Tag Archives: general hilarity

Pocketful of Meat

Here is a prime example of just how fucking demented I can be while out in public alone:

The other day I went to the deli to buy cold cuts.

You know how some deli workers will present you with a sample of your order and ask if it’s sliced to the thickness of your liking?

Turns out if you plan on ordering a variety of different items and the deli worker offers you a slice of each and you also end up asking him to slice a few items thinner than he first presented you with, and he hands over that sample to you as well, you will end up with a giant mound of meats and cheeses in your hand that you can either jam into your mouth despite having had your fill 2 slices ago and potentially choke on or you can literally sweat it out in your palm…

After gratefully devouring a slice of swiss cheese, roasted chicken, oven gold turkey and a too thick slice of provolone offered, I found myself accumulating more meat than I’ve ever wanted in my hand at one time.

It’s at this point that I began to panic.

I couldn’t find a napkin to stuff all the extraneous meat stuffs into and there wasn’t a trashcan in sight. There was no chance I was going to tell the kind and generous delicatessen worker to take back the slices he had previously offered and dispose of them for me.

And although I’m pretty sure he should have known to cut me off after the 4th or 5th slice, the ball was nonetheless in my court and I did nothing to dissuade him from keepin’ that ol’ meat train a-comin’…

So, I did what any truly brilliant/desperate/cold cut-crazy person in my position would do when faced with the dilemma of man-handling more than one can manage:

I folded up the second slice of provolone, a slice of honey maple ham and a slice of salami (why am i buying this much meat in the first place?) into a misshapen triangle of delicatessen freebies and jammed them into my jacket pocket.

When I got back home I removed the wad from my pocket and threw it to the woods in the hope that a baby deer or a scrawny fox might sniff them out for a late lunch but it failed to change the fact that I managed to walk out of a busy, local establishment with a quarter pound of balled up meat and cheese in my pocket instead of just telling the guy behind the counter: NO.

I believe the truth behind all this madness is simply that, if given the choice, I will almost exclusively choose the more embarrassing option.

*****

It has also come to my attention that I take 18,000 years to complete any one project. I’ve been “trying” to cook lately. It has (surprisingly) been mostly successful. That is to say that the tacos and tater-tot casseroles that I’ve spent far too much time on made have been downright masterful…or something.

I baked cupcakes tonight. From scratch. This was, by and large, a daunting task and one I’ve never even come close to attempting on my own before. Before tonight I wasn’t even sure I knew how to whisk things correctly. After tonight, I’m confident that I don’t.

I only managed to lose control of the whisk and fling melted butter and egg on myself and the side of the mixer once but it also took me almost 15 minutes to set up the mixer in the first place so maybe I shouldn’t be so proud so soon…

Also…

It took me, from first mix to final icing, over 4 hours to complete 12 cupcakes. I think the people on Cupcake Wars have 2 hours to make a thousand so I guess that kills any thought of my going into the competitive baking arena anytime soon.

The point is: cupcakes were made and it was an adventure.

A long, exhausting adventure full of expletives muttered at myself and a plethora of inanimate objects mostly labeled “Kitchen Aid”. An adventure that has now led me towards the greater pursuit and fervent study of whether or not Shiraz is considered a “dessert wine” and if I eat all 12 cupcakes is it OK to wash them down with an entire bottle?

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Air Kicks

the bee: You can go on into the bathroom first this morning.

me: UGH.

b: What?!

m: Well, thanks and all but it’s just so CA-CA-CA-COLD in there. *jitterbugs around the bed in a fetal position to really drive home the point*

b: *slowly turns body in opposite direction*

m: I wish you could air kick me like the Transporter into the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to touch the cold tiles.

b: Do what now? Like who?

m: You KNOW. Like the Transporter. Jason Statham. He is like a master of air kicks.

b: What are “air kicks?”

m: You’re kidding me, right?

b: But aren’t all kicks “air kicks”?

m: Pffffffffffffffffffft. No.

Air kicks are when you are specially trained in martial arts or something and you can make your body fly through the air with your legs shooting straight out, readied like a fist so you can kick-fist someone in the face.

b: Wouldn’t that be called a “flying kick” then?

m: I doubt it. Jason Statham can’t fly, but birds can. Flies can fly. Even planes can fly. You know why? Because they have wings. Jason Statham does not have wings, therefore he cannot “fly kick“, he air kicks.

b: Well, since you’ve presented your case with such an overwhelming amount of logic and reason, I suppose I have no other option but to agree with you.

m: I’m glad I could help you come to your senses.

Now.

Ready?

One, Two, Three… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO!

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Filed under (me), just a thought..., the bee

These pictures would be great if they weren’t so terrible…

Make sure you spare no expense when purchasing otherwise inexpensive yet generally dependable disposable cameras for YOUR informal post-wedding celebratory event.

Otherwise your photos might end up like this*:

ah, yes... it looks like there could be a table there, and wait! some people AT that table, but for the most part... just blackness.

oh, and look... here's a charming shot of the bride and groom about to kiss! oh, wait maybe not. i mainly just see cupcakes.

oh, my. just... *wow*. this is a great one. this photo brings us just *this* much closer to solid proof that (due to unknown causes) a body CAN separate from it head, causing spontaneous floating head-itis**... specifically during informal post-wedding celebratory events.

**spontaneous floating head-itis can also cause momentary facial blurring which can be very useful if you plan on commiting any major crimes and wish to evade security cams or police survelliance.

 

and finally…

the very best and worst? photo of the bunch:
at least it had some color…

*it also helps to have significant sunlight. or some other kind of light. just light. in general.

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I can cook. Just not very well.

me: Oh, thank GOD you’re here.

the bee: What happened?

m: I think I may have ruined the chicken.

b: What makes you say that?

m: I’m not sure if I cooked it long enough.

b: How long did you cook it for?

m: About 15 minutes, but it feels raw to me.

b: Should we really be feeling it?

m: I think so.

b: Well, when you cut it open is the chicken pink or is it white inside?

m: It’s white but I tried some and it felt like raw in my throat.

b: *raises a concerned and skeptical eyebrow*

m: Should it be white on the outside too? Because it doesn’t look very appetizing…

b: Steff, it’s fine. It looks exactly the same as when I cook the chicken.

m: You’re just saying that. I won’t believe you til you try it.

b: Ok. (Takes bite and chews for an inordinate amount of time to eat a reasonably sized piece of chicken)

*gulps* It’s… good.

m: *waves arms in a defeated and hysterical manner* Oh my GOD! Somehow I’ve managed to make it both raw and overcooked. I’ve ruined dinner! It’s a disaster.

and poison!

b: You just need to relax. This is not a disaster and it’s not poison. It’s chicken.

m: *mumbles under breath* poison chicken…

b: *sideways glance*

m: Well?

b: Maybe…

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Filed under (me), home, just a thought..., the bee

A Day in the Life

When I decided to leave my job I figured it would give me an overwhelming amount of free time to write and take pictures and just be generally creative. I thought at this point I would have created so much amazlingness that I would need to tell myself to slow the hell down and just relax already. Instead I find myself unable to wake before 10 and then frantically running around all day in the hopes that I can get something worthwhile accomplished. Most days lots gets done, just nothing worth mentioning.

Or IS it?

Since I’m unable to come up with anything original, I’ll just give you a basic rundown of a day in the life:

12:37 AM – Wake up on the couch with intense neck pain after dozing off while watching something uninteresting on the TiVO (probably Chuck since I don’t find any humor on that show save for Morgan but the bee begs to differ because he just loves it. choose your battles wisely, people.)

12:38-12:41 AM – Attempt to rouse a sleeping bee from the sofa, at first with sweetness and love, whispering things like “Hey, sleepy. It’s late, let’s go to bed, OK?”. When that inevitably doesn’t work and I’ve paced the room for the next few minutes after multiple futile attempts to wake his comatose ass it becomes “FINE! I’m going to bed, with or without you. You can sleep out here, ALONE, where it’s scary and there’s no one to protect you. Good luck.” Within moments a groggy bee will rise as late-night threats of impending fear and abandonment will almost always work in your favor.

4:23 AM – Wake to the sounds of “A-BANG-A-BANG-A-BANG” coming from the weird, dwarf-sized, pseudo-closet underneath our bed where the cat has decided for the umpteenth time to try to see if he can exit through a set of unnecessary double doors that lead only to a wall. Directly under our heads. Where we sleep at night.

This is then followed by the “SCRITCH-A-SCRITCH-A-SCRITCH” when the stinker realizes that his first tactic wasn’t completely fortuitous so he’s moved to the set of drawers built into our weird elevated bunk bed in the hopes that THIS will wake us up so we can git on down thar and play with his fuzzy little monkey butt.

4:24-5:05 AM – Unsuccessfully bargain with a cat, pleading for a decent nights sleep and some peace and quiet if he would only just let us have it: “Just two more hours, buddy. Then we play with flying string-feather alllllll day, OK?” which quickly turns into “WOULD YOU SHUT UP YOU HELL SPAWN JUST BE QUIET GODDAMN IT I’M LOSING MY MIND YOU JERK I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GONNA KIL…” until, finally, the cat gets bored with this charade and resumes sleeping peacefully wherever it is he wants to sleep and we are forced to separate (as it seems to be the ONLY way he’ll ever give us peace), one of us staying in the bed while the other mans the pull-out in the living room where we both end up passing out miserable and overflowing with rage.

Let me just say: It’s awesome.

VS.

note the slight shift in location and the subtle difference in eyelid presentation in both photos. i mention this because these things matter little. in either instance he is ready to take your sleep schedule and make it his bitch.

7:35-8:05 AM – I half-wake to the sounds of the bee getting ready for his day at the office. I remain barely fazed by his knocking about the house  and only regain consciousness again briefly as he stops to give me a kiss goodbye before he leaves the house.

I’m not gonna lie. I’m a huge fan of that part.

9:56 AM – I awake to the sound of “Meeeeeeer, meeeeer” and a little orange face staring up at me from the floor telling me to get the hell up already because he’s hungry, so let’s get this party started. This is closely followed by the “Bzzzzzzp, bzzzzzzp” of my phone which is the bee texting me to get the hell up already because he’s bored, so let’s get this party started.

10:02 – approx 1:30 PM – I begin frantically running about the house in attempt to get things done. I start by putting the kettle on for tea and feeding the cat while I work on straightening up the house because, for whatever reason, collectively we manage to make a mess of things on a daily basis so much so that each morning I have to turn the bed back into a couch or rearrange furniture that was moved to provide sufficient space for the flying string-feather obstacle course or, you know, because I am highly OCD and I just have to. During this time I will also drink my tea, eat my breakfast and manage to make myself feel sub par for not having accomplished more in the way of actual “work” all while sitting in the same dirty pajamas that I’ve worn all week. (that last part is more statement of fact than complaint because I LOVES me the time in my dirty ‘jams)

1:31-4:12 PM – Commence freaking out because it’s almost 2:00 and that’s when the bee goes on lunch which means he’s gonna call me and ask what I’m doing. Also, because technically I think I’m supposed to eat again but that’s so much work and I really don’t have the motivation but I better do it anyway because otherwise I’ll get yelled at (see: the bee). It’s around this time that I realize that I still haven’t managed to do the dishes from the night before and it never ceases to amaze me that no matter what the meal and regardless that it’s just the two of us we still have a towering mound of crap in the sink on a daily basis to deal with.

Also? I should probably shower. It’s been a while. Oh yeah, and the teeth. Still haven’t brushed the teeth.

4:15 PM – Decide that just brushing the teeth and putting on real clothes should be good enough in the way of grooming for the day. Attempt to go online and read-up on blogs and maybe get some writing done. This never happens. Instead I find that Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead is on Cinemax for the 11th time this week so I should probably watch it again because I’M RIGHT ON TOP OF THAT ROSE.

5:30 PM – The bee arrives home and any prospect of writing goes out the window. I’m totally fine with this. At least I will be until tomorrow morning (see: 1:35-4:12 PM) when I’ll just make myself feel guilty for being unproductive again. We catch up on the day’s happenings and the bee complains about some shitty thing that happened at his shitty job and I nod and roll my eyes because I totally get it and then I tell him about how fucking crazy MY new boss is. And he’ll do the same because he knows the deal with that too.

6:45 PM – We decide that we should probably start to think about what it is we might want to eat for dinner. Considering the time we look in the fridge to realize we only have 2 week old baked beans and some white-slime coated hot dogs and since it’s too late to defrost anything “real” in the freezer we realize we need to choose from the only two options left: Wendy’s or McDonald’s. Lately Wendy’s wins out since they have those new salads. You know the one’s with the nuts and cheese and berries? Yep, tooooootally love those. Have I mentioned I should be in sales?

7:55 – 10:15 PM – Return from Wendy’s and begin scarfing down dinner while watching hours of mind-numbing television programming. Remember all the things I had wanted to do during the day but didn’t and then realize that I’m just going to have to do all those things TOMORROW and I begin to panic. I don’t handle stress well. At all. So instead of beginning to relax and enjoy my time with my husband in a low-key laid-back scenario I start to obsess and voice my worry about all my shortcomings and past failures as a human. This makes for really shitty T.V. viewing. Thank god for TiVo. Again: sales?

10:30-ish – Regardless of what is happening, I begin to lose my ability to maintain consciousness. We could be in the middle of playing Dance Dance Revolution and the indefatigable need to just “go lay down for a minute” would sweep over me and that, my friends, is usually where I completely check-out. Sometimes I can pretend like I’m still with it enough to carry on a conversation or, at the very least, add commentary to something seen on T.V. but the truth is, anything after 10:45 for me is 100% auto-pilot which brings us right back to where we started.

Basically I’m just a manic-depressive, obsessive-compulsive, slightly neurotic, unemployed, over-sleeper with less than stellar hygiene, who loves her freak-show of a cat even though he’s *this close* to getting thrown out a window if he wakes her up again with his one-man-band percussive late-night music hour, with a very unhealthy relationship with fast food who really needs to get dressed and put on some make-up. Like now. It’s either that or cover up this pimple with my finger forever.

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Filed under (me), home, just a thought..., the bee

Look What *I* Found! Friday: Yeah, you just TRY to get stuff done (i DARE you) Edition

If you’ve read this blog before it should come as no surprise that I love my cat. It actually borders on obsession. Ok, let’s get real here, it IS obsession. He’s really awesome though, so I have a hard time seeing how this is my fault. He’s adorable and affectionate and, for whatever reason, likes to be wherever I am at. all. times. however inconvenient or inappropriate that place might be*. 

*yes, i’m talking about the bathroom and no, just because i let him in there while i’m showering or toilet… ing, doesn’t mean that i’m in a losing battle for the upper hand in this relationship while simultaneously cultivating a mini fur-monster who knows that if he mews and *scritch*scritch*scritches* at the door relentlessly i’ll let him in there because SOMEBODY has to look out for our home furnishings and i’m starting to not like where this is going so let’s just move on shall we… 

SHALL we? 

When I work from home it is unavoidable that at one point or another “the stinky one” decides that the place he needs to be at that very moment is on my lap or, even better, on the desk: lower half splayed across the mousepad while he claws and chews on the power cord or with legs strategically placed on my keyboard so that I accidentally send out interoffice announcements that read like: 

Hello All, 

I will be taking lunch from 1-eeeeeerrrrtttttttt78uuuiiiiiiooooooooooppppppppppp’ 

So I wasn’t too surprised when I found that monkey falling asleep in this position today: 

It’s really hard to be annoyed with him however TOTALLY ANNOYING it may be to shift his fuzzy little body around my work station so that I can actually get some, like, work done once in a while. 

Sheesh! 

sorry bout dat! dis iz bedur spot? affink dis werk owt gudz cuz nao ai can rilly keep mah EYE on yew...

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Look What *I* Found! Friday: I Spy (and/or one of these things is not like the other for pretty obvious reasons) Edition

I’ve been running around like a  maniac all day trying to pack-up for our mini-trip to a cabin in the woods with some friends for the long Labor Day weekend all while juggling my normal Friday work from home schedule.

Needless to say, I’ve been a bit… harried. More so than usual. 

When I’m home I usually have a little shadow following me everywhere I go. A furry orange little me-eee-eeep-ing shadow. That being said, I must have tired even him out with my back and forth back and forth dance because after a while with no sign of the lil’ stinker I went into the bathroom to find this: 

He was only mildly fazed by my presence: 

oh. it's YOU...

May you and yours (and all the world’s sink-loving cats) have a safe and happy Labor Day!!!

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Look What *I* Found! Friday: Phallus in the Sand (but that’s not all folks! tell ’em what else they’ve won…) Edition

On Wednesday we went to the Atlantic City Airshow scheduled to take place over the beach and boardwalk that morning into afternoon. 

Here was our view of the show from the balcony of a penthouse condo because that, my friends, is how we do: 

A picture my shitty camera took of some of the plane action: 

oh my god. look. it's some planes. flying. in the air. it's blowing your mind isn't it?

I’m not sure how but I managed to fall asleep during a portion of the show even though every time a plane flew by it sounded like it was going to rip the roof off the building and cause the windows to spontaneously shatter and shoot flaming hot shards of glass in my face. 

I might be a Libra and that might be an air sign but apparently that matters little because my real interest that day was in seeing what kind of pictures I could get of the massive crowd roaming the boardwalk below: 

faces obscured to protect the not-so-innocent (and kind of make it look like they have giant clown noses)

 Wait. 

Is that? 

Nooooooooooooooo… 

GREENman? Pourquoi?! 

Ummmmmm… Greenman? 

You do know it’s August, right? And it’s like 90 degrees? And that I can kind of see your balls and now I can’t stop imagining just how hot and sweaty they HAVE to be in that skin-tight body suit baking under the mid-day sun. 

although no longer posing for pictures, his presence didn't make things any less awkward...

Now we can pass the stupidity and ignorance down through the generations. Start ’em young, I say! 

 

coincidence? i think not...

And if you started reading this post only because of the what the title promised, then here you go: 

as much as i would love to claim ownership of this masterpiece... alas, i just cannot. for the record? i would have made mine WAY girthy-er...

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Garden State of Mind

Ah, yes.

NEW JERSEY!

If only you could smell it now… 

It’s like a marriage between fresh cut grass and decomposing fecal matter from the veritable Noah’s Ark of animal sphincters that inhabit this good state.

We really do have it all: sprawling highways, multi-nationalities & ethnicities, WAWA, the birthplace of both Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon-Jovi, full-service ONLY gas stations, and, last but not least, NATURE

New Jersey has more nature than you can shake a stick at people. We’ve got beaches and lakes, rivers and trees and birds and bugs. Swamp lands, pine barrens and bogs filled with cranberries.

Did you even know that’s where cranberries come from? BOGS?! I swear it. They do. Look it up.  

For today’s lesson, I’d like to focus on the subject of trees. Big-ass ones. Big-ass ones that fall from your neighbor’s yard onto and across your driveway stopping all vehicles from either getting in or out so that this is the scene you are greeted with on your way to work Monday morning:

Lucky for me, I had off from work anyway. It was a different story for the bee. Not only did he have work but he had to dismember and dispose of the tree all on his lonesome (no help from yours truly because HELLOOOOO? Who was gonna take the pictures? Tscha!) until the neighbor whose yard the tree fell from came to help him towards the end.

I’m not sure if the photos accurately depict the severity of the situation but let’s just say had someone or something been in that woody monster’s way when it fell that one/thing would be DEAD.

Probably.

It should also be noted that we wouldn’t even have a house or a driveway as lovely as the one pictured above at all if it weren’t for the bee’s parents who rent the cottage on their property to us.

The reason for this?

It is UNGODLY expensive to own/rent a home in this state. I honestly don’t know how anyone does it. At this rate, by the time we’re 45 we’ll finally be able to afford a home of our own.

In 1986.

Between some train tracks and a nightclub.

Which means I’ll need a time machine to get there and a giant bag of blow if I plan on fitting in, neither of which I had accounted for in my original estimate so let’s face it. It’s never gonna happen…

This got me thinking about New Jersey and how I love/hate it. There’s a lot to love actually (see glowing description of NATUREs gifts above) but there’s also a lot of crap you’ve got to deal with if you wanna live here.

With that, I present to you, dun dun da DUUUUUUUUUUUN…

My bid for New Jersey state slogans that are infinitely better than the current: “Come See For Yourself”

 

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Stinky and the Ceiling Fan

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