The saddest thing is, this is the classiest MTV has ever attempted to be. Is it wrong to kind of like it?
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
My husband can
My husband can take care of himself. He can cook. He can clean. He is perfectly capable of doing laundry. He just doesn't have the time or energy... mostly energy. Tomorrow, I'm leaving for a visit home.
I'm lucky. My husband isn't a slob. I won't come home to find crusty pots and pans in the sink and splotches of food on the carpet. True, the counters won't be clean, and the bed won't be made, and the laundry will all be one inch from actually being inside the hamper, but it won't be a horror show of massacred Tostitos on the couch and cheesy blobs on the nightstand. I've heard stories, my friends, stories of husbands left to their own devices and the havoc they wreaked on perfectly innocent kitchens. My own father, for example, knows his way around a toaster. He makes a mean bowl of oatmeal. But he's not into "clean" or "spotless." You know?
My husband can also cook. He needs recipes, which he looks at as exact science, but he can most definitely make a fine dinner all by himself. He just doesn't have the time. So I made him a Dinner List. Am I treating my husband like a baby? Perhaps. But does he need it? Most certainly. I'm making a big pan of lasagna. He's got enchiladas and an easy-to-follow guide to our freezer. So we shall see.
I'm lucky. My husband isn't a slob. I won't come home to find crusty pots and pans in the sink and splotches of food on the carpet. True, the counters won't be clean, and the bed won't be made, and the laundry will all be one inch from actually being inside the hamper, but it won't be a horror show of massacred Tostitos on the couch and cheesy blobs on the nightstand. I've heard stories, my friends, stories of husbands left to their own devices and the havoc they wreaked on perfectly innocent kitchens. My own father, for example, knows his way around a toaster. He makes a mean bowl of oatmeal. But he's not into "clean" or "spotless." You know?
My husband can also cook. He needs recipes, which he looks at as exact science, but he can most definitely make a fine dinner all by himself. He just doesn't have the time. So I made him a Dinner List. Am I treating my husband like a baby? Perhaps. But does he need it? Most certainly. I'm making a big pan of lasagna. He's got enchiladas and an easy-to-follow guide to our freezer. So we shall see.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Great Day
Had more Thai today. Met four other ladies from the CinC boards (three of us had met before). So nice! I love how our little group is growing. Except I forgot to take a picture, grrrr! I had my camera and everything. FYI: The Siam Thai lunch buffet is only $8.55, including tax. Unfortunately, I could only eat one plate of food (and a side of 5 pieces of sushi rolls). Tasty indeed.
It's nice to have some women to commiserate with sometimes. Mostly, my husband is my sounding board. *Cliche alert* My husband is my best friend. It's true because it said so on our wedding invitations. He's a great listener. He lets me complain and then smirks and says, "you're such a whiner." I know that should make me feel worse, but it makes me laugh every single time. He's good at breaking tension. It's one of the reasons we never fight. One of us inevitably says something funny and neither of us can resist a good laugh. Hope it's always like that.
The girls and I laughed a lot today. Which feels better than sitting home eating a 9X13" pan of brownies alone and watching "Legally Blonde" one and two.
It's nice to have some women to commiserate with sometimes. Mostly, my husband is my sounding board. *Cliche alert* My husband is my best friend. It's true because it said so on our wedding invitations. He's a great listener. He lets me complain and then smirks and says, "you're such a whiner." I know that should make me feel worse, but it makes me laugh every single time. He's good at breaking tension. It's one of the reasons we never fight. One of us inevitably says something funny and neither of us can resist a good laugh. Hope it's always like that.
The girls and I laughed a lot today. Which feels better than sitting home eating a 9X13" pan of brownies alone and watching "Legally Blonde" one and two.
Just Gross
Blake is a wonderful guy. He's thoughtful and loving and nice. He doesn't mind doing anything I ask (like garbage duty) and he's generally neat, but he's also very single-minded. When he decides something must be done, it must be done that very second. Saturday, when we came home with the groceries, he decided the freezer must be reorganized. So, he took everything out, put it on top of the fridge, put in the new meat and away we went. Do you see where this is going?
Yesterday, he got back from class (about 5:30) and says, "What is that smell?" Yes, I had smelled it that morning, but I'd burned the candle and the mysterious smell wouldn't go away. So, I lit my Oust candle again and hoped for the best. Well, a few hours later, Blake must hunt down the disgusting scent. Oh look! Ice cream, cheese and hamburger meat... sitting since Saturday on top of the fridge. He'd forgotten he'd put all of that stuff on top of the fridge in a span of oh, say, ten minutes.
It was gross. I ribbed him a little, but he felt so bad I couldn't make fun of him for very long. Is there some kind of gender-related short-term memory problem? My father has this problem too. I grew up hearing this conversation one to fifteen times a day:
Dad: Oh so-and-so is stopping by later.
Mom: You never told me that.
Dad: I didn't?
Mom: You most certainly did not *exasperated sigh*
Dad: pause I could have sworn I told you.
Mom: Well you didn't.
Dad: Are you sure?
Mom: *the look* Yes, I am sure.
To sum up? Last week, Blake and I were having a conversation in the kitchen. We paused to go to the living room, looked at each other and couldn't for the life of us remember what the heck we were talking about. We retraced our steps. We re-enacted what we were doing. We couldn't remember.
Man, oh man, sometimes I think I should check myself into an assisted living facility for seniors. Blake could keep me company.
Yesterday, he got back from class (about 5:30) and says, "What is that smell?" Yes, I had smelled it that morning, but I'd burned the candle and the mysterious smell wouldn't go away. So, I lit my Oust candle again and hoped for the best. Well, a few hours later, Blake must hunt down the disgusting scent. Oh look! Ice cream, cheese and hamburger meat... sitting since Saturday on top of the fridge. He'd forgotten he'd put all of that stuff on top of the fridge in a span of oh, say, ten minutes.
It was gross. I ribbed him a little, but he felt so bad I couldn't make fun of him for very long. Is there some kind of gender-related short-term memory problem? My father has this problem too. I grew up hearing this conversation one to fifteen times a day:
Dad: Oh so-and-so is stopping by later.
Mom: You never told me that.
Dad: I didn't?
Mom: You most certainly did not *exasperated sigh*
Dad: pause I could have sworn I told you.
Mom: Well you didn't.
Dad: Are you sure?
Mom: *the look* Yes, I am sure.
To sum up? Last week, Blake and I were having a conversation in the kitchen. We paused to go to the living room, looked at each other and couldn't for the life of us remember what the heck we were talking about. We retraced our steps. We re-enacted what we were doing. We couldn't remember.
Man, oh man, sometimes I think I should check myself into an assisted living facility for seniors. Blake could keep me company.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Touring the U.S.
Last night I dreamt I went on a tour of the United States. Our bus driver/tour guide? President Barrack Obama.
He was an excellent tour guide and wore a snappy suit with the obligatory flag lapel pin. My husband was there, and lots of elderly sight-seers were there. It was wonderful. We met Al Roker in California. We rode Route 66. And apparently, we were able to see the country, from sea to shining sea, in just one day. Except Blake threw up in an empty Cool Whip container somewhere between the Grand Teton National Park and the Grand Canyon. So we flew home, bummed out. It was pouring rain out and our neighbors brought over their pets to cheer us up. No, it wasn't their reality pet entourage of a dog and a cat. It was three dogs, two very tiny kittens and three fish. All of us (people and pets) laid in our bed and just hung out... which is weird becuase we have two perfectly good couches in the next room.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Free Food
Someone (BMurphy) reminded me that I have a blog and haven't written on it in a very long time. Whoops. So thanks for the reminder!
So here goes:
Free Food is one of the best things on Earth.
A few years ago, I interned at the Cooperstown Chamber of Commerce. Lots of happy baseball people and opera-loving men in rumpled linen suits. One of my very favorite things about working there was the food. B&Bs are EVERYWHERE in that town, and in all of Upstate NY for that matter. The Chamber members would bring in amazing pastries and breakfast and just... pure goodness on a plate. And we would all dig in. There was bacon. And it was good.
In college, my bestest friend, Rae, and I worked in the Alumni & Donor Records Office. Free food abounded there, too. Mostly donuts and cookies. Our boss insisted we eat whatever food was there. She was Italian, that explains it all. Lorae and I did justice to many a fruit and cookie platter in our years there.
I'm temping this week at an insurance office full of very nice, extremely civic-minded, charity-loving individuals. Come to find out, these people are good about everything, including their diets. There were five people here yesterday. Guess how many eat sweets? One. Guess who that one was? Me.
I had a bite of what amounted to two chocolate bars wrapped in bread, but didn't finish it as I have no desire to develop Type 2 Diabetes. I brought it home to my husband. The man can eat anything and he still has 0% bodyfat. I told him this and he informed that if he had 0% bodyfat he would be dead. Smart Alec. I had half a shortbread cookie instead. Before I even bit down I could tell the shortbread was pure fat. Whether it be crisco or butter, it was oh so good. Shortbread is magical. So versatile and you don't even need eggs.
My husband had quite a culinary adventure over the weekend. I wasn't feeling well and he decided to make his grandmother's brownies. Somewhere between warm the oil and bake at 375, something went horribly, terribly wrong and they came out this crumbly, grainy mess of ickiness.
The better I get at cooking, the worse he gets. When we were first dating (which makes me sound old, I know), he impressed me with his culinary acumen and presentation of a butter-slathered hot and spicy shrimp dish that made me want to marry him on the spot. Since 11th grade is a bad time to get married, we postponed. Now that we live together and I temp, which is code for "work once a month," I do all the cooking. I've heard him say several times that he can't cook. Which is just silly. He can remember ridiculous amounts of information, learn how to fly planes, and can't make a simple casserole?
May I present: Cooking for Engineers. Recipes and cooking tips for people with minds like my husband. That is, science-y and technical-y and precise-y. I was raised with the "pinch of this, pinch of that" method.
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I didn't set out to write entirely about food. Can you tell that my lunch was dissatisfying? Can you tell I wish I had more than a PB&J and a peach to eat? What I wouldn't give for Cape Cod potato chips right about now.
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