HampoLand

My Husbands A Chef So I Cook All The Time

Alex, my husband of almost twenty years is the  Executive Chef at Oaklawn Jockey Club, a historic throughbred racetrack.  On a good day he feeds five hundred day, on a bad day he has to process 7,000 pounds of corn beef and feed 20 thousand people.

Yesterday I called him, just to check up and say something encouraging. “Hey honey, what did you do today?”

“Luncheon for seventy five.” He sounds very grumpy.

“What did you fix?”

“Bourbon pecan chicken. They cleaned their plates”

“Hey, you’ve never fixed that for me.” He sighs. “So how do I make that?”

Bourbon, brown sugar,  beef stock, pecans, worcester, salt and pepper.”

“Ok, I got that, how much bourbon?”

“I used a fifth.”

“Damn, ok, how much am I gonna use, for six chicken breasts?”

“Ummm, half a cup will work, and the same about of brown sugar, two cups of beef broth.”

“What do I do with the chicken.”

He sighs again and I’m pretty sure I hear him roll his eyes, over the phone. “Season the hell out of it and grill.”

I kind of know what “season the hell out of it” means. Salt, pepper, cavenders and sage.

“Ok, I won’t fix it tonight, but maybe later in the week. Ok?”

“Sure, thanks. I love you honey. I’ve gotta go. It’s inventory week.”

So there you have it a fool proof and delicious Bourbon Pecan Chicken recipe from Chef Alex Hampo.

My husband is a chef, he’s been in the kitchen since he was seventeen.  the first question folks ask me when they hear I’m married to a chef is, “does he cook at home?”

“Hell no!” The last thing he wants to do when he gets home is cook. He barely wants to eat. He’ll cut the grass, maybe event fold laundry but don’t ask a chef to cook after a nine hour in the kitchen

When we were dating Alex wooed me with food. He cooked all the time, trying to impress me. But, like a woman who stops wearing make up and goes grocery shopping in sweats after she lands a husband, Alex knows he’s got me, so he doesn’t have to entrap me with his magical Cream of mushroom soup with brandy or Chicken Escoffier.

That’s alright thou, because I’m married to a chef I basically have a voice activated cook book.  I can ask him any question about food and he’s got an answer. Yeah, my husbands a chef so I cook all the time. You’re welcome to come over for dinner!

*Comment or write to me at hampoland@gmail.com. Thanks!

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BOOBS!!!

Very few body parts have as many nicknames as breasts, so hey must be important. We call our hands…hands, our shin is just a shin. But breasts are boobs, ta-tas, boobies, hooligans, the girls, the list goes on and on. Jugs and Hooters, wait, we love boobs so much we have restraunts dedicated to them.  No other body part can make that claim.
Yesterday I heard a program about breasts on NPR (figures, right?) and I learned some fascinating stuff.

Breast size in America has increased considerably in the past ten-twenty years. Double D used to be the largest size, now it’s something like Triple K. Still breast augmentation is the number one plastic surgery performed.  300,000 women get boob jobs every year!  But fake breasts only have a shelf  life of ten years!  I thought they lasted forever. But after ten years your supposed to have them checked out and maybe redone.

Little girls in America are getting breasts at a much younger age. 30 percent start showing up when they are just nine years old. There are several possible reasons for this early delivery. Lots of little girls are heavier now and if you are overweight you develop at a younger age. Chemicals, not just in our food, but in almost everything we touch may be to blame.  There is a chemical in most plastics that acts like a fake hormone.  It’s in our computer mouse, water bottles, car interiors. It’s pretty hard to avoid. And finally, girls who don’t live with two blood parents tend to develop earlier. I think that reason is really fascinating.

Breasts are considered organs and after the skin, they are most likely to get cancer.  It’s all that fat, just hanging around and absorbing toxins.

No pair of breasts are exactly the same size and generally the left is bigger than the right, but nobody knows why.

And finally,In Hong Kong, you can get a degree in Bra Studies from the Hong Kong Polytechnic University where they teach you how to design and build a bra.

In our house “nipple” is one of the funniest words you can say.  If you say “nipple, nipple, nipple” half my family rolls around giggling.  My husband wanted to name the cat “Nipple” but was voted down.

I think it’s great that so many men are dedicated to breasts. We have something they don’t and they love us for it. But guys, you still need to work on looking women in the eye instead of staring at cleavage when we are trying to tell you something really important. Thanks.

Comment or email me at hampoland@gmail.com!

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I Bought A 29 Dollar Bottle of Shampoo…what an idiot

Last Sunday morning I watched an infomercial, pulled out my credit card and paid 29 dollars for a bottle of shampoo.

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d seen the Wen commercial a hundred times before, how was I suddenly sucked into ordering Chaz Dean’s miracle shampoo. Did I have a brain tumor, was I huffing spray paint?

Well, the box arrived a few days later, I couldn’t wait to wash my hair because I was absolutely certain my hair would be luscious, think, full of body and shine.

One more time, what the hell was I thinking. Yes, the Wen pomegranate smelled great and made my hair feel pretty smooth while I was in the shower but once I got out and my locks dried….it was the same head of abused, medium length, yellow hair I had an hour earlier. Well how bout that.  I was expecting to have a glorious mane.

Lexie laughed at me, amazed I’d been sucked into buying a 29 dollar bottle of shampoo that would barely last us two weeks. I wasn’t mad, I was fascinated and kind of excited and inspired.  I work in sales and the fact a bunch of hair dressers from California could convince me I HAD to have their product was incredible. 

What is it I thought I was buying, I thought about the commercial.. what was I actually trying to buy? Sexy hair, youth, health,luxury and wealth…that’s the stuff I wanted, that’s how they got me to pull out my credit card. I wanted the shampoo would make me be 28 and beautiful again.  But it’s just freakin shampoo.

There’s a great lesson in this story though especially if you are in sales or fundraising.  You have to keep asking because you never know how things have changed since the last time you asked. If you are trying to raise money for neglected kids you may ask the same people  for a donation over and over and finally, on the 34th ask, they write you a check.  I might ask a client to advertise a dozen times before they sign the contract.  It’s all about tenacity. A brilliant sales coach, Neal Gladner told me this over and over but I never got it until I bought a stupid bottle of shampoo for 29 dollars!

I’m actually ok with my purchase. I don’t have the thick wavy tangle- free auburn hair I was hoping for, but I understand the importance of tenacity in sales…. And I got a free gift! A  black comb came free free with my purchase. It’s not a magic comb, it’s made of plastic and has thick teeth, but at least it was free and will probably last longer than the damn shampoo.

If you read this and know my husband. Please don’t tell him. I’ve already canceled the order. Thanks

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Dad Vs The Boyfriend…round one

Last night at a high school graduation I watched a gooey sweet  couple hold hands and hang all over each other. It was kind of gross but they were in heaven.

For almost a year the parents of both  kids trying to break them apart. They have been pitching a fit, drawing lines in the sand, demanding they not see each other.  But the more ultimatums and rules the parents made, the closer the kids became.   Because the parents created a Romeo and Juliet situation the couple fell even more deeply in love. Their relationship became an “us against the world” romantic Walgreen’s novel.

The truth is, if you pit yourself against love…you will lose almost all the time. 

This isn’t just true for parents.  If you have a friend who thinks they are in love and you try to make them see the truth, that  their honey is a super creep-o or a painfully weak and clingy creature they will dump your friendship in 8.3 seconds. 

Humans are hard-wired to choose love over everything else.  We all think our love is different and everyone else is wrong.  So parents, do not make your child choose between you and a new boyfriend.  Be creative, but don’t holster up for a Mexican show down. It’s almost impossible to stop the love train.  You simply can’t watch your child 24/7 . If your daughter thinks she’s in love with obnoxious skinny boy who lives on the wrong side of the tracks  she will find a way to be with him.

If you have a buddy who is in love, do not think your 26 years of friendship is more important than his two month love affair. It  just doesn’t work that way.

Remember when your daughter picks the boyfriend over the parents or your best friend picks the aging truck driver over you, IT”S NOT REALLY ABOUT YOU. They are not making bad decisions to drive your crazy. They are making bad decisions because love makes us all STUPID. They think it’s love, true love and they think you can’t possibly understand.

Humans are romantic fools….it’s just the way God made us.  So pat your 62 year old friend on the back and wish him good luck as he climbs into the $73,000 dollar Ferrari with the new 23 yer old bartender/girlfriend.

Maybe it will work out.

*Leave a comment or email me at hampoland@gmail.com. Tell me a story!

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Kick Fast and Keep The Faith

I’m not sure if it’s the human spirit or body I find so astonishing.

Last night I attended  Mary’s second college dance recital,modern, jazz and ballet. It was beautiful, joyous and a whole lot of fun. As we drove back to Hot Springs I thought about the athleticism of the evening. Then of course, I started thinking about our Taekwondo school.

Two years ago when our current instructor, Jim Robinson (a 53 year old sixth degree), bought out taekwondo school, I thought it was the end of my martial arts career. For ten years, the previous owner had pushed us to be powerful and brutal.

Jim Robinson’s style was nearly the polar opposite.  He insisted, even demanded, we be flexible, quick and fluid. He promised the power would come. And as he said over and over, if we weren’t quick enough to hit somebody, it didn’t matter how much power we had.

Being quick and flexible sounds like a brilliant idea unless you aren’t that way. Most of the teenagers in class are naturally quick and it was easier  for them to pick up speed. For anyone over the age of 40 it’s an entirely different situation.

The running joke about my spin heel kick has been, “Yeah, it’s beautiful but you can drink a cup of coffee before it lands.”

Though in his 50s, Jim Robinson is ridiculously quick and flexible. He’s gifted and works harder than everybody else. After watching countless martial artists, young and old, for 13 years, I’ve only seen one or two men who could match his speed. His kicks are blisteringly fast with razor like accuracy. I wanted  to be just a little like him, just a little bit. But doubted that was possible.

When he demonstrated a double and triple lead leg round kick, and said that’s what he wanted from us, I think I accidentally rolled my eyes. Yes, I could kick two or three times, but it’s wasn’t fast. Pretty but slow. However I could do one thing fast, I could get really really frustrated and embarrassed. Why was I so slow and lumbering after ten or eleven years of training? Night after night I cried in the car on the way home after class like a big chicken baby cheese cake.

Fast forward a year and a half.

Half a dozen times I wanted to quit but my pride and the kids wouldn’t let me, even though I was the oldest in the class by THIRTY YEARS. Night after night it’s just me and a bunch of awesome teenagers. Mr. Robinson has been pushing us all to kick fast. Kick low, kick high, kick fast.

Last week I was partnered with a sixteen year old yellow belt. Kicking drills, double round kicks, high and low, and suddenly this girl said, “whoa, you’re fast.”

“Who? Me?” I kicked again, to her knee then her face,  and I smiled. Yeah, I know it’s easy to impress a yellow belt but it still felt good. There was no “blistering” speed, it wasn’t a McNeeley or Robinson kick, it wasn’t even teenaged boy fast. But my kicks were 100 percent faster than they were 18 months ago.  I was stunned, I was better. How had that happened.

Everyday, I am am amazed by what we can accomplish if we simply refuse to quite. If we try to get better, at anything, we will. It’s simply a matter of showing up and trying…over and over and over again.

And it really helps if we surround ourselves with people who inspire, who push  and shove  and have unbreakable faith  we can all get better.

The secret is you can’t quit. And as my friend Amelia says, “just try to suck a little less everyday.”

Let me know what you think comment or e-mail hampoland@gmail.com

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Your Daughter’s New Friend Is A B*#ch

There is a terrible moment moment when your daughter introduces you to her new friend and you know, instantly, she’s a backstabber,a user and a bitch.

Her hand shake is fine, she is pretty and smiles. She has nice teeth. But you know because the ultra-developed mom radar starts pinging as though the Soviet Army is about to strike.

Your daughter doesn’t see it. She can’t feel that the bitch switch has been flipped and insists Heather is a sweetie and lots of fun and a good friend.

This is a sickening situation for any parent because we know this Heather, at some point, will become hateful. She’s one of those kids who tries to influence weaker students and if she can’t take over their life she starts trash talking. These girls are a nickel a dozen and every high school has pods of them.

This one, Heather, is not the traditional “mean girl” who owns the school. She’s a lot more manipulative. Boys suck up to her because she wears a lot of eye liner and that makes them think they will get some. Girls want her to like them because she’s got all the guys sniffing around.

You let her come over with several other girls, but you watch her very carefully. She’s good.  Her eye rolls are so subtle the other girls miss them.  Her sighs when somebody asks a silly question speak volumes. When one of the girls goes home early she starts making tiny comments that make the other girls, including your daughter, giggle. Then they bump against her and tell her to stop because they know what she is doing is wrong. Still, they are intrigues. Heather is choosing them over the other girl. She’s culling girls out.

In the car Heather tells you about her classes, she makes good grades but she says really disrespectful things about her teachers like, “Mr South is such a moron” and she makes comments about her parents that lead a mom to think they are shady. “They always stay out really late on Friday night” or “thanks for driving me home, my parents hate driving me anywhere.”

Then it really starts. Heather encourages girls to break up with their boyfriends. She tells them they  can do so much better. When the break up happens, she starts flirting, hard core, with the boy, saying, ”Well you broke up with him I figured you wouldn’t care.”

Eventually, Heather will have two or three allies, they are her body guards and comrades, who have fallen under the troll’s spell. She’s cut everyone else out because they started to see the evil bitch shining through like a red light. And if  girls are not on her side they have giant targets super glued to their backs.

You want to warn your daughter, you want to tell her exactly what kind of person Heather is and forbid their friendship. But that will not work. She will think you are wrong and old. Heather will become Romeo and you will loose. The best you can do is counsel your child when you see Heather doing something bitchy. Make sure she sees it too. I’m not very good at being subtle so I say stuff like, “Hey, if she’s talking ugly about Julie when she leaves, she’s probably talking about you guys too,” or “She rolls her eyes and sighs like she thinks she’s better than everyone else. Doesn’t that make you crazy?”

In saying this super obvious stuff I’m hoping my girls will see the train and jump off the tracks before it runs her over. And, if Heather has her way, and turns on your kid, the best you can do is help her regroup, figure out who her real friends are and start all over.  Try to reach out to the other girls who got hit by shrapnel And generally saying something really snarky makes everybody feel better like, “Honey, she’s got funny looking ears, fat ankles and she’ll never make it through college. You can do way better.”

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The “D” Word or Punching Depressed People In The Face

Once ever two months I have an epic battle with some sort of depression. I do believe it’s genetic. Generally, it’s pretty gross, but I get through the three days of mud slide brain activity by reminding myself it will end in a couple of days. It always does.

The stuff I get depressed about is absolutely legitimate. money, age, money, age, money, the cat has fleas, money, my kids are growing up, money, we haven’t been on a vacation in years and my car has over 200,000 miles. Wait, those are the same as money.

But last time as I rolled around in  my three days of self pity and Eeyore like gloom, I realized something remarkable. Almost all the words we use to describe depression and feelings related to depression, start with the letter “D”.

Down, Downtrodden,  Distraught, Disenchanted
Discouraged, Doomed Distressed, Desolate

Weird! Right?

Yes, I understand it has something to do with the “dis” prefix. Still, it’s a disproportionate number of “D” words. When you think of synonyms for happy they are all over the alphabet.

Thinking about  this strange list of words distracted me from my self-absorbed woe and I accidentally drove to my Taekwondo school instead of driving home. Once I was in the parking lot, I figured I might as well work out for an hour to burn of the Taco Bell I had for lunch. 

Of course, everyone knows, working out causes your body to release endorphins. For me, endophins act like Mike Tyson. In the first half of the first round my depression was on the ropes and then it was gone, on the matt, KOed.

So, next time you see me and I seem depressed, do me a favor. Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t offer to buy me a beer or listen to my problems, just tell me to go work out. You’ll be doing us all a favor.

*Talk to me. Leave a comment, find me on facebook or e-mail at hampoland@gmail.com

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I Feel So Sorry For Fergie…Really I Do

It’s rare that I feel sorry for uber hot women who make millions and millions of dollars. But I’m starting to feel a little sorry for Fergie of the Blackeyed Peas.

Yeah, I’m sitting at a little desk and pretty soon I’ll walk out and get in my little 2001 Nissan (with 212,000 miles pretty cool, right). But I’m worried about Fergie because her situation is  bleak.

Here’s the issue. Fergie is aging and it shows  Generally, white women, when compared to Asian, Hispanic and Black women, don’t age very well.  My mom used to say we had “cheap ten cent skin that didn’t last very long.”

 To make matters Fergie has to stand next to a couple of black men all the time.  They don’t age, they just get cooler and cooler.  Nobody knows or cares how old Will I Am is, and he wears so much bizarre stuff, we can’t really see his face. 

Will I Am is just the brilliant funky Blackeyed Peas dude. Fergie, on the other hand, is supposed to be “the hot one”, and from a distance she still is.  But white skin seems to crack faster than brown and black. It sucks but it’s the truth. When you look at publicity shots and their web site she looks just like she did five years ago because they can touch her up. But when you see her live or untouched photos it’s clear she’s aging like a normal woman.  Take a look at her neck.

Fergie is certainly much hotter than I am or I ever was, but she has thousands of people staring at her every day under bright lights and she’s not supposed to age. I’ve got four kids and a mortgage, people expect me to get old.

So, next time I’m in a group and I have to have my picture taken, I’m going to find a great big old white person. I’m sure as hell not gonna stand by the cool black dude.

*Leave me a comment, find me on facebook or email me at hampoland@gmail.com

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An Extreme Hampoland Day….Taekwondo to Hippsters

Some days swing from one extreme to another it’s almost comical in a bipolar kind of way. These manic days can be exhausting or exhilarating, it all depends on your minds set and attitude.

Yesterday Sandor an I drove four hours to a taekwondo tournament in Fort Smith Arkansas. For five hours we were intense and formal, enthusiastic, militaristic and jacked up on endorphins, adrynalyne and Mtn. Dew. Along with some of our best friends, we competed and cheered, barefooted, in heavily starched uniform. When Sandor punched a boy right  in the face three times, I couldn’t have been more proud or excited. (Yeah, I know how bizarre that sounds.)

We got home around five o’clock and my best buddy Amelia called. She wanted us to got to Low Key Arts and listen to a reggae   band, Tidal Waves, from Africa.

Three hours later the entire family stood in front of a stage, surrounded by old hippies and hippsters, swaying like willow trees. The dark warehouse turned musical venue was full of glow- in-the-dark hula hoops, laughing children and tie dye shirts. The band started late but they were old black reggae guys, what did I expect. I watched other people clap (mainly my daughter Lex) so I could keep the beat. I tried to dance a little but didn’t really move my feet because somebody convinced me 15 years ago that I looked stupid dancing so I haven’t tried since then.

(Side bar: Never ever tell someone they can’t dance. They might listen to you and never dance again. Then they lose one of the great free and natural pleasures of life and it’s your fault.)

It was a beautiful evening. But it was the exact opposite of our morning.   The Taekwondo tournament was all about discipline, training and competition The evening  spun like an abstract painting around spontaneity, creativity and freedom.

That night when I went to bed and dreamed  I was competing again, doing my second degree pattern, in  my  starched uniform, my  belt cinched perfectly, I kicked higher than I can in real life. Things were beautiful but something was different.   Bob Marley, the iconic reggae legand, was singing  No Woman No Cry and everyone was swaying in time.

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Muffin Top Reality

Breaking News About “THE MUFFIN TOP”.  First, understand I’m not talking about the yummy crusty top of a blue berry muffin. I’m talking about the roll of fat you see squirting over the top of girl’s pants. It’s not hot or sexy or cute, just kind of gross. And I’m not a man but I think a lot of guys would agree with me.

Well, I’ve figured out the cure for the muffin top. This is important stuff because we are all tired of looking at the squishy little  roll and you aren’t doing yourselves any favors by showing it off.

Idea #1. Buy bigger pants, Yes, I’m suggesting you by pants that actually fit your hips so they don’t squeeze the fat like a roll of toothpaste. Granted, pants that fit you won’t be as tight on your butt but you will, in the end, look much better. Another advantage…you’ll be able to breath, even while sitting down.

Idea #2 Get pants that are just high enough to cover the Muffin Top. I’m not saying you need to wear Mom Jeans with a four inch zipper, but if the pants came up just a little higher your muffin will stay inside your pants, where it belongs.

And finally #3 Lose a little weight, yes, I’m telling you to quit going to Sonic and McDonald’s everyday and chances are your Muffin Top will vanish.

That’s it, my ground breaking, earth shattering Muffin Top news. I was at the Mall today when this revelation came to me. Good luck.

This is a reprint from last year because I went to the Mall today and thought it necessary)

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