11Feb
Don’t these cookies look delicious?
I made them myself.  They are peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.  Here – have a closer look…
(Pay no attention to the blue M&M’s.  They are Spiderman M&M’s.  Only thing I had.)
They look so yummy, don’t they?  They make you want to pour a cold glass of milk and cozy up with a blanket and good book.  Funny thing about these cookies though.
THEY TASTE LIKE CRAP.  Total crap.  Like baked crap.  And I just don’t get it.
You know when you go to the beach and you get back in your car with sandy feet and your floor mats get all gritty and nasty?  Well, I imagine that if you were to pick up that floor mat and chew a little bit on one of the corners, you’d probably get a similar taste to these cookies.  Something tasting like sand and concrete.  And feet.
These cookies turned out like all my other baked goods do.  They look edible.  They smell edible.  They feel edible.  But when you bite into them – dirt.  Pure dirt.  They are gritty and dry and these particular cookies have a funky texture to them.  I think its the oatmeal.
And I just don’t get it.  I follow the recipes perfectly.  I measure carefully, preheat my oven, use room temperatured butter.  And nothing.  I get nothing in return.  This is not a new problem for me either.  I had this issue in our old apartment.  At the time, I blamed it on my oven but now I live in a new house with a new oven and I still get the same old results.  I’m starting to think its a user error.  But I honestly don’t know what my error is.  Any monkey can follow a recipe…  right???
I made Chris try one.  He kind of chewed it and then smiled painfully and made a “MMMmmm…” noise.  I’m sure he meant it to mean, “MMMmmm….Yummy…” but it came out more like, “MMMmmm…I want to throw up.”  And I can’t even get mad at him because I had the same reaction.
And its not everything in my kitchen that turns out like this.  I can cook pretty good.  I’m a Crock Pot Queen.  I can bake a hell of a muffin.  And chicken breasts fear me.  Its just cookies.  No cookie has survived my kitchen yet.
OH, COOKIE GODS!  WHY HAVE THOU TURNED FROM ME?!?!?
25Aug
Our housewarming party on Saturday was a huge success. We had lots of friends – new and old – who filled our house with lots of love and warm, gooey, goodness. I was a little worried because we invited people from all different groups of friends and so I wasn’t sure how everyone would mesh, but I think the meshing was good. Chris worked the grill like a pro, and I served Martha Stewart’s homemade lime wine spritzers like it was my job.
And I have to say that there were so many compliments on the house (but what else would people say at a housewarming party??). Everything they commented on was something Chris and I had fought about.
“This paint job is fabulous!” – Why, thank you. My husband almost kicked me out of the house when I refused to use a drop cloth.
“I love the color of your living room!” – Why, thank you. I made Chris sleep on the couch for a week until he would compromise on the color.
“Your yard looks fantastic!” – Why, thank you. I was searching the Yellow Pages for a divorce lawyer while Chris laid the mulch.
And every time a comment was made, Chris and I would just laugh and laugh until the guest moved on and then one of us would mutter, “I freaking told you so…”
I do need to give credit where credit is due though. Our house really did look fantastic. And the yard was all the rage. I thought Chris’ head would just pop off right there next to the grill if one more person said how great it looked. He did good, that husband of mine, and in the end I’m glad we didn’t divorce over something silly like mulch or honeysuckle vines. Especially because there are much bigger things out there for us to argue about…like laundry.
After the crowds left, we had a small group of our closest friends who came up from New York stay the weekend. This is the group of people who have been in our lives since we were in high school. They were Chris’ best friends since childhood and in the past 4 or 5 years, they have become some of my closest friends as well. We’ve experienced just about every major life change with them. They were there when Chris and I first started dating, and when we broke up, and when we got back together, and when we broke up, and when we got back together. They stood next to us on our wedding day. They were there when we graduated. They were there the day we closed on our new house. We’ve been through break ups, marriages, funerals, bad haircuts, depressions, incredible successes, and just about everything in between together. To say they are more than friends is really an understatement. They are as close as family, and – like so many events in our lives – the weekend would not have been complete without them. I know that in the next few years there are many changes coming – maybe some weddings, maybe some babies, maybe some new jobs, maybe some moves. And it makes me smile inside to know that these people will be there for it all.
So, it was a good weekend. New friends and old friends. Beer cans and hamburger buns. Questionable croquet games and cornhole tournaments. It was just the kind of celebration that you want to kick off a whole new chapter in your life.
What can I say? A house just isn’t a home until your friends litter it with beer bottles.
09Aug
Now, I’m not a sissy girl. I might be prissy. I might prefer air conditioning. And I will always, always paint my toenails. But I’m not a sissy. Not too much scares me and I can hold my own in an argument. But nothing is more scary to me than the deli counter at Stop and Shop on Saturday mornings.
The first problem is that I go on Saturday mornings. Along with the rest of suburban America. And the suburban moms are out in full force. Kids climbing all over the place, screaming, crying, mother’s yelling while squeezing produce. I feel like I should just flatten myself against the wall to stay out of their way. My cart will be stopped in an aisle and I’ll see Mrs. Smith and her 12 screaming banshees come flying towards me. The important thing in these situations is not to panic. And don’t make eye contact. Just move your cart as far out of the way as you can and climb up on top of the nearest Doritos stand and wait for her to pass.
That’s the thing about the deli counter though. You can’t crawl out of their way. You have to pool together next to hundreds of the Mrs. Smiths, waiting until your number is called. As you’re waiting, you have to begin preparing your order in your head because those Momiacs don’t wait for you. Once they call number 171, you have exactly 2.6 seconds to yell out your order or one of them barks at the Meat Man to “keep going, no one has that number!” Many a time I have been passed over because of stage fright. They called my number, I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t know what to do except stand there gaping and turning red. We ate bologna that week.
I’ve gotten better though. Except then I changed grocery stores because we moved and now I can’t ever find the meat I want. And the Momiacs always block the glass case, so I can’t ever get up there to see what my options are. I usually end up ordering something like, “Uhh…A pound of anything like turkey.” We had bologna that week, too.
And I hate that you have to yell out your order. I never get the volume right. Either they can’t hear me (I had one Momiac tell me one time to “speak up when you speak to the butcher!” First, its just the Stop and Shop, lady. And second, he’s more of a meat cutter than an actual butcher, so lets not get our giant panties in a wad…) or I end up yelling really forcefully. “GIVE ME SMOKED TURKEY! ONE POUND! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” I’d much rather step into a private stall to speak personally with the butcher. Like you get to do at the pharmacy or at Tiffany & Co. I might as well be yelling out, “I NEED LEAN MEAT BECAUSE I’M FAT AND LOTS OF IT BECAUSE I’M HUNGRY!”
I may become a vegetarian just so I don’t have to deal with the deli counter. Is meat really worth all the stress is causes me? I don’t think so…
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