Tag Archives: Food

The Hunger Calls


It is a time for new resolutions. Paying off debt, losing weight, being kinder- that sort of thing. Lucky for me, I’ve come to realize that New Year’s Resolutions are bullshit, so I don’t have to do any of those things previously mentioned. HA

Sadly, my credit cards are pretty much maxed out, so I do  desire to pay off my debt. Buuuut, I also desire to go to Rocklahoma, and hang out with all of my favorite bands. I also desire to buy (what many people would consider) unnecessary decorative items for my home. So I don’t know if I’m going to pay off debt this year or not, ok?

I am also of the age where my weight doesn’t much bother me anymore; though I do, at times, want to be an uber-hot mama that people gawk at. Fortunately, DDD boobs and a penchant for brightly-colored duds can accomplish pretty much the same thing.

However, my best friend is getting married in the end of February, and asked me last year to be one of her bridesmaids. Note, I said she asked me last year. Which means I had over 365 in which to shed the 65 or so pounds that would inhibit me from being one of the sexiest bridesmaids that ever lived. (Hey, just dream with me here.)

As if being on the chubby side wasn’t enough,  her other bridesmaids could fit into a pair of my pants all at once. Dammit.

Now my bestie has always been quick to argue when I’ve been down on myself, so my fears of looking like a heifer in wedding pictures have naught to do with her. In fact, my girl even let us pick our own dresses- to let us show off our own personal style and not have us despise her for picking something we all look like shit it.

No, my insecurities are all of my own making.

So like any normal person, of course I took that year I had to slim down and buff up.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Just kidding.

Knowing myself as I know myself, I bought my dress (from China) in the size that I was at the time I bought it. Last year. And now, less than two months away from the wedding, I’m exactly (or maybe a tad bit more) the weight I was then.

It had been over nine months since I tried my dress on initially when I took it to the alterations lady a few weeks ago to get the tail bustled. After much sucking in and pulling back, it zipped, but just. After she measured for straps to hold up the busooms, I was thinking that, HEY! I look pretty good! (Yeah, ok, so I had to have her take my socks off because it was too tight to bend down. Shut up.)

Sadly, the next day, my neck and shoulders were completely jacked up from sucking in and bunching up. So, instead of being the super-sensuous bridesmaid I imagined in my head, I’ve settled for being able to sit during dinner and still being able to breathe, and maybe avoiding my armpit fat from photobombing the wedding party.

The thing I’ve discovered, though, is that the will power that once made me only eat three saltine crackers and a grape each day back in ninth grade has gone on permanent vacation. The simple fact that I’m trying (ok, not really) to lose weight makes me completely ravenous, to the point that I want to eat every single order of boneless wings that I serve to a table. (GAAWWWWWD, boneless wings sound amazing right now….)

I’ve told myself for the month of January, I will focus on eating less, and worry about shaping up in February. Unfortunately, since my daily diet rivals that of an African elephant, I’ve got quite a bit of cutting down to do.

To help keep my stomach from crying aloud with his own voice, (which I imagine sounds very like Boris Karloff) I’ve taken to drinking copious amounts of coffee mixed with way too many pink packets. Coffee is supposed to speed up your metabolism, they say. What they don’t say, is that coffee makes you pee like you’ve been drinking booze for seven days straight. And it probably doesn’t help that the sleep I’m supposed to be getting to help me trim down is interrupted by caffeine.

I just…. I just want to be skinny like I was when I thought I was fat.

(On the plus side, whenever I’ve shown a picture of me in my dress to anyone, their first reaction has always been, “Geez, your boobs look huge!” )

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Advice For Graduates


is the time when seniors everywhere are growing up and moving on with their lives. Since I am old(er), I feel it is only fair that I give them some helpful advice for their journey. I heard a soldier on the radio give a commencement speech to a senior class, using only three words- “Make your bed.” I think there is something to this, so here we go. (I may take a few liberties by combining words to stay under the three word maximum.)

1. Eat the cake.

As you go through life, some of you may worry more than others about keeping your young and lithe figures. Others may not. Whatever the case, you need to realize that there is nothing wrong with indulging in sweets and other edible goodness, for, as George Bernard Shaw once said- “The most sincere form of love is love for food.” So eat the cake when you get the chance.

2. Do whatcha want.

Three words. If you didn’t understand, that was do what makes you happy. Don’t go to college to become a lawyer if that is not what your passion is, no matter how much your parents pay you. You will be happier in the end.

3. Do stuffu hate.

Along with doing whatever you want, at times, friends, Romans, and/or countrymen may ask you to accompany them in actions that interest you not at all. (For example, stock car races.) If they ask you, just say yes, because they could have asked someone else. And you may just run into a super hot girl who gives amazing blow jobs, or experience the deep-fried goodness of racetrack cheese curds. Whatever the case, you will not regret the things you do.

4. Read more books.

HA! I didn’t have to fudge that one! Which makes it quite clear that it is very sound advice. The more you read, the more you know. Which may very well help you out if you take my afore mentioned advice and follow your friend to a hostel somewhere in Serbia.

5. Get a dog.

Maybe not right now, but someday. You will never regret having a companion who is always happy to see you, and who will never yell at you for leaving the toilet seat up.

6. See the world.

I must admit here that I’ve yet much world to see, but after I make millions on my book, the world shall be my first stop. Experience the magic of earth.

7. Do the dishes.

Because they will stink if you don’t.

And finally- the best for last.

8. Listen to music.

As much as you possibly can. Every kind that you can. Music is beauty in audio.

9. Love like crazy.

Fall in love with as many things as you can. That doesn’t mean, be a slut; it means open your eyes, and your heart, and never let go of that feeling you get when you see something beautiful for the first time.  Love. Love like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

 

 

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To Make A Meat Pie


If you are new to my blog, you may wish to go HERE before you read any further.

After the whole Apron Incident  of last week, my Rockstar decided to pull his head out of his ass and act like he wants to spend time with me. I am not yet certain if he DOES, in fact, want to spend time with me, but he has done well at satisfying my need for attention in the last week, so we shall not analyze it.

The day after I drunkenly shoved him out of bed and cried, “Love me, dammit!”, my Rockstar decided to come home on his lunch break. Though things were a bit awkward at first, a little naked dance took care of any uncomfortableness that remained. I’m not saying that solved everything, but my Rockstar speaks Sex alot better than he speaks Love.

He DID make the effort to take the long journey with me to church on Sunday, and seemed as relieved as I to drop his drama-inducing daughter off at her mom’s house before we went home to observe the Superbowl half-time show. (It seems that the “weenie” Eli Manning is enough to sway his interest away from a football game). While we have not talked of “The Apron Incident”, it is safe to say that things, while perhaps not exactly solved, are back to normal.

Except for Mondays, which still remain our Drunken Nights, we now work completely opposite hours. This alone is potentially semi-detrimental to our relationship. I know well the results of never seeing the individual you’re in a relationship with. Luckily, my Rockstar has realized that I still wish to interact with him the remaining 6 days of the week, so he agreed to come home for lunch this day.

I may have mentioned in the past the fact that I detest cooking. However, I love a challenge (after I’ve had coffee) so I took stock of the contents of the refridgerator, intent on making a gloriously edible lunch for my beloved. My eyes fell on a package of ground pork, and I thought, “Hmmm, I should use that up. What could I make?”

After perusing the web for recipe ideas, I decided to cook a meat pie. (How incredibly medieval of me) I had no vegetables to include in my meaty creation,  but I did find some leftover Potatoes O’Brien in the freezer that I believed would fill in my pie crust quite nicely. While I am not an expert cook, I pride myself at being able to make superb pie crust with just the right amount of flakiness. (Thanks to my amazing Auntie and her willingness to coach me on making quiche) My Rockstar, unfailing stoic when providing compliments, has actually commented on my pie crusting expertise in the past.

When he got home, my meat pie was not yet out of the oven, and he asked if I would allow him to quit his job because of the imbecility that goes on there. He was obviously in a depressed mood, so I let him stew while giving him a hug to let him know things will be alright. When my meaty goodness came out of the oven, he ate it quietly, but without turning up his nose in disgust. He even told me it was, “pretty good”, before returning to his Work Hell. (High praise coming from him)

I now realize his reaction to the Apron Incident last week was due to the suckiness of his job, and perhaps I over-reacted. (I’ve never done THAT before) I also know that I was put on this earth to make people happy, (even though I like to say it’s all about me) and so it is my hope that a hug and a meat pie brightened his day, even just a little.

P.S. I would have included a blow job in the happiness-making process, but he seemed to not be in the mood.

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Filed under Food, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized, Work

Fast Food Order


This is what I should ACTUALLY be saying when I order my Big Mac Meal with a side of Chicken Nuggets…

Hi, I would like to order the grime that is stuck to the bottom of the meat grinder which mostly consists of cow eyeballs and bull testes. Can I get that on a stale sesame seed bun with lettuce shreds and “secret” sauce that is probably a mixture of chunky spum and boogers from that guy over there with the unwashed hands. That special sauce tastes delicious.

I’d like to get the biggest side order of fries you have with that; since they are specially designed to keep  fresh for months, if I don’t immediately get ass piss after eating, the french fries I will have eaten will remain freshly preserved in my  gut for an indeterminate amount of time.

Also, I would like a large citrusy drink that in no way resembles fruit juice. It will contain enough sugar to waylay any diabetic seizure I may have.

Could I get a 4 piece side of cancerous chicken flesh that has been mushed together and breaded, please? No I do not require barbecue sauce.

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The Road to Perdition


This post may prove that I will never completely be Hannah Homemaker. I have just come from Hell. No, I do not mean that figuratively, because I honestly don’t see how swimming a lake of fire for all of eternity could be worse than making a trip to the purgatory known as the Grocery Store. It matters not that I made the journey armed with a grocery list and my handy-dandy re-usable bags; no, the demon money-grubbers assaulted me, inconspicuously  seizing my dollars while tricking me into thinking I was getting deals.

One of the things I have discovered while taking care of my Beloveds is that it is fatal to one’s pocketbook to attempt grocery shopping without an afore-made list. This became apparent the first time I ventured to the store to procure sustenence for my Lovelys and cruised through the aisles, tossing in this and that, thinking to myself, “This is only a dollar. That is only a dollar.” When the woman behind the counter rang my items up, to my horror, the total on my bill continued to exceed my expected budget, and she was not yet through scanning. I vowed then and there never again to buy something that wasn’t on the list.

I believe my utter loathing of the grocery store stems from the fact that until I was nearly 29, frequent trips to said destination were unheard of. As I have explained in the past, I and or my hubby worked at a restaurant, so cooking was quite unnecessary. When I got divorced, I had a grand idea that I was going to cook a Thanksgiving dinner in my new apartment for my Rockstar and his Daughter. When I announced this plan, my Rockstar was, shall we say, doubtful. When I patrolled the aisled of Cashwise for an hour in search of the brown-n-serve rolls, ( which I never DID find), I should have thrown in the towel right then. Luckily, I bolted to the parking lot before every customer could see the basket case formerly known as Sparklebumps burst into tears. Beware- unsuccessful quests for dinner rolls may result in tears.

As my trip to Hades progressed today, I was becoming more and more preturbed that different grocery stores have different prices. It is one of my customs that I refuse to pay $1 more for caramel coffee creamer when I know I can get it cheaper somewhere else. Or anything else for that matter. This has resulted in much wasted time, creating TWO shopping lists- the one for Walmart, and the one for whatever grocery store has sales that week. I despise Walmart for being the only place that has Cabot cheese (which you must simply go out and find RIGHT NOW if you’ve never tried it), as my Rockstar’s food supply is not complete without a $9 block of cheese that will clog his arteries. Too, I was irritated to find no torillas that were satisfactorly soft. Now I must go into the shitty stink-assed locally owned grocer to procure some.

What’s that? Why don’t I send my Rockstar, you ask? Yes, of course that would make perfect sense, except I tried that once. It will not happen again. I provided him with an EXACT list of what to get, extra dollars just in case, and a warning- “GET ONLY WHAT’S ON THE LIST.” He returned with only half of the list, 6 bags of chips, no moneys, and an observation- “I think you’re a more thrifty shopper than I am.” Ummm, yeah. I believe he did that on purpose, because he knows if he messes up once I will never ever ask him to do it again. I will do it myself. (Bastard.)

When I am rich and famous, the first thing I am going to buy is a little minion to do my grocery shopping for me.

P.S. It never fails. Every time I get to the front to pay, there is something in THE BACK of the store I remember I forgot to grab.

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Thought #16


So I’ve made Honey Bread, Zuppa Toscana, and Fried Rice today. If you didn’t know any better, you would start to think I’m domesticated….

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Thought #15


My Rockstar must NEVER find out that I’ve gone to McDonald’s every day this week. I would be mortified.

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