She's making a list...

I am a rabid list maker.

Well, at least, I used to be.

When I was working a full-time plus job and trying to maintain a house and, oh yeah, raise a couple of kids in my spare time, my life revolved around lists.  Lists at work, lists at home, lists of things to do, lists of people to talk to, lists of things to buy, lists of things to get rid of, lists of places to go, lists, lists, lists...

Over the past year as I've adjusted to a much different, slower-paced life, I've gotten out of the habit.

Oh, I still use my cool Grocery Pal app on my iPhone for my grocery list, but really, that's about all.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled - literally - over some fabric that I had purchased nearly a year ago with the intention of recovering my dining room chairs.  In a sudden fit of inspiration, I decided to do it RIGHT THEN.  And I did.  And they look great. And it took me all of an afternoon to complete.

So why had put it off for so long?

Who knows?

Probably some mixture of a) it wasn't a priority b) it was something I wanted to do; therefore it took a back seat to the kids and their everyday wants and needs  c) nobody really cares about the dining room chairs except me and d) it wasn't ON A LIST so I could MARK IT OFF and feel a great sense of accomplishment.

When I was done with my little project, though, I DID feel a great sense of accomplishment, and I realized that is something that has been missing from my life lately.

So I decided to start up with the list making again.  I'm definitely a person who functions better with a timeline, a deadline, and a specific goal in mind.

I'm still working out some of the details.  Where will my list be? Will it be on my blog? My iPhone? The back of a napkin? How will I measure success? Will I keep one master list or will I divide it into categories like personal, house stuff, etc?

My friend Dianna uses the 3 in 30 approach to accomplishing her goals, and I'll admit that I'm intrigued by that concept.  However, since most of my goals are grand projects that require one black of time, I'm not sure how that would work.

But for now, I'm going to start with this:

MJ's To-Do List:
  1.  Create List

I'm just gonna start there and see where it leads me.

Vietnamese Pancakes. A secret family recipe.

When I think of comfort food, I think of mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits, cornbread and potato soup, and chocolate pudding made with graham crackers, as God intended.

When RJ thinks of comfort food, he thinks of spring rolls, whole fish cooked WITH THE HEADS STILL ON, and these Vietnamese pancakes.

He has mentioned them a time or twenty over the years, so last week when I saw RJ's mom, I took the opportunity to ask her for the recipe.

Hmmm.

Then I came home and Googled it, and came up with these.

RJ said they are "almost" like what his mom made.

The boys and I LOVED them.

That's close enough to authentic for me.

Do you like how my fancy Vietnamese food is plopped down right in the middle of zj's Spiderman plate? Yeah, me too.

WHAT YOU NEED:
1 can of coconut milk
1 cup rice flour (you can find this at any Asian food store, or in the gluten-free section of the grocery)
3 green onions
1 1/2 tablespoons curry powder

1 1/2 cup cooked pork tenderloin meat, sliced and chopped into matchstick-sized pieces
1 1/2 cup of bean sprouts, washed and dried
1 medium white or yellow onion, cut into pieces similar in shape and size to the sprouts and pork

Vegetable or canola oil for frying


WHAT YOU DO:
Pour the coconut milk, rice flour, green onions and curry powder in your food processor or blender and blend it up for a couple minutes.  The consistency you're going for is a thick pancake batter.  If it's too thick to pour, add a couple tablespoons of water then give it whirl in the food processor again.  Set the batter aside.

It a skillet over medium heat, add a teaspoon of oil,  the pork, bean sprouts, and the onion.  Saute it, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent.  Remove the meat mixture from the skillet and wipe out any remaining residue.

Add another teaspoon of oil to the skillet and put it back over medium heat.  This next bit is sort of an art.  Add enough of the batter to cover the bottom of the skillet, swirling it around for even coverage like you would with say a really thin omelet or a crepe.  If you were making an omelet or a crepe.  Which you're not.  But still, like that.  Cook it about 3 minutes on that side, then gently flip it over with a spatula, praying all the while it does not fall to absolute pieces like my first three did.  After you'e flipped it, spoon some of the meat/sprout/onion mixture over half of the pancake - think omelet again - and wait 2-3 minutes for the bottom side to cook.  Fold it over and serve it immediately.

These were simple to make - after I got the whole frying/folding/flipping deal down, and they were yummy.  This recipe made 6 pancakes, but it would be easy to double it for more.

This is probably the second-best thing I've ever gotten from my mother-in-law :-)

An open letter to the lady I was rude to in Wal-Mart.

Dear Lady,

First, I'd like to thank you for taking SUCH an interest in my little family.

Yes, I'll agree with you - I have two very cute boys.  And yes, they have a LOT of energy.

How wonderful for all of us that we were able to cross paths down EVERY SINGLE AISLE, even when I went out of my way to try to avoid you.

Also, I'l like to take a moment to thank you properly for all the unsolicited parenting advice you had to offer.  Clearly your wisdom in raising children knows no bounds!  I think it's a wonderful thing that your boys -spirited little scamps at that age! - were able to calm right down when given a little task or chore to help their grocery-shopping Mama out.  How wonderful for you that having your boys pick out which pork-n-beans to buy - one big can or two little ones, Mama? - made them into such well-mannered little children while you shopped, but I'm afraid my boys, one of whom I cannot catch and who has knocked down three displays and two people, and the other of whom is strapped into the cart, throwing his entire body violently backwards and yelling "HELP! HELP!" at the top of his voice in an effort to extract himself from the cart, may be beyond the "choosing which marshmallows to buy" stage.  But you're right.  It's excellent advice.  I'll certainly consider trying that next time we shop.  Which, of course won't be HERE, because I'm pretty sure we're going to be asked to leave and never come back if zj breaks anything else...

Anyway, is that your son with you, all grown up now?  How wonderful that he takes time out of his busy day to take his Mama to the grocery.  Such respect!  Oh, he's not that busy because he still lives at home in your basement, is unemployed, and spends his day looking at porn on the internet and playing World of Warcraft?  Well, still, it's nice of him to bring you out.

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to you for acting so rude and snappish after I was nice to you for the first 15 times you butted in and I'd also like to apologize for telling your to mind your own damn business.  We're in this together, you and I.  Raising boys is a tough business sometimes, and I certainly shouldn't have snapped at someone who was so CLEARLY on my side.  I was just a little stressed out at that moment, trying to get the bottle of syrup out of cj's hand, since he had somehow managed to open it, and to try to catch zj before he ran into the elderly gentleman with the walker and oxygen tank again. 

You understand, right?

And surely you forgive me.

We Mamas of boys have to stick together.

Frozen Chambord Margaritas to get your weekend started off right.

A few weeks ago while doing important work on my computer - which is also known as wasting hours of my life on Pinterest,  I came across a recipe for Chambord Margaritas.  I thought I pinned it to my "Recipes I want to try" board.  See, RJ LOVES Chambord, but I've never been a huge fan.  However, I've never met a margarita I didn't like.  It was definitely a win-win situation.

When I came back a few days later to print it out, it wasn't there.

I searched for it, but could never find it, so I did what all resourceful rednecks who need to get their drink on do - I made one up, partly from memory and partly based on what tasted good.

It was definitely a keeper.

It also got both me and RJ drunk faster than anything I've had since that one hooch party in college.

Either we're getting older and can't hold our liquor any more, or this stuff is potent.

I'll let you decide.

WHAT YOU NEED:
1 can of frozen limeade
Good tequila, but not GREAT tequila.  If you use Cuervo 1800 or better, I don't think it will ever freeze up like it should.  But you probably won't care, so whatever...
Triple Sec
Chambord
2 tablespoons of sugar, or more to taste
juice from 3 limes
Water

WHAT YOU DO:
Get a big freezer-safe bowl, one that you won't mind being out of commission and in your freezer for a while.  Open the limeade and pour it in.  Using the now-empty limeade can, fill it up with tequila, then pour that in.  Now, using the limeade can (see a theme here?), fill it up with a mixture of Chambord and Triple Sec that is to your liking.  I did about half and half; next time I'll probably up the Chambord and cut back the Triple Sec just a smidge.  Add that to the bowl, then add the lime juice and sugar, and three cans of water, and whisk it all up until it's blended.  Taste it to be sure you like it, then put it in the freezer.

Check back on it every couple hours to stir it, and to make sure it still tastes good.  It took about 6 hours in the freezer for mine to get to a good slushy consistency.

Scoop it into glasses, serve it with a lime wedge and/or in a sugar-rimmed glass.

Drink it, then either a) go to bed immediately or b) dance with a lampshade on your head.

I know which option I prefer.

A picture's worth a thousand words, Part 2.

Welcome back to the Post That Will Never End, AKA Shit that's hanging on my walls.

If you missed the first installment, you can read it here.

Ok, here we go.


2004-2005: RJ and I made up, remarried, and built a house.  Whew.  Busy, busy.  We had lots of new rooms and therefore lots of blank walls to decorate.  Our painters thought we were insane because there isn't a white wall in the place, and after it was all said and done, we used 11 different paint colors.

I thought it was bright and cheerful.

Not everyone agreed.

But still, artwork was needed.  

The dining room, which was painted bright yellow, lent itself easily to bright, abstract, yellow artwork.

The downstairs half-bath, a beautiful turquoise color (that our painter asked us no less than 1,492 times if we were SURE about) was decorated with a piece of stained glass that was a gift from my Sis B:

And then it was time to find some large pieces for the living room.

RJ and I had decided on main elements for the room: soft gray walls, red leather couches, a gorgeous black distressed entertainment center we had gotten for cheap because of a defect in the door, and we set off to Old Time Pottery with those things in mind. 

I'm not sure where it went wrong.  We had been shopping in Old Time Pottery for about 11 hours and had yet to make any decisions when RJ took a seat in a rocking chair - $109 on sale - and told me to come back for him when I was done shopping.  A brief argument ensued, and finally I deferred to RJ's decisions:

What that says about me: SEE?  I CAN COMPROMISE. Dammit.

2006-2009:  In 2006 zj was born, and it changed our lives forever in all the usual ways.  For my first Mother's Day, zj (and I believe RJ might have had a little something to do with it as well) got me a fancy new camera - a Nikon D50.  Although I had no real idea how to use it, I have learned one very important thing - if you take enough pictures, a few of them will turn out great, just by default.

What that says about me:  Look!  I can create life!  I will immortalize this miracle and hang it on every available space in my home!  This will prove that I am the best Mama ever!

2006:  This was the year that we began the Great Basement Finishing Project, which is also known as How to Get Taken By a Variety of Contractors and Now I Don't Have Anything To Show For It Except  This Riding Lawnmower Some Guy Gave Us So We Wouldn't Call The Police On Him For Running Off With Our Money. I don't talk about it much - it was a dark time.  Anyway, we finally found a reputable contractor to do the basics, did a lot of the finishing work ourselves, and our basement playspace was born, complete with a full bar, big tv, slot machine and arcade.  The artwork leans toward early drunk, with a side of old music.

What that says about me:  I can still be all hip and cool. I know I'm a Mama now, but that hasn't changed me.  I still know how to party.  Also, I had more money than taste.

2010-present:  Zj started to get, ya know, opinions. And have his own likes and stuff.  Sorta ridiculous, but I guess it was bound to happen.  Sigh.  Slowly, starting in his bedroom and now creeping into the common areas of the house, we have superhero themed artwork.  Some of these are cheapo posters, but some, purchased by RJ from various collectors, is original artwork, signed and numbered and the whole bit.  Oy.

What that says about me:  Clearly, the children are winning.  It's three two against one, but I'm not going down without a fight.

2011:  I discovered running.  I love to run.  Running makes me feel strong in ways that nothing ever has before.  I can't imagine ever not running.  To commemorate the road races RJ and I have done, I started this wall behind my treadmill:  

  

The top has race memorabilia like medals, posters and finisher's certificates.  The bottom has all our race bibs from all the races we've  run in.  It's my goal to fill the whole wall up by the time I'm 40.

What this says about me:  I'm obsessive in ways that I cannot even begin to try to describe to you.

Ok, that's it.  I'm out of walls. If I hang anything else up, I'm going to have to take something down, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do that, because of the crazy that lives in my brain.

Now I'm going to have to live vicariously though you guys.

What kinds of things do you have hanging on your walls, and what do they say about you?

A picture's worth a thousand words. Lucky for you, I have both. Part one of a two part series.

I hate blank walls.

My obsessive personality is such that I see a blank spot an a wall as a challenge.  I HAVE to find the perfect thing to fill the emptiness.  I have been this way for as long as I remember.

I also subscribe to the thought that the things you surround yourself with are a reflection of who you are, your personality, and what's happening in your life.

Here is a timeline of what my artwork has said about me over the years.

Pre-1992: During my elementary and high school years, my tastes ran toward posters of cute kittens, calendars of Chippendales dancers, and framed pictures of teddy bears wearing lace.

What that says about me:  Oh, come on.  You were 16 once, too.  What did you expect?  

1993: RJ and I got married for the first time and were gifted with these from his Mother:

They have hung on our bedroom wall ever since at least during the times we had a bedroom that was, you know, together.  At some point along the way, I learned the shiny parts were possibly made from snail shells, which freaked me out a little.  Still, they are quite lovely.

What that says about me:  I'm terrified of RJ's Mother. Duh. 

1994-1995: We were living in a little ramshackle apartment over top a grocery store where cable was free, money was tight, and decorating the lovely feather-painted mauve walls was NOT a priority.  I don't remember much about what we had hanging up on the walls - except a gigantic poster of Elvis - at the time, but I do remember we spent all our wedding money on some particle-board bookcases instead of on this little start-up stock we were looking at... called Amazon.  Worst. Decision. Ever.

What that says about me: I have poor financial planning skills and my love for the King will never change.


1996-1998: This was the first of many "art-acquisition" phases.  We had moved to a slightly less crappy apartment, money was slightly less tight, and aside from the Elvis poster which still hangs in my house today and the snail-art, the walls were painfully bare.  We shopped around for things we could agree on, and discovered our love for Disney sericels - Mickey Mouse to be specific, with an occasional Fox & The Hound thrown in for good measure.  I mean, after all, they were LIMITED and therefore INVESTMENT pieces.

When we moved to our current home, these (and the million more like them) started out in zj's room and when he started to get opinions, moved to cj's room, where they will stay.  Forever.  Sorry, baby, we're out of rooms to move them to.

What that says about me:  I had more money than taste.  

During the same time frame, RJ and I both became interested in J.W. Waterhouse, specifically his mythological series.  I paid an exorbitant amount of money framing picture as a gift for RJ:

But that was ok, because I knew I would always get to enjoy it, too.  Now, fast forward a year to our break-up, during which I got custody of the cats and RJ got custody of the Waterhouse.  So I did what any crazy person would do.  I got my own, identical except for the slight variation in the frame.

Both of these pictures now hang on opposite walls in our library.

What that says about me:  I have no flippin' clue.  But RJ and I also ended up with matching lamps, matching silverware, and matching dishes, all purchased while we were divorced.  I like to file this little tidbit into the "Stuff I Can't Think About Too Much Or My Head Will Explode" category.


1999-2001: At this point, I was a young, single girl living on my own for the first time ever, and EXPRESSING myself became very important.  Aside from the 496 journals I spent hours drunkenly writing MEANINGFUL quotations in, my biggest takeaway from this time was my love of black and white photography.  Since I didn't have two pennies to rub together, I began to frame (in Dollar Store frames) random things I had ripped out of magazines.

What that says about me:  I'm resourceful.  Also, I overuse the word "MEANINGFUL."

One day while walking through some sort of flea market/antique store kind of place with my friend Natalie, I happened on a picture that struck me in a way a piece of art never had before.  It was a black & white photo (of course) of a woman sitting on the porch of a ramshackle house with laundry strung all around.  It was titled "Monday Morning."  I had never wanted any THING so badly in my life. Sadly, the price (maybe $75?) was way out of my price range, so after visiting it over and over during our time in the store, I walked away without it.

That year for Christmas I unwrapped my present from Natalie to find this:

Today it hangs in a spot in my house that I pass a million times a day, and I stop from time to time just to look at it.  It's still my very favorite piece of art.

What that says about me:  I don't make friends easily, but the ones I have are keepers.

2002-2003: I moved from my crappy little single -girl rental house to a slightly less crappy single-girl rental house in a different city.  I had just received a a big promotion with a small raise, I was footloose and fancy free, and I was starting a new chapter in my life or so I thought.  The overall mood for me at the time was "whimsical" and my decorating choices definitely reflected that.

What that says about me: I have the tastes of a 12 year old girl, and I'm comfortable with that.


Join me next time as I walk you through the past eight years in J artwork.  It's a tale fraught with danger, intrigue, love and loss.

Or at least with pictures of shit I have hanging on my walls.

Perfect Fried Green Tomatoes. You're Welcome.

When I was a kid, we always had a garden.

I grew up on a farm, and I remember the rows and rows and rows of corn, tomatoes, squash, watermelons, green beans, onions, lettuce...

A typical meal might be green beans and new potatoes, corn on the cob, fried green tomatoes, and cornbread.

Yum.

I could still eat like that every day of my life and be perfectly happy.

Well, except for the days I want Hibachi.  We didn't have that on the farm.

Since I made the transition from farm girl to full-fledged SUV driving, capri-pant wearing, cookie-baking suburban Mama, I've tried a couple times to grow some vegetables.

The first time I planted two tomato plants that were promptly eaten by squirrels.

The second time I tried to create my own version of raised beds in some old tires and thought I might have something going on there until wild blackberry bushes grew up all around them and I couldn't get to them for several months and forgot all about them till the fall when the bushes died and I found one giant mutant squash that was bigger than the tire it was growing out of.

Suburbia, my ass.  It's a jungle out there.

I've given up - for now.

Now I buy my fresh vegetables from an old guy with no teeth and no shirt who sets up a stand on the side of the road and charges $5 for three tomatoes but it's totally worth it and I forgive him because he always has mums for cheap in the fall, and since I kill plant several of those every year it's a fair trade-off.

Well, except the part where he doesn't wear a shirt.  Ain't nothin' fair about old-guy belly.

Anyway, I stopped the other day and got some green tomatoes, and came home ready to cook and eat them all.

Except I'm apparently a failure in the kitchen.  I was out of flour.  And cornmeal.  Both of which I needed.

So anyway, I embraced my inner farm girl and did what we do best - I improvised, I used what I had, and I succeeded.

These were by far the best fried green tomatoes I had ever made.

WHAT YOU NEED:
2-3 green tomatoes
1 box Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix
1/2 cup Bisquick
1 1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
a couple dashes paprika (ok, you don't really need this, but it gives the whole recipe a certain "I have lived in the world and met a spice that is not salt" flair, doncha think?)
Canola oil for frying

WHAT YOU DO:
Slice the tomatoes and put them into a bowl.   There is a definite art form to this.  I prefer my green tomatoes sliced somewhere in the 1/4 inch thick range.  Any thinner, they burn.  Any thicker, they don't soften enough in the middle.  Use a ruler if you have to.  Or not.  After your tomatoes are sliced, cover them with water and add 1 teaspoon of salt.  Let them sit for at least 30 minutes to an hour.  Sometimes I do this step a day ahead.  You can cover them and put them in the fridge, then they're ready whenever you want.

After your tomatoes are finished soaking in the salt water, mix the corn muffin mix, Bisquick, salt, pepper and paprika in a gallon sized ziplock bag.  Drain the tomatoes and shake off the excess water, then toss 'em all in the bag and give 'em a good shake or three, till they are all coated.   Take them out and lay them on a baking sheet or similar, and let them sit for at least 20 minutes.  There is probably some scientific reaction happening at this point, but all I know is if you skip this step and go straight to frying, all your breading will fall off in the oil.

After at least 20 minutes, heat your 1/2 inch of oil over medium heat in a deep skillet, then fry them up, a single layer at a time, until they are golden brown.

Drain on paper towels.

Eat them, fresh out of the skillet while standing over the sink, between two slices of white bread like God intended.

No, really. I'm pretty sure it's in the Bible somewhere.

The pick-up fail. With Fresh lemon scent.

I went to a funeral a few weeks ago.

And as is befitting a funeral, I combed my hair, dutifully applied tasteful make-up, and wore something that was NOT yoga pants or ripped up cut off blue jeans.

I looked HAWT, y'all.  In a totally appropriate funeral-going kind of way, that is.

Anyway, after the funeral was over, I took full advantage of the fact that my kids were at the sitter's and ran some errands.  Because we all know that taking your kids to the grocery is something that should be avoided at all possible costs.  Right?

So anyway, I'm in Wal-Mart (I know, I know) totally minding my own business and trying to select floor cleaner - see, I have these lovely dark hardwood floors that are quite possibly the most difficult thing in the world to keep clean.  They were perfectly lovely for the two adults (me and RJ) who picked them out, but sorta a bad call for ALL THESE CHILDREN AND THEIR EVER-LOVING CRUMBS.  WHERE DO ALL THE CRUMBS COME FROM!?!?!?!  WHERE?!?!!?

Ok.  Whew.  I'm back.

ANYWAY, as I'm standing there, minding my own business, looking at the floor cleaner, out of the corner of my eye, I see somebody come up beside me to look at floor cleaner, too.

I did the glance-backward-move-sideways-slight-smile-no-eye-contact thing that is common in these situations, and continued my search for this:

which is the only floor cleaner that makes a dent in my dirt situation, for some reason.  For some other reason - like apparently the universe hates me - it is difficult to find.  

Then, over my shoulder I hear "Excuse me."

And then again, "Excuse me."

So I turned around to see a fairly tall military guy beside me.  Honestly, that's all I remember about what he looked like.  After a blue million years of working a retail job, I learned to pick two totally non-offensive characteristics to by which to identify random people who are asking you for help.  Red haired woman, blue scarf.  Teenage boy, red t-shirt.  Tall guy, wearing a military uniform.  

I carefully avoided all eye contact, staring at the mops past his left shoulder instead.

"Yes?" I replied.

He smiled.

"I was wondering which of these is the best," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the cleaners I had been staring at so intently just moments before.

So I did what all good former retail clerks who don't and never have worked at that store or sold that particular item do.  I began to ask questions.  

"What kind of floor is it?  Hardwood? Vinyl? Tile? What have you used before?  Why didn't it work for you? What kind of mop do you use? Do you prefer a scented or an unscented cleaner?"

I continued to ask questions and offer advice on each brand.

"Now, I've used this brand before and I like it, it does a pretty good job on my tile, but it's NOT for hardwood.  And this one has a weird smell that I don't particularly like.  And I think it's highway robbery to pay this much for this one..." 

And on, and on, and on.

At some point, his smile began to fade and his eyes began to glaze over just a little bit.

I decided to make my exit.

"Well, good luck getting your floors clean." Awkward laugh.  "I've got to run now."

At this point he was just looking sort of dazed and sort of shaking his head, but still holding on to the bottle of cleaner I had recommended.  

I grabbed up two bottles of my favorite cleaner and headed toward the front to pay.

I walked on, congratulating myself for being such a good citizen.  I'm so helpful!

Right before I rounded the corner, I glanced back, just to see the soldier guy put back the floor cleaner and walk away without buying anything.

BLAM!

Lightbulb moment.

He didn't care about floor cleaner.

He was just trying to start a conversation with me.

GASP!

And me, a married woman.

He was totally wasting my precious kid-free minutes.

Well, fine, then.

Serves him right if his floors are streaky forevermore.

I can think of few fates worse than that.

"With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility."

The title of this blog post is a quote from Peter Parker's (aka Spiderman's) Uncle Ben.  If you don't know what any of that means, you just might want to move along now...


This is how it started.

RJ came home from his weekly visit to the local comic book shop all a-glow.

RJ:  "Guess what I just bought?"

Me: Oh, shit. "Uh, what, honey?"

RJ: "Well, this guy who works there had a bunch of comic book figures for sale and he was really short on cash and he gave me a great deal."

Me: "How many did you buy?"

RJ: Looking dumbfounded that I would have to ask. "Well, I bought them all, of course."

Use your imagination and insert some words here: passive-aggressive drivel from me about "finding a place for them SOMEWHERE" and super-cajoling "But they're really cool!  And a good INVESTMENT!" from RJ, until a compromise was reached.  I would sell them all on eBay, return the initial blue-gazallion dollar investment to RJ, and  pocket the profits as my own, to buy vodka, wine and cute shoes with.


Easy-peasy, no?

Uh, no.

Because when I saw the boxes and boxes of things that looked like this:

It's kinda possible that my head blew completely off and I seriously considered tossing the entire lot in the trash, "investment" be damned and I was unsure where to begin.

See, in case you were unaware of this, in order to sell things to comic book geeks online, you must be able to correctly identify them.  And not only must you be able to identify them, you must know what if they're a variant,  or possibly a limited edition or what series they were part of.  Oh. Dear. Lord.  I could get as far as naming some of the figures.  I knew Ironman, and Wolverine, and even some more obscure ones like Apocalypse and Blob.

But this guy (and a million more like him)?

Not a flippin' clue.

Zj just happened to wander by as I was Googling "red and purple guy with spikes" - don't ever do that, by the way - and muttering under my breath about investments-my-ass, and yelled "Mama!  Where did you get that cool Onslaught figure?"

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Suddenly all the hours I basically ignored zj and let him watch YouTube videos of comics book figures while I was busy playing on Twitter were going to pay off!

He grabbed it from me and started to talk about things like the details of the spine, and the "rotation and articulation of the torso," whatever the hell THAT meant.

So I put his little ass to work.

Several hours later - hey, I feed and clothe the kid, it seemed like a small price to pay on his part - we had correctly identified many of the figures, and my eBay store was exploding with what could only be described as a Geek-gasm of epic proportions.

And when it was all said and done, I saw that it was going to be a breeze to recoup the initial "investment" with plenty of wine-fund money left over for me.

I paid zj for his time in random figures.

And I don't think he minded one bit.