It's freakin' COLD outside!

Here is a mediocre pic of Da' Beaver - Hubby and I are in one of the Atlantic City touristy ripoffs; a "rolling chair" - but it was worth the $ because it was raining that night at the boardwalk. We are outside of Caesar's, about to indulge in our fabulous dinner at The Continental.

I look like I'm being swallowed by a bear...I also look bloated enough to float out to sea. That is what you get with 3 nights of continuous restaurant meals and a plentiful flow of liquor.

When I visited my parents at Thanksgiving, my mother sent me back to the frozen tundra of Illinois with a furry little gift: a full-length beaver coat that she never had the opportunity to use very often. When she first offered, I thought of refusing but then I realized that 1.) it is "recycling" 2.) it is "natural"/organic 3.) in my climate, it is a completely practical garment 4.) the only other coats that keep me warm in a Chicago winter are DOWN-filled - which is just another form of dead creatures.

Anyway, besides being warm and comfortable, this coat is pretty fantastic-looking, perhaps a bit over-the-top, but it is now in regular rotation, whether I'm going out for dinner or to the supermarket.

I had it on when I went to pick up my weekly Host-on-the-run order at Church. I ran into none other than Father Steve, who immediatley got up from his desk chair, strolled over to me and began stroking the sleeve and cooing, "Ooooooooh!" in apparent admiration.

Yesterday, I attended a lecture and meeting for the Ministry of Care. As the attendees filled the room, it was apparent I'd have to give up the extra chair on which I had draped my woolly mammoth of a coat, so I placed it across a sofa in the hallway for the duration of the event.

As I was leaving, Father Steve was ambling down the staircase from the office and called out to me, laughing, "Oh, was that YOUR rat fur on the couch? If I knew it was yours, I would have put it on and worn it in the hall for you!"

I replied, blushing, "Rat fur?! This is no rat fur, although I am too embrassed to tell you what it is!"

He grabbed my hand, and somehow we got all entwined together as we broke into in a fit of laughter, and he confidently responded, "Oh I KNOW what it is, you don't need to tell me!"

We both turned beet red and continued giggling.

"Oh, there are sooooo many jokes, soooo many jokes," I offered, wiping away a tear.

So now you know: don't be shocked if you ever hear a priest remark to a woman, "Nice beaver."

I spent my evening spanking, digging, cramp-rolling and brushing. I paid for the opprtunity to do so...and will repeat this effort for 7 more weeks.

No, its not Trent Reznor's House of Horrors. I enrolled in an ADULT TAP DANCE class!

I haven't tapped since 6th grade, when tap and ballet were part of my private school cirriculum. I have wanted to take this class for fitness and FUN benefits for quite awhile but there always seemed to be "something else" going on Thursday nights.

I finally got my chance and was pleased that only 3 of the women in the group were "experienced" tappers; the rest of us were beginners or re-starters (like me.)

No joke, but I think my deodorant quit halfway through the class. Even though I was the youngest in the class (I'd say the median age is 50) I was SWEATING and my ass and calves were burning.

Watch out Savion Glover, I'm gonna be bringing da' noise, bringing da' funk (or at least my stanky armpits will be bringing the funk this week!)

I saw this graphic on The Daily Show and giggled myself breathless. My husband, sisters, and friend Dennis will know why:

Now that I am on the Stewardship Council at Church, I attend monthly meetings with the rest of the crew, most of whom are quite friendly, interesting folks.

The person closest in age to me is a fellow named Carl who, despite his beard and mustache, could easily be considered separated at birth from "Niles" from Frasier due to his seemingly erudite nature and refined manner.

Carl generously and painstakingly prepared authentic Irish Coffees for the entire council, complete with the "right" glass vessel for each, plus caramel biscuits to accompany the beverage. He even made WHIPPED CREAM from scratch with a nitrous-cartridge dispenser and then sprinkled cocoa atop its foamy goodness. Needless to say, it was delicious, and we all loosened up and had a fruitful meeting.

Clearly the Big Guy approved of our venture into whiskey land: as it turned out, our devotional study/discussion was none other than the Wedding Feast At Cannan - where Jesus turned water in to wine!

We made it official: from here forward, we will have some kind of fancy boozy concoction served at each Council meeting. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirits, AMEN!

Macaroons!

That is all for now.

Likely our most "unique" evening in Atlantic City was spent in the space-age, trance-dance accomodations of The Continental - a NJ outpost of Steven Starr's concept restaurant empire. Surprisingly the service was FANTASTIC (I was expecting alot of attitude) and we were treated to a semi-private booth, complete with bubble windows and plush velour banquet seating.

If you take time to click the link above, you'll take note of the mondo-retro "fire pit" seating area in the front of the restaurant. Beyond this area and to the right you walk through a Logan's Run-era automated sliding glass door and into a second room of booths that look like 1960's automobile bench seats, complete with headrests! Then further into the joint, is a lounge highlighted with a rainbo-lit plexiglass chandelier, and accented with lavender mood lighting around the walls. We were offered this very sexy booth as I had noted when I made the reservation that we were celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary (ok, so maybe we were celebrating 6 months early but the hostess didn't need that much detail...)

The food is wonderful - not intimidating, but unique and delightful. Its more or less a "tapas" concept, sharing small plates of delicious and familiar items put together in a very new way. Some of our faves: White Truffle Mac 'n Cheese, Buffalo Chicken Meatballs, Kobe Sliders (mini Kobe beef cheeseburgers.) The sound system pumped out groovy beats and the cocktails kept flowing. Needless to say, the heady mix of rich food and exotic drinks neccesitated antacids and advil later that evening but nontheless it was a magical night.



I cannot help but think that this restaurant must be the modern-day equivalent of the infamous Gobbler, minus the hotel accomodation. 

..I was recovering from giving birth to my daughter - yep, my lil' gal turned 7 today!

We went out to dinner (she chose the restaurant, naturally) and inundated her with gifts from Justice, Hannah Anderson, Barnes & Noble, American Girl (Santa brought Felicity & Elisabeth; now we get to buy their accessories!) and some Game Boy cartridges.

You'd think that having a birthday so close to Christmas would mean a pretty dry gift haul, but somehow my kid manages to clean up every year...

If Santa's sleigh lets him down, maybe he can hitch a ride in our GMC Savanna...

Speaking of which , we are heading back East on Wednesday for not only yuletide gatherings but also a mini-vacation for hubby and me at not one but TWO, count 'em, TWO AC Casinos. We played like lunatics over the summer on slot machines. Luckily there is the delayed payoff of comp hotel nights - which we are gladly using after we drop the kiddo and the dogs off with my parents.

 I'm excited about my first "away just with my 'date' trip" SINCE MY HONEYMOON. Yeah, its been that long - almost 10 YEARS! So our first night will be at one of my favorites, the off-boardwalk HARRAHS. Then we head for two nights at the Tropicana which used to be a dump but has reinvented itself with expansion that includes "The Quarter" - a shopping/spa/entertainment/dining complex that juts off the boardwalk and has served the Trop well in bringing in a younger clientele.

My mom, who is "hooked up" with those in the know of Atlantic City nightlife, secured us hard-to-get reservations at the (in)famous hidden gem, Chef Vola. I described this restaurant to a friend as a sort of "speakeasy for foodies, minus the booze." I doubt any other description could be more apt. You have to KNOW someone who is an established patron there to serve as a "reference" for you. It is cash only, and there is no sign anywhere on its residential street to tell you that in the basement of a classic yet unremarkable Atlantic City home lies a culinary paradise for invited guests.

Its BYOB which is cool because despite the heady menu prices, the tab is usualy reasonable due to no fancy martini drinks - and accompanying taxes - on it.

The worst mistake you can make is passing up the seafood or steaks for pasta. The pasta is just fine...but its really better as a side dish than entree; since many items at Chef Vola are served "family style" (like the salads, and veggie sides) my guess is that the pasta is also more of a side, as well. Since i have seafod allegie s( *sigh*) I cannot partake of the crabcakes, of which my husband is particularly fond. For certain, the desserts - all homemade and quite unique - are unbalieveable - I will go low-carb again after the new year! Best of all, it is about a block from the Trop so we can booze it up with our own wine and walk back to the hotel to gamble away what we didn't spend on Broccoli Rabe and Lemon Cello.

Have a Merry Christmas, everyone!