And Then My Entire Family Was Nearly Killed By a Possessed Chicken Bone

I let my family cook for me. I am very generous that way. Also, we all know how often I cook. Have you seen my cooking blog?

So I come home from my parents' house every week with various freezer containers full of the usuals - Mom's chicken noodle soup, Mom's potato soup, Mom's spaghetti. Occasionally I will get things from other family members too such as Dad's pea soup, Dad's chili, Dad's stew that I thought was spaghetti sauce because it wasn't labeled that turned out to be a wonderful surprise.  Then I also get my brother's take on things that typically includes chicken soup with too much dill. Although the last one he sent had a note taped to it that said "Less dill. More love." Awww. He's single, ladies.

The other day I went searching for something to eat when B disappointingly ignored my SOS text about dinner and ATE WITHOUT ME.  I grabbed a contained marked "Soup for Lonnie" and remembered my Mom sent me chicken soup she had made up for someone else that never got to pick it up. Then I defrosted it, warmed it and ate it.

Then I almost died.

Contained in the soup was a chicken bone. A large one actually, which is how I found it in my mouth.*  I removed it, threw it in the trash, and sent my Mom an email entitled "Were you trying to kill Lonnie?"  She responded by asking me if I was okay, going on to ask if the bone gave it extra flavor, and then blaming my brother. He's still single, ladies.

Fast forward two days later and as I am walking through the kitchen I notice something in Jersey's mouth, I make her give it to me and it is THAT DAMN CHICKEN BONE! What the heck? I KNOW I threw that thing out.  Another email to my mother insisting she was trying to kill my entire family resulted in this response:

Good grief! Is that chicken bone possessed? Put it in a plastic bag and bring it to my house so I can get rid of that devil!

I am not sure what good putting it in a plastic bag would have done. It just gives me visions of Jersey with a plastic bag with a chicken bone in it hanging out of her mouth. I am also not sure what a proper disposal is.  Kind of scared to ask, actually.

I decided not to pass on the possessed chicken bone to another house for the fear that everyone would soon find it in their mouths, or their dog's mouth, or their fish's mouth. Definitely not their chicken's mouths though, people. They are not cannibals!

Only one possession per family, please.

On a side note, after I sent my Mom this blog post about a staple in Jorge's dog's stomach, my Mom sent the me the following email:

See, you could have blogged and showed the chicken bone in Jersey's tummy and made her a star. But, no....you take it away from her and call ME an attempted murderess.

My family has its priorities you know.

*My Mom is a good cook and she never ever has bones in her soup. This was a freak accident.**

**Ditto my brother. Feel free to snap him up, ladies.

Crime Watch Wednesday - Where There's Fire, There's Toast?

source

This week's Crime Watch Wednesday proves the old adage "where there is smoke, there is fire" is totally wrong.

Police reported to the scene of a house fire to discover it was just a person that burned some toast.

I love the simplicity of this one.  The reader is left to wonder who called the police? Why did they call the police and not the fire department? Was there actually smoke or just the smell of something burning?  How did the police determine it was just toast? Did it involve breaking down doors?  I would like to believe it happened like this:

Dispatch: Officers get to 123 Lane Avenue STAT - the place is ON FIRE!

Police: We are not the fire department.

Dispatch: Don't argue with me! It is an EMERGENCY!!

Police: What are we supposed to do when we get there? Shoot the fire?

Dispatch: EMERGENCY!!!

{upon arriving at the scene}

Officer 1: I don't see a fire.

Officer 2: It smells like something is burning.

Officer 1: It smells like breakfast.

Officer 1: Mmmmm...breakfast.

{upon arriving at the front door}

Owner: Can I help you?

Officer 2: Something is burning.

Officer 1: We were told there is a fire.

Officer 2: It smells like something is burning.

Owner: Um, I burnt some toast?

Officer 1: Mmmmm....breakfast

I should totally be a movie writer. Or a sitcom writer.

True story - yesterday I got to the office and saw a huge amount of people milling around the front of the building and around the elevators. Double the amount of people you find standing there when the elevator is broke.  Somehow this only seemed mildly odd to me.  I heard rumblings of "false alarm." Then I ran into our receptionist who informed me the building had just been evacuated minutes before.  Why you ask? 

Someone burnt toast on the fifth floor.

It's an epidemic, people.  Lock up your bread!

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same While Changing

Remember when I said I was thinking up new and exciting things for the blog? Well, I really wasn't referencing this blog. I decided to start a second blog. You know, because I have so much free time on my hands and all. The focus of my other blog is cooking. Or lack thereof. Long time readers know that I have had a few adventures in cooking, one that ended up with an ER trip. Hopefully that won't be repeated on the new blog. I am excited to start a cooking journey. So, please, check out the new pad. The link is on the top left under the aptly named "My Other Blog" section. And if you have tips, recipes, thoughts, ideas, please share.

As for here? Well I decided to change the layout and even made my own header. And by making my own header, I mean I found a header and added those words. Of course that only took me about 3 hours since I had to find a free paint program for Mac, then learn said program, and then finish it. Yes, all you website designers can rest easy. Your jobs are safe. Same for HTML people. Wait. Isn't that the same thing? What do I know? I am no doctor.

I am also going to try to post more often on this blog. I had grand plans to get some posts done in advance. Then I got sick. You know what sucks? Getting sick. You know what is worse? Getting sick while out of the office for the holidays. There should be a law against that. But the ultimate in worseness? STILL being sick when you have to go back to work on Monday. Damn you little germs and viruses.

That's it for now. Stay tuned tomorrow to meet Vicky.

And here's pictures of a really awesome sunset we had recently. Well, in November, but whatever. The pictures don't do it justice.

Crime Watch Wednesday: Some Like It Hot

This week's crime watch chronicles highlights our town's finest performing their duties for this town's dumbest:

Police were called for a possible LOS. (That's Left On Stove for all of you non-policemen out there). A woman on her way home from the bar called to say she thought she might have left the stove on and wanted the police to check it out. Despite the insanity of her request and despite the fact that HOURS had passed since she left the stove on, the police responded to the call. An officer was dispatched to the home. Upon an inspection through a window, and having seen (a) the house still standing, and (b) no smoke or flames, the officer CALLED the lady back and gave her the update.

You see, I don't believe this was part of the "Getting to Know Your Neighborhood" package we received when we first moved in. How was I supposed to know that you could contact the police to check to see if you left your stove on? Or that the police would kindly call you back while you are on your way back from the bar so you wouldn't have to fret and could concentrate on attempting to drive sober although you are really wasted. The police better hope we do not have a large closed head/traumatic brain injury population or they will never have a moment's peace. They are known for leaving stoves on left and right.*

Speaking of which, I could have used their assistance on more than one occasion recently, the police that is. If you will recall, the stove that came with our house is from 1952 - the Ropermatic. It is a gas stove with a gas leak. We only just recently replaced it. Safety first, people! Or, in our case, like fourteenth. Anyway, before replacing it, there was quite the procedure to ensure we were not being infused with noxious gas on a regular basis. First, the gas had to be turned off after every use. The routine would be turn gas on, light the burner (Yes you had to manually light it! Hello - it is 1952 in our kitchen! You also had to wear an apron and heels. B looked so cute). When you were done you were supposed to turn the gas off first so that you could see all the flame went out before you turned off the burner, thus making sure no extra gas escaped. Sound easy? Maybe it was, but really not the point. There has been more than one occasion in which I did not comply with said rules.

One day B came home and asked me to come downstairs. I was super excited thinking he had brought me a present. For being wonderful, you know.

B: Come down here.

Me: YAY! Presents {insert clapping}

B: What? Just come down here.

Me: Well, I don't like the tone your voice has taken.

Upon arriving downstairs:

B: Notice anything unusual around here?

Me: {looking around} Well, I don't see any presents, that's for sure!

B: Why would there be presents?

Me: The real question is why AREN'T there presents?

B: DO YOU SEE ANYTHING UNUSUAL AROUND HERE?????

Me: no.

B: Really? NOTHING?

Me: um, NO.

Apparently I was completely oblivious to the burner that was STILL BURNING on the stove. Flames and everything.** I told B it had only been on for 5 minutes, but really it was 15. I am sure B thinks it was 30.

Do you think the police would come if I called them from upstairs to see if the stove was on?

"The call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE"***

*I may have a brain injury.

**Then there was the time I just left the gas on but turned off the burner. B accused me of trying to kill him. Good thing he doesn't smoke...

***Can you name that scary movie during this Halloween week?

****I write about fire a lot, don't I?

A Deal is Made and No One is The Wiser

No one was around when the stranger quietly approached me with an earnest look on her face:

Girl: Do you have any extra?

Me: I may have a few. How many do you need? One, two...?

I was hoping it wasn't more than that. I was very protective of my stash.

Girl: Just one.

Girl: I can't get my hands on any.

Me: What value do you have there?

Girl: Seventeen.

Me: I have just what you need.

Girl: Are you sure?

Me: Trust me.

With a slight flick of my wrist, a transfer was made. I commented about how it seemed so shady. We were whispering after all. She laughed heartily and said "I won't tell, if you don't."

I then steered my cart toward the bakeware while I pondered how many 20% off coupons I would need for my purchase.

Piss and Pine? Sounds Like a Candy...

After having just eaten at our new favorite Thai place in the 'hood, which is almost identical to the old Thai place in the last 'hood (what luck!), B and I walked to the car. B remarked at how incredibly yummy his candy was from the restaurant. I asked what it was and he said "something with Asian writing on the wrapper." Sounds logical.

As we got in the car, I noted that something smelled, well, WRONG.

Me: It smells weird in here.

B: What do you mean?

Me: It smells strange. Like someone pissed in here. Or like a tree or something.

B: Like a tree?

Me: Yes, a sappy tree. Tree sap.

B: You mean a pine?

Me: I don't know what kind of tree saps.

B: Pine trees have sap.

Me: Now that you mention it, it smells like pine in here. Pine and piss.

B: Do you think it is my candy?

It was his candy. How he ever thought something that SMELLED like pine and piss tasted great is beyond me.

Passing the No Gall Bladder Test, One Food at a Time

So far, these are the foods my body has found acceptable to process post gall bladder removal:

Honey Nut Cheerios

Saltines

Healthy Choice meal

Tapioca pudding

Mom's potato soup

Taste testing done. My diet is complete.

I Just Got Out of the Hospital, Of Course I Want Some Beer

Last night I decided to make tacos. This time, however, instead of calling B and asking him to pick up all of the ingredients, I took the time to go to the store myself. Passing up the first grocery store that I deemed to have crazy people based on who I saw going in and out, I settled on the grocery store near our house. Yep, no crazy people there.

After getting duped into putting two quarters into the parking meter (it said 50 cents for an hour which sounded like a deal - too bad I was only there for 15 minutes), I went into the store and quickly got the meat and the cheese and headed to the express line. You know it is never express.

As I put my stuff on the conveyor belt, I notice that the guy in front of me seems to be wearing a hospital bracelet. You know those plastic things they slap on you as soon as you are admitted and that B rips off the moment we are past those sliding doors? [Side note - I can never get those damn things off without scissors. B must have brute strength.] So, I take a closer look at the guy's arm and clearly see the name of a hospital. Then I look at his items - a six pack of beer, a steak and a pot roast. That man is on a mission. Not sure what he was in the hospital for, but if it has anything to do with his diet, he is headed right back in.

After my observation, the guy turned to me and made nice comments about my reusable grocery bag and just like that I forgave him for his craziness. I am easy like that. Compliments go a long way. Instead I focused on the reason that we were still waiting in line - the lady in front of us. She had the cashier weighing her cookies. Her cookies that came in a prepackaged bag like Famous Amos or something. It said 14 oz on the bag but she did not believe it. And do you think our cashier knew how to weigh something? No. And do you think our cashier was going to cater to this woman's every whim? Yes. One manager later and the lady was told that, indeed, the cookies weighed 14 oz. She harrumphed (is that a word?), grumbled something about 93 cents per ounce (there was no way she was paying $13.00 for those cookies) and bought the cookies anyhow. Way to make a stand.

Meanwhile hospital guy is looking at me like "can you believe this lady?" I give him the look that says "no, I CANNOT and I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXPRESS LINE!" We have a moment.

Until a moment later when his things have been totaled and he then decides to pull out his checkbook. And then ask three times how much it cost. Then lament about the fact that he is spending $22.11 (yes I memorized it) on beer and beef. Then ask again how much it was. Then ask what the date is. Then VERY slowly tell the cashier that he is making the check for $20.00 over to get the cash back. Now I cannot even look at him because I know my face will scream "I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS - I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXPRESS LINE AND WHY WEREN'T YOU FILLING OUT THAT CHECK WHILE WE ARE WAITING ON THE COOKIE LADY." So instead I make a blank face.

And a manager comes over because the cashier does not know how to deal with the check. Then the man decides he wants a paper bag for his stuff that is already in plastic bags "To save the environment," he says while looking over at me.

We do not have a moment.

I am easy, but not that easy.

Ah! Finally...Corn

You know what is much easier than slicing open your finger while opening a can of corn? Buying frozen corn and nuking it for 4 minutes. Yummy, quick and bloodless. Frozen vegetables shall always be my friend.

I *am* a chef in the making.

Special thanks to all of you that suggested that last year after reading about my mishap. It took a while, but I listened. Meanwhile, I have only opened one can of corn since then. Blood free, but nerve wracking.

Just Another Day in the Office

Scene: Me, J and D in the office kitchen. J sets down a small tupperware bowl on the counter near me. It contains oatmeal, a hard boiled egg and raisins:

Me: Is that your breakfast?

J: Part of it. I had a smoothie earlier.

D: Is that oatmeal, a hard boiled egg and raisins?

Me: No! That is a nest and a bird is going to pop out of there anytime.

D: When is this supposed to happen?

J: Early spring

Me: Listen, we are going to be filming it and broadcasting it on Office TV so we can all watch and eagerly anticipate this happening. Like nature TV.

D: We aren’t relying on the groundhog for this are we?

Me: No! We can NEVER rely on the groundhog, that bastard!

C having walked right into this conversation: I learn more in this kitchen then I do anywhere else {and then leaves}

J: I hope this is a hard boiled egg, I just grabbed one out of the fridge. Isn’t there a spinning test for that?

Me: I don’t know about a spinning test but there should be some kind of test. Maybe putting it in a glass of water?

J: And if it floats it is hard boiled…or is it if it sinks?

Me: Actually I think the water test is to tell if uncooked eggs are still good so I am not sure that will help you out.

J: Here goes {squeezing egg which causes pieces of shell to fly everywhere}

Me: {making total girly gasping squealing sound}

P having walked into the end of this conversation shouts: Wait! Spin it!

Too late.

There was a spinning test after all. Who knew? If your egg spins, it is hard boiled. If it wobbles, it is not.

If it is sitting in a bed of oatmeal, it will look like a nest.

Would You Like a Shell With That?

Recently, realizing that I had quite a few taco kits in our pantry at home and thinking that B might like some tacos after having to put up with chicken the past couple of weeks, I sent him a text to see if he could pick up some fixings. A short while later I got a call from B:

B: What kind of text was that?

Me: What do you mean?

B: "If you pick up beef, shredded cheese and lettuce, we can have tacos tonight."

Me: Yes...

B: What else is left? The shells??

Me: Yes, and the spices, both of which we have in the pantry

B: So basically you want me to pick up everything necessary to make tacos except for the shells?

Me:....and the spices

[At that point, I could barely even contain my laughter as it was apparent how ridiculous my text really was. And I was laughing even harder inside knowing that I had thought about leaving off the lettuce so he wouldnt think he was buying everything.]

B: Okay. You know what?

Me: What?

B: If I pick up steak, we can have steak tonight.

You Know You're Really Tired When...

...you fall asleep during the last 10 minutes of Lost, the GOOD 10 minutes and have to rewind it to see what you missed (I love you DVR!)

...you decide to go to bed at 10:10 because you feel asleep during the second watching of the last 10 minutes of Lost

...although you are typically a light sleeper, you are startled awake by your husband shaking you upon arriving home*

...upon being shaken awake by said husband you exclaim "Watch out for the lamp!" When asked what lamp you are referring to, you point to the middle of the bed**

...after your husband leaves the cats get in a huge fight right beneath your bed which includes scrambling, meowing and hissing and which requires your husband to remove one cat by his scruff, yet you do not hear a thing

...while making breakfast the next day you pour your iced tea into your OATMEAL, then when realizing your mistake you turn and pour it into a DIRTY glass

...it takes you a good 5 minutes to realize you need to dump the iced tea oatmeal, replace it with new oatmeal, and you need a clean glass

Is it the weekend yet?

*I do not know why B decided to shake me awake but it I bet it is because he missed me. I know I missed him.

**It was a beautiful Tiffany lamp in case you were wondering. It was also a hallucination/dream as we do not regularly keep Tiffany lamps on our bed.

The Time it All Went Green...

While I have been at home vacationing, I decided to fiddle with some holiday dessert thingies that I love but have never made. Okay, one I have made before (two years back), the other never. The first would be chex muddy buddies or puppy chow.  Pain to make, almost impossible to properly coat with powdered sugar, but so yummy and addicting.  That project worked out fine.

The second were cornflake marshmallow green wreath thingies. The recipe calls them cookies, but really...who are we fooling here? There is no cooking involved. In fact, there is no baking involved. Just melting, pouring and waiting.  The first batch turned out fine.  Since it was my first time, I didn't bother trying to make them into pretty little wreaths. I just dropped them by the spoonful and sprinkled cinnamon sugar sprinkles on them and called it "done."  I remember walking away thinking that they looked more like clumps of holly with berries than wreaths, but since it was just for B and I, did it really matter?  We will ignore the fact that the first thing B said was "those don't LOOK like wreaths."   He should know by now that I am not about presentation.  Presentation comes last. Yumminess must be mastered first.

Well the wreaths were a big hit with the two of us while the poor puppy chow is still sitting there being munched on less enthusiastically.  I passed some of it on to my parents today and then got the brilliant idea to make them some of the cornflake wreath marshmallow thingies. After all, why not share the yummy goodness with others? It is my holiday duty.*

Remembering that I had to add the vanilla and green food coloring in very quickly at the end before everything started cementing, I decided to premeasure it and put it into little bowls. This worked out so well last time.  As I poured the green food coloring into the little bowl I remember thinking "less likelihood of spillage."  Then I turned and knocked over the open bottle of green food coloring which proceeded to spill ACROSS THE ENTIRE COUNTERTOP.  I let out a little "no" that I thought was pretty inaudible** and moved quickly to get papertowel. 

As I tried to sop it up only to discover the papertowel, my fingers, the sink AND THE FRICKIN' COUNTER were all still a lovely Christmas green, I started to panic.  Any minute B would come in and I would have to explain why our previously beige countertop was green and what an idiot I was for messing with food coloring.  I decided I needed a rag.  Hurrying back to the rags, I passed B who inquired "so what's going on..." to which I replied "you really do not want to know."  He agreed.  I quickly returned to the kitchen with a rag.

Fringing on losing my mind, I rush to the computer and google "how to get food coloring out of a countertop."  The results all lead me to articles on how to get food coloring out of clothes involving presoaking, etc.  Apparently no one gets it on their counter. Just me.  I panic once more and start to wonder how much it costs to replace a countertop when it dawns on me...wait! How do I get it off my fingers when I cook?  Dishsoap!

Off I run back to the kitchen to add dishsoap to the rag and it worked!!  The green came off and you cannot even tell it was there.  I swear it was only about 5 minutes this whole experience took place, but it felt like forever.  Later, B made an appearance in the kitchen, looked around and said "well?"  "Well, what" I replied all nonchalantly, "crisis averted."***  "Oh, the crisis that needed a rag?"  So observant that one.  He still has no idea what happened, although I gave him a little clue by saying:

"But whatever you do, do not wash your clothes with the rag in the washer. Unless you want them Christmas green, that is."

The wreath/holly marshmallow thingies turned out great. They are missing the red cinnamon things because B declared he did not like them. I figured my parents might not either.

Look at that yummy goodness! Makes me want to go eat another one.  We still have enough fixings for one more batch.

That one will NOT be green.

*I know the holidays are over but in my head they last all the way until I go back to work on Monday.

**That B has supersonic hearing, I tell ya.

**Until later when I decided to heat up milk for hot chocolate only to have it overflow and burn while I was not looking.  That was after moving it to a different burner as the first burner had pieces of green marshmallow on it that had escaped me.  B came out and said "what is going on NOW? I hear fan on , fan off and something smells AWFUL."  What? Can't a girl get a cup of hot chocolate?

A Not So Secret Santa Stuffed Stocking

Say THAT three times. A riddle for your tongue.  But not a real riddle...I apologize to all of you riddle searchers who must be disappointed in this blog, but I will discuss that at a later time.  This post is all about the Stuffed Stocking I won from Brandy, a fellow blogger. 

I entered her giveaway and won a lovely stuffed stocking which arrived today.  Want some pics? Of course you do!  Here is the stocking:

Look at that detail! I tried to capture it up close:



Inside the stocking was all of this:



In case you cannot see it clearly. The stocking contained:

Fun holiday socks
Cookie cutters
Holiday Dish Towel
Little bags to put your cookies in and give out to people
Sprinkles and decorating gel; and
Starbucks GC in a cute little handmade holder. Check it out:




And the little button on the back:

I am in love with it and will cherish it always Brandy!

As for you dear readers, you really should check out Brandy's blog. Not just because she gave away this lovely prize package, but because it is a pretty awesome blog:

Want to see tattoos? Check.

Want to make a kickass cookie that you will not stop eating until you throw up? Check.

Want to see a beautiful Christmas tree involving Harley Davidson? Check.

Want to see how she only spent 72 cents at a trip to CVS that included, among other things, a Crockpot? Check.

Want to read one of the greatest post titles ever that is really all about Beyonce playing Wonderwoman? Check.

Everything you thought you wanted and more!  Check Brandy's blog out!

Thanks again Brandy. Mucho holiday love to you and yours.

And Merry Christmas Eve to the rest of you that celebrate!

I Am a Vampire

No, this is not a Twilight related post. In fact, I have yet to read the book despite my love of all things vampire. I know. I am a traitor. But soon I will rectify that situation.

As for this post? It is about my stellar cooking skills of course.  And yet another roast.  Last Family Dinner Day I decided to make a less "slimy" roast for B. Anything to make that boy happy.  I found a 3 envelope pot roast crockpot recipe and set about making it.  The envelopes were Italian dressing, ranch dressing and peppercorn garlic.  That was my first clue this dinner would be wrong.  I chose to ignore that sign.  I kept the ingredients a secret from B because I did not want him to know I was putting anything remotely related to ranch or "dressing" in his food. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? Indeed I went to great lengths to hide this, so even when we were at his parents house that day and his mom asked me what I was using I managed to vaguely say "ingredients" of "different kinds."  Sure, I sounded like an idiot and sure, B looked at me like he was catching on, but it was a small price to pay to get a good meal in that boy's belly.

So, B and I did a lot of running that day, looking at more houses.  I wanted to be back by 4 to put the vegetables in, but we didn't make it back until 5.  I open the crockpot to dump the vegetables in when, for some unknown reason, I decide the pot roast must be "flipped over". Why I decided this, I have no clue. I had not done that the previous two times I cooked it. The recipe didn't call for it.  I just decided it was a good idea.  It was not.  The pot roast, after having been cooking for 4 hours was very tender.  It fell apart on my spear thingy* and plopped back down into all the gravy which then splashed up on  my face.

Quickly I realized I COULD HAVE BURNED MY FACE so I madly wiped off my face and checked a mirror.  All was good.  Vegetables in.  Cooking continued. As for me, I decided to shower.  While in the shower this little spot over my lip and the inside of my entire right nostril starts burning like crazy. I try rinsing and washing to no avail.  I am showering and thinking that my face is burning off or something and cursing the time (about five minutes ago) I decided it would be a good idea to flip that roast.  My face was not melting and was not burning off.  Apparently some of the peppercorn garlic spice just got in there really good in the Great Splash of five minutes ago and my skin was not liking it.  That was my second clue that this dinner was going to be wrong.  I chose to ignore that as well.  All was good. Cooking continued.  I passed B in the hall and said "I burned my face with the roast." He scanned me over, decided it did not entail another hospital trip and said "huh" nonchalantly.  He must be used to my mishaps.

Dinner was done and served and we had settled in to watch the last Dexter episode on our current DVD.  I put a piece of roast in my mouth and discovery MY MOUTH WAS ON FIRE.  Those spices were so strong I nearly died.  I started waving my hand in front of my mouth and saying AHHHH.  I actually think I then spit my half chewed meat on to my plate to which B said "gross."   We then had the following exchange:

Me gesturing wildly:  Is this HOT to you?

B: No

Me: Seriously? My mouth is ON FIRE!

Me: I cannot believe you do not find this hot.

B: The potatoes are kind of hot.

Me: Not the meat? Really?

B: I don't know.

Me: Oh, you would know.  MY MOUTH IS ON FIRE

I proceeded to finish the meal with about three glasses of tea and afterward cooled my tongue with some M&Ms.  In my head I declared that I would never be making that meal again.  All was well. We went on with our night.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and realized I could SMELL peppercorn garlic. It was everywhere, coming out of our pores as we slept. So disgusting! I had to turn off the bedroom ceiling fan because I believed it was just circulating that bad smell.  

Moral of the story - (a) peppercorn garlic is NOT good, (b) I may be a vampire, (c) B is immune to strong spices, and (d) I am still not a good cook.

No worries though. My bro gave me some ideas for spices and such for the next pot roast.**  He got to hear this story yesterday "live" as he called it.  

*That's a technical term for the two prong thingy that I pulled out of our knife block.

**Yes, I will not be deterred from making pot roast. It will turn out good and acceptable to both parties one day  and Hi bro! 

A Bad Case of the Mondays

I know it is not Monday, but that doesn't mean I cannot talk about Monday. Or Mondays as in plural. As in bad Mondays I have had lately.  Two to be exact, although one was much harder on B than I.

The Monday before last was after Sunday.  Wow logic, right?  Well Sunday has now become Family Dinner Day in the Riddler household.   This involves my making up some concoction to throw in the crockpot because it is so easy while trying not to cut off any appendages in the process.  There are currently three in rotation (1) applesauce chicken, (2) candy chicken, and (3) slimy pot roast. Yep, this isn't going to become a cooking blog anytime soon.  Family Dinner Day culminates with B and I eating said dinner on the couch, in front of the TV while watching an episode of season 2 of Dexter.  Nothing like crockpot cooking and a serial killer to equate to quality family time.  The cats even get involved by trying to sniff around for leftovers as if they eat chicken or pot roast.  They are especially fond of the applesauce chicken it seems.

So the Sunday before last was quite hectic.  I was out with my mom actually shopping for what we were going to eat and running late.  Crockpot cooking is fun and easy but it requires time. Usually at least 4 hours.  And B? He prefers to eat his dinner before 8 pm.  So I wanted to get home and get the dinner cooking.  Well, that did not occur until 3.  Around 6:30 I decide dinner is done, however, the chicken was slightly pink so back in it went.  When we finally went to eat it B declared it to be "not pink" and all was good. Of course, he still proceeded to microwave his piping hot chicken to "make sure" it was done. Don't know if microwaves kill salmonella, but he seems to think they do. Dinner was good. Dexter killed some people. Cats begged.  All was well in our world.

And then Monday.  I come home from the office around 5. B announced that he was sick and had been vomiting since 4.  That's a lot of vomiting. Sure enough he ran back into the bathroom and proceeded to vomit every 15 minutes for the next 5 hours!! I thought for sure I killed him.  In my rush to cook dinner, I gave him salmonella.   Panicked, I instant messaged my Mom who told me that (a) he would have gotten it sooner than 24 hours after eating and (b) I ate the same thing and I was fine.  Relieved that I had not inadvertently poisoned my husband, I spent the rest of those 5 hours wondering if he was going to live and cursing that we did not have two bathrooms.  Seriously.  My poor bladder. I held it so long because I did not want to be in there when the 15 minutes was up and B needed the room.  Then I made the mistake of sleeping with him.  He was moaning and thrashing about.   Around 3 am, all was calm in the world.  2 hours and 40 minutes later, I arose for work and thanked the gods above it was Tuesday.  By 1 pm, I was nearly passing out from lack of sleep and headed home to find a nonpuking B to my relief. And although B proceeded to recover the next couple of days and could not really eat until Wednesday, it was not so bad as it was on Monday.

So, this Monday had to be better, right?  Well the pot roast on Sunday was fully cooked - no food poisoning for us.  B did not contract a violent stomach virus - score!  But, alas, something even more horrifying occurred...

I lost the keys to my office snack drawer.  

I cannot get to my snacks. At all.  Oh, also my dictaphone is in there but I am considering that less of a crisis.*  The thing is...I don't usually eat the snacks in that drawer.  In fact, I was going to do a blog post about the contents of the drawer because I seriously have no idea what is in there. I constantly throw things in there, never to be pulled out again.  After reading another blogger's list of things found in her office drawer, I figured that would be fun. And it would. If I knew what the heck was in there! Now I may never know.  At least it was nothing perishable. 

I think.

And Monday? Monday I REALLY needed some snacks.  I remember staring blindly at my key ring unable to comprehend that those two little keys were no longer there. Yes, there were two keys. Yes, I kept them on the same key ring. Yes, I am an idiot.  An idiot without snacks.  I resolved myself to the cheese balls in the office kitchen, which are quickly gaining more popularity than the cheezits, but it was not the same.   Everyone at work was put on high alert for my keys (although I really think they are at the grocery store from Sunday). Coworkers sent me links to videos and how-tos on how to pick a lock. I tried one that involved a binder clip and a paper clip.  I still don't have any snacks. We all know I cannot pick  a lock. At least this time, I didn't use a penny.  Defeated I went home and told B my woeful tale. B, with a look of total shock said:

"You didn't tell me you had snacks in your office drawer!"

As if I am withholding snacks form him or something.  Okay, I have been known to do this. In fact there are mint M&Ms hidden right now (although not in my office drawer thank God), but this is for his own good. This boy goes through sweets like you would not believe. I hide them until he is out and then unveil them to become the snack hero.  Although if I am not quick enough, the next time I go to bake cookies, I will notice I have a lot less baking chips.  I will then confront B who will say "I have a problem."

He and I both.  I think it is called Mondays.

*However, had my iPod been in there like it usually is during the week to protect it from thieves, that would have been a CODE RED CRISIS and a locksmith would have been called.  I live for iTUnes. Sad but true.

When a Cake Just Isn't a Cake

You know that old saying "you can have your cake and eat it too"? Well, not when I am baking. My Mom and I are addicted to the Cake Wrecks blog and like to laugh at the crazy cakes posted. So the other day when my Mom informed me she was graduating from rehab*, I knew I had to bake her a cake - a wrecktastic cake. Only I did not know how very wrecktastic it was going to be.

My plan was to bake a plain sheet cake and then write something witty on it like "Happy Grad from Rehab MOM". Aren't I clever? Since it had been a while since I baked a cake, I went the bake from box route. B-A-D idea. Did I see bad idea? Because it was. Very bad. In fact, it looked like this:

Look carefully at that picture and tell me what you see. Does it look like cake batter about to be baked? Nope. Does it look like instead I opted to just frost the cake pan with frosting? Yep. That is what I thought too. I assure you that is not what I did. What I did was follow the instructions on the box that went like this:

-Take 2/3 cup water, cake mix, 3 eggs and a stick of butter. (Check)
-Put them all in a bowl and mix the ingredients until just moistened (Check)
-Take your mixer and on medium speed mix the ingredients for 4 minutes (Check)

Guess what? If you mix your ingredients for four minutes you get frosting. Surprise! Happy Graduation Mom - you have a pan full of butter cream frosting. Tasty but not really anything you can bite your teeth into. Next direction:

-Pour BATTER into the pan and bake

HA! Um, I didn't have batter, I had FROSTING! As you can see, I tried to "pour" it into the pan anyway. When I had to get the knife out to spread it, I decided I was acting plum crazy. There is no way I was about to bake FROSTING. So I rinsed the "cake" out of the pan but not before taking the picture.

I then told B how I made a cake of frosting and he responded "how is it possible for you to mess up a cake from a box?" Well, I don't know. But I did. And I messed it up magnificently. Beautifully, if I may. I should have stuck to baking from scratch. B agreed and demanded more "big pancake cookies." But, alas, I used all of my butter on my FROSTING CAKE. Ugh. 

*No, my Mom does not use drugs. She was in breathing rehab (kind of like physical therapy). Yes, we like to celebrate the little things in life. After all, they add up to the big things. Love you Mom - next week you will get big pancake cookies. I promise. I bought more butter!

The Dinner That Almost Wasn't (a/k/a My Battle With a Can of Corn)

After my recent success with crockpot cooking, I decided that Sunday I would have another bout at it.  I also decided to attempt my lifelong dream of baking from scratch.*  Armed with this recipe for Applesauce Chicken from the lovely Crockpot Lady and this recipe for Chocolate Chip Oreo Cookies from Picky Palate, I embarked on my Sunday journey of cooking.  Of course, as all of you readers know, nothing is ever that easy for me.

First, the chicken recipe called for chicken, which I guess goes without saying but I said it anyway. Great! I have frozen chicken, I thought, and the recipe said frozen would work.  I mixed together all of the ingredients for the sauce and got out the chicken.  That is when I noticed that being the brilliant chef that I am, I froze the chicken in its original packaging.  Yes - it was frozen to that piece of styrofoam tray.  Grr!  So there I am running it under water, utilizing a knife to free the chicken.  That is when the doorbell rings...

The day prior, Saturday, the campaigners were out in throes.  I just shut my door and they went away.  I figured the same could not happen twice in a row and certainly not on a Sunday!  So I left the front door open.  There I am, hand deep in half frozen chicken with some fool at the door ringing the doorbell incessantly.  I did what any rational person would do...ignored him.  Yes, I totally ignored a ringing doorbell despite the fact that my door was wide open. That is what they get for disturbing me while I am making dinner! We all know that I cannot afford distractions!

I finally get the tray removed, dump the chicken and the sauce into the crockpot and wonder if B will even like this dish.  You see, I generically told him that we were having chicken stuff because I was not sure if he liked applesauce or even apples.  I am such a risk taker!

While dinner was slowly cooking I made the cookies.  The.Best.Cookies.Ever. Seriously! And I was super proud of the fact that I made them from scratch and that I did not burn them since it took my oven almost four times the amount to bake called for in the recipe. Stupid oven!  B said they were good too observing, however, that they were quite large "like cookie pancakes."  (They were not that large).

As dinner was almost done and riding high on my successes so far, I ask B if he wants corn with the chicken and the rice I planned.  B says corn is always good. This is usually true.  Not tonight though.  I pull out the can of corn with the pull top opener and think how great it is that I do not have to use the can opener.  I stand over the sink and pull gently and nothing happens.  I pull harder and slice right into the ring finger on my right hand!  I yell for B.  Blood gushes everywhere.  B is slow to respond. I tell him I need band aids.  He comes in and runs for a towel.  Once he starts applying pressure, it starts to hurt. Bad. I start to cry. B is asking me if I think I need to go to the hospital.  I just cry and say it hurts.  Finally he looks at the cut (after making me turn away) and declares we need to "pack it up" we are headed to the ER.   Despite the pain, I knew that I could not go to the ER in the hoodie I was wearing (a freebie with the name of a40 oz beer on it) and sobbed for him to take it off me.  He asked me if there was any other outfit I wanted to change into.  I looked at him like he was nuts.  And then we were off with B wondering if they would think he somehow did this to me.  Ha! Even the ER people knew this story was so ridiculous no one would make it up!

Luckily we were only there for an hour and I only needed 3 stitches.  However, the slice is right at the knuckle/joint line at the top of my finger so bending will be quite painful and I was told I will have quite the scar.  A battle wound I would like to say.  And do you know how embarrassing it was to look at the ER form and see "can of corn" as mode of injury? I am SO tough.  When the doctor told us she hates when she sees "saw" show up on the screen, I was mortified to think that "can of corn" showed up on there. She assured me it only said laceration.  I am pretty sure she was lying since on her way out the door she said "watch out for those cans of corn."  They are all laughing at me still; I know it.  Just like my Dad who laughed through my entire story and thanked me for sharing it.**  Hey - no problem, nothing like a little blood loss to spice up everyone's day.

So here I am, typing with about 7 fingers and it is driving me crazy.  That and it is a constant reminder of my enemy - the can of corn!  Only frozen from now on said B and I think I will have to agree.  Oh - and the dinner? We ate it when we got home.  Thanks to the crockpot it was still warm.  And it was good! I declared it the "best chicken ever."  B said it was good and tasted like an apple cinnamon bagel.  Um...okay.  He liked it and that is all that mattered.  And the cookies? The 8 big pancake cookies? They did not even make it to today. Obviously a big hit. Almost as big of a hit as my corn story!  Nothing like lunching with clients and having to explain why you cannot shake their hand and your colleague asking if you want him to cut your food up for you.  I am so tres chic.

*My dreams come and go so "lifelong"is absolutely meaningless in this sentence.

**My Dad did express the proper amount of concern as well.  And at least he did not laugh only when I told him I cried like someone else I know!  Glad my pain and tears caused you so much humor. *smooches*

What's Pork Got to Do With It?

Lately (as in once every three or six months) I have been attempting to cook. I will be the first to admit that I am not a good cook...yet. Of course, I do not cook very often either. Practice makes perfect, or at least edible I am sure. Somehow I am more comfortable with baking, although not yet completely from scratch which is a goal. So, the attempts at cooking have been interesting to say the least.

My very first attempt to cook us dinner was years ago when B and I first moved in together. I made some honey mustard chicken something. The first problem is that B does not like mustard. The second problem is that I completely forgot. When I retell the story I like to say that I had made it just for myself, after all he was not home at the time. The truth is, I forgot he didn't like mustard in my excitement to cook something and it sounded good to me. It was not good. Not. Good. It had too much of a mustard taste. I know, ironic?

Fast forward a couple of years (yes, except for a one time taco fiesta, it took me years to get over that awful meal and probably took B that same amount of time to be willing to try anything else I cooked). The next dish was lasagna. How can you mess that up, right? Ha! I did. Looking back at the recipe, I now realize what I had done. Even then I had an idea, but was too scared to stray from the recipe. I am not a cook after all, what do I know? The result - lasagna soup basically. That lasagna had so much liquid in it, it took me forever to figure out where to find the noodles! B's response? "It tastes okay." Yes, he ate it. What a trooper!

Disheartened by the lasagna debacle, it took me a while to try something else. Next up? Some baked chicken with cheese. How hard could THAT be, right? You cannot mess up baked chicken. Here's a fact - you cannot mess up baked chicken, however, you can make it look ugly. That chicken dish was good. B said so. What he also said was, "you sure aren't into aesthetics when you cook, are you?" Listen here bub! This isn't a four star restaurant! As a matter of fact, this is a no star place! I am trying to make edible meals, presentation be damned at this point!

Finally, I decided to branch out, make things a bit easier. How can anything be easier than baked chicken you ask? A crockpot!! And now, my friends, we get to the point of this post. I found a super easy recipe for pork loin which was coincidentally on sale at the grocery store. Eureka! Wait...does B like pork? You know I cannot remember his likes/dislikes at any given time (see above). Let me ask:

Me: Hey! Do you like pork?

B: What do you mean?

Me: Do...you...like...pork?

B: What kind of pork?

Me: What do you mean what kind of pork? Pork pork.

B: I like ham.

Me: Okay, I am not talking about ham. I am talking about pork. Like pork chops, pork loin...

B: I like ham.

That was the extent of the conversation because I gave up. Instead, I made pot roast which B declared was "good." See? I am getting closer to being a one star cook. So much closer. The pork talk passed. Time passed. But the pork was always on my mind. It was brought up again yesterday while at Chipotle (yum giant burritos - I LOVE you). After I had ordered, I looked back to find B ordering his usual - a CARNITAS burrito. That is right my friends, pork. As I watched them put the pork in his burrito, I remarked how gross it looked (it did look gross) and then it hit me:

Me: Wait! You like pork.

B: What?

Me: Pork! You like pork. Your burrito is pork.

B: And?

Me: Remember I asked you if you liked pork and you did not know?

B: No, I told you I didn't like ham.

Me: I didn't ask you if you liked ham.

B: Well I like spiral ham, like you know honeyed ham?

Me: I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT HAM!

B: Ham and pork come from the same place.

Yep, and milk and beef come from the same place too, but when I ask you if you like beef, it is not acceptable to answer "I like milk."*

So, it is back to the drawing board for me and dinners. I think I will just avoid the whole pork discussion until I run out of other things to cook in the crockpot. That could take years, or at least 365 days if I follow A Year of Crockpotting. (A great blog, by the way. You should check it out).

*I do realize that comparing milk/beef to pork/ham is like comparing apples to oranges, but I like all fruit.

**Have you ever googled the question "what is the difference between pork and ham"? I just did. About a million results. Who knew everyone pondered this question?