We have acquired a chinchilla.
Seriously. His name is Asher, and he's pretty fucking cute. We acquired him because my fourth daughter, Jewel, is currently pregnant with my first grandchild and they did not want the chinchilla with the baby. I'm not 100% sure why (maybe not having the time for him? Are they bad around babies? Do they develop jealousy issues? IDK...) but we ended up with him at our house. Apparently I take in strays. Charlie tried to tell me that since the goldfish and sucker fish died, it evened out, but I didn't buy it. But again, I am pretty much a sucker for whatever my children want, and Jewel and that grandbaby are included, so we got him.
Side note, I keep joking that the baby, Delilah, can call me GmaL and pronounce it Jamal, but I am worried that the kid won't be able to pronounce that because it seems difficult. Grammy kinda seems to be growing on me, but Gigi or Mimi are also appealing as well. There's Lala, too, but I'm pretty lukewarm about it. Honestly, that baby could call me whatever the hell she wants because if I am a sucker enough to take on an entire chinchilla and all that is involved for her mother, she's likely going to get whatever the fuck she wants, including what she calls me.
So, back to all things chinchilla. Apparently they are pretty high maintenance. Like they can't get wet or they will mildew. We now own a pet with mildew potential. Pack that away in the category of "concerns I never thought I would have about our pets." They also get dust baths, and are restricted to a maximum of one raisin a day because anything more will fuck their bellies up. The little guy also likes to snuggle, but at the same time wants to run and hide under the bed.
I have never related to an animal more in my life.
Well, not dust baths or mildew concerns or limits on raisin consumption. Plus he's a whole hell of a lot cuter than I am. If I were to pick up a raisin between my little hands (another similarity we have, for the record...) and to nibble on it all dainty-like, people would probably think I am crazier than they already do vs being absolutely adorable.
Monday, October 29, 2018
Saturday, October 27, 2018
Shopping III
It has been almost 6 years since I have gone grocery shopping on a Saturday at Walmart.
There's a reason I don't.
I remembered it today.
Let's just say, I'm shook.
I had a valid reason for doing this. Charlie is on the Company Dance team, and they had a Halloween party on Friday night. Because I have a huge case of (probably justified) Mom guilt going on recently due to working so fucking much between my practice I own and the group practice, I decided to forgo the usual Friday night shopping to go with her to the party. I don't regret that decision at all. The party was fun. There was a buttload of sugary treats. There were mothers I introduced to the wonders of Celeste Barber. I danced. I did Karaoke with the girls, who are the only people on Earth who would appreciate my singing because I suck worse than people who don't do the thank you wave when you let them turn into a parking lot from a busy street. Seriously, those people are a whole new species of human that we should probably exile to some island somewhere. Preferable somewhere cold. Not a warm island. Those non-waving bastards don't deserve warmth since they don't have any in their cold, non-waving souls.
The decision I do regret was to not go after we got back from the party and waiting until Saturday morning. I should have just dragged my tired ass out to the store, but I had had a half-formed plan to maybe drive out to Meijer but that did not materialize due to accidentally sleeping in this morning and I had to pick the girls up from dance so I could not drive that far and be back in time. (Meijer's produce is significantly better, as is their gluten-free offerings. Because yes, I am now *that* person who is gluten free(ish) and does not have diagnosed Celiac's. Next I plan to slather my children in coconut oil and start using charcoal tooth powder instead of toothpaste. Wait, fuck, I already do both things. Hell, go ahead and judge away at my hippie ass...)
I get to the store and even before I get out of the car I am filled with regret. People are wandering around the parking lot, in the drizzly suck that is Ohio weather in late October, like they are taking a leisurely stroll through a lovely garden park and stopping to ohh and ahh at the cute little waterfall. Fucking move, people. There is nothing fascinating about the cart corral at Walmart. Plus you are in the rain and my cat like water hating tendencies are cringing on the inside for you, even as I sit in the dryness of my car.
I finally park and get into the actual store, where I am pleased to find that all the carts are sopping wet. Luckily, this helped to moisten the bleach wipe, the ones they provide in the front of the store to wipe down the carts, that had completely dried out, so I could pretend that it might have had some kind of effect. Then came the awkward walking past the door greeter situation. I am never 100% sure what is expected out of me in this situation. I mean, their job is to literally say hi to people walking into the store; however I generally hate interacting with people socially but feel pulled because this is their job and I don't want to hurt their feelings. I usually opt for a pained smile that probably makes them all think I am some sort of weird sociopath because they usually shift a few inches away from me. Probably in self protection. I don't blame them. I'd shift away from me too.
Then I get to deal with the people in the store. Like the ones who park their carts and then wander away like four aisles, then get offended when you move it 6 inches to grab a jar of salsa. Or the people who stand in produce and hold their cucumber in their hand, looking a little lost, until they see someone else grabbing the bag that is literally right above their head. And don't forget the awkward getting to the end of the aisle and almost crashing into someone coming the other way. There seriously needs to be traffic rules for Walmart on a Saturday. Though people don't know how to work a stop sign and don't wave thank you in real traffic, so there's that. Bastards.
I get to checkout and of course the cashier is one of those who does not turn the belt on to move your groceries forward. Seriously, people, I just want to unpack my shit, pay, and get the hell outta dodge at this point...and as quickly as possible. Leave the fucking belt ON so we can streamline this shit. By the time the person in front of me has paid and is leaving, my entire cart should be unpacked so I can concentrate on putting the bags back into the cart and not be forced to make small talk or to try to avoid eye contact while you are ringing my shit up.'
I am documenting this on here so that I can remember in the future...no matter how tired you are on Friday night, you go grocery shopping. I don't care if it is a fucking blizzard and you are dying from malaria...you don't go on Saturday morning. Ever. I swear, if there was ever a time when I wished my imaginary prescription for Xanax was real, it was today. I didn't even get any wine while shopping, either. Kroger and Giant Eagle totally have the right idea with a bar in their store. I wonder if there is an untapped market for Ubers for grocery shoppers at these stores. Because I'd be all over that shit, I tell you what.
There's a reason I don't.
I remembered it today.
Let's just say, I'm shook.
I had a valid reason for doing this. Charlie is on the Company Dance team, and they had a Halloween party on Friday night. Because I have a huge case of (probably justified) Mom guilt going on recently due to working so fucking much between my practice I own and the group practice, I decided to forgo the usual Friday night shopping to go with her to the party. I don't regret that decision at all. The party was fun. There was a buttload of sugary treats. There were mothers I introduced to the wonders of Celeste Barber. I danced. I did Karaoke with the girls, who are the only people on Earth who would appreciate my singing because I suck worse than people who don't do the thank you wave when you let them turn into a parking lot from a busy street. Seriously, those people are a whole new species of human that we should probably exile to some island somewhere. Preferable somewhere cold. Not a warm island. Those non-waving bastards don't deserve warmth since they don't have any in their cold, non-waving souls.
The decision I do regret was to not go after we got back from the party and waiting until Saturday morning. I should have just dragged my tired ass out to the store, but I had had a half-formed plan to maybe drive out to Meijer but that did not materialize due to accidentally sleeping in this morning and I had to pick the girls up from dance so I could not drive that far and be back in time. (Meijer's produce is significantly better, as is their gluten-free offerings. Because yes, I am now *that* person who is gluten free(ish) and does not have diagnosed Celiac's. Next I plan to slather my children in coconut oil and start using charcoal tooth powder instead of toothpaste. Wait, fuck, I already do both things. Hell, go ahead and judge away at my hippie ass...)
I get to the store and even before I get out of the car I am filled with regret. People are wandering around the parking lot, in the drizzly suck that is Ohio weather in late October, like they are taking a leisurely stroll through a lovely garden park and stopping to ohh and ahh at the cute little waterfall. Fucking move, people. There is nothing fascinating about the cart corral at Walmart. Plus you are in the rain and my cat like water hating tendencies are cringing on the inside for you, even as I sit in the dryness of my car.
I finally park and get into the actual store, where I am pleased to find that all the carts are sopping wet. Luckily, this helped to moisten the bleach wipe, the ones they provide in the front of the store to wipe down the carts, that had completely dried out, so I could pretend that it might have had some kind of effect. Then came the awkward walking past the door greeter situation. I am never 100% sure what is expected out of me in this situation. I mean, their job is to literally say hi to people walking into the store; however I generally hate interacting with people socially but feel pulled because this is their job and I don't want to hurt their feelings. I usually opt for a pained smile that probably makes them all think I am some sort of weird sociopath because they usually shift a few inches away from me. Probably in self protection. I don't blame them. I'd shift away from me too.
Then I get to deal with the people in the store. Like the ones who park their carts and then wander away like four aisles, then get offended when you move it 6 inches to grab a jar of salsa. Or the people who stand in produce and hold their cucumber in their hand, looking a little lost, until they see someone else grabbing the bag that is literally right above their head. And don't forget the awkward getting to the end of the aisle and almost crashing into someone coming the other way. There seriously needs to be traffic rules for Walmart on a Saturday. Though people don't know how to work a stop sign and don't wave thank you in real traffic, so there's that. Bastards.
I get to checkout and of course the cashier is one of those who does not turn the belt on to move your groceries forward. Seriously, people, I just want to unpack my shit, pay, and get the hell outta dodge at this point...and as quickly as possible. Leave the fucking belt ON so we can streamline this shit. By the time the person in front of me has paid and is leaving, my entire cart should be unpacked so I can concentrate on putting the bags back into the cart and not be forced to make small talk or to try to avoid eye contact while you are ringing my shit up.'
I am documenting this on here so that I can remember in the future...no matter how tired you are on Friday night, you go grocery shopping. I don't care if it is a fucking blizzard and you are dying from malaria...you don't go on Saturday morning. Ever. I swear, if there was ever a time when I wished my imaginary prescription for Xanax was real, it was today. I didn't even get any wine while shopping, either. Kroger and Giant Eagle totally have the right idea with a bar in their store. I wonder if there is an untapped market for Ubers for grocery shoppers at these stores. Because I'd be all over that shit, I tell you what.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Cookies
Oh, hey...been a minute, hasn't it? Well, I've been busy. Sue me. Actually scratch that, because suing me is gonna get you a whole lot of student loan debt and possibly a sweet collection of cobwebs that I've started in the corners of my house (you can't criticize my housekeeping if I say it's a collection, right? I'm totally starting that rule right now.).
Anyways, I figured I needed to check in so my 9 followers knew that I have not died. Trust me, though, when I die I am so going to go around fucking with people until the zombie apocalypse happens, in which I fully plan on earning ALL my participation points thankyouverymuch. (Side note: I apparently have a thing for the zombie apocalypse because when I did a search to find the above links in my blog, no fewer than 10 posts contained the words "zombie apocalypse." Add another notch in my crazy belt, I suppose...)
I had a friend as me about decorating cookies with royal icing, with which I have been playing around some in the last few years because I like to ignore my children and create stress for myself. I promise, this is related. I gave her some tips, then re-read what I wrote and was like OMG WTF this needs to be a blog post. (That's how it's related.) But first, some pictures of my cookies to establish my cookie creds:
Anyways, I figured I needed to check in so my 9 followers knew that I have not died. Trust me, though, when I die I am so going to go around fucking with people until the zombie apocalypse happens, in which I fully plan on earning ALL my participation points thankyouverymuch. (Side note: I apparently have a thing for the zombie apocalypse because when I did a search to find the above links in my blog, no fewer than 10 posts contained the words "zombie apocalypse." Add another notch in my crazy belt, I suppose...)
I had a friend as me about decorating cookies with royal icing, with which I have been playing around some in the last few years because I like to ignore my children and create stress for myself. I promise, this is related. I gave her some tips, then re-read what I wrote and was like OMG WTF this needs to be a blog post. (That's how it's related.) But first, some pictures of my cookies to establish my cookie creds:
Some sweet little sleepy clouds. Or they are stoned. You decide.
I randomly made gluten free cookies and decorated them as chicks. Because of course I would.
And then there are these sad, deformed lambs. Was I high when I made them? You decide.
Now that I am done bragging and/or horrifying you with deformed lambs, here is what I wrote to her about decorating cookies with royal icing:
1 cup of powdered sugar, 1 T meringue powder and water. You can add flavoring if you want, just not oil based. I don't because of who I am as a person...that and my sugar cookie recipe has orange zest in it so I really don't feel it needs it. I start with a few tablespoons of water then add more as needed. I use a spray bottle for this as it's really easy to add too much and then there will be wailing and gnashing of the teeth as you try to thicken the fucker up. I beat it for a really long time...like 5 minutes. It gets super fluffy, like a luscious, cavity-inducing pillow. Then divvy it up and add the food coloring (keep in mind gel colors are the best, as the liquid will thin it out some. You can use them, just be aware of that fact.) You want some that is thinner for "flooding", then some a little thicker for outlining. Use a spray bottle for this as well, see above for why. There are a million videos on YouTube about the consistencies for icing. I normally do like a toothpaste consistency for outlining and like a slightly thinner than shampoo consistency for flooding (think like Log Cabin syrup). Another important thing to remember is after you add the color to take the bowl and lightly drop it onto the table to bring up any bubbles, and to watch for them when you flood. Pop those bad boys like a zit ASAP, I do it with a toothpick. On the cookies, not my zits. You can also do the same to the cookies themselves after you have flooded them (very gently, unless your cookies are like bricks, in which case I'm guessing also inedible so why bother? They will be full of disappointment on so many levels that bubbles in the frosting won't matter.) Also, make sure to cover any unused icing with a damp paper towel or it will dry out like a mummy. Mummified icing is a PITA to work with and it never ends well. You also want to make sure to cover the tips of your decorating bags/bottles with a damp paper towel as well or you will get a lovely plug of icing in them. This has been a known cause of mild alcoholism in cookie decorators.
Good luck!
Good luck!
I really should write a cookbook or something. With instructions like those, who could possibly fail? Episcopalians? People with shortness of stature? Maybe the stoned amongst us? You decide.
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