Archive for the 'Culinary Abortions' Category

Wake up at 5.
5:15: Suck down horrible tasting coffee before giving up 1/2 way through despite desperate need for caffination because it tastes that bad. It was like someone jerked off in my coffee. Fuck you, Dunkin Donuts.  FUCK. YOU.
5:58 have two minutes to put on work out clothes, brush teeth, and check email. Computer crashes. Skip email. Put on work out gear and get ready to do Brazil Butt Lift for toned,tight, and high bum bum guaranteed!
6:02: Pick up toys from work out area. Cannot find Brazil Butt Lift DVD.
6:07: Locate Brazil Butt Lift DVD, put into player, DVD does not work.
6:07.5: Chuck piece of shit Brazil Butt Lift DVD across the room.
6:09: Sit on the floor and cry.
6:15: Settle for Turbo Jam instead, begin workout.
6:30: Mister leaving for work, hands Homeslice over to me.
6:55: Have paused Turbo Jam approximately 7 times to pull Homeslice off couch, dining room chairs, kitchen chairs, and train table, wipe Girlfriend’s ass, get her a pre-breakfast snack, and find “cup.”
7:15: Head upstairs for shower. Drag Homeslice kicking and screaming into the bathroom with selection of toys which she ignores in favor of standing with both hands on shower doors while screaming.
7:30: Dry off, get dressed in mis matched skirt and tee shirt from giant pile of laundry still waiting to be put away since motherfucking Saturday, change Homeslice’s poopy diaper while she writhes, twists, screams, and kicks at my face with shit on her heel. Brush Girlfriend’s hair while she screams bloody murder and Homeslice climbs up my leg, also screaming.
7:45: Homeslice finds horrible coffee left on my nightstand and dumps it all down her dress, my comforter, my bedskirt, and the floor.
7:47: Change Homeslice’s dress, mop floor, strip bed.
7:49 Discover that while I was cleaning the coffee mess, Homeslice has opened a bag of cotton balls and shred them all over the place. There’s also one in her mouth.
7:55: Girlfriend, for some reason, has taken off all her clothes and gotten back into what is left of my bed. I now have to fight her to get her to put them back on.
7:57: While fighting with Girlfriend, Homeslice finds the 1/2 full beer Mister left on his nightstand and dumps it into a basket of library books.
8:00: Wipe down and fan out library books.
8:20: Prepare and serve breakfast. It actually goes okay.
9:30: Go back upstairs to gather laundry. Pick up basket, carry down to first landing. Back up stairs, carry Homeslice down to landing. Pick up basket, carry to next landing. Go back up, carry Homeslice, repeat three more times until laundry is finally at washer in basement
9:55: Clean cat box, find that he’s eaten a good length of satin ribbon, gather Mister’s dirty dishes and empty beer cans from basement, collect Girlfriend’s shoes, get laundry out of washer.
10:15: Repeat stairs procedure and head out to clothes line to hang clothes out. Pull Homeslice off deck stairs approximately 897 times, give or take. Stop her from eating chalk. Stop her from walking through Alice’s Meadow Muffin Mine Field.
10:50: Go out to the garden to pick 8 million cherry tomatoes. Put 8 million cherry tomatoes into large silver bowl, while stopping to pull one out of Homeslice’s mouth about every other tomato.
11:00: Homeslice trips and falls into the bowl of 8 million cherry tomatoes, spilling the entire thing and sending them rolling all over the garden.
11:30: Re-collect tomatoes with Girlfriend’s help. Bring tomatoes in to sink to wash, open under sink cabinet to throw away paper towel and bottle of cleaning solution tumbles out of cabinet, onto floor and spills everywhere. Cleaning solution not safe for hardwoods. Douse floor with water while keeping Homeslice at bay with foot. Fail miserably, must now bathe Homeslice to get cleaning solution off her hands and arms and legs after she splashed in it.
12:13: Blogging about my morning which has been pretty typical actually while Homeslice, after a busy morning attempting suicide, is asleep in her organic freeze dried bananas. Girlfriend is having croutons and pickles for lunch and I’m totally understanding why those moms in the 1950’s were shit faced by 1:00.

I love these little talks we have because I always sort of assume that everyone had the same kind of childhood and we ALL had lunchboxes and we ALL brought lunch to school.

But some of us were “buyers” as we called it at our school, and ate the provided school lunch. I was always jealous of those kids because my lunchbox was full of crap like whole wheat bread and apples and milk. My mom has always been a vegetarian, and as such, she had no clue how to make any sandwich other than cheese or PB&J. I remember requesting a bologna sandwich like everyone else had, and she made it, but she put butter on it. And my mom doesn’t fuck around with butter. When she puts butter on something, she puts some motherfucking butter on it. Like, at least 1/4 inch or more.

Butter and bologna on whole wheat is an abomination. Everyone (except my mom) knows that bologna should be eaten on Wonder bread with trailer park mustard and a side of chips to be washed down with a coke.

Anything else is just stupid.

And in all my years of elementary school, nobody would trade a pack of Ring Dings or a bag of Doritos for a fucking pear. I was always totally stuck with my bullshit healthy lunch. I used to beg my mom to let me buy lunch when they had pizza or tater tots because those things were always kick ass and they came with a nice big spoonful of floppy salad dripping in oily Italian dressing. I loved the floppy salad and the pizza that looked like an old lady’s finger underneath the cheese.

I know I don’t have to say it, but tater tots are The Food of the Gods. I like them medium brown with mayo and a ton of salt because I’m a dirty girl. Slightly undercooked ones have to have ketchup though.

Everyone is totally craving tater tots right now, right?

Sorry.

But for all my complaints about the contents of my lunchbox, I have to thank my mom. Because of her, I have some good eating habits (and a raging butter addiction) and my lunchbox still has many of the same bullshit healthy things in it to this day. It’s a tradition of Torture by Whole Wheat I fully intend to pass down to my daughters. Also, packing lunches is a pain in the ass. It takes forever to pack a healthy lunch and so I have to say thanks for taking the time to do that, mommy!

When I do Girlfriend’s lunches, I’m not buying anything in a convenience package because we have to be green so we can be smug. I spent $26 on 3 little stainless steel lunch containers because I’m better than you. I also have pretty patterned cloth napkins I bought at Saver’s because I’m really, really better than you.

See?

Tradition of smugness.

But just so you don’t have to go kill yourself because your virtue pales so in comparison to mine, just know that right now, Homeslice is eating a box of Nerds that she got for herself out of the bag of candy Mister keeps by the bed for his midnight pothead munchie festivals and managed to open it by herself. I’m too busy blogging to stop her, so there. I’m not that much better than everyone. I let my kids eat Nerds for breakfast (it happened yesterday too).

It’s a TWM day!

I’m Not In The Mood For Sexy Time

Since Sunday, our computer died so thoroughly that even Mister cannot resurrect it (I’m at work right now, fyi), I have had Lady Days for approximately 8 days, Mister and I were both stung by bees, I have a weird monkey flu that makes my throat/chest/tummy/lower back area so tight and painful I can barely breathe, plus I have a fever that makes me snuggle under my blankets on a 90 degree day with no air conditioning.

And now today, I have an itchy rash where my bee sting was, Mister’s bee stung foot is all Frankensteinish and swollen but the dude at Urgent Care said there’s not much he can do about it, I’m still sick and now my ear and throat hurt, Girlfriend has a fever, AND MOTHERFUCKING FRANK ATE MY FUCKING VEGETABLE GARDEN.

The little jerk was actually in there when I went to dump my compost into the bin this morning and I was all “GET OUT!” and the bold motherfucker just stood up in his back legs, looked at me, and kept eating my broccoli!
Can.
You.
Imagine?
And so again I hissed “Fuck! Off! FRANK!” and off he did not fuck! He just stood there looking at me like “yeah? What are you gonna do about it, lady?”

So you know what I did about it, you guys?

That’s right!

I SHOOK A STICK AT HIM!

He finally scurried away and I was able to survey the damage he did to the tender vegetables I have been nursing from seed since MARCH!

He took all my broccoli, cauliflower, basil, cilantro, romaine lettuce, and sunflowers.

And all I can think about is how badly I want some orange nail polish.

So my friend Jessica, who is a pastry genius (seriously, she along with my other friend Valerie sent me a chocolate balsamic cheesecake for my birthday last year and it was to die for. You can check out Jessica’s goodies here) said that what I needed to do was to pipe some frosting around the outside edge of the bottom cake layer to make like a frosting wall thingy so that when I frosted the top, it would hold the splooshy stuff in.

WHY DIDN’T THE DIRECTIONS SAY TO MAKE A FROSTING WALL THINGY, JESSICA?

This is excellent news because Mister’s real birthday is this coming Sunday and so I get another chance to fuck it up in some other way. I’m very excited, so be sure to look for another fascinating cake update next week.

I might not do lemon buttercream layer cake this time though. I might do something daring like…an unfrosted vanilla sheet cake. Maybe I’ll let Girlfriend toss a few sprinkles on there to make it fancy.

Aaaaaand let’s see…Princess Twattington is up to her old tricks but I avoided the whole mess and ate at my desk like I said I would. Also, I may or may not be coming down with a cold and so I may or may not have licked the rim of her coffee cup.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

Maybe I should be win an award for being the most passive aggressive person ever.

Oh, and I’m probably going to be fired pretty soon because I write about work sometimes, and I didn’t know this until a couple of people emailed me about it, but this here little blog has been written about in a real book about libraries and librarians:

It’s getting a lot of buzz and I even saw an interview with the author on Salon.com, and there’s a copy of it sitting on my boss’s desk right now, so yeah. It’s only a matter of time. I’m on page 64 in the section about poop.

I’m very proud, obviously.

And in other, more dangerous news, I think my Fed Ex guy hates me. Or my mail. Or me AND my mail because yesterday I got a package that I ordered eons ago and it was kind of fucked up. It was in a new box with a filthy scrap of the old box taped onto it. It was so damaged that you couldn’t even read my address anymore, but somebody knew where it was going because it got to me. Somebody purposely beat the hell out of my box of baby clothes from Kohl’s in an attempt to send me a warning.

I’m next probably.

This is why I prefer UPS. The delivery guy’s knees look cute in the summer uniform and nobody that cute would ever kick a mommy librarian blogger’s ass.

PS: Remember that scene from The Jerk? “It’s these CANS! HE HATES THESE CANS!!”

PSS: We have a new pet! My dad and stepmother got Girlfriend a baby bunny without my permission! Yay! (makes a gun with her hand, shoots herself in the head) Let me introduce to you the newest member of the Crissy family, Sally the Baby Bunny:

Stop laughing at me, you motherfuckers.

PSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today. It’s all about Japanese toilet rituals because it is. Flush Your Husband Down the Toilet!

This title has absolutely nothing to do with the post.  I just felt like saying that because I have an overwhelming feeling that someone somewhere is trying to cheat me.

You know who you are, Victoria’s Secret Catalog Returns Department.

Today marks the beginning of  the most stressful weekend I’ve had since Christmas, as we have the big Easter Dog and Pony and Bunny extravaganza happening at our house.  Everyone is coming, so for all you stalkers, make sure you bring an extra memory stick for your camera because there will be plenty of photo ops over here.  We’re exactly like the Kennedys, you know.  We even have sail boats and large sunglasses and drinking problems.

So today we dye eggs, make cupcakes, and get three loaves of bread started.  Tommorrow we do the cookings and the cleanings and also go to  a 1st birthday party for Homeslice’s little friend, baby Elizabeth.

But at least we got the Easter pictures done last week:

And then there’s of course the obligatory “Pissed off Girlfriend” picture:

Have a crappy Easter, fuckface.

I’d sell your heart to the junkman baby
For a buck, for a buck
If you’re looking for someone
To pull you out of that ditch
You’re out of luck, you’re out of luck

The ship is sinking
The ship is sinking
The ship is sinking
There’s leak, there’s leak,
In the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves, and lawyers

God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business. Business.

Digging up the dead with
A shovel and a pick
It’s a job, it’s a job
Bloody moon rising with
A plague and a flood
Join the mob, join the mob
It’s all over, it’s all over, it’s all over
There’s a leak, there’s a leak,
In the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves, and lawyers
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away,
On Business. Business.

Goddamn there’s always such
A big temptation
To be good, To be good
There’s always free cheddar in
A mousetrap, baby
It’s a deal, it’s a deal
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
I narrow my eyes like a coin slot baby,
Let her ring, let her ring
God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business.
Business…

And those are the lyrics to Girlfriend’s favorite song.  It’s by Tom Waits.  I’d like to thank my father-in-law for playing it for her and singing it to her.  He thinks he’s hilarious, you know.  She busted out with that one when she was about 2 1/2 and we were at Target standing in an aisle with two elderly nuns.

EDIT BY THE PIMP: here’s the song…

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She was all “God’s away, God’s away, God’s away on business!”

Luckily, I think they were deaf so it’s completely fine.

I love random playback of inappropriateness at inappropriate times though, don’t you?

The song is going through my head because this morning, we do, in fact, have a leak in the boiler room and I have to survive the morning with no water because we had to shut it off so as not to flood the house.  My father-in-law, being the great dad that he is, will be coming over this afternoon to help Mister fix the broken water pipe and will without a doubt, be singing in chorus with Girlfriend about a leak in the boiler room the entire time. I need to brush up on the lyrics so I can join in.

Also, any work people reading this, it’s my official calling in.  I won’t be at work tonight because somebody has to watch the kids while they fix the leak.  Don’t any of you say you can’t phone it in on your blog because I totally just did.

Suck it, bitches.

And Homeslice was awake all night with teething pain and the Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu.  I might take her to the doctor’s.  I’m debating.  And I was feeling much better after my Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu but I’m getting re-sick.  My hair hurts again and I have a sore throat.  I blame Homeslice and all her snots.

There’s baby snots in my hair right now, fyi.  I just had it blonded, too.  It looks awesome even with the snot.

And I got Lady Days finally and it’s beastly.

It’s pretty much Armageddon here as far as I’m concerned.

So I will spend the morning baking 32 festive green mini cupcakes for Girlfriend’s St. Patrick’s day thing at school with no water for clean ups.

Sa-weet!

So yes.

The universe woke me up with great big “HAPPY MONDAY, FUCKFACE!”

PS: I don’t know why the formatting is all shaquaed up there.  It’s the least of my problems today.

PSS: I don’t mean this to be complain-y.  I’m just sharing with you what it’s like to be Queen.  It ain’t all glamor and midget porn, you know.

Wanna know what I ate yesterday?

Oatmeal with wheat germ, butter, and brown sugar.  I put just a little bit of butter and brown sugar, so it tasted like, I don’t know, paper? I’d have put banana in it but my mom ate the last one when she was visiting the other day. (Whore)

Orange juice

Half a mango

One handful of Whole Foods brand organic chocolate animal cookies, consumed in the dark in my pantry with the door closed so Girlfriend wouldn’t catch me eating them BECAUSE COOKIES ARE BAD FOR YOU AND YOU CANNOT EAT THEM EVERY DAY.

One handful of dry roasted peanuts.

Water, water, water, water, water, water

Cheddar cheese on whole wheat bread with pickles on the side. (Btw, you guys HAVE TO get this book.  I’ve been making bread like a motherfucker!) (Don’t worry.  There are NO semen recipes in it)

Then I get to work, and here’s where being tired and sad and wanting to go home turns into a Food Craptacular:

Immediately upon entering break room to put my dinner in the fridge- BAM! One mini cupcake from the break room table. It wasn’t even good, I knew that, but I ate it anyway. WTFF?

A couple of hours later…

Baby carrots and 1 tablespoon of peanut butter

1 Cookie

1 Apple

1 Chocolate from somebody’s Valentine’s sampler

1 Cookie

Amy’s Palak Paneer and a salad for dinner

1 Piece of Denise’s birthday cake

And then I went home and went directly to bed before I could eat one more thing that would make me want to shoot myself in the face with a bazooka.

Do you see a pattern here Queefies? Because I do, and that’s why I’m about to do something unimaginable, something I never thought I would do, something that has absolutely nothing to do with Lent (because I’m giving up anal for Lent just like every year).

I’m going into sugar de-tox, you guys.  I’ve been eating like this every day since Christmas 2008 and I’m tired of feeling like shit about it.  It’s not so much that it makes me fat.  It’s that it’s a monster and it demands more and more and more of itself and it’s never happy or satisfied.  There’s always another cupcake, another cookie, another whatever and I’m all done with it!

So, for the next week, I will not eat any bullshit food.

None. Nada. Nein.

Who’s with me?

Let’s ALL do it!

One week.

No sugary treats.

If you guys see me eating a cupcake or some such nonsense like that any time between now and next what day is it?, you need to slap it out of my mouth and shove it up my ass (except I gave up anal for Lent, so probably don’t do that last part).

So here it is. Mister worked really hard on this new theme, and we struggled with the colors. We’re (I’m) not totally sure we (I) love them like this, so that might change at some point. But he didn’t pimp slap me when I kept saying the colors weren’t right, so tell him his balls are pretty and touch him on his bum a little. He likes those things (even if you have to lie about the balls part because let’s face it. Balls aren’t cute).

Today Homeslice and I will have adventures on the East Side of Providence over at Monica’s, and then at Whole Foods. All the fancy stuff is on the East Side of Providence, you know.  And then tonight, we all go across the street for our weekly Pot of Crap dinner with the Richard and Micheles. I’m making pizza, it’s very exciting.

Try to control yourself.

I’m just concerned about the drive over to the East Side because I’m like 85% sure we’re going to die in a car crash. Just this past week, I’ve been run into the ditch THREE times by 2 asshats who were texting and came over the yellow line and nearly hit us head-on, and one stupidcuntbitchasshat who decided to drift into my lane without even looking when I was right next to her. Yes.  I was trying to pass her because she was doing 45 in the fast lane on the highway with her head resting on her driver’s side window.  What the fuck, woman?  She could have killed Girlfriend and me!  Homeslice was on the other side. She probably would have been okay.  But when I beeped the horn at her, she didn’t even notice.  She didn’t even take her head off her window.

So, I’ve decided that my next car will be one of these:

Sexy, right?  That’s actually the sexiest picture I could find. It’s not the BMW,but you know what?  At least we won’t all die in this car because some fucktard was texting his girlfriend.   And you see where the fog lights are mounted right there on the front?  I’m going to take those out and have Mister Macgyver some kind of flame thrower arrangement so that when somebody tries to kill us, I can burn them.  He’s totally brilliant at ghetto rigs.  He can do it.  Once he figures it out, he can do your car too.  It’s up to us to teach them, you know.

SOLIDARITY BROTHERS AND SISTERS!

btw, this is my official announcement to Mister that he’s buying me a Volvo.  He doesn’t know yet.  He’s going to be Very Excited.

Like, $45,000 exciteds.

PS: We don’t actually have $45,000 for a new car.  I’m just feeling like a rich lady because I made $130 selling my stuff on eBay last week, so clearly we can afford a new car.

PSS: I’m not good at math.

PSSS: That’s why I think I might have to bust out my feminine wiles for this one.  It’s going to take some convincing.

PSSSS: By feminine wiles I mean promises of blow jobs and steak every Friday night.

PSSSSS: I’d watch the comments section if I were you.  Just sayin.’

PSSSSSS: If you don’t help support my cause, I will totally ban you from this blog.

Why does everyone die at Christmas?  My grandmother died at Christmas two years ago.  And now Olivia is dead too! I can’t say I ever really felt a connection to Olivia,  I was more of a Maria or a Mr. Hooper kind of girl, but she taught millions of us little childrens all kinds of  important stuff.

I’m not talking about this Olivia, btw:

She’s not real and therefore, cannot die.  At least, I don’t think she can die.  Anything is possible, I guess.

I’m talking about this one, for those of you lazy so-and-sos who didn’t click the link:

So yes.  Olivia.  RIP.  Nobody is talking about it because her death isn’t sexy like Brittany Murphy’s.  I hate the fucking media.  I really do.

Dicks.

Olivia contributed way more to the world, I dare say.

Anywho, thank you guys so much for all the wonderful recipes yesterday!  You’re all so helpful, and it took you forever to type all that in! You saved me from having to sit here searching the Internet.  It came to me! YAY!!!

I think I might go with a pot roast for the meat thing as suggested by k8 because it can be done in my crock pot and not take up my oven.  That sounds smart because what usually happens is I wind up with everyone fighting over oven space to heat up/bake the shit they brought and it always turns into a game of who the fuck are you using my daughter’s/son’s/brother’s oven where my mother’s green bean casserole and my mother-in-law’s potatoes volley for space with my sister-in-law’s thing and it’s a big. giant. clusterfuck.

And then I drink some wine and hide in the garage with a smoky treat.

I don’t give a fuck if the casserole is cold from being in the car, goddammit.

Don’t make me kill you.

This morning, Frank Coletta, ace television reporter for the Turn to Ten news, told me that Brittany Murphy died.

This is very sad to me because one of my favorite movies of all time is Clueless, and now the “tragically unhip” Tai is dead.  I love Tai.

That’s sad. Very sad.

What’s also sad is that I am super way behind on Christmas preparations and I need help from people who aren’t clueless in the kitchen.  Do you see how I worked that in, you guys?  The clueless thing?  That’s why I’m the Queen.

I have to make some sort of meat thing and a potato thing and a vegetable thing and also a breakfast thing I don’t know what to make.  I don’t have the head space to come up with anything.

HELP. ME.

I need recipes that are easy, and that I can do with a baby attached to my boob.

Thank you.

Happy almost Christmas.

I’m so tired it’s hard to breathe.

EDIT: here’s the song….

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