Happy Two-Days-Until-Halloween!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Skillet Ready in Nine Minutes!
The Bulging Worm: Just good old-fashioned, albeit nasty, nature. If nature had a 1-800 customer service number I would have called her and bitched about how my stomach almost digested a see though, overweight worm with a face. It had eyes y'all. And they were big. And black. And STARED AT ME.
The Taco Bell Glove: Disgusting. Imagining how that even happened had to be left up to my imagination. Which ran wild and left me feeling even more grossed out.
And now.. the trifecta:
Last night I cut open a bag of Bertolli Shrimp, Asparagus and Penne and tossed it into a skillet. The last thing to slide out was NOT a piece of shrimp, asparagus or penne pasta. One of these things was NOT like the others.
I picked up the unidentified frozen item and knew exactly what it was. I called Terry's name and brought him the foreign object I found in our frozen dinner. I asked him to tell me what it was. He held it in his hand. Twirled it around. He smelled it and said, "It's wood." I said, "From what?" He said "Follow me." I followed him into the office where we have a huge fake ficus tree in an enormous wooden basket. He said, "It's from here." He held it up to the basket then said "No, wait. It's not, it doesn't match." I said, "That's because I FOUND IT IN OUR BERTOLLI DINNER."
For serious. A chunk of wood. It's now actually two chunks of wood because Terry couldn't leave it alone and had to play with it, finding a way to prove me wrong about it being a WOOD.
But he finally agreed.
HOW? How on Earth does a piece of wood end up in a sealed bag containing frozen food?
I'm okay with the grub worm, that was understandable. I'm even okay with the glove wrapped up in my burrito, shit happens. But WOOD? Off of an assembly line? You can't convince me it's a portion of a wooden spoon an Italian Bertolli chef was using to stir his latest creation of Bertolli favorites. Unless Unilever Corp. actually employs real chefs in their factories. A bunch of frozen vegetables and shrimp are shipped to a factory, sent down a line and shoved in a bag. There should be ZERO possibility anything other than food entering the bag.
I'd love to know where this piece of wood originated. Terry ate the meal anyway. I, however, promptly dumped my portion in to the trash can. Who knows what that thing is! It's coated with a bit of a purple-ish stain which in my opinion isn't a color on the color wheel.
I called the 800 number on my bag was informed their food is manufactured in 'nests' at different sites then frozen separately, and that it is most likely wood off of a pallet one of the vegetables was shipped inside.
They are reimbursing me in the large cash amount of $8.00. Which is almost double what I paid for it.
Score. Anyone for a Chic-fil-A sandwich with those super big funds? I'm buying!
Also, I suppose the wood is better than what this unsuspecting lady from New Zealand found when she emptied a bag of frozen Green beans.....
Yes my friends. It's the decapitated head from a tiny little field mouse. Kind of cute, eh?
I'll take wood any day.
That's what she said.
The Taco Bell Glove: Disgusting. Imagining how that even happened had to be left up to my imagination. Which ran wild and left me feeling even more grossed out.
And now.. the trifecta:
Last night I cut open a bag of Bertolli Shrimp, Asparagus and Penne and tossed it into a skillet. The last thing to slide out was NOT a piece of shrimp, asparagus or penne pasta. One of these things was NOT like the others.
I picked up the unidentified frozen item and knew exactly what it was. I called Terry's name and brought him the foreign object I found in our frozen dinner. I asked him to tell me what it was. He held it in his hand. Twirled it around. He smelled it and said, "It's wood." I said, "From what?" He said "Follow me." I followed him into the office where we have a huge fake ficus tree in an enormous wooden basket. He said, "It's from here." He held it up to the basket then said "No, wait. It's not, it doesn't match." I said, "That's because I FOUND IT IN OUR BERTOLLI DINNER."
For serious. A chunk of wood. It's now actually two chunks of wood because Terry couldn't leave it alone and had to play with it, finding a way to prove me wrong about it being a WOOD.
But he finally agreed.
HOW? How on Earth does a piece of wood end up in a sealed bag containing frozen food?
I'm okay with the grub worm, that was understandable. I'm even okay with the glove wrapped up in my burrito, shit happens. But WOOD? Off of an assembly line? You can't convince me it's a portion of a wooden spoon an Italian Bertolli chef was using to stir his latest creation of Bertolli favorites. Unless Unilever Corp. actually employs real chefs in their factories. A bunch of frozen vegetables and shrimp are shipped to a factory, sent down a line and shoved in a bag. There should be ZERO possibility anything other than food entering the bag.
I'd love to know where this piece of wood originated. Terry ate the meal anyway. I, however, promptly dumped my portion in to the trash can. Who knows what that thing is! It's coated with a bit of a purple-ish stain which in my opinion isn't a color on the color wheel.
I called the 800 number on my bag was informed their food is manufactured in 'nests' at different sites then frozen separately, and that it is most likely wood off of a pallet one of the vegetables was shipped inside.
They are reimbursing me in the large cash amount of $8.00. Which is almost double what I paid for it.
Score. Anyone for a Chic-fil-A sandwich with those super big funds? I'm buying!
Also, I suppose the wood is better than what this unsuspecting lady from New Zealand found when she emptied a bag of frozen Green beans.....
Yes my friends. It's the decapitated head from a tiny little field mouse. Kind of cute, eh?
I'll take wood any day.
That's what she said.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
I'm An Artist. It's What I Do.
I've been practicing with Halloween make-up. I think I'm getting pretty darn good.
Last year I was only able to get as far as mastering freckles. I will say though, the nine of them I delicately painted on Ava's cheeks completely transformed her into the most awesome of Strawberry Shortcakes. And if you're thinking freckles are easy to apply, they are most certainly not.... If you go too big, they are moles. If you go too small, they are age spots, and that just doesn't look right on a four year-old. Even the shade of the freckle matters. Too light and you can't see them. Too dark and they are too dark. It's very complicated.
I'm always evolving, so this year I was ready to challenge myself with one of the hardest and most elaborate of Halloween make-up creations. The Bruise.
I will not give away all of my secrets, but will share a few hints.
Take for instance the mixture of colors I used. There is an assortment of yellow in the middle, blended with a hodgepodge of colors from the olive and lime green families. I even dabbed a bit of amethyst and bluish-red around the edge near my elbow for a point-of-impact look.
It's pretty fucking awesome.
Last year I was only able to get as far as mastering freckles. I will say though, the nine of them I delicately painted on Ava's cheeks completely transformed her into the most awesome of Strawberry Shortcakes. And if you're thinking freckles are easy to apply, they are most certainly not.... If you go too big, they are moles. If you go too small, they are age spots, and that just doesn't look right on a four year-old. Even the shade of the freckle matters. Too light and you can't see them. Too dark and they are too dark. It's very complicated.
I'm always evolving, so this year I was ready to challenge myself with one of the hardest and most elaborate of Halloween make-up creations. The Bruise.
I will not give away all of my secrets, but will share a few hints.
Take for instance the mixture of colors I used. There is an assortment of yellow in the middle, blended with a hodgepodge of colors from the olive and lime green families. I even dabbed a bit of amethyst and bluish-red around the edge near my elbow for a point-of-impact look.
It's pretty fucking awesome.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Waking Up To New Yard Art
You have an old, rusty and chipped wrought-iron dog that adorns your front porch.
You also have a husband who thinks that it simply cannot go another day without being made-over with a fresh can of spray paint.
You see your husband carry the wrought-iron dog from the front porch to the back yard. Along with spray paint and rope. You secretly wonder about the rope.
You don't really give a shit, and go to bed because it is night time.
You wake up the next morning and while making coffee in your kitchen you look out the window and see this.
You take a closer look.
You anxiously wait for hate mail from your back yard neighbors informing you you're a super weird family and that your kids are no longer permitted to play with their kids.
You also have a husband who thinks that it simply cannot go another day without being made-over with a fresh can of spray paint.
You see your husband carry the wrought-iron dog from the front porch to the back yard. Along with spray paint and rope. You secretly wonder about the rope.
You don't really give a shit, and go to bed because it is night time.
You wake up the next morning and while making coffee in your kitchen you look out the window and see this.
You take a closer look.
You anxiously wait for hate mail from your back yard neighbors informing you you're a super weird family and that your kids are no longer permitted to play with their kids.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Work It Out
I have a girlfriend, Brandey who talked me joining her at a Pilate's class she takes one day a week at the Y.
I agreed and have been fairly good about going. I love it. It's slow, and I like the ab work/stretching and it's just my speed.
I've been fairly petite my entire life and have always struggled with building muscle. In 9th grade gym class, while every single other girl in my grade lifted weights, I couldn't lift THE BAR without weights. For serious. I had a spotter and everything. I was a pathetic weakling. So, now that I've had kids and am older, I'm making an effort to not be such a pathetic weakling.
Since Brandey took the initiative to invite me to one of her Pilate's classes, I decided to switch things up and ask her to join me in another class at the Y. Even though she works out multiple times a week and probably has no time to fit anything else in... I asked. She agreed. The class description seemed right up my alley: toning muscles via low-cardio exercise. May I remind you, Pilate's is like the most low-impact exercise on the planet and I figured this new class would be about the same. I'd rather build muscle than lose any weight.
We showed up to class. The first thing I noticed was a Beyonce song blaring from a radio. Loud as hell. That should have been my first clue as to how bad of a TRAIN WRECK this would become. I see people setting up those step things, and getting out like 8-10 lb. dumb bells. OH JESUS. I expressed my concern to Brandey, who laughed at me as she started jumping to and fro on her little step-thingy. Moving hands up and down, and left and right. And OH MY GOD Y'ALL. I am sooooo NOT COORDINATED. I jumped onto my step-thingy and tried to keep up but WHY IS EVERYONE MOVING SO FAST?? And why am I sweating after 11 seconds of jumping up and down with total lack of rhythm?
At this point, Brandey is laughing hysterically. Seriously. To her, it's a breeze and was keeping up no problem. I on the other hand... fainted when the instructor yelled for us to jump off of our little step-thingies, and instructed all of us to GO RUN AROUND THE ENTIRE BUILDING.
TWICE.
Ex-cuh-uuuuse me?!?!
I didn't sign up for this shit!!! I don't .... RUN! Maybe when I'm taking my kids to school, I run... to get their little butts inside and in their seats as quickly as possible so I can meet my friends for breakfast, but I don't like, run run. Brandey made me do it. I ran around the building...almost twice. All the while sweating bullets while everyone else was leisurely jogging and some how talking all at the same time. I could barely breathe and felt like my intestines were forcing their way out of my abdomen wall. How the hell is this classified as LOW-CARDIO?!?! I get thru the running. Whew. We are now back inside on the step-thingies. Jumping to and fro. Except I can't get the rhythm down and out of like twenty people, I'm the only one confused on which leg goes up/down and which arm to raise when, and now I'm having to add kicks and struts or whatever the hell they are called and I'm a total mess. Brandey is now trying as hard as she can to not laugh. And failing miserably.
And then, my worst nightmare comes true: the instructor calls me out. "Hey, in the back! Don't worry girl! You'll get it! Not everyone goes at the same speed!" Which I'm sure is code for: You're embarrassingly pitiful, so please get the hell out of my class because your flailing arms are distracting everyone.
It's 9th grade all over again! But this time Beyonce is on the radio and I'm sure they think I dance like this too! (Which I don't by the way. Right friends?!?!?)
I'm failing miserably, then the hellish instructor squeals: "AROUND THE BUILDING AGAIN!"
And this time, I am to stop at the basketball court and toss a basketball back and forth to a partner while running sideways. Doesn't this bitch know that if I can't master a simple old-school jazzercise move like jumping to and fro on a step-thing, that I will in NO WAY be able to handle this new task?? I try. Brandy is laughing at my failure (in a loving manner, I assume) and barely sweating. Bitch. OMG. This is like boot camp! This isn't toning and slowly utilizing your core to build strength and stamina!!
I apologize, but I will not inform you of how the remaining 45 minutes of class went. Mostly because by that point I'd thrown my step-thingy back where it belonged and stumbled out of there in search of an EMT.
I agreed and have been fairly good about going. I love it. It's slow, and I like the ab work/stretching and it's just my speed.
I've been fairly petite my entire life and have always struggled with building muscle. In 9th grade gym class, while every single other girl in my grade lifted weights, I couldn't lift THE BAR without weights. For serious. I had a spotter and everything. I was a pathetic weakling. So, now that I've had kids and am older, I'm making an effort to not be such a pathetic weakling.
Since Brandey took the initiative to invite me to one of her Pilate's classes, I decided to switch things up and ask her to join me in another class at the Y. Even though she works out multiple times a week and probably has no time to fit anything else in... I asked. She agreed. The class description seemed right up my alley: toning muscles via low-cardio exercise. May I remind you, Pilate's is like the most low-impact exercise on the planet and I figured this new class would be about the same. I'd rather build muscle than lose any weight.
We showed up to class. The first thing I noticed was a Beyonce song blaring from a radio. Loud as hell. That should have been my first clue as to how bad of a TRAIN WRECK this would become. I see people setting up those step things, and getting out like 8-10 lb. dumb bells. OH JESUS. I expressed my concern to Brandey, who laughed at me as she started jumping to and fro on her little step-thingy. Moving hands up and down, and left and right. And OH MY GOD Y'ALL. I am sooooo NOT COORDINATED. I jumped onto my step-thingy and tried to keep up but WHY IS EVERYONE MOVING SO FAST?? And why am I sweating after 11 seconds of jumping up and down with total lack of rhythm?
At this point, Brandey is laughing hysterically. Seriously. To her, it's a breeze and was keeping up no problem. I on the other hand... fainted when the instructor yelled for us to jump off of our little step-thingies, and instructed all of us to GO RUN AROUND THE ENTIRE BUILDING.
TWICE.
Ex-cuh-uuuuse me?!?!
I didn't sign up for this shit!!! I don't .... RUN! Maybe when I'm taking my kids to school, I run... to get their little butts inside and in their seats as quickly as possible so I can meet my friends for breakfast, but I don't like, run run. Brandey made me do it. I ran around the building...almost twice. All the while sweating bullets while everyone else was leisurely jogging and some how talking all at the same time. I could barely breathe and felt like my intestines were forcing their way out of my abdomen wall. How the hell is this classified as LOW-CARDIO?!?! I get thru the running. Whew. We are now back inside on the step-thingies. Jumping to and fro. Except I can't get the rhythm down and out of like twenty people, I'm the only one confused on which leg goes up/down and which arm to raise when, and now I'm having to add kicks and struts or whatever the hell they are called and I'm a total mess. Brandey is now trying as hard as she can to not laugh. And failing miserably.
And then, my worst nightmare comes true: the instructor calls me out. "Hey, in the back! Don't worry girl! You'll get it! Not everyone goes at the same speed!" Which I'm sure is code for: You're embarrassingly pitiful, so please get the hell out of my class because your flailing arms are distracting everyone.
It's 9th grade all over again! But this time Beyonce is on the radio and I'm sure they think I dance like this too! (Which I don't by the way. Right friends?!?!?)
I'm failing miserably, then the hellish instructor squeals: "AROUND THE BUILDING AGAIN!"
And this time, I am to stop at the basketball court and toss a basketball back and forth to a partner while running sideways. Doesn't this bitch know that if I can't master a simple old-school jazzercise move like jumping to and fro on a step-thing, that I will in NO WAY be able to handle this new task?? I try. Brandy is laughing at my failure (in a loving manner, I assume) and barely sweating. Bitch. OMG. This is like boot camp! This isn't toning and slowly utilizing your core to build strength and stamina!!
I apologize, but I will not inform you of how the remaining 45 minutes of class went. Mostly because by that point I'd thrown my step-thingy back where it belonged and stumbled out of there in search of an EMT.
Monday, October 4, 2010
To See NOTHING, Press Play
A whole new season of prime time TV has begun, but I'm still watching the same shit as last year.
Several weeks before all of the season premiers started, I hopped online and watched previews for every single new show on the prime time lineup. Every. Single. Show. I found 4 or 5 that looked good, and set the DVR to record the first episode of each. The week of the premiers we left for the beach and upon returning from vacation, I sat down one night with an ice cold beer and turned on the TV. I pressed LIST and waited to see the hilarious goodness that I hadn't been able to see the week of vacation.
Nothing was on my DVR list. Let me check again. Right. NOTHING.
I stared in shock, as if it was actually a big deal, but COME ON! The SEASON PREMIER of new prime time shows ARE A BIG DEAL! I knew I had set it up to record correctly, so I knew it wasn't something I did.
Then I saw it.
The plug leading from the TV was NOT IN THE FUCKING WALL-SOCKET THING.
O.M.G.
Terry!
He UNPLUGGED the TV so we would 'save energy' while on vacation. Yes. I'm serious.
Uhhhh - - In all the 7 years we've lived in this house, he has NEVER done that. EVER. And he chooses the one week where all kinds of new shit is on TV. Needless to say, I started a huge fight and bitched and moaned all night long. Pleasantries.
But now, It's no biggie. Cuz I've seen the 2nd episode of all of the new shows and there's not one we like.
Except The Event. Which is completely cheesy, but I can't not watch for some reason.
In tonight's episode, the FBI agent was impaled by a steel shank thing in her chest, given two aspirin for pain, the steel shank thing was yanked out and she shuffled on back to work like nothing ever happened.
Several weeks before all of the season premiers started, I hopped online and watched previews for every single new show on the prime time lineup. Every. Single. Show. I found 4 or 5 that looked good, and set the DVR to record the first episode of each. The week of the premiers we left for the beach and upon returning from vacation, I sat down one night with an ice cold beer and turned on the TV. I pressed LIST and waited to see the hilarious goodness that I hadn't been able to see the week of vacation.
Nothing was on my DVR list. Let me check again. Right. NOTHING.
I stared in shock, as if it was actually a big deal, but COME ON! The SEASON PREMIER of new prime time shows ARE A BIG DEAL! I knew I had set it up to record correctly, so I knew it wasn't something I did.
Then I saw it.
The plug leading from the TV was NOT IN THE FUCKING WALL-SOCKET THING.
O.M.G.
Terry!
He UNPLUGGED the TV so we would 'save energy' while on vacation. Yes. I'm serious.
Uhhhh - - In all the 7 years we've lived in this house, he has NEVER done that. EVER. And he chooses the one week where all kinds of new shit is on TV. Needless to say, I started a huge fight and bitched and moaned all night long. Pleasantries.
But now, It's no biggie. Cuz I've seen the 2nd episode of all of the new shows and there's not one we like.
Except The Event. Which is completely cheesy, but I can't not watch for some reason.
In tonight's episode, the FBI agent was impaled by a steel shank thing in her chest, given two aspirin for pain, the steel shank thing was yanked out and she shuffled on back to work like nothing ever happened.
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