time.

August Haikus

noreply@blogger.com (Angie) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

By Jason Tudor

Life

Down the dark canal

Caught by friendly waiting hands

Yea! It’s my birthday!

Signs

In roars the lion

Thunderous gold jungle king

But you’re a Pisces

Hot

Fickle summer’s touch

Parches throats, scorches thin skin

Stay a bit longer?

Domestic Bliss

noreply@blogger.com (Stacey Graham) — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 13:00:00 +0000

by Carole Lee

Coffee can empty

Stale cereal, and no milk

Going back to bed

Filtered H₂O

Personalized “Fido” dish

Drinks from toilet

Sweep, mop, wash, dry, fold

Pick up doggie toys (again)

How much do maids charge?

Fire alarm sounding

Smoke and charred remains brought forth

Supper is ready

Shuffle off to bed

Snuggle up with pillow talk

Notice spouse snoring