August 23, 2012
So I’ve heard tell of people making “Left-over Casserole” with the entire contents of their fridge. This blog post is kinda like that. A bunch of miscellaneous, suspicious smelling crap that I threw together and baked at 450 for 35 minutes then let cool for 15 so it wouldn’t be runny.
Soooo…Ya know that moment when you’re lying in a pool chair, relaxing, reading a magazine, when suddenly you hear the spastic flapping of giant bird wings under your chair and you instantaneously have a flashback of the time a few years ago when a giant crow tried to kill you at the zoo and on his second kamikaze dive bomb of your head his feet got intertwined in your hair while he brutally and murderously pecked your noggin with his bloodthirsty beak so you convince yourself that your ass is about to get repeatedly beak raped by yet another psychotic bird and you jump up screaming and throw your magazine into the pool whilst simultaneously realizing that your right boob has popped out of your bikini top and that the murder bird was actually the wind blowing the empty bag of Funyuns that you devoured like you just got off of a Ghandi fast an hour before?
|Asshole of epic proportion. Deliciousness of epic proportion.|
You don’t know that moment, do you? Well, I do. And that’s how my day went today.
And Monday I got locked out of my house with a car full of groceries including but not limited to ice cream, frozen pizza, and cheese. Ya know, things that need to be housed in cold environments. But truth be told, at least once every few months I come home from the grocery store and am NOT locked out of the house but I DO forget I just came from the grocery store and forget to bring anything inside and instead let in all sit in the car and melt into a heap of grossness and idiocy. But Monday, about 5 minutes after realizing that I was locked out of my house, the medicine I had taken for the lapse in my clockwork constitutionals (AKA poopsies) decided to kick in. Which was a bummer. No pun intended. Because as you all know I am a girl who only likes MY toilet seat much like Sheldon Cooper only likes HIS part of the couch except he doesn’t go poopsies on his couch. I assume. That would so totally not be Sheldon-ish. At all. But I willed it away with much leg crossing and muscular squeezing and concentrating on other things like, oh, the discomfort of going #2 in my yard.
And this afternoon I decided to bake some cookies for The Boy and The Nephew and after I put a kajillion of them in the oven my sister-in-law called me and I got in an intense conversation about water levels and spring production with her and totally forgot that I was even baking anything in the first place and I burned the entire recognizeability out of those “cookies.” I mean, there’s burned and then there’s burned. And these things were burned like little Drew Barrymore got pissed at them kinda burned.
And if you don’t get that reference you are way too young and that annoys me cuz I am old.
A few nights ago The Boy had a friend over to spend the night and around 2 am we had a big ass storm roll through and knock the power out. So after about a half an hour I decided to go wander around the house and make sure everything was okay because someone has to be on alert for shenanigans and burglary while The Hub gets his beauty sleep, and when I walked into the living room I noticed the boys were on the couch because The Friend was scared shitless of the storm situation. Then I realized I was in my unders cuz I didn’t think that two boys were gonna be sitting on my couch at 2 am, so after going to get some pants on (and passing the still comatose spouse) I saw that The Friend had packed his bag and brought it downstairs with him as if he was planning to get the hell outta Dodge or something so I explained that although our Dodge was having a storm, so was his Dodge (being as that it is in the same neighborhood), and so there really was no reason for him to hit the road as all roads were covered with wetness and lightning. So he said ok, and I took them both back upstairs but had to stay in the guest room next door so the lightning wouldn’t kill them. Or the ghosts. Whichever he was most scared of. The details are still sketchy. Alls I know for sure is that he saw me in my unders and The Boy found it hilarious and The Friend’s parents probably now think I am a perv.
So while I was laying in the guest room getting poked and prodded by The Cat who was super excited that she was in a bed with me since I lock her out of MY room, I was thinking about how sucky it is to not have power. I mean, it’s super duper sucky. When we had the hurricane a couple of years ago we were without power for about 10 days and that was pretty much apocalyptic in my book. I mean, if I’d had to fight zombies and stuff I probably woulda been less irritated. Cuz Houston is hot. And you need air. And beer needs a little old thing called refrigeration. Except for The Hub’s Guinness. But who the hell would drink a Guinness in an air-condition-less Houston summer? An asshole, that’s who. And then I started thinking about Pioneer people and how shitty they had it with their heat waves and their 8,000 layers of clothing and their homemade maxi pads and their spending 10 hours to make one freaking meal because there was NOTHING that you could buy at the store except for flour, sugar, and cornmeal and you pretty much had to hope that your chickens pooped out some eggs and that your cows were of the milky variety so that you could turn your 3 bags of nothingness into some kinda freaking dinner concoction and it takes, like, 6 hours to make a loaf of bread and then you realize WHOOPS we don’t have any butter so you have to go milk a cow and churn some of that stuff and by the time you’ve done all that your bread is stale. Ain’t no frozen Totino’s Pizza in the olden days, you guys. Being a housewife blew some serious chunks. Making dinner like that every damn day while chasing a shitload of kids around because there wasn’t any birth control and it was better to stay pregnant than to use homemade tampons which I assume were made out of flour sacks or sheep wool or bark or something.
So I’m laying there thinking about all this olden days drama and getting all sad and frustrated for the pioneers when suddenly the power came back on just as The cat had gotten to Burrow Level 10 all up under my person. So I went back to bed, thankful as shit for my oscillating fan and white noise machine and air conditioner. And a few days later I booked a vacation to an eco-reosrt in Mexico that has no electricity. And don’t you worry, the irony is not lost on me. And I hope that was the proper use of irony. I learned from Alanis that people get all kinds of bitchy about that.
19 Responses to “So I’ve heard tell of people making “Left-over Casserole” with the entire contents of their fridge. This blog post is kinda like that. A bunch of miscellaneous, suspicious smelling crap that I threw together and baked at 450 for 35 minutes then let cool for 15 so it wouldn’t be runny.”
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