December 22, 2009
I love Chenille yarn. It’s so soft and warm. I have a couple of sweaters made with it and I love them. And what’s nicer than cuddling up on the couch, covered with a Chenille blanket? OK, maybe eating chocolate and drinking from a giant bottle of vodka while cuddling with said Chenille yarn blanket, but you get my drift.
So, I have this red blanket made with Chenille yarn. It’s such a pretty red, so rich, so vibrant and the blanket is so warm. Obviously, sometimes, a blanket needs to be washed. And red Chenille yarn blanket is no exception. The first three times it was washed, nothing happened. I put it in the washer on the gentle cycle and dried it in the dryer on a low setting. That’s what the care instructions said to do. And I’m all about following the care instructions. DON’T DEVIATE FROM THE CARE INSTRUCTIONS. I followed the rules dammit. To a ‘T’. And yet? Something evil happened on washing number four.
Who knew I’d be sobbing because red Chenille yarn blanket hurt me? Destroyed me. Seriously. I have no forgiveness for it. Or should I blame the washer? The dryer? My neighbor?
I put blanket in the washer so it would be all clean and smell nice. I followed those care instructions like a good laundry girl and when it was done, lovingly took it from the washer and put it in the dryer. Set it to dry on low AS PER THE CARE INSTRUCTIONS. Uh huh.
This is what came out:
My blanket is no longer a blanket. It’s a pile of fuzzy red, uh, fuzz. What the hell is that? How does a blanket, which was completely intact when it was put in the washer and then the dryer, come out looking like it went through a meat grinder? ‘Splain this to me. I no longer have a red Chenille yarn blanket. Well, technically I do, but I’m guessing it won’t do a very good job of keeping me warm. At all.
I’m now covering up with an old Blue’s Clues blanket that belonged to my son when he was little.
November 18, 2009
I hate to cook. I. HATE. IT. I am not Martha Stewartish or Rachel Rayish in the slightest. I would rather stab YOU (no offense) in the ass than cook a meal. Ask the meatloaf.
However, there are times that I will act all kitchen-bitchish, as if I know what the hell I’m doing. On occasion, I do know what I’m doing – if it doesn’t involve recipes of more than say, 3 ingredients and/or the oven. I kid. Or not.
I decided I would make a shepards pie. I do happen to make that very well – call it luck if you want, point is, I can make it well and people actually eat it and DON’T DIE AND SHIT. I’ve not felt like cooking meals of late (as if I ever do) and was all excited to prepare good food for my family. Sometimes, I like them.
I wanted to make everything ahead of time, so that when suppertime rolled around, all we’d have to do is heat up the shepards pie. So, for an hour in the early afternoon, I got busy. By 3 p.m. the casserole was done and ready for reheating later on. Super. I could nap clean the house.
At around 6 p.m., the fam is looking for food. Great. As if I like to cook. I know what you’re thinking – hello? you made a shepards pie!, use that? yeah? – hey, don’t judge me. I can’t even remember what I ended up cooking – yes, I can feel your judgy eyes on me and I DON’T LIKE IT – but my family got fed. They just didn’t eat the shepards pie I had worked my fingers to the bone (*might* be a slight exaggeration) to make.
Let us fast forward to last night. Yet another evening where I get all chef-y and decide to cook. Like with real pots and pans and again, turning on the oven. You know when you turn on the oven and it goes ding when it’s all heated up and stuff? Yeah, I hardly recognize that sound myself, but you know what I mean, right? Right.
So, oven dings, announcing it’s all HOT and bothered, and I put on those fancy mittons that feel all yucky and fuzzy and open the oven door to put the salmon in to bake and um, I noticed something.
Like, it may or may not have been the shepards pie I made a few days ago:
Still in the oven. From four-ish days ago. Right. So. I’m assuming it’s not any good now. I mean it involves MEAT. And I may not be the brightest bulb when it comes to preparing meals, but I do know meat left out for a few days is usually not suitable to eat. ‘Cause you might die if you eat it. So, don’t eat it.
I was wondering where I had put that shepards pie and the mystery was solved. Whew. Had my brain working overtime trying to figure out where the hell I had put it.
Serving it to my family tonight *might* be a bad thing. Just sayin’.
I’m cooking again tonight. By cooking, I mean, I’m ORDERING TAKEOUT.