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Been out of the loop for a bit, but I do have an update. As of last Monday (the 23rd, if my addled brain can recall correctly) there will be no more red meat, no more alcohol (at least if I want to continue to be able to take aspirin when needed, and when you get brain-cell killing migraines, it's needed), no more chocolate, and... even typing this brings sad little tears to my eyes... no more cheese! I think I'll miss you most of all, Sharp Cheddar. Also, no more stress... Fat chance, but hey I'm trying. I won't go into details but the blurb-version of it all is - 'Cause my callus, asshole doctor said so."

Considering the list, I've wasted the last 6 months learning French. :-(

So far I'm okay with it. I've even been able to lay off the sodas for the last 5 days (my one great addiction is Dr Pepper). But I feel that after a week or so of this I'll start going through the caffeine withdrawal DT's and then I'll just be a whiny, grumpy mess from the lack of cheesy goodness. I can survive the no chocolate part, as horrible as it may seem; I've done it before. But I feel the red meat and cheese thing just might push me over the edge,

Oh and to those people who keep pulling that "One little bite won't kill you.... here try this....do you want a giant chunk of Colby..." STOP IT!!!!! Geez, what's the point in trying to get healthier if all you're going to do is wave Muenster under my nose?

So to sum it up - Veggies good (which I'm already perfectly okay with); yummy-in-my-tummy moo babies and the delish items created from their byproducts bad.

If anyone needs me I'll be sniffing the deli bin and recalling all the fond memories of grilled cheese sandwiches and quesadillas that have been spawned there.

$140 later...

...and the clapping/whistling/finger-snapping vet agrees that he is either deaf or really, really stubborn. Ummmm.... Yeah. The vacuum cleaner told me that for free.

And as weird as this may sound, he seems to think in colors. For example -

My saying "No, Duncan; stop eating Conner's back foot" gets no reaction, but my saying the same thing while thinking 'YELLOW' seems to work. Saying "Duncan, food" while thinking "RED" makes him come running, and saying anything at all while thinking "BLUE" makes him go ape-shit.

Strange... for both of us. I think the large aspirin and the bottle of Wild Turkey with Honey may have played a large part in this experiment. I think this weekend's experiment will involve a color wheel and the bucket of margaritas in the freezer.

Duncan Update

He's new, he's deaf and he has odd eyes (one's staying blue and one's getting grayer. Here's hoping cats aren't as cruel as school children.

I'll be getting a second opinion from the vet some time this week, but it appears that Duncan is deaf. It's very well a genetic thing (pure white cat with blue eyes), and it doesn't make me want him or love him any less. He's a sweetie who loves to snuggle and loves everyone, even Pywhacket who only pretends she can't stand him. I'm thankful we found him, as well. Who knows what might have happened to him if he'd been left outside or one of the jackass neighbor kids had gotten ahold of him.

My mom adores him (she hasn't acted like this since Jay-Jay, her 13 year old bit of fluffy evil passed away). Conner has taken him under his care and has been teaching him how to be a proper slacker. Phi becomes a kitten again when Duncan's around and Pywhacket plays with him when she thinks no one's looking.

He's good for all of us, but it's hard enough getting a hearing cat to listen and obey. What do you do with a deaf, hyper-active kitten with the need to climb everything and have everyone and everything cuddle him?

Synchronized Sleeping Trials

The Scottish/Albino Synchronized Sleeping Team of Conner and Duncan started off strong...

But the junior Olympian appeared to tire of the structured routine...

and opted for a more free-style mode of expression.


Needless to say, they were disqualified.

But both went on to compete in the Single Free-Style Sleep and placed rather well


I need a hobby....

Mystery Solved

In 4 years, Conner has never had a hairball. It appears he was just saving up for a clone -

Conner:

Duncan / Loki

(both are fitting and nerdy enough to fit with the current brood) -

Newsflash: My Follow-Thru's busted. So's my Give-a-Damn. More info to follow...

A dog's first natural defense is not, as some experts would like you to believe, their intimidating demeanor. It is in fact their ability to look like this -

If not for those eyes and muppet-ears he'd have been left hog-tied in the backyard for the cats to torture a long time ago.

10 pm on a Monday night and I can't sleep. This is becoming a habit. At least I don't have to work tomorrow. I just have to do all the things I put off for the past 3 days...

It's nice to know that others see the same evi/insanity. It's comforting in its sad little way. It's not a good substitute for vengeance or retribution, but its a start. I'm still not allowed to speak, but that's alright. They aren't my problem. After all, I'm not 'family.' I'm just getting damned tired of hearing about them.

Is it possible to be mentally/emotiionally adopted even tho you know your parents are your biological ones? Because there has to be something that makes me the blunt, straight-forward, dislikes-bullshit one when the others are content to play nice in front of guests and then rag on them behind their backs. Maybe it's a defect, like my sun allergy or the inability to remember how to boil an egg...

Yep, been a week. Other than a spectacular batch of streusel muffins, there's not much to talk about. Just slowly and not so quietly losing my mind and trying to learn Linux without screaming about the spiralling, illogical-ness of it all.

Testing Drivel Journal Editor on Linux

Music to Make Meatloaf To

Last night's meatloaf was a success and even more successful sandwhich for today. My favorite recipes are the ones that make great snacks for the next day. They just seem more worth the effort.

I've been wondering if what you feel/want at the time you're preparing something plays a part in how the dish finally ends up. Mood doesn't seem to have an effect when I'm cooking but with baking it makes a huge difference. There's nothing quite so depressing as angry cookies.

Music is a very important part of my life- It helps at work and sets the pace for certain jobs. It helps me handle all the jerks I have to deal with on my morning commute. It drowns out the sound of 2 seperate tv's blaring and snoring through the wall. But I've never stopped to think about what affect it has on my cooking.

The soundtrack last night was a little... eccentric, but it all turned out okay.

1. Tom Waits - Low Down
2. Neko Case - Mayeb Sparrow
3. Massive Attack - Karmacoma
4. Peter Bjorn and John - Nothing to Worry About
5. Rusted Root - Cruel Sun
6. Civet - Son of a Bitch
7. Neko Case - Prison Girls

I wonder what Motorhead fueled cupcakes might taste like...

Saturday, Aug. 15th - Wednesday, Aug. 26th

This past weekend was pretty much a lazy, leftovers kind of time. No fancy menu, no new and exciting meals to force feed to my family. There something to be said about lounging about in PJ's all day and finishing 3 excellent paperbacks (Dean Koontz's Frankenstein, 1-3). Even Pi and Conner were enjoying the superb laziness.

Saturday was chilli-dogs and oven-baked tater-tots. I think they contributed a great deal to Sunday's level of lazy.

Sunday was Eggplant Parmesana. I'm a texture person; that means the meal can taste like perfection but certain textures like grainy (anything that feels like you dropped a spoonful of soil into it) and gooey (bread pudding feels like a head cold) are just wrong. Forgotten in the oven and consequently overcooked eggplant is not a good texture. Thank god for the Chicken Parmesana I made for the one who thinks the only suitable vegetables are corn and whatever can be found on a fast-food burger.

Monday I was sick. No food for me. And since I couldn't take my allergy meds, not even junk food for me. Tuesday was more of the same. Needless to say, this morning's cautiously eaten breakfast of stale Chex Mix and string cheese was absolutely delicious.

Now that I feel better, I'm thinking Meatloaf tonight (actually I was thinking 'rare steak with just a little bit of sear with a side of baked sweet potato and a tall Jack and Coke' but I don't want to push it. I'll save that for this weekend.)

And before I forget -

CLARIFICATION: If it's something that is easily found in most standard cookbooks/on the internet, I won't post a recipe. If you'd like a copy of any particular recipe, just let me know.

Thursday, August 20th & Friday, August 21st

Thursday's dinner - Noodlie Stuff

A family favorite for those times when you just don't feel like cooking and all of your junk-food money has been spent on new roof.

Boil water, toss in some form of tubular noodle, cook to just shy of al dente.  Drain some of the water, dump in a can of tomato sauce and diced tomatoes, season with some sort of herb and salt and pepper.  When it tastes like food, add preferred choice of shredded cheese and heat to melty.  Dump some in a bowl and watch random TV.  Goes well with Dr Pepper and "The Mighty Boosh"

Friday's dinner -

I like adding some cooked seasoned pork to make it a fuller meal.  This one fits into my continuing effort to convince my mom that good flavors can come from things she normally associates with just one use.  In her world, peanut butter is for sandwiches and spaghetti is for drowning in red goop from a jar.

Updated August 18th post

Tues, Aug 18 and Wed, Aug 19

I'll edit and post the recipe some time tonight... or tomorrow... or...

Tuesday's dinner - Cheesy Garden Vegetables

I made this a loooong time ago when I was in 4-H. I'll wait for the laughter to subside. Got it out of your system? Then let's continue. I used to be proud to cook; I was a culinary geek. Eating this reminded me of when I actually used my skill to achieve something other than a wider butt.

It's mainly cheese sauce with some veggies thrown in for texture, but it's quick, easy and earned me a first place trophy and a chance to see the exotic locale that is Brownsville, TX.

Wednesday's dinner - Skillet Lasagna and Tomatoes Provencal

The lasagna was from a magazine that will remain nameless because I fear Martha-Stewart-esque retribution, espcially since it helped prove once and for all that my traditional lasagna's better.

The Tomatoes Provencal was a last minute addition when I noticed that the pile of tomatoes on the counter were just this side of tempramental water balloons. I shunned basic science and was stuck on the idea that baking will only make them better, not enhance the ick. Wrong. Breaded bitter killer tomatoes anyone?

Monday, August 17th

I was too sick to care,so last night was grilled cheese and condensed potato soup. Don't tell anyone but it was made with lactose-free milk. Ha!!! It tastes the same, admit it! :-P

Iggy vs the Broom

All that is bristly must die!

Teeny Crackhead

Beeby Iggy

Catch-Up

Friday, August 14th -

Not quite alfredo but tasty nonetheless and does not require my keeping cream in the fridge that will inevitably be lost behind the milk and morph into some creepy lump of icky.

Saturday, August 15th - Beef Bourguignon and

I know I'm mixing countries but pppt. Tried it in the electric roaster this time. Bad idea. Took twice as long and I still ended up burning myself.

Sunday, August 16th - Lunch:

What's the best part of the effort of risotto? Little gooey balls of flavor and cheese.

Dinner -

Note for next time - sweet and sour basting sauce is not sweet and sour dipping sauce. Euuuuuu!

Epicureans and Earaches

     How is it that the only time I have to wax moronic on life and love and the lack thereof is when I'm tired and achy and walking sideways?  Here I am with all the side effects of a stupendous night out with none of the fun.

     I know this comes close on the heels of the strange phenomenon that is "Julie and Julia" and that it might appear to some who don't know me as a little shirt-tail (apron string?) riding, but I've got no time to stick to pen and paper like usual.  There are fewer hours in the day the older I get and the sad souls I share space with seem to grow emotionally/mentally senile day by day.  So I forsake scribbles and my ever-depreciating handwriting skills to word processors and Windows Live Writer.

    After all, when no one in the tangible world seems to give a shit, where else can a sad and lonely loser run to but to the safe haven of the Internet?

    So enough with the intro that I know very well will float about the ether finding nowhere to land but at least it's somewhere other than thumping about in my head with the day to day nonsense and stress and anger.

    There are many things I'm good at (drafting, thinking in 3D, doodling, inventing nonsense to pass the days), a lot of things I suck at (team sports is right there at the top of the list in spaces 1 through 5), and a couple things I haven't even tried yet but I'm pretty sure would end up helping me make an even bigger fool of myself (singing in public, learning to swim).  The list of things that I am great at is pretty damn short, and oddly enough these are the same things I've let fall apart - my writing and cooking.

     Words used to be a catalyst, a way to change circumstances and outcomes, my own witchy device of control.  I no longer write.  I complain in word form.  I type and scribble and all that comes out is a different form of the anger and discontent that weighs me down.

    Cooking and baking used to a stress-reducer and something I excelled at.  It's become a chore.  There are too many things that the others won't eat.  I try and plan meals, I try and keep things simple and keep down the waste, but one of the overgrown children I live with make that next to impossible.  Just once I'd like to cook for someone who'd appreciate it.

    Since the former seems to be broken, I decided the latter might be a good place to start.  Staring last Friday (I'm no good at planning to do things and creating meaningful anniversary dates; it either happens or it doesn't and maybe I'll remember) I started cooking what I want.  So far there's been little to no whining, but for future reference, if no one else wants to eat it, I don't care.  There's only so much meat and potatoes and peas I can take.

It's like a Tiny Crack-Head has Taken Over my Livingroom

Meet Iggy (click for more pics), 6 weeks old and too cute to strangle.

Other than a rather inappropriate puppy-penis-related joke from the vet, h\is first trip to the vet went really well.

The guess that he was 6 weeks old seems to be right and he weighs 4.5 pounds.  Just large enough to make a humongous mess...

We've been saying for years that we can't get another dog (well, other people have been saying it and I just pouted) but after hearing this little bundle of dorkiness' story, I couldn't resist.  I only have a couple different takes from a couple different people who were there so I am not at all responsible for the possible complete inaccuracy of his sad story with a [hopefully] happy ending.  I will say that it definitely involves a group of innocent bystanders going about their work-related business and an asshole with a gun.

About 3 weeks ago at a job site with clients and vendors and the usual desert flora and fauna, a gun-toting fuck-head decided he'd had enough of the stray dogs that were presumably on his property.  Instead of trying to be humane and law-abiding, he decided the fastest and most fucked-up way to deal with the problem would be to shoot the mother and then tie her to the back of his truck and drag her away.  A litter of 6 tiny pups was found and a wonderfully caring coworker just couldn't leave them behind.  I have no idea what will or if anything will happen to the asshole.  I like to think he spontaneously combusted and Satan is shoving pineapples up his ass.

Cooter (8 year old black lab) needed a friend, Pi (evil wrapped in cuteness) needed a bigger army, and I've been wanting a dog of my own for a while; and then along comes Iggy. 

The clincher was this wonderful photo - He is the missing link in the dork-pile that is my life:

Yes that is poop, and no it is not his own.

And altho he seems to be ignoring him fiercely, Conner has already been a bad influence.

 

On another high note - Procrastination has puppy-proofed the front room.  The carpet was older than me and ragged as hell so that went  and left cold but easy to clean concrete floors.  The round concrete forms were left in the corner for 8 months but they make great barriers.  The stack of newspapers for recycling were becoming a teetering tower of fire-hazard but now they come in handy to keep the poop-monster in check.  So, thank you, Last-Minute-Man.  It seems that all your put-off projects have had a purpose after all.

Where'd I put my doilies?

The quick and depressing descent into "oldness" begins.

The second I started toying with the idea of actually celebrating a birthday for once (my birthdays have historically been horrendously annoying/painful/depressing occasions that generally lead to binge drinking, fist fights or litigation - whatever can go wrong will and with a vengeance) the doomiest of doom began to creep. Anything that can break, has, from the smallest household appliance to the roof falling down around me to the cause of 95% of my stress and anger no longer being content with merely picking at the hairline crack in my sanity. The narcissist/nihilist in me is convinced that the economy turning to crap is somehow tied into all of this as well.

So for a few months I've watched all of this spiral into the habitual pot-smoker (this is only a metaphor; I cannot afford vices) equivalent of a violent shame and anger spiral, all the while thinking that this is all a fluke, a phase, a convenient excuse to tell my sloppy world to go fuck themselves. Denial can be a lovely thing when paired with sarcasm and a skewed sense of self.

All of the second-guessing and ignoring my instincts and basically turning away from everything I used to like about myself all in the name of getting along and fitting into some screwed up idea of someone else's bliss was nothing compared to whatever Martha-Stewart-Voodoo temporarily (I hope, I hope, I hope) took over my brain this evening. In a matter of seconds I went from being alright with the concept of "Turning 30" to thinking using shot glasses to organize my meds and vitamins was the best idea I've had in a long while.

If anyone needs me I'll be at the kitchen table putting together a million piece puzzle from the Bridges of Lame Faux Scenery with Too Much Sky and listening to NPR. Now where'd I put my doily-hat...