April 8, 2006

Lemme just tell ya, hell sounds like a super fucking vacation right now. My daughter is sick and I’ve cleaned up more vomit than is really fair for one person to handle. Blech.


I have teenagers who think that because they worked a 4 hour shift, need not clean up after themselves and reward themselves with playing video games and naps. Oh the life.


My husband is working, which is nice because working brings in money and who doesn’t like money? I sure do. However, that means if he’s not here, he can’t tag team with me on the vomit issue. And even with all this mention of vomit and cleaning it, I’m frickin starving. I’ve had a piece of toast all day and it’s after 3pm. I suppose I could get up and get something to eat but there’s nothing here that’s calling my name. I’ve eaten all some of the chocolate eggs and I really don’t want anymore because they’re all in my gut and I’m fucking sick of them I’m saving some for others. I’m nice like that.


My 10 year old is being good but loud. So loud that I’m sitting here with headphones on listening to music that is so loud that it’s most likely making me deaf as I type this. Now, you’re probably thinking, she’s complaining that her 10 year old is being loud, but she’s listening to loud music to drown out the loudness? Yes. You got it. Don’t bother trying to figure me out. I can’t even do that.


I want a barbequed steak. Like now. But we have no propane for our big ass barbeque so maybe if I talk real nice to hubby, he will go and fill up the tank and cook me a nice steak later. Let me make a note of that. I don’t want to forget.


I should probably learn sign language or learn to read lips because my son is now motioning for me but I have no clue what he’s trying to say. I guess I could take off the headphones or turn down the music but I don’t wanna. He’s not looking panicked so I’m guessing it’s not overly important and I can probably put off actually listening to him while I finish typing this out. Mom of the year people, mom of the year. Hey the kid’s not on fire, so deal.


Perhaps I should start drinking. I could get loaded and pass out and then noone could bother me for a few hours. So it would be kinda like a mini vacation without the expense of actual travel. I’ll think about it and take it up on advisement. I know, maybe Karen could come punch me in the face. Not that she has an anger problem. No sirrreeee. Not too serious anyway. Nope. Not at all. I swear.


Well I guess I should get off my duff and see what the rest of the maniacs my lovely family members are doing. I guess they might need a swift kick in the ass some of my attention. I’ll be back. You can count on that.

It all started a couple of weeks ago.

I was craving some of my mil’s brown bread. It’s not whole wheat or rye, it’s brown. Made with molasses. And it’s very good. However, we all know my track record with cooking and/or baking. I suck. So what to do? Hmmmm. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I know! I’ll get my very own bread bitch. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to look far.


My son Matthew says he’ll take the position. Super. I can almost taste the bread now. And the best part? I don’t have to have anything to do with the preperation, therefore, it should turn out. I did purchase all the ingredients but I do not have to pour, measure, wisk, stir, knead. Excellent.


As the ingredients are being put in, I’m getting slightly worried. As you can see below, ummmm, the mixture looks like, well, shit. I’m sort of losing my desire for the bread but let my BB (bread bitch) continue. Surely if I have no part in the process, it will turn out. Right?

Said mixture, looks ‘questionable’ and if ‘questionable’ means ‘looks like poo’, then you’re right. But maybe there’ll be hope. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.
Tell your bread bitch (if you’re lucky enough to have one) to get back to kneading the bread dough and not to have elicit tongue action with said dough.
That’s more like it. Keep kneading that big brown mass until it’s soft or moist or doughy. I don’t know. Do I appear to have any knowledge in the kitchen? No. Therefore I do not know proper terminology. I’m not totally sure what the dough is supposed to look or feel like. Sue me.
After kneading said dough, cut it up with a dull butcher knife and then apparently you place it back into the baking pans to rise. So I’m told. Don’t take my word for it.
Now at this point, my concerns are mounting. Why does it look like poo brain matter? We let it rise for a couple of hours and then it goes into the oven. It bakes for a period (I’m assuming) and then my BB takes it out of the oven.
Okay BB is smiling and looking like he wants to have relations with that bread, so I’m guessing it turned out? Weeeeeeeellll, not entirely. Read on.
Okay, you see there were 4 loaves made and they seemed to come out and look like brown bread except they were much darker than when my mil makes it. Way darker. We all sampled it and the conclusion?

Well apparently, even though I had no part in the making or baking of this bread, I still managed to fuck it up. It tasted okay but not like my mil’s and it was very very molasses-y. And why is that? Well, the person who bought the molasses (ummm that’d be me), purchased the wrong molasses. I know, I know. I need to just stop doing anything with food period. Anyone want to come and cook for me? Like forever?


***Note*** Last week, my BB decided to make the bread recipe again, this time using molasses that he and his father picked out and guess what? It turned out just like my mil’s. They didn’t even tell me they were making it (smart move). If I know nothing about it, then there is no possible way for me to screw it up.


I’m going to give you the recipe as I remember it. Okay, you need molasses. But you can’t use the dark shit or your bread will come out like dark shit. Oh and you need flour. I remember that. I think sugar too. Oh geez, you gotta know amounts right? Hmmmmmmm. Is there eggs in it? Ummmmm, I don’t quite recall. Oh I think there’s margarine involved. And licquor. Oh wait, you don’t put the licquor in the mixture. I think you just drink that. Straight. There could possibly be salt. I know it’s not alot of salt…..maybe a dash? Or is it a pinch? Or maybe you throw the salt over your shoulder? Damn. I’m having fuzzy memories of this. How ’bout I get back to you on the details of the recipe? I should probably consult with someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Anyway, it’s really good if you make it correctly. I swear.

April 6, 2006

Warning….this is all off the cuff, random kinda crap. It might, quite possibly, be uninteresting and make you die of boredom. So you’ve been informed.


I just checked my local weather online and this is what it said, ‘rain ending this evening and a 60% chance of rain’. Well you just told us that the rain will be ending tonight, so I just assumed, that meant it would be raining. Now you’re saying after the actual rain, we might have a 60% chance of getting another batch of rain? Not sure. Maybe I’m just tired.


I can’t get warm. I even took a hot shower and that didn’t help. Hmmmm. Maybe if I put some clothes on after my shower, while sitting here typing, that might help. Dunno.


I have just consumed about 9 little chocolate easter eggs. It’s not even freakin’ Easter yet. Not that I really care. I can eat chocolate anytime, anywhere. Well I probably wouldn’t eat it in a public bathroom but other than that, I’m good to go. Oh I just ate my 10th.


My son asked my husband and I this morning, when we were going to have meatloaf again. He purposely looked at me and shook his head and then pleaded with his eyes to his father….meaning, don’t let her make the meatloaf dad but I would really like to have some soon but only if you make it. Little shit. I’m thinking I could maybe try making it again. I mean, the last time, was like over a decade ago. Yes, yes, I was forbidden to ever make it again but come on. Criminals get out of jail and get a second chance. Why can’t I get a second meatloaf chance? I’m just sayin’.


I went to the grocery store the other day and I was waiting in line and noticed the cashier. Oh shit, it was Betty. Betty the retarded cashier. I started to panic. She was going to holler at me and ask me why I would want ‘bag’ and if I like ‘monies’. Why oh why? Why do I get her when all I want is a relatively normal cashier, who rings my items through with minimal conversation or if they do talk, they make fucking sense. I was placing my groceries up on the counter and praying with all my might that she would get swallowed up while ringing in the old fat guy ahead of me. Was that so wrong? Well she didn’t get sucked into any black hole but another cashier came over and told her to take her break or whatever and that he was taking over her till. I wept. Betty grabbed her cash and headed out to her spaceship and off to crazypantsland. There really is a god.


Okay now I’ve consumed 14 chocolate eggs. I really need to stop because I feel some unpleasantness now in my stomache. It’s starting to hurt. Like I got punched. Not as bad as when Karen punches me in the face, but almost as bad. What the hell is wrong with me? I just ate another one. Karen, come and punch me in the face.


Well I suppose I should get off my ass and do something productive. Fuck. I ate another one. I’m not normal. Clearly. I need to throw these damn chocolates right out the window……well maybe after I eat another one. Okay, I’m off to do something so fun and so exciting, I’ll probably have an orgasm. Wait. That was a big, frigging, fat lie. The only thing involving a load for me right now, will be putting laundry in the washer. Okay, now that I’ve just grossed my own damn self out, I’m leaving. I will be back though. Miss me. Oh. I ate another one.

April 5, 2006

Weeeeeeeelllll, don’t freakin’ ask me. Someone googled about meatloaf and got my blog. Beware. Read this. Like I know about meatloaf. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

April 2, 2006

We had Chinese food for supper tonight. And as usual, we all cracked open our forture cookies afterwards. Mine said, ‘you will get the recognition you deserve very soon’. Really? Super, because I want it very soon.


I then got to wondering, what exactly will I be recognized for? That I scrubbed the bathroom floor 2 days ago? Or that I had to clean vomit up yesterday (don’t ask)? Or am I going to be famous for being one of the worst cooks on planet earth?


What exactly am I being recognized for? And by whom? I want to know and know now. Yes, I sound like a petulant, spoiled child but really, I don’t want to wait any longer for my recognition. I think I should get it like now. Sounds good to me. Hey I took a phone message for my husband and 2 for my son. Am I being recognized for being a great receptionist (that gets NO pay by the way)? Or that I had to explain 3 times to the jerkoff who called looking for Tim Horton’s that this was NOT Tim Horton’s and that he has the wrong number and to stop calling and that even if he calls me like 68 times more times, it will still not be Tim Horton’s. Maybe it’s that I tripped on the way to the mailbox and the guy across the street saw me and tried his darndest not to laugh aloud. That’s being recognized isn’t it? Geez, I just wish I knew what my recognition is and when I’m getting it. The suspense of it all is driving me crazy. Or maybe I’m just crazy. Wait. I think that’s it.


I did open another cookie and it said, ‘you’re weird and people laugh at you. Alot’. So, maybe I shouldn’t take those things too seriously. Anyway, I’ll let you know if anyone recognizes me for anything. I’ll be sure to give you all the juicy details.

April 1, 2006

I’m thinking I should be slightly worried. Maybe. I know I’ve mentioned this before and maybe I seem like I’m obsessing about it but I get quite a few hits from people who are googling about poo.


Someone again googled ‘I’m pooping in my panties’. Personally, I think that’s gross. I’m just sayin’. Why would you poop in your panties? Sure, if you’re like 3 and you have an accident because your dad is in the bathroom shaving and you can’t get the door open in time, maybe I can see that. But if you’re 3, you’re most likely not googling online that you’re pooping in your panties. Does one sit while they’re pooing in their panties and googling about it? That’s gross too.


Obviously the people who are actually having a shit party in their pants, should be a tad more concerned than I, who, is fretting that people are getting to my blog because they’ve googled about crap. I know I’ve mentioned some poop stories, so therefore, it’s likely that at some point, these shit in your pants type people, will find me. I get that. But still.


And again, someone googled, ‘public bathroom pooping’. Is there really information out there about that? I mean a couple of my stories did involve public bathrooms and poo but it was innocent banter from my little one while in the bathroom. It’s not like I was in the public bathroom putting on a poo show for people. That’d be gross. Super gross. Like who would do that? What are these shit googlers looking for? Shit-equette? If they’re looking for photos, well move it along people, because there will be no shit pics here. Not a one. I’m not saying there couldn’t be shitty pictures but that would be just the picture quality, not actual shit pictures, just so we’re clear here.


Oh and I know what you’re thinking. Here she is again talking about the people googling poo and she’s now blogged again about poop and said, poo, pooping, crap and shit like a million times in this one post, so now more people are going to find her blog when they have their little shit fantasies and start searching for it. I know, I know. But I can’t help myself. It’s like a bag of chocolate chip cookies good wholesome apples that I can’t just leave alone. I must have it. And thus, I must talk about the poo people who google about poo and end up at my blog because I’ve mentioned shit somewhere in my post. It’s a sickness. A vicious poo circle that I can’t control. The more people google about ‘pooing in their pants’, the more I laugh and therefore, the more I must tell you all about it. So, I will be keeping you informed of any and all googled poop searches. Mmmmkay?