Monthly Archives: April 2012

Outwitted: A Cautionary Tale

Stay in school, kids.

 

TOP 10 THINGS THAT ARE SMARTER THAN I AM:

 

10.  *Some* resealable bags

9.  The Invisible UPS delivery guy

8.  My new car stereo

7.  Depending on the time, my Houdini wine bottle opener

6.  The “Premium Toppers” section at Sweet Tomatoes

5.  Genghis Grill’s new “pay at the table” system

4.  Genghis Grill’s new “write your name on this card and we’ll BRING YOUR FOOD TO YOU” system

3.  Cage-free egg containers

2.  Unfamiliar ATM machines

AND

1.  This piece of shit fancy bike pump

Schwinn 5-in-1 bullshit pump

Fuck you, man.

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Let Me Entertain You

A conversation between my husband and I the other night: 

Him:  Did you just take a shower?  Didn’t you take a shower 2 hours ago?

Me:  Yes.  But it’s easier than washing my face in the sink.

 

A conversation regarding watching television: 

Daisy:  Have you watched Community or some other network show I can’t remember the name of right now?

Me:  Nah.  I don’t watch network TV.  Ever.

Daisy:  You should.  You are missing some good shows.

Me:  I refuse to FF through the commercials.

Daisy:  That statement alone makes you the laziest person in the entire world.

 

A text conversation between an unnamed friend and me that JUST HAPPENED:

Friend:  I’m drinking by myself now.  I’ve turned into you.

Me:  …

FIN

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Happy Anniversary, Nameless Faceless Killer!

It’s 7:05 am.  My husband has just told me that for some inexplicable reason, our garage door is open.  Not wide open, but like, person-crawling-in-size open, 3 feet off the ground.

I bolt out of my Hunger Games-reading stupor and say quietly, “what the fuck,” because this is exactly the way I need to be woken up on a Monday.   Unfortunately, said husband is leaving for work.  We both stand in the garage as if to say, SHOW YOURSELF MOTHERFUCKER!!!  But alas, no one does.  Husband moves to leave.  “You’ll be ok,” he says winningly.  “I put your .38 by your desk.”  Somehow this is supposed to comfort me, and I guess it does a little, while I walk through the house turning on every light.  This will be a non-showering day.  Awesome.

Husband leaves.  I proceed to do some dishes while my trusty Lady Smith sits beside me on the counter.  I look out the front door when finished only to find that THE GARAGE DOOR IS NOW ALL THE WAY UP, WIDE OPEN.

There are only 2 possible reasons for this:

1) There may be someone in the neighborhood who has a  garage door opener that is somehow on the same frequency (but this never really happens, does it)

or

2) SOMEONE WAS IN MY GARAGE.  

Neither of these thoughts are comforting.

Did I mention that I have a broken leg?  And that I have just quit smoking in the last week?  I am the slowest and angriest person you have ever met.  No matter.  I proceed outside with phone and gun in hand, sort of trying to conceal it as there is a little old man walking his dog and I really don’t want to alarm him by looking insane. I stare into the garage like it holds some ancient mystery.  Like the Ark of the Covenant is deep inside it.  I am really just looking for evidence that someone has been up in here trying to steal our…our what?  Our priceless bags of Salvation Army clothes?  Our double-sink granite vanity that we will never install that weighs literally 500 pounds?  Our two completely hideous Christmas trees?  No sir, there is nothing in here for you.  Trust me.  While I’m standing outside the garage in my pajama pants holding a gun, I attempt to close the door by just reaching my hand inside and pushing the button.  The door will not close completely though – when I press the button, it will get to the ground and then bounce back up like something is blocking its path.  I decide to enter the dark and frightening chasm that is our garage.  I close the door with the button again, this time holding the door down as it hits the ground.  Mission accomplished, door fucking closed, may I go on with my Monday now?  I HAVE NOT HAD COFFEE YET.

I text my husband to tell him the door was wide open.  He phones immediately and I ask him if there is a way to secure the door.  There is.  I do it.  He says:

“There are only two reasons this would happen.”

Yes, I am well aware.  Happy anniversary, baby.  

Well, if it’s reason number two, the killer/sink-and-Christmas-tree thief  is gone now, and if not, he might as well come on inside.  I’m a bundle of joy in the morning.  And it’s a Monday.  You just hit the jackpot, buddy.

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I’ve Got Quite a Bit to Say About Red Velvet Cheesecake Pops

It is 6:05am on a Friday. Good Friday. I am destined to make this not just Good Friday, but Great Friday, because my hands are covered in cheesecake and I’m muttering unintelligible shit under my breath. “There’s got to be a better…why won’t the…motherfucker.”

As you may have guessed, I enjoy a challenge. So no one was surprised when I made a fig cheesecake with a hazelnut crust, shelling and crushing said hazelnuts on my own. If you’ve never gotten the skin off of a bag of hazelnuts, WELL. You clearly are a lazy jackass who does not know shit about cooking. Conversely, you can buy them already shelled. To which I say, fuck you.

The fig cheesecake thus far being the most outrageous and labor-intensive thing I have ever made – minus the bread I made after I grew my own yeast in my refrigerator for a number of weeks, which sounds just as disgusting as it really is – I decided that I should really branch out into the cake ball arena. Why? Who doesn’t love a cake ball, that’s why. And it’s my insanely fantastic friend’s 30th birthday. The exact same friend for whom I made the fucking fig cheesecake. I really just need to start being the asshole of the group and be all, “…uh yeah happy birthdaaae here’s some chips in a fancy BAG!” Although if these turn out as glorious as that bastard cheesecake did, she will be thrilled beyond words. Which is saying quite a mouthful.

I find a recipe that combines many of the things she loves. Red Velvet Cake!!! Cheesecake!!! ON A STICK!! COVERED IN CAAAAAANNNDY!!!!!!! And so the arduous task begins.

Step 1: Bake cake per box directions. No problem. I can totally do this. If I cannot follow directions on a box, we have bigger problems.

Step 2: Let cake cool completely. Yep, no work involved in that one. Phew. So far, this is proving really EASY!

Step 3: Grind up all cake in food processor. Um, ok. Not difficult, but JESUS CRISTO, do they make red velvet cake mix out of 10% cake, 90% red food coloring? Because now it’s all over my kitchen. Rad. I mean, Red. Whatever. It is also quite moist (ugh) but this aids the food coloring to kind of stick to all of my surfaces. Clorox Wipes, the lazy man’s elbow grease. Great for the environment!

Step 4: Add a shit-ton of frosting to crumblecake. Make into red paste. Done. And it’s delicious. Let’s stop here, because I can just present her with this bowl of frosting and she’d probably be ok.

Step 5: Roll into tiny balls. Messy, yes. My kitchen may be free of red food coloring now, but I am clearly not. It appears as if I have murdered someone by hacking them to death with my razor-like hands.

Step 6: Cool in refrigerator. Sleepytime!

Step 7: This sounds harmless. Procure cheesecake. Cover cake balls in bits of cheesecake. ALRRRRIIIIGGGHT. This appears to be the most difficult step, per all the comments on the recipe site. Everyone is complaining about the cheesecake being way too crumbly, it not sticking to the cake ball, etc. So I have the brilliant idea of softening the cheesecake. I let it sit out for 1/2 a day. It is now a delicious, cheesecakey goo, ready to be applied to the cake ball. Uh-oh. It is very sticky now. Very. Like, I can’t get it off my hands onto the rapidly warming cake ball. Fuck. FUUUUCK. I try making a small cheesegoo-shaped disc to form around the ball. This just sticks to my hand. I try basically frosting the ball. With my fingers. This is clearly the only method. They look like shit. They look like white, roundish balls covered in coconut (there is no coconut) with red showing through. I have 60 of these to cover in the cheesegoocake. SIXTY.

Step 7-1/2: Fuck that, that sucked. I’m going to make my foam tray to hold the cake pops. I unwrap the foam block and foam glitter goes everywhere. First of all, this is supposed to be straight-up foam, sans glitter. What the fuck. Yet again, I turn to the Almighty Clorox Wipe to get all the foamdroppings off of my floor. It’s all over me, too, so by 7am I have been covered in glitter, cheesecake and what looks like blood. This sounds pretty damn festive for someone who doesn’t celebrate Easter. Festive, and totally appropriate. Also, the foam-foil-stick tray looks like a very bleak winter forest. This sends me into a depression.

winter of sadness pops

Popless. Barren. Cold.

Step 8: Step away for a little while. Make an omelet. Have a drink. Who cares if it’s 9am. No one is judging you. Why thank you, Step 8. Will do.

Step 9: Cover cheesegoovelvetballs in graham cracker crumbs. This would go easier if it was less sticky. For real. Also, I am a mess again. This time, covered in cheesegoo and graham crackers. I am going to gain 10 pounds through osmosis. Also, they look like hush puppies now, which makes me long for fried fish.

Step 10: HAHAHAHA you think you are close to the end but you are not. Fuck you, Step 10.

Step 11: Put balls back in refrigerator. Oh, that wasn’t too bad.

Step 12: Dip all 60 ends of the lollipop sticks in candy melts that you have presumably already melted in the microwave. Just the sticks? That’s what I said, fuckface. Ok. But I have two different colors! Too bad. Dip them. Dip them all. Alternate. You’ll live. Then shove stick in pops. Be careful not to poke all the way through the pop. REALLY???? I think I can tell where the pop stop…shit. When do I get to put these back in the fridge. I’m tired. Now, please, before you fuck something else up.

Step 13: Coat balls with melted candy. swirl and tap. Like my Bare Minerals makeup? Yes, I guess. That seems foolish. It doesn’t even look like you have makeup on. I don’t. Then shut the fuck up. Place popballs on foam board to dry. PUT IN REFRIGERATOR.

I hate you, red velvet cheesecake pop.

You are exactly as delicious as promised.

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These will be the death of me.

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