Tag: Food

I’ve Created a Monster

If we were having coffee, I would have a confession to make.

I’m addicted to Toffifee. They are so delicious I just can’t stop eating them! Of all the yummy things I ate over the holidays, it’s the Toffifee that has me in its grasp and I can’t break free. Safeway is enabling me because they are selling them for half price and without even realizing it there are 2 boxes in my shopping cart. I put them in the freezer hoping that I would have more self-control if they could break my teeth but no such luck. I just suck on them until they thaw out and then chew. I am so weak!

We were watching TV the other night and The Viking picked up the tray of delectable confections to try to wedge a stubborn one out of its divot and for a moment I thought he was hoarding them like Golem with his ‘Precious’ and I almost lost it.

Me: “What are you doing?! Why are you holding them like that? They aren’t all yours, you know! You only get 3 rows! 3! And put them between us so you don’t have an unfair advantage. I can’t believe you’re hoarding!”

Him: Holy Fuck!! Take it easy! I was only getting one and it was stuck.”

Me (narrowing my eyes and holding out my hand for the tray): I thought you were taking them away from me.”

Him: I would never do that. I know how much you love them.

Me: ……..

The Viking may need to take steps. Clearly, I can’t be trusted. I told him that after this last box is gone I’m not buying any more. He tucked the Toffifee he was eating into his cheek and said “Good! We have to stop eating all this shit. If you bring any more of it home from the grocery store I’ll smash it to smithereens!”

WHOA!! That sounds like a challenge! 

Gawd!! Doesn’t he know me well enough by now to know that he just provoked me?! I’ll start hiding boxes of them around the house so I can sneak eat them when he isn’t looking. I’ll feel horrible about it but I’ll still do it.  That’s what happens when I’m challenged because the first thought to enter my mind is:  Challenge Accepted!  And once I accept a challenge…..well, there is no going back.

Couldn’t he have said something nice like “I know you’re addicted so we’ll go shopping together, in the evening, so I can give you moral support.”? Nope! He had to poke the bear!

It’s because of his Christmas gift and all the Testosterone that came with it. Now he feels justified to be all Viking-y and to throw his weight around.

So, now he has a Shield and a Battle Axe and I don’t. What was I thinking?! You don’t just arm a Viking and then hope he doesn’t use them. Of course he’s going to use them! He’s going to wave them around and chop things and bash things with his shield and he’ll grow a gross beard and put it in braids with beads and bones and he’ll let his eyebrows get all insect-y. He probably won’t answer my questions anymore either; he’ll just grunt and wave his axe at me with one hand and a chunk of meat with the other. On the plus side though, I won’t have to worry about cutting his hair any time soon.

So…..no more Toffifee. I’m feeling the chocolate/caramel/hazelnut withdrawals already. My hands are clammy and shakey and my mouth is dry and I have a twitch in my left shoulder. I suppose he’ll go through my shopping bags like a Doobie Dog at the Airport except he’ll be a Viking in the Kitchen. He’ll probably smell my breath for the slightest hint of Toffifee in case I ate a whole box on the way home from the store.

I’ve created a monster.

Maybe I can steer his axe waving in certain directions, like the Friends of Geesus or another Home Security Alarm salesman when they come up the sidewalk. When you have an armed Viking you don’t usually need a Security System. I may as well get used to it because I’m pretty sure that the manufacturing company won’t let me return them after that email I sent.

If he calls me “Thrall” just once though…….

PS: I miss you already Toffifee. My birthday is in 4 months and we will be together again.

PPS:  Here is the email I sent to the company that sold the Battle Axe and Shield when I was worried if it would arrive before Christmas.  In case you’re interested.

Hello,

I’m checking on the status of my order.  I purchased a Battle Axe and a Shield for my Viking husband on November 22, 2016 as his Christmas gift.  I haven’t received a notice that it’s been shipped yet though and now I’m getting a little concerned that it won’t arrive before Christmas Eve. 

 I don’t know if you know anything about Vikings but they have a tendency to scowl and curse and froth at the mouth a lot when things go off the rails.  And, unfortunately, I’m not an actual Shieldmaiden that would have much of a chance in a pitched battle, especially since I could only afford a Battle Axe and Shield for him…..not for me.  I’m defenceless here.  The best I can do is a Dutch Oven and a large Flipper.  I suppose I could put a pot on my head as a helmet but it wouldn’t fit very well.

 Also, he has bought me a gift for Christmas but, in all honesty, I can’t possibly open my gift if I don’t have the gifts for him.  That will just make Christmas a very sad event for both of us.  And Christmas in January isn’t the same at all.  Have you ever seen a very sad Viking?  That’s worse than seeing an angry, snarling, farting Viking!

Anyway, I’m hoping for good news but if you don’t have that then I’ll settle for bad news as long as I know it well in advance of Christmas so I can let him down gently.

 Thank you for your time and attention,

 Sincerely,

Lori, aka Mrs. Completely

A Fart in the Wind

Like a fart in the wind, Christmas is over for another year. We ate and drank and laughed and spent time with loved ones……..well, the ones we loved at the time. It was all wonderful until Junior decided it wasn’t Christmas until the entire family was dead from disease. I’m pretty sure it’s the Hanta Virus. I had Ebola last year and this feels different.

We probably should have dipped him in a vat of disinfectant before allowing him in the vehicle with us but he looked completely healthy. He was smiling and joking and lulling us into a false sense of Christmas Spirit while the entire time he was incubating and encouraging the virus that would send us straight to hell on a wave of snot and diarrhea.

By the time it became obvious that he was sick it was too late. We should have thrown him out in the snow and burned the house down. That’s what we should have done but we didn’t because we were still harbouring some love for him. It’s amazing how quickly that love disappears though when one’s nose is a faucet and one’s legs have fallen asleep because you’ve been on the toilet for 42 minutes with no end in sight.

via GIPHY

The Viking went down like a ton of bricks and I followed shortly after. Our bathroom door became the centre of our existence. The toilet seat didn’t cool off for 48 straight hours. The only small blessing with the Hanta Virus is that it took up residence in our sinuses so we couldn’t smell the by-products. And when one wasn’t cursing Junior’s name to the Gawds, the other one was. In the space of two days he wiped out The Viking, me, Mim, MimsMan and Stanley – his father. No military operation could have been as efficient.

Mim sent me a message on Facebook: “It’s official. We’re dying. Our cat is the only nanny we have right now.”

I sent a message back: “You’re lucky you have a Nanny cat. We have a…..a……well, the OPPOSITE of a Nanny cat.”

Izzie bit me while I was in a Buckleys/Nyquil stupor and drew blood because she wanted to play. I explained we were deathly ill, in all probability dying, and she just stared at me with those flat, dead eyes. I finally just gave in and started rubbing her head but I nodded off and my hand stopped moving. Her little black body stiffened and her head whipped around to give me the stink eye until I started petting again. No Nanny here.  Here is a couple of pictures of our angel for your enjoyment:

Eventually we had to do something about sustenance. So far the only things we’d eaten in two and a half days are Dayquil/Nyquil tablets washed down with Buckleys. So, I put a toque on my head to cover my disaster of a hair-do and shlumped to the store. Pale and weak, my eyes running from Eucalyptus Oil fumes, I draped myself over a cart and slowly trolled the produce department. A mother pulled her kid out of my way, one woman grabbed the cross around her neck and held it toward me and an old man helped me get a bag of carrots into my cart but then he ran away immediately after. I didn’t mind because everyone sort of got out of my way.  Even in the check-out lane – 3 people let me go in front of them.

Shaking, sweating and nauseous, The Viking and I made Chicken Soup. I don’t remember exactly what we put in it aside from chicken and carrots. There is something green in there which may or may not be leeks and I think I recall peeling onions.  Oh!  And some soup noodles.

Junior called last night to tell me he’s feeling much, much better and I said “Whatever! Your days are numbered, boy! The rest of us are conspiring revenge. We are only in the initial phases of discussion but so far I can tell you it’s going to be ugly. Oh! And Mim is now my favorite child.”

He laughed. “Parents aren’t allowed to have favorites, Mooom. Dad loves us equally.”

“No, he doesn’t. You ensickened him too if you remember correctly.”

So, instead of catching up on newly released movies, we are sitting listlessly in front of the TV watching episodes of Midsomer Murders, wrapped and muffled with blankets, reeking of Eucalyptus. At random intervals one of us makes a mad rush for the bathroom and the other one pauses the show. Not that it matters because we keep nodding off and have no idea how they solved the damn murder anyway.

And now there’s an undertone of competition happening between The Viking and I.  He coughs and then I cough, except my cough sounded a little worse than his cough so he coughs again only more miserably.  I can’t let him have the win so I sneeze and then cough but then he doubles down on the sneezes and his cough turns into a gagging thing so then I have to make my cough be more gagging and finish off with a prolonged wheeze.  But he’s better at wheezing than I am so I have to up the ante with a higher fever which I’m better at because Menopause.  It’s exhausting being us.

And Damn You Junior!  You will rue the day…….

 

Love, Laughter and Embarrassing Moments

Well, it’s nearly here.  It’s the calm before the storm.  The gifts are bought and trimmed, the turkey is in the fridge thawing out, the groceries are ready and I’m taking a moment for a few deep breaths.  We leave for Mim’s tomorrow at noon.

I’ve kissed The Viking and patted his head.  I’ll enjoy these last hours before all hell breaks loose in the morning.  There will be yelling, cursing, tears, threats and perhaps projectiles.  It’s always the same with us.  We can’t go get groceries together without a damned dust-up.  Do you have my wallet?  No.  Why would I have your wallet?  I have my wallet.  Did you remember the Airmiles coupons?  FUCK!  Turn around.  Yes!  I know it’s my fault, you don’t need to rub it in.  Okay.  Let’s go.  Again.  Do you have the list?  What?!  I thought you had the list!  FUUUUCK!  Turn around!

Blah, blah, blah.

The good thing is that we are accustomed to it now.  It’s water off a duck’s back for us.  The neighbours still take it hard, though.  I’ll take them cookies when we get home and apologize.  The neighbours to the west have two children now and I’m expecting a sheepish visit one of these days to ask us not to curse so much and so loud.  We’ll have to give them advanced notice of our departure times so they can hurry the kids in the house and put headphones on them.

Mim is very excited to host her first ever Family Feast.  I’ll show her how to do the turkey and she is doing the rest.  The Viking and I can sit back and relax, maybe have a nap on the sofa.  Mim says we aren’t allowed to have sex but she didn’t say we couldn’t get lovey on the couch.  We’ll do our level best to disgust the kids.  I have every intention to be one of those Grandparents that you have to warn the kids about.  Smile.

I’m taking cards and poker chips and dominoes so we can play a few games.  Add some booze and we should have a great time.

As much as I will love being with Mim, MimMan and Junior, the BIG DEAL is The Viking’s Christmas Present.  We aren’t taking it to Mim’s because it’s just really, really big, so I have to wait to give it to him when we get home on Christmas Day.  I can hardly stand it!!  Gawd!!

I’m sending my best wishes to everyone for a wonderful Christmas filled with love and laughter and embarrassing moments – because everyone should have at least one every Christmas.  May the food be great, may the gifts bring joy and may we all end this year with fireworks.

Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year

Glædelig Jul og Godt Nytår

 

 

 

 

A scab! On my nipple!

By now you probably know that I have been extra-ly blessed in the boob department. I don’t want to be ungrateful but they can be a total nuisance from time to time. Therefore, it shouldn’t come as too great a shock to know that I’ve had another Boob Incident.

I was making up gift baskets for our best customers; I make all sorts of homemade goodies and put them in lovely baskets and deliver them just before Christmas. And it was during the execution of baking the goodies that I suffered a terrible injury to my right nipple.

All the baking went well. Everything indicated a successful completion of 3 gift baskets and I was already starting to congratulate myself. All that remained to do was decorate the Gingerbread. I had it in the bag. This was easy, easy stuff. First, I needed to clean up the mixer tools so I could get the icing made, and that’s where the whole affair came off the rails.

It had been going so well….

  • I had managed to keep the amount of cookie dough in my bra to a minimum.
  • I hadn’t had a major spill of any sort.
  • I hadn’t severed a digit.
  • I didn’t break any glass.
  • Nothing was burned.
  • I hadn’t forgotten any ingredients – everything tasted perfect.
  • Nobody ate it all, behind my back.
  • I only had to make an extra trip to the store once.

So I was confident! Once everything was clean and dry, I started assembling the KitchenAid again. The batter tool snicked easily into place, but then……

The bowl wouldn’t turn, to lock in place. Why do they have to make these things so tight? Geezus! I grabbed the machine with my left arm so it wouldn’t turn when I tried to turn the bowl but it’s awkward and wouldn’t cooperate. Every attempt failed; the base, heavy as it is, would turn with the bowl. So I started cursing. Surprisingly, it didn’t help.

Then I put the base on the table, which is lower, so I could get my arm around it better. Nope. Fail. Obviously, two arms aren’t enough. Why is it being such an asshole? It’s been very good until now. Why. Won’t. It. Lock?!  Fucker!   I just want to make some damned icing!

So I put it on the floor between my feet but then I couldn’t get a good grip on the bowl. So I sat on the floor, wrapped my legs around the base, except to get a good grip on the bowl handle I needed to sort of lean over the machine. One boob went to the left of the top of the machine and one boob went to the right.

Fail.

Okay, you sonofabitch!! I got up on my knees and wedged the base between my thighs. I anchored my left arm around the top of the machine and gripped the bowl with my right hand. My cheek was squished against the side of the base. With a colossal effort I tried to twist it into submission but then my right hand slipped and the bowl snapped against the base…….and my RIGHT NIPPLE GOT PINCHED INBETWEEN! Mother#$%@er!! Sonofabitch! Shitface asshole bastard pisshead!!!

I flipped my shirt up and gingerly extracted my right boob from the bra. It was bleeding! My nipple was bleeding!!

The Viking walked through the door and stopped short. The KitchenAid was still wedged between my knees, the bowl cockeyed now. I had straightened my torso so I could see my injury; my shirt was up and my boob was out. Bleeding. I looked up at him – surprised. And if I’m honest, I probably looked like I was sitting on the mixer with a boob out, and some people may have misconstrued the entire situation. The Viking knows me well enough though……

Him: What the fuck are you doing?!

Me: Look!  My nipple is bleeding!!  I gestured with the boob.

Him: How in the fuck did you manage that?!

Me: This stupid, fucking, asshole, douchebag KitchenAid pinched my nipple off!

Him: Why do you have it on the floor?

Me: Because I couldn’t get the stupid, fucking, asshole, douchebag bowl to lock into place on the counter or on the table so I was wrestling with it on the floor where I could get a better grip on it!

Him: Why didn’t you bring it to me?

Me: And admit I can’t get a mixing bowl to lock into place on its base? Are you crazy?! Besides, it’s been working just fine until now!

Him: Give it to me.

So he picks the bowl and the mixer base up and puts it on the counter. I knew what was coming. I pursed my lips and nasty smeared across my face. And just like I knew it would be, The Viking, with the tip of his stupid, fucking, asshole, douchebag pinkie finger, flicked the bowl into the locked position then turned to look at me.

Me: You’re an asshole.

Him: Why? I was just trying to help.

Me: You could have tried helping before my nipple had to bleed.

Him: How could I possibly know that you were in a wrestling death match with the KitchenAid?

Me: I don’t know but you certainly know when to come in and catch me in the most compromising of positions.

Him: Do you need any help getting your boob back in the bra?

Me: This is not the time for you to be playing with my boob. Can’t you see it’s dying?

Him: I’ll be gentle.

Me: No! But you can help me off the floor.

By the next day there was a scab on my nipple. A scab! On my nipple! I considered writing KitchenAid a letter of complaint but then thought better of it. There just isn’t any way of explaining it without a loss of dignity.

The cookies turned out brilliantly. They were slightly soft with exactly the right amount of icing to make them completely delicious. My right nipple didn’t like them though and the KitchenAid is on the naughty list. Indefinitely.

Coffee Gawd

Bless me Coffee Gawd, it’s been a month since my last visit. In my defence I’ve been busy. First there was the holiday to Arizona and then there was the fallout of said holiday.

What is it about a vacation that makes you more tired when you get home than you were before you left? Are the Vacation Gawds assholes? Shouldn’t we be leaping out of bed on our first day back at work, excited to see what the day has to offer? Shouldn’t the ringing phone be a pleasant sound instead of a deafening siren of impending doom? I thought the whole purpose of vacations was to revitalize and re-energize, but I have about the same amount of vitality and energy as a damned Bassett Hound.

We’ve been home for six days and our Overnight Bag hasn’t unpacked itself yet. I’m tired too, but that’s no excuse to make me search the bag repeatedly every day looking for another toiletry. And the laundry hasn’t sorted itself either! It’s only one bag and it only takes a minute to start the washing machine. What is it waiting for?  It hasn’t been on vacation! There’s a bra in there that I need!

I dragged my ass to the grocery store so we at least had some coffee and a sandwich. The fridge is behaving as though it has all the time in the world to restock. Where are the salads and cheeses?! This is the perfect weather to make a nice beef roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and maybe some sesame carrots. The stove is just waiting to get going. You’re holding up the proceedings, Fridge!

Izzie seems to be the only person happy to be home again. She’s running and leaping and jumping and whatever the fuck else she does in the middle of the night. “Yes, I know you want to play but can’t you see that I’m in no shape to be moving from my computer chair? And the lacerations and bitings are not helping your case! And we aren’t in the truck anymore so find somewhere else to sleep that isn’t my shoulder!

The Viking comes into the house and plops in his computer chair. “Is there anymore coffee?” He’s so tired his lips barely move, combined with the Danish accent it comes out more like “Z en mo kuf e”. I mumble back, “S” while I jerk myself back to a vertical position and my eyes snap open. Where the fuck is Daylight Savings Time when you need it?! NOVEMBER 6th?! I can’t wait that long! I need that hour now!

It didn’t help that we must have eaten something on our way home that didn’t entirely agree with our intestinal tracts. That’s the problem with driving 2300 kilometers (1430 miles) in a day and a half – you are at the mercy of the Fast Food Industry. The Fridge didn’t help matters by being empty; it’s not like it didn’t know when we would be home. I specifically told it so we wouldn’t be shocked and surprised if it had a date over.

Anyway, that’s why I haven’t been by for a visit, Coffee Gawd. If you think about it, it’s probably for the best that I didn’t come sooner. I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone in this condition. It’s Saturday though. Maybe The Viking won’t notice that I’m not getting out of bed. If the fucking Fridge and Stove would cooperate and put something hot on the table for him at dinner time I could conceivably stay in bed until Monday morning at 8:58am. I need time to dress and commute to my computer chair. Apparently the phones won’t answer themselves.

Bastards.

 

A One-Legged Girl and Banana Marshmellows

I caused a debacle today. Completely unintentionally, but it was a total fiasco nonetheless. It all started with needing coffee cream and a loaf of bread and rather than going all the way down to Safeway, I decided to just pop into The Bownesian. It is a little boutique-type store where local businesses can sell their products, organic produce and antibiotic-free meat are preferred, and it has an amazing deli section considering the miniscule size of the store.

I grabbed a basket when I went through the doors and went directly to the dairy section, swung through the bread section and headed to the check out. Except…..there, on the end cap of an aisle, was…..BANANA MARSHMELLOWS!! Oh. My. God! Banana Marshmellows! I got a craving for them about 4 years ago, couldn’t find them in all that time and now they were sitting right in front of me!

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Potato Salad, Headlocks and Chloroform

Mission:  Make Potato Salad to serve tonight when the kids come for dinner.

Me:  I watched a video on YouTube on how to peel potatoes really easy.  You just boil them first, squeeze the potato gently and the peel comes right off!

Viking:  I think that only works on new potatoes.

Me:  They look kind of like new potatoes.  The skins are very thin.  It should work fine.

Viking:  ……..shrug

2 Hours Later

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Chaos

We are apparently made out of it so it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that I live and create chaos every single day. It’s an untamed beast that only exists because I procrastinate.  If I didn’t procrastinate I could most certainly eradicate it out of my life but then I would be bored and boring and look like Martha Stewart.

For example:  Where is the fun in opening up the fridge and not feeling a small trill of fear? What’s great about trusting that all the salad dressing hasn’t hit its best before date?  Wouldn’t we miss the “Name that Rotting Food” Game with the container on the shelf in the back?  What would The Viking have to complain about if there were no slops in the Vegetable Crisper that needed to be scraped into the trash and removed from the house immediately?  Exactly!  These are fun times!  Bonding moments!  Opportunities to apologize and promise to do better in the future.  If everything was orderly and perfect how could The Viking possibly know that I am still making an effort?  He might assume that I’m totally redundant to the efficient operation of this place!

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Food that isn’t Food

I was in the grocery store the other day, cruising around the produce department hoping something would jump off the displays and into my cart with an inspiration for an amazing dinner dish…….that would cook itself and do up the dishes afterwards. I watched other shoppers who seemed so sure, like they already knew what they were making for supper.  They are probably spawns of Martha Stewart who have a month of meal plans posted on some artsy-fartsy push pin board decorated with cute sewing projects that look like vegetables.  Damn them!

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