Ok, my daughter apparently has a great love of salmon patties. It would have to be a dish I have never prepared in my life, right? In fact, I have never prepared salmon ANYTHING. My version of having salmon, is having it imported, smoked, served with scallions and little garlic toast triangles, washed down with a very dry champagne. Obviously my budget no longer supports this version of salmon. So I did what anyone would do. I asked my friends how to make salmon patties. I got tons of recipes that called for anything from crushed up oyster crackers to cornmeal. My friend Kat sent me the easiest recipes to follow, so armed with my new found knowledge, off I go to Wal-Mart to buy what I needed. I should have known I was in trouble as soon as I read the label on the can.
"Alaskan Pink Salmon" it declared in large white letters. In smaller black letters underneath read the words "Packed in Alaska". Well no kidding. Now keep in mind that on the front of the can it SAYS salmon, with a big pink fish picture. On the back of the can it says, "Ingredients: Pink Salmon, Salt". Just in case you missed the picture and writing on the front. And for the total idiot, it also says "Allergy Warning: Contains Salmon" Needless to say, I was pretty damn sure it was a can of salmon before I opened it. The label lacked the helpful information I really needed.
Nobody warned me about the bones. They should have put THAT little tidbit on the label. They should also have included the fact that you don't have to actually pick out all these little bones. They didn't, of course, so I spent 45 minutes picking out all these tiny little bones. Along with the spine. It wasn't until after I did that, that one of my friends told me all I needed to get out was the spine. So far my salmon experience was not living up to my expectations.
Another warning that I wish they had put on the label...It is NOT grey snot, it's skin. Actually, it wouldn't have changed what I did with the grey snotty skin, because it was revolting. Skin or snot, it went straight down the disposer the second I scraped it off the hunk of fish and bone. But it would have been nice to be warned that it would be there. I'd rather fondle chicken fat.
And finally, I wish that in big letters on the can, it had advised me to open ALL windows and doors, turn on the fan, light candles, spray Febreze, and beg the dog to pass gas. Because canned salmon smells LOUD. Oh. My. God. I originally compared it to the smell of $2 hookers at a lingerie party, but I am leaning more toward the pungent aroma of a lower than low budget porn movie set. After 10 or 15 movies had been filmed. I honestly can't imagine a woman, any woman, letting herself go that much. And I can't imagine the man that would get close to any woman that did. Well. Yes, I can. Remind me one day to tell you about Red.
Once I finally got past all that, and actually cooked the things, they weren't half bad. I admit, it took a couple of shots of vodka to work my nerve up to actually put one in my mouth though. My daughter proclaimed them excellent, which means I will undoubtedly have to make them again. But I now know what to expect. And I think I'll take Dana's advice and spend the extra money to buy Chicken of the Sea from now on.
Bon Appetit!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Pet Peeves and all that Shit
Life manages to find new and inventive ways to bug the everloving shit out of me, and I have had enough! It burns me up when someone is too busy to talk to you, but they can be posting their ass off on facebook when they are supposedly so busy. Cowboy the hell up and say I don't want to talk to you. Don't lie and say you're busy. Sheesh, thats adding the insult of intelligence to the injury of ignoring someone.
And just while we are at it, how about acting like an adult? I have been surrounded by people who seem to think they have reverted to the fifth grade in the past month. Is it your kid? Then be the freaking dad. Is it NOT your kid? Then decide if you want that responsibility or not. Then act accordingly. Don't want to work? Then QUIT for Christ sake. But if you show up, then is it too much to ask that you actually, you know...WORK? Oh and by the way, you're so vain, you probably think this post is about you! The modern version of the song. I know LOTS of people, and not everything I write has to do with you..or him..or her...or the other him. Believe me, enough goes on behind the scenes of Facebook, that the guilty party is usually very, very aware of a post directed at them.
And I personally would like to legalize removing the hands of a thief, with a dull axe. Sorry, but it irritated the HELL out of me when I finally got video evidence of it. I make $11 freaking bucks an hour to put up with vultures like you. Medicare covers 80% of my daughter's medical expenses. Lets look at dialysis. $45, 000.00 a month. NO, IT'S NOT A TYPO. That's fourty-five THOUSAND dollars a month. That leaves $9,000.00 that I am responsible for. Nine THOUSAND. At $11 an hour. And I DON'T FUCKING STEAL. But you are so hard up that you steal a $5 purse, and a $15 blowdryer??? Really?? I have a Louis Vuitton pack that you can have, because it isn't big enough. In better days, It cost me $750. And a hair dryer that is way better than the $15 piece of shit dryer you stole. I never use it, because I never have time anymore. I think I paid $60 for it. You could have it. If you need it, and I have it, I will GIVE the shit to you. But if you fucking STEAL it, all I wanna give you is an orange jumpsuit. Scumbag.
Oh yeah, and how about the I-don't-like-you-because-he/she-doesn't-like-you mentality. With the shit I deal with on a daily basis, do you think I have the time, energy, or patience for that? Are you fucking kidding me???? If I enjoy your company, for whatever reason, I will try to be friends. But you have stepped outside your fucking mind if you think I am going to beg. I'm grown, and I just don't need you that bad. And I just don't like you that much. Enjoy your fairweather friends. I save my energy for true friendship. And yes, after the past year-and-a-half, I do know what TRUE freinds are.
And at this point, don't even get me started on the bones in the salmon. I'm going to have a drink now. I'll think about it tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow is another day!
And just while we are at it, how about acting like an adult? I have been surrounded by people who seem to think they have reverted to the fifth grade in the past month. Is it your kid? Then be the freaking dad. Is it NOT your kid? Then decide if you want that responsibility or not. Then act accordingly. Don't want to work? Then QUIT for Christ sake. But if you show up, then is it too much to ask that you actually, you know...WORK? Oh and by the way, you're so vain, you probably think this post is about you! The modern version of the song. I know LOTS of people, and not everything I write has to do with you..or him..or her...or the other him. Believe me, enough goes on behind the scenes of Facebook, that the guilty party is usually very, very aware of a post directed at them.
And I personally would like to legalize removing the hands of a thief, with a dull axe. Sorry, but it irritated the HELL out of me when I finally got video evidence of it. I make $11 freaking bucks an hour to put up with vultures like you. Medicare covers 80% of my daughter's medical expenses. Lets look at dialysis. $45, 000.00 a month. NO, IT'S NOT A TYPO. That's fourty-five THOUSAND dollars a month. That leaves $9,000.00 that I am responsible for. Nine THOUSAND. At $11 an hour. And I DON'T FUCKING STEAL. But you are so hard up that you steal a $5 purse, and a $15 blowdryer??? Really?? I have a Louis Vuitton pack that you can have, because it isn't big enough. In better days, It cost me $750. And a hair dryer that is way better than the $15 piece of shit dryer you stole. I never use it, because I never have time anymore. I think I paid $60 for it. You could have it. If you need it, and I have it, I will GIVE the shit to you. But if you fucking STEAL it, all I wanna give you is an orange jumpsuit. Scumbag.
Oh yeah, and how about the I-don't-like-you-because-he/she-doesn't-like-you mentality. With the shit I deal with on a daily basis, do you think I have the time, energy, or patience for that? Are you fucking kidding me???? If I enjoy your company, for whatever reason, I will try to be friends. But you have stepped outside your fucking mind if you think I am going to beg. I'm grown, and I just don't need you that bad. And I just don't like you that much. Enjoy your fairweather friends. I save my energy for true friendship. And yes, after the past year-and-a-half, I do know what TRUE freinds are.
And at this point, don't even get me started on the bones in the salmon. I'm going to have a drink now. I'll think about it tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow is another day!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Learning to breathe...again
You think everything is great. You have a few minor irritations, but all in all, life is going pretty good. You are happy. You have someone that cares, makes you feel special, and puts a smile on your face. And in an instant, that changes.
Actually, changes is not the word. Explodes is a better word. That is when you find out you were just the butt of someone's idea of a joke. But you aren't laughing. Not bad enough? The explosion killed a friendship that has spanned years, crossed state lines. It destroys the trust you had, because that friend is the one who made you the joke. Want more? The friend gets mad at you for not getting over it. You get blamed for the actions of others, that you couldnt control and knew nothing about until after the fact. You get ridiculed for trying to save any semblence of a friendship. You play by their rules, and they change the rules so they can punish you some more.
There are no words that will make that hurt go away. You don't want to hear about Karma, or how in 5 years you will be sitting back laughing at them. You don't wanna hear how its for the best, or that they didn't deserve you anyway. All you can do is bounce between missing them so much you can't breathe, and being so pissed off you can't think.
And in the beginning you will suffer more through the missing than the anger. But everytime the anger hits, you can at least breathe again, just a little bit.
It's sad that people don't care about the harm they can do. As long as they get it their way, they can ignore that they walked on you to get it. But what they don't realize is that you managed fine without them in your life before, and you can manage after them, too. What they don't get is that every time you daydream about setting fire to their face, and then putting it out with a fork, you learn to breathe again, a little tiny bit more each time. And finally, they just don't understand that once they drop the diamond into the garbage, they can't go find it in the landfill later. It's gone. Just like you are. You may cry for the loss every single day of your life, but you can hold your head high when you do. It proves you have something they don't. A soul. And that alone is worth more than anything they will ever have.
Keep breathing. You can, you know. It may hurt, and at times you may think you can't take the pain anymore. But you can. You will.
Actually, changes is not the word. Explodes is a better word. That is when you find out you were just the butt of someone's idea of a joke. But you aren't laughing. Not bad enough? The explosion killed a friendship that has spanned years, crossed state lines. It destroys the trust you had, because that friend is the one who made you the joke. Want more? The friend gets mad at you for not getting over it. You get blamed for the actions of others, that you couldnt control and knew nothing about until after the fact. You get ridiculed for trying to save any semblence of a friendship. You play by their rules, and they change the rules so they can punish you some more.
There are no words that will make that hurt go away. You don't want to hear about Karma, or how in 5 years you will be sitting back laughing at them. You don't wanna hear how its for the best, or that they didn't deserve you anyway. All you can do is bounce between missing them so much you can't breathe, and being so pissed off you can't think.
And in the beginning you will suffer more through the missing than the anger. But everytime the anger hits, you can at least breathe again, just a little bit.
It's sad that people don't care about the harm they can do. As long as they get it their way, they can ignore that they walked on you to get it. But what they don't realize is that you managed fine without them in your life before, and you can manage after them, too. What they don't get is that every time you daydream about setting fire to their face, and then putting it out with a fork, you learn to breathe again, a little tiny bit more each time. And finally, they just don't understand that once they drop the diamond into the garbage, they can't go find it in the landfill later. It's gone. Just like you are. You may cry for the loss every single day of your life, but you can hold your head high when you do. It proves you have something they don't. A soul. And that alone is worth more than anything they will ever have.
Keep breathing. You can, you know. It may hurt, and at times you may think you can't take the pain anymore. But you can. You will.
Monday, June 28, 2010
So there I was...
It was the day of Ashlyn's last transfusion. I had to run into the gas station for a few things first thing that morning. And there she was. She had on a pink tank and pink shorts, with cute little white stripes down the sides.I couldn't help but notice her, because she was directly between me and the Mt Dew cooler. I saw her from the back at first. I realize I have put on a few pounds, but oh my GOD, the rear view looked like two pink Studebaker's fighting for the same parking spot. Did I mention these were those little high cut daisy duke shorts that would look trashy even on Barbie? They certainly did not look any better on a rear end that large.
But, heaven help us all, then she turned around..........................................................................................................................and then her boobs caught up with the rest of her. The neckline to this tank top was located somewhere down around her belly button. And even there, you were in absolutely no danger of seeing her nipples. Unless you looked below the waistband of her tank top. And she was working it. Did the woman NOT look in a mirror before she left the house? She primped and simpered and flirted with the man behind the counter. When I finally got a chance to pay for my stuff, he asked if there was anything else I needed.
I asked for a cup of clorox. He looked puzzled until I told him to just hurl it into my eyes...
I'm a little more careful about how I look when I leave the house now. And I am working out again too!
Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro
Can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow....
Have a great one y'all!
But, heaven help us all, then she turned around..........................................................................................................................and then her boobs caught up with the rest of her. The neckline to this tank top was located somewhere down around her belly button. And even there, you were in absolutely no danger of seeing her nipples. Unless you looked below the waistband of her tank top. And she was working it. Did the woman NOT look in a mirror before she left the house? She primped and simpered and flirted with the man behind the counter. When I finally got a chance to pay for my stuff, he asked if there was anything else I needed.
I asked for a cup of clorox. He looked puzzled until I told him to just hurl it into my eyes...
I'm a little more careful about how I look when I leave the house now. And I am working out again too!
Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro
Can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow....
Have a great one y'all!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
I checked with NASA and you are NOT the center of the known universe
Pardon me in advance if I ramble. I went partially deaf last night from the crashing sound of a friendship in flames as the delete button was clicked. And since you never gave me a chance, and just assumed the worst, I am going to tell it like it is now. Nobody likes your girlfriend, except for her friends. Nobody likes the person you have become since you started dating her. Your brother, (you know, that guy you go fishing with) said you posted that stuff to stir things up. So we obliged you. Be careful what you ask for, because you just may get it. Then to be COWARDLY enough to delete the post, and 3 of your friends??? You left for Iraq as a man, and you came back a boy. How did that happen? You amaze me. I was, in fact, the LAST person you should have ever expected to remain friends with. But I did remain your friend. And for what??? To be deleted because I said Colonel Mustard did it in the library, with the rope, a candlestick, 2 chickens and a midget??????? Really???? You know, I could see it if I attacked your girlfriend, or even pointed a finger in her direction. It was a conversation that did not involve her until she posted into it. But we get deleted because of this? Open your eyes, and realize, she STARTED this little bonfire, then fanned the flames mercilessly. Her goal is to isolate you from everyone you knew before her. And it's working. I hope you realize before it's too late just what you threw away. Girlfriends come and go, but it's a bitch to find true friends, that will stick by you, even if they don't agree with what a fuckstick you are being. They tolerate the girlfriend because that is the price they are willing to pay to remain your friend. They tolerate the new and improved you, because they still get to see the old you. And they may fight, argue, yell and scream, but they don't delete a friendship just because things aren't going to suit them or their high-maintenance-low-rent girlfriend. You made your bed. I hope you sleep comfortably in it from now on.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Things that make you go hmmmm
Anyone that knows me understands my convoluted thought process. If properly motivated, I can mind-fuck the simplest of things into oblivion. But there are just some places my mind never wanted to go. Like the public display of big girl panties at the park. I don't want to even contemplate WHY this woman thought anyone wanted to see the sample panties from Omar the Tent-and-Panty Creator. To me, your drawers should be personal, not on display in a public park. Especially not while you are wearing them. My brain just did a total vapor lock, and didn't start really working again for at least 12 hours. It was that bad.
And just so no one things I am picking on big girls, I've got news for you. Hey all you skinny look-like-you-did-the-crack-makes-you-lose-weight diet...if your jeans are tight enough that I can not only tell you are wearing a thong, but can also tell that it came from WalMart, well guess what? You need to find a seam-ripper and take those fuckers off. There is such a thing as too tight. Really.
I readily admit that I went through my bad fashion sense era as well. In high school. At my age, fashion is anything that doesn't require liposuction, a can opener, the use of WD-40, or baling straps and a come-along to wear. If it looks adorable on that 12 year old girl next door, then I am thinking it's maybe not so much for me. Although I do still maintain my passion for hooker shoes. Some things you just never outgrow, I guess.
Dear God, it's finally happened. After all these years, I just turned into my mother. What an epiphany. On that note, I'm getting the hell off here and going to bed. So what if it's only 4 in the afternoon. I feel a case of the vapors coming on. Tomorrow is another day. Christ, tomorrow is MONDAY. This just keeps getting better and better. Forget bed. I am going to my happy place. I'll be back by Tuesday. Bye!
And just so no one things I am picking on big girls, I've got news for you. Hey all you skinny look-like-you-did-the-crack-makes-you-lose-weight diet...if your jeans are tight enough that I can not only tell you are wearing a thong, but can also tell that it came from WalMart, well guess what? You need to find a seam-ripper and take those fuckers off. There is such a thing as too tight. Really.
I readily admit that I went through my bad fashion sense era as well. In high school. At my age, fashion is anything that doesn't require liposuction, a can opener, the use of WD-40, or baling straps and a come-along to wear. If it looks adorable on that 12 year old girl next door, then I am thinking it's maybe not so much for me. Although I do still maintain my passion for hooker shoes. Some things you just never outgrow, I guess.
Dear God, it's finally happened. After all these years, I just turned into my mother. What an epiphany. On that note, I'm getting the hell off here and going to bed. So what if it's only 4 in the afternoon. I feel a case of the vapors coming on. Tomorrow is another day. Christ, tomorrow is MONDAY. This just keeps getting better and better. Forget bed. I am going to my happy place. I'll be back by Tuesday. Bye!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Are you lonesome tonight?
I was just on face book and posted the first part of an awesome Elvis tune. Elvis was the shit. Maybe if more people were worried about feelings, and less about sex, the world would be a better place.
When was the last time you thought about someone in terms other than sex? Sure, sex is great. Awesome, if you have the right partner. But I would trade 1001 nights of hot sex for someone who cared 1002 nights. Seriously. I used to ridicule flowers as a gift. They don't last. They fade away into dust and nothingness. Sex lasts, right? For a while. A short while. And then, it too fades. If I reach into my memory, I can remember the feeling of happiness. Rushing home from work. Heart pounding every time the phone rings. Being held throughout the night. Memories. Fairy tales and unicorns. Sheer stupidity.
I'm tired of doing it alone, of being alone. I wish I had someone that I could believe in. Someone who says, "Let me worry tonight. You rest." Someone who can get a good look at me after a long night in the emergency room, facing a cardiac crisis, and still think I am beautiful, and desirable. Yeah, right. More unicorns.
Instead of unicorns, I get reality. "Oh, sorry you had a rough night, but guess what happened to ME?" Or better yet, "what are you wearing?" I don't fucking CARE what happened to you, and I am wearing a girdle, granny panties, a set of Spanx, sweatpants, and a t-shirt from high school that has holes in it, and a good dose of hair dye to hide the splotches of color fade. FUCK YOU. I am sick of late night phone sex, x-rated gifts, and patronizing attitude. I am me. I know what I want, what I deserve. Too bad it's as surreal as unicorns and anime superheroes.
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Are you lonesome tonight,
Do the stars shine as bright?
As they did before you started playing your part?
Is the life that you live
Worth all of the pain?
Do you wish it was different,
And yet still the same?
I can't anymore.
I'm defeated.
I'm done.
I'm ashamed to be lonesome tonight.
When was the last time you thought about someone in terms other than sex? Sure, sex is great. Awesome, if you have the right partner. But I would trade 1001 nights of hot sex for someone who cared 1002 nights. Seriously. I used to ridicule flowers as a gift. They don't last. They fade away into dust and nothingness. Sex lasts, right? For a while. A short while. And then, it too fades. If I reach into my memory, I can remember the feeling of happiness. Rushing home from work. Heart pounding every time the phone rings. Being held throughout the night. Memories. Fairy tales and unicorns. Sheer stupidity.
I'm tired of doing it alone, of being alone. I wish I had someone that I could believe in. Someone who says, "Let me worry tonight. You rest." Someone who can get a good look at me after a long night in the emergency room, facing a cardiac crisis, and still think I am beautiful, and desirable. Yeah, right. More unicorns.
Instead of unicorns, I get reality. "Oh, sorry you had a rough night, but guess what happened to ME?" Or better yet, "what are you wearing?" I don't fucking CARE what happened to you, and I am wearing a girdle, granny panties, a set of Spanx, sweatpants, and a t-shirt from high school that has holes in it, and a good dose of hair dye to hide the splotches of color fade. FUCK YOU. I am sick of late night phone sex, x-rated gifts, and patronizing attitude. I am me. I know what I want, what I deserve. Too bad it's as surreal as unicorns and anime superheroes.
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Are you lonesome tonight,
Do the stars shine as bright?
As they did before you started playing your part?
Is the life that you live
Worth all of the pain?
Do you wish it was different,
And yet still the same?
I can't anymore.
I'm defeated.
I'm done.
I'm ashamed to be lonesome tonight.
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