Chicken pot pie

HFGBC is slacking lately at posting.  We've been busy having fun!  Some pics will be posted soon.  In the meantime, someone asked me awhile back for my chicken pot pie recipe.  You can find it here.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly...

So, when I had already avoided work long enough with facebook and blogstalking, I decided it was time to write up another hilarious blog post, but I couldn't decide what to write about. Then, SHAZAAM! It hit me! What do I love moaning and groaning about more than my Dad's love of spreadsheets and hunger? The awesome hideousness that is my body. And so, since I'm into lists all Letterman-style, my top 3 list of sh*t I hate about my body was born.


1) Ass Bangs – if you are Asian, feel free to skip ahead to the next item on the list, as your people were born with glorious thick hair on your heads, and no hair anywhere else. PS – I hate you damn hairless Asians! I, however, come from some white trash sharecropper stock straight outta Mississippi, and being of this questionable ethnic pedigree, I am hairy like a straight-up monkey. Now, twenty years ago, this item would not have existed, as ladies were allowed to just let nature run its own show downstairs and dudes just had to deal. But nowadays, since we have to take care of our ladybusiness all Swank magazine-style (read: nearly/completely bare down there) ass bangs were born. Not sure what an ass bang is? Fade in: you just shaved/waxed your business but accidentally maybe on purpose due to it being a harrowing task didn’t put your big ole bootie up to look at it in a mirror to determine that yes indeedy there is hair back there. Guess what? You’ve got ass bangs. Could explain why that super cute dude you did it with all carefree and Carrie Bradshaw-style didn't call the next day, or ever. This could be a bonafide PSA for those of you who have remained blissfully unaware of all that goes on back there, but I assure you if you haven’t taken care of that business, you got yourself some ass bangs. You’re welcome.

2) Stache/lady beard – self-explanatory. And for those of you who are not Asian but are sitting there thinking innocently, “I don’t have a stache,” think again. After doing God only knows how many people’s makeup over the years (you may recall my God-given skillz), I can testify that almost EVERYONE has some amount of stache that needs to be taken care of with waxing, laser, electrolysis, etc. If you still don’t believe me, look closer. And closer still. Boom! Told ya you had a stache!

3) Cankles – as I have expressed before, I come by these babies honest. My crazy mom has cankles. My beloved sociopathic grandmother (RIP) had cankles. And I’m pretty sure my share-croppin’ great grandmother had her some sweet share-croppin’ cankles. All you can do is try to minimize the appearance of these using techniques akin to those I use in my special ass camo. See my previous post if you don’t remember. I would provide a link, but that would just encourage you to be lazy. Other options for subterfuge include, but are not limited to: giant wedge heels (so high that maybe if you are running across the street drunk off jello shots pushing a stroller you may fall down and break your toe in such a hideous fashion that the memory of said toe “haunts my dreams,” according to one former child model who shall remain nameless); wide leg pants, so wide in fact that you could be accused of wearing palazzo pants; and ridiculously bright, dark, or glittery toenail polish (the theory here is that if the passerby is mesmerized by your toenails, he’ll hardly have time to look at your cankles); and last but certainly not least; long-ass prairie skirts that make me look like a Pentecostal or possibly a Mennonite (but a Pentecostal/Mennonite with small, delicate (read: completely hidden) ankles).

Popozao!

Loco Locals

It is very easy to tell who is local in Singapore and who are Expats.

This is a local or as I like to call them LOCO LOCALS.  Seriously, this picture was taken at Universal Studios on a Sunday afternoon.  One would have to be crazy to walk around an amusement park all day in that get up.  I know most of you who read this blog have not been to Singapore but this is very typical dress no matter where you are or what you are doing...ie walking your dog, strolling the shops or markets, touring the zoo.  You get the picture.

1.  Keep in mind it is HOT all the time, yet she wears long pants AKA capris.
2.  Long perfectly groomed hair.  Seriously, why is it not in a pony!
3.  10 inch heels...did I mention this is at Universal Studios?  Lots of walking about outside in the sweltering heat.
4.  Pushing a double pram AKA stroller for you westerners, with a fashionable tote slung over her shoulder.  I forgot to mention that the pram has only 1 kid in it so there is LOTS of storage space for the tote but yet her outfit would not be complete if the bag were not on her shoulder.
5.  Her face is hidden as I am trying to protect her identity but she had full make up on.

Here is an Expat...

1.  ponytail...check
2.  tennis shoes for all the walking...check
3.  white t shirt with sleeves pushed up and shorts because it is super hot...check
4.  canvas tote...check
5.  big sun glasses to hide the fact there is not a drop of makeup on my face...check

I will say the local looks 100 times better but I survived the day in comfort.  Lets face it I did not go to Universal Studios to walk the runway.  I went to cart 3 kids around in the hot Singapore sun so we could check it off our list of things to do while in Singapore.

Maybe if I stay here long enough I will start strutting around in 5 inch heels and full make up on everyday...not likely but you never know.

Top Ten Sweet D Quotes of All Time

Okay, so I am not sure if David Letterman still does those top ten lists because I am in bed before he comes on because I am old and infirm. I do; however, remember laughing my a$$ off at those lists in the 80s. I even had a book with all the lists in them that I liked to read all the time to distract me from the horror that was my childhood. So, in honor of that, I present my very own top ten list of awesome sh*t Sweet D says. Keep in mind, I am his mother, so when he says, "I love you, mama," I pretty much lose my sh*t, but I am trying my best to give only the greatest hits, all objective-like.

Here goes:

10. "Wanna race? Never mind."

Context: anytime SD is riding his trike down the street and some other people (children or grown-ups) approach, he pedals really fast and screams this at them. Genius, obvi.

9. "She will look like a big ole oompa loompa if she wear flats all the time."

Context: he is quoting what I had just told my Dad after complaining about my feet hurting in heels. Loves how he quotes me all the time. Clearly, I love the sh*t I say best of all.

8. "I have two imagination friends. Their names are Flapjack and Skeleton."

Context: none. He just told me this out of the blue.

7. "This Daddy's song."

Context: upon hearing "Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell. Nice.

6. "Candy rains down from the sky. And who doesn't like candy??"

Context: SD said this all indignant-like when describing the homecoming parade. As in, what kind of an idiot wouldn't want to be where candy is raining down from the sky?? Duh.

5. "Hey mama, I just pooped on the porch."

Context: self-explanatory. He just decided to pull down his pants and poop on our back porch. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And for those of you who don't know, we do have two working toilets - RICH!

4. "Oh nap! Got bump-it!"

Context: again quoting me, as we drove by Walgreens, where the day before he had heard me scream "oh snap, they got bump-its!" when I saw that Walgreens was now carrying the miracle hair accessory that was formerly only available on TV.

3. "I am thank you for my penis."

Context: on Thanksgiving, when we asked him to tell us what he is thankful for, this is what he came up with.

2. "Mama, I poop my mouf."

Context: he threw up in his bed, and having never thrown up before, he was just making his best guess as to what happened.

1. "Mama, you smell like cocktails."

Context: after hugging me on a Friday evening (aka happy hour goes all night), he said this. I have no words.

Enjoy!

White Christmas Chili = Awesome!!!

I originally got this from Southern Living about 5 years ago and make it every year when it gets cold outside. It is delicious!!!!

4 chicken breast, diced
5 cups H2O
1 large onion, chopped
2 Tbls butter
3-4 celery ribs, chopped
4 (16 oz) Northern beans, rinsed
3 (4.5 oz) green chilies
2 cups chicken broth
1-2 tsp cumin
2 bay leaves
1 tsp salt
1/8 tsp cayenne
cilantro, tortilla chips and monterey jack cheese for garnish

Saute the onion and celery in the butter. Boil the chicken in the water and chicken broth for about 8 minutes and start adding the rest of the ingredients minus 2 cans of great nothern beans. Blend the last two cans of beans and stir in. I simmer it for about 30 minutes and it is awesome!!!

From 5 to 6

Don't know if you have heard yet...our family has expanded from 5 to 6 while we have been away!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I only hope 6 will return to Texas but I am pretty sure it will be only 5.

Mom's Chicken with Dried Beef (aka Gonna make your man cream his jeans chicken)

Don't get mad at the title. I am still a classy lady, but I know all men love their meat and this dish has three different kinds of meat, and you know that meat makes your man crazy.

6 boneless chicken breasts
1/2 package of bacon
1 jar Hormel dried beef
1 can cream of mushroom
1/2 cup sherry or white wine

Preheat your oven to 300. I spray Pam in the bottom of the cassarole before I assemble this one. Cover the bottom of the cassarole in a layer of dried beef. Wrap the chicken in a piece of bacon and lay it on top of the beef. Spread undiluted soup over the chicken and sprinkle with pepper. Cover this in aluminum foil and bake for 2 hours. Remove the foil and add the 1/2 cup of sherry or wine and bake another 20-30 minutes at 350. I typically baste the chicken several times to keep it juicy.

This is the most delicious and EASY recipe!!! Oven temperatures vary, so I have done this faster, keep checking it. I serve it over rice, but you can put it with almost any side dish. Enjoy!

Halloween is huge in my neighborhood

Halloween is huge in my neighborhood. The front yards and porches are decorated weeks in advance. Cops direct traffic. And kids come in droves. There are literally thousands of trick-or-treaters.

As a result, you can get twenty years of experience handing out Halloween candy in one night. We have to invite people[1] over to help. Two benefactors “work” at a time – fifteen minute shifts. If you go any longer, you get cramps in your cheeks and shoulders. Your smile becomes plastered - like a four hour, single pose photo shoot. And the exchanges become forced and tired. As practice, repeat “Alright! Spider-man. Awesome. Happy Halloween.” 70 times in 15 minutes.

This year we handed out more than 3,000 pieces of candy. My father-in-law just happened to be in town last year for the first mistake-filled Halloween in our new house. So he kindly cut a deal with a “candy wholesaler”[2] and shipped us 40 pounds of sweets. In preparation, my husband and I had already bought over 1,000 pieces of candy during the early offseason.[3]

We thought my father-in-law’s candy contribution would be unneeded. We were wrong. There are six pieces of uneaten, wholesale “Kandy Aple Cheews” [sic] left. These KACs appear to have been manufactured somewhere deep in the third world. And for a very high profit margin. So we were hesitant to hand them out. When it became evident that they’d be needed, we drew straws[4] to see who would test them. I was sure the trail of discarded KACs leading back to our front porch would also lead potential plaintiffs directly to the source of their injury.

Matt (my husband) drew the short straw to test the candy. He said they were “surprisingly delicious – like a Sour Apple Jolly Rancher® injected into a caramel.” I suspected that this was a ruse. When he suggested that I try one, I KNEW it was a ruse. So I threw mine away. But since he did not cut his tongue or begin convulsing, we decided to hand them out. This gave us the necessary ammunition to stay out on the front porch and defend our homestead - from would-be trickers taking advantage of our lack of preparedness for their attack.[5] Standing out on the front porch without candy is worse than having the house destroyed. As practice, look your child in the eye and tell them “Sorry, no candy.” 70 times in 15 minutes.

So I’m sure you’re asking yourself, why we don’t board up the windows, turn off the porch light, turn on the alarm system and rope off the entire yard with police tape (some of our neighbors actually do this). Because believe it or not. It’s fun. If we locked ourselves in the house and turned off all the lights, I never would have heard, learned, listened to, or laughed at ....

Matt’s (my law school study partner) repartee with the treaters.

To every princess - “Love your hair. I hope you win.”

To every toddler superhero - Full origin histories, rankings on his list of all time faves and critiques on the accuracy of their costumes.

Matt: “Awesome. Spiderman.”
The kid: “I’m not Spiderman. I’m Peter Parker.”
Matt: “Then you need to take off your Spiderman mask.”
The kid: “Ok.” [timidly]

Matt: “Great Venom costume. But he doesn't carry a glow in the dark pirate sword and you need more muscles.”

To a Spiderman, Wolverine, Spiderman combo in succession.

Matt: “Spiderman. Great costume. Happy Halloween.”
Matt: “Wolverine. He’s my favorite. X-Men!”
[High Five after candy deposit]
Matt: “Did you hear what I said to the last kid?
[3rd kid nods]
Matt: “Good. Happy Halloween, Spiderman.”[6]

Nine different theories on who deserves “good” candy, “more” candy, “less” candy and who deserves KACs.

Some theories were more egalitarian. Matt (my husband) believes every treater gets two pieces of good candy until supplies run low. His friends would probably say this candy theory is a metaphor for his political beliefs and/or ignorance. But it would sound more like “Of course he does, that stupid hippie.”

Some were more merit based. My sister-in-law (MacKenzie) has a sliding scale of cuteness.

Substandard cuteness (most of the treaters) = 1 piece of nearby candy.
Cute = 1 piece of “good”[7] candy.
A cute toddler in a bedazzled animal costume = 2 handfuls of “good” candy and a piece of homemade fried chicken.

And some people were willing to start fights with treaters to defend their candy beliefs. Genevieve has a strongly held (and common) belief to minimize handouts to un-costumed teenagers. One such teenager tried to “double dip.” He came to me first. One KAC. He moved on to Gen and held open his CVS bag with a knowing smirk to Gen’s twitchless stare. He thought she would give in just to avoid conflict and keep the line moving. But he was wrong. When Gen put down the candy bowl and started to stand up, he quickly turned and left. He was still looking over his shoulder when he got to the sidewalk – making sure that she wasn’t coming after him. That kid probably peed on my bushes in the early morning hours of November 1st. But I’ll still log that as a win.

Now that I think about it, you should hand out Halloween candy with everyone you know. It’s like a social experiment.

Matt (my husband) after 8 beers.

One of the mothers was directing four children through the line. When one of hers got to the front of the line she’d say “[Insert Name] say ‘Trick or Treat’” then “[Insert Name] say ‘Thank You.’” The first three kids all obediently repeated her lines.

The last kid was taking his time. He was obviously in trouble for disobeying the commands at previous stops. But he still didn’t want to bend to his mother’s structured beg and curtsy. So he mumbled something under his breathe. My husband handed him his candy. And the kid sprinted off without saying thanks. His mother straightened up, pointed to the spot immediately in front of her feet and screamed down the street at him. “Get back here and say ‘Thank You’.”

From two houses down we could hear a faint “thank you”. My husband confidently yelled in response “You’re welcome, Yo Yo.” The mother doubled over in laughter, pointing over her shoulder and screaming to her friends “He called him Yo Yo.”

Apparently the child’s name was [eye – yo]. I have no idea how to spell it. But please feel free to call my husband Yo Yo the next time you see him.

The costumes.

Of course, this is the point. You pay the treaters with candy for entertainment. And we got more than our money's worth. Some inappropriate – mom wearing a sexy nurse costume (with thigh highs and stripper heels) while carrying her 3 month old baby (with a bottle in its mouth) around to trick or treat. Some bizarre – an entire sullen family in very authentic looking prison jumpers and the father in a warden costume. Tons of cute – babies and toddlers smiling ear to ear wearing animal costumes.

And some hilarious. Please understand that I am in no way making fun of this adorable little girl in the pictures below. Her parents knew the costume was funny. They intended it to be. And they were happy for her to pose for pictures. This is J Lo.

JLo and her chaperon now know the heavily guarded secret spices used in my husband’s legendary fried chicken. They never even smelled a KAC.

I can’t wait until next year.

[1] There were ten people holding the fort – Me (and if I drew the short straw I was going to make my husband do it anyway), Matt (my husband), my sister-in-law (MacKenzie), her husband (Aaron), my in laws (Nanny Presh and Orvis), Keith (one of our college friends who lives on a less trafficked nearby street), his wife (Genevieve), Matt (my study partner and good friend from law school) and his partner (Brendan). We were supplied with the aforementioned Halloween candy; 1 ½ cases of Miller Lite; two bottles of wine; 8 or so loose single, undesirable beers; a box of wine/2 liter of Fresca (read Granny’s Wine Spritzer); and two huge trays of my husband’s Legendary Fried Chicken.

[2] I asked my husband how my father-in-law knew a candy wholesaler and he just laughed. Do you think this “wholesaler” is selling candy door-to-door on oil rigs? I need answers.

[3] Offseason = discount. The candy may not be (is not) “fresh”. But we’re not eating it. While we did not buy this candy at Big Lots on November 1, 2009, we have learned some skills of thrift from Classy and her Dad.

[4] This was like the moment at the Alamo when they chose the person to ride out past the Mexican army to request reinforcements for fiftieth time. Of course, I’m not sure that this happened at the Alamo. All I know about the Alamo I learned during a field trip tour and I was more focused on which keepsake trinket I was going to buy at tour’s end. Now I should have learned this in school. But I paid little to no attention to Texas History in 7th grade. My teacher gave me a “0” on an assignment for failing to color in a Texas map the first week of class. So I tuned her out for the rest of the year. When she told the class that driving an American car was “patriotic”, I was sure she was a kook. And I felt reinforced in my decision to use this class time to teach myself how to skillfully use paint pens and bubble letters.

[5] Last year, we ran out of candy in an hour. So people assumed we were not home. Our front yard became the congregating place for people trying to get out of the swarm of humanity. The next morning, our yard was covered in candy wrappers, soda bottles, dirty diapers, baby bottles and teenage delinquent refuse (half-smoked butts, aged but fully wrapped condoms and Adderall).

[6] It should be noted here that Matt (my study partner) should automatically be cast into the Halloween Hall of Fame. Not only were these exchanges constant and original, his stamina was incredible. He pulled a triple shift without blinking an eye.

[7] No one disputed that “good” candy is name brand chocolate. Everything else is methadone for sugar junkies.

HFGBC Election Day Special: If the 2010 Texas Governor's Race Was Based Solely on Hair, I Think We All Know Who Would Win

I must start by saying that I don't know jack about politics. I don't care about politics, and since they are rarely covered on E! News Daily, I am scandalously uninformed. I do think that I hate politicians, because they all seem a little shady, and not the good/sexy kind of shady like my Dad or that Wes character on Urban Cowboy either. Thus, I generally keep my head into things I understand, like a Real World/Road Rules Challenge, or Brett Michael's Rock of Love.

Then along came this governor's race. Note that I use the term "governor's race" as opposed to the correct, "gubernatorial race." I will not use the term gubernatorial, and I may cut anyone who does. Don't judge. So what got me hooked this time were the ads. Now, if I learned anything in my 7th Grade Texas History class, which I know I did because it was taught by a gym coach, it is that the governor of Texas has no power and the real power in this state is held by the lieutenant governor. This has to do with the Civil War and possibly some carpetbagging yankees or something like that. The point being that we really shouldn't even care who the governor is because he's just a figurehead. But the ads, they are just so good. You see Rick Perry, and his rugged good looks and fabulously styled wings, looking like a super hot rancher in a Carhart jacket, and I'm like, now that's a governor I can really get behind. Then along comes poor, sad Bill White. He's got a great big ole bald head, some sweet-ass dumbo ears, and I don't even know what kind of jacket he's wearing, but it doesn't look at all hot Texas rancher-y. It looks more pencil-pushing computer nerd/IT guy at your work-y. Like this dude has a chance.


I guess the good news is that (hopefully) most Texans are far more informed than me and also make decisions not based on looks. Not to say Rick Perry isn't great, because I truly have no idea what he stands for, or what Bill White stands for either. I'm just saying that if this shit came down to hair Bill White's got no chance, cause I likes my figureheads covered with glorious feathered hair that has been carefully sprayed with some Consort Men's Hairspray.

You're Welcome, Rick Perry.

Runner's High: Only for People Who Have Never Actually Been High

As you all know, my Dad is super duper skinny/heroin chic/manorexic/frequently shirtless. How did he get this way? I say genetics (his grandmother was 6'1), he says exercise. Specifically, running. So, in an effort to lose lbs for my reunion, I took his advice for the first time in 20 years and started running. And by running I mean walking mainly and running for like 1.5 minutes at a time and then nearly passing out cold. I got some sweet plan off the internets that tells you how to run a 5K in like 30 days. First off, what the hell is a 5K? Last time I checked, we live in America, where the metric system was declared unconstitutional years ago. But anyway, I started following this 5K plan. Mind you, I have no intention of actually running an actual race, because I find grown-ups who race other grown-ups to be ridiculous. Don't even get me started on those f'ing 13.1 and 26.2 bumper stickers. I thought they were radio stations for like two years before I realized they are for runners to brag about how far they run. Gross. Seriously, if you run so long that your toenails fall off, you're f'ing bonkers and need professional help, not a bumper sticker. But back to the plan, you start off running like 1.5 minutes then walking some, then slowly increase the amount of running and decrease the amount of walking - you get the picture. So I come in all red-faced and sweaty, smelling like a bag of nacho cheese Doritos after my first "run," and I am seriously pissed. I feel like shit. Not in the least bit "high." So of course I scream at my Dad and start talking constantly about my runner's low. At which point he explains to me about endorphins or some other mumbo jumbo that this cult of runners like to perpetrate amongst themselves, and anyway I tune out and start reading a magazine. Leave it to some exercise fanatics to talk about something they have zero knowledge of - like being high. RUDE!

I am still running by the way. I look more like I am falling down and I have seen actual snails go faster than me, but I keep on trying. And needless to say, I am STILL NOT HIGH. I'll keep you posted if this changes, but I wouldn't hold your breath. Unless of course you come anywhere near me after one of my "runs."

Holla if you're 'bout ready for this sh*t to go VIRAL!!

So I have nothing of interest to say whatsoever, except the following:

1) Seriously, this blog needs to go viral (whatever the hell that means) so that I can make bank and quit working. Like forever. Oh, who am I kidding my Dad would make me work even if I won the Powerball. Regardless, let's take this sweet blog to the streets, because I wanna be a billionaire so frickin' bad.

2) I would like the record to reflect that I originally wrote a full-on bad word in the title of this post, then, remembering my classiness, put a classy-ass asterisk in instead of an "i". Two points in the classy collumn for Jill.

Peace out!

Get on board

Read it.
It's a trilogy.  I have only read the first one but will be getting the others stat!

I read it in 3 days.  But could have read it in one had my children all been in school.
It's a young adult book.  That means it is super CLASSY!

Get on board...you know you want to.
Movie slated for 2013.  I will be back by then, so I will begin planning the midnight showing.

 Holla!

Could this new series possibly replace Twilight?

How to be Classy

How to be Classy

from the article found - http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Classy

Being classy is not about being stuck up, it is about having style and taking care to be polite to others and to reflect a genuine interest in them. It is also about being confident in yourself. This article will teach you how to move through life with class and ease.

When you are done reading this article, you should know how to be classy, or: selfless, generous, compassionate and responsible.

 edit

Steps

.                1
Treat others the way you would want to be treated. The Golden Rule truly is a time honored guide for treating others with class. Giving others advance notice before cancelling dinner invitations, speaking up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, calling your parents to update them on yourself, checking in with friends; these are all simple gestures that demonstrate your class and authenticity. Ensure you choose friends who share your values.

HFGBC definitely honors step 1 as we have many, many email threads that show we are constantly checking in with each other.  Now if they are of relevance to anything important is clearly our business but everything is always discussed in a classy manner.

.                2
Choose your battles, choose your friends. Few battles are truly worth fighting. Stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves (the elderly, children, mentally disabled, etc.) Be wary of those who appear to enjoy bickering. If someone is rude to you, either ignore him or her completely or, once you have completely calmed down and are thinking clearly, explain how you perceived his or her actions and work towards a resolution. You can also treat them with polite disdain--be polite but let them subtly know that you don't appreciate what they are doing. Never stoop to their level, and do not be hasty. Surround yourself with positive, polite people who encourage and live your classy, intelligent lifestyle.

Thank god we encourage each other to live classy, intelligent lifestyles.

.                3
Choose your words. The classy individual listens more than he or she speaks. Having a strong vocabulary is important, but do not use a word unless you are certain of its meaning. Use words to express yourself clearly. Importantly, do not correct others when they use improper grammar. Differences in background, family life, and education cause people to speak differently, and people often use slang for effect. More than this, it is irritating and degrading to be corrected by a know-it-all.

What is slang?  We would never use such language.

.                4
Do not insult, gossip, or slander. When necessary, voice your opinions appropriately and constructively. This encourages your audience to listen carefully when you speak.

One of our best traits, don’t you think?

.                5
Be independent. You must be courteous, but do not bend over backwards to please others. If you do, you may find yourself being taken advantage of in the future. Limit your time and availability and draw boundaries with others so that they are aware of your limits.

We aim to please the members of our group exclusively.

.                6
Break the stereotype shackles. More often than not, using labels in any way, whether to identify yourself or others shows a lack of creativity, lethargic social skills, and a lack of careful observation. Give everyone respect and the benefit of doubt.

We are anything but lethargic when it comes to social skills.

.                7
Be assertive. Avoid passive-aggressive thinking; this is likely to trip you up eventually. Assertiveness demonstrates maturity, thoughtfulness, and confidence. Class requires balance, and assertiveness is a prime example of this concept.

What do you get when you put eight classy,  thoughtful and confident ladies together – HFGBC!

.                8
Define yourself with a clean and elegant look. Excellent presentation is half of the battle. Wear clothing and accessories, which flatter your body and never wear anything you feel uncomfortable in. It is important to remember that modesty is key in earning the respect of others. A bit of cleavage may be fashionable, but true gentlemen will appreciate modesty more than exposure.

Did you hear cleavage?

.                9
Avoid getting caught up in trends. There is nothing wrong with enjoying fashion or buying clothing you find attractive, but it is important to stay in control.

         Do not become a slave to fashion, or you may be regarded as foolish, "high maintenance", and/or shallow. The clothing you wear should enhance your personality, not create or alter it. This advice can be applied to many aspects of life in which you may feel pressured to "fit in."

It says it right here so I must go shopping to stay classy!

Are we on track ladies?

If I Could Sum Up What HFGBC Stands for in a Piece of Furniture, This Would Be that Piece of Furniture

Okay, so this post will be a little bit like when Jay Leno (who am I kidding, I am actually remembering Johnny Carson doing this because I am freaking old) would hold up some hilarious ad from some podunk newspaper where everything was spelled wrong or they accidentally wrote something like "sperms $40" instead of "perms $40". Clearly I am wheelchair old because I have mentioned Johnny Carson and PERMS in the same post. I guess I'll go watch the Golden Girls now.

Oh, here's the piece of furniture:

http:/ithaca.craigslist.org/fud/2000350920.html

Hilarious, right? It says CLASSY. Love it!!!