Bill got an evil devil grin when I asked him what one was. I’m guessing there is one in my near future One time, kinda late at night, he offered me a cup of coffee with Bailey’s. I asked him why he wanted a wired drunk on his hands and he told me that he just wanted me drunk and that the coffee was decaf. We were still up until the sable hours of the morning. I love him, but he’s evil.
NONONONO!!! You are too smart to do that sort of thing. I’m glad you are feeling better. How’s your pirate? I’d guess that if he didn’t get sick from eating the same thing, you aren’t dieing of mad cow disease or anything
Moonlitherial I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at your problems. I’m really sure that your move will go fine and that the dogs will be fine. Dogs are really very flexible and adaptable critters as long as they are with their pack. You being the alpha member of the pack will need to show them that there is nothing to fear.
I am really good at following instructions as long as said instructions are correct. One of the things I’ve learned by screwing things up is to READ THE FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS AND THEN FOLLOW THEM. Things seem to work out much better when I do that.
I’ve also learned to locate all of the tools I need to do the task and put them in easy reach before I start on the task. I was so :smack::smack::smack: when I figured that one out.
aruvqan Thank you so much for that long and informative post. I was pretty sure that things could all be baked at the same time, women using wood stoves managed to do it and they didn’t even have oven thermometers.
None of the recipes for mashed potatoes I found online gave me the correct order for mixing fat before liquid. When I asked my husband the engineer about it, he thought about it and did some things on his phone, then told me that your were right. He actually got pretty happy about researching it and wanted to show me the scientific reason it works.
I would have looked, but I was busy cooking and Buttercup needed a walk. Out you go, engineer dude!!! If you want, I’d bet he would be happy to send me the links so I can spam you with nerd jargon.
Even easier: don’t use solid fat. My family’s best mashed potatoes involve potatoes (from the store or helpfully minced and bagged by Maggi), milk and the juices saved from a roast. If you’re roasting a turkey, use those juices.
Since apparently we’re having an “instruct people on dangerous drinks day” carajillo (black coffee and brandy) and trifásico (triphasic, like currents; coffee, milk and rum) are not considered breakfast-appropriate unless you happen to have a hangover.
I’m loving that site. So far the recipes I’ve looked at allow for variations on the materials (they even mention differences between bagged, canned, frozen or fresh) and explain any terms. Thank you both!
So, Thanksgiving dinner prep was going swimmingly; Bob the roasted chicken had just come out of the oven, and the casseroles were going in. Focused on doing three things at the same time, I decided the roasting pan needed to scoot to the left a bit, and grabbed the handle to shift it.
The 475°F handle. The one that had just come out of the oven. With my bare hand.
I now have some splendid blisters on my thumb and index finger of my left hand. The one on the index finger is on the top joint. The one on my thumb is diagonally across the ball of the thumb. At least they’ve mostly stopped hurting. Gauze is your friend.
I hate Michael Buble and I also hate the fact that I usually can’t confess my hatred of him to non-musicians, or they think I’m an incredible music snob.
I feel your pain. Usually, I take the casserole out of the oven using the mitts. Then I remove the mitts and reach out to remove the glass lid. @#$%. That hurts. You’d think I’d know better by now.
My burn was from trying to keep the skillet from sliding on the burner. The hot skillet. With my bare hand. Glad to see I am not the only one. Glad I have that aloe vera plant by the door.
I’ve done similar, Indyellen. No touch! Bad touch! I don’t know what’s worse, the pain of the burn or feeling like a complete idiot. Hmmm … Going with the burn pain.
Made it through my first Thanksgiving as a widow (GAWD but I hate that word) and spent most of the day at my parent’s house without even losing my cool (too much*) and putting up with hours of my mother’s neurosis and anxiety whenever she hosts an event - dancing around interrupting people mid-sentence to INSIST they eat some hor’doerve or another is the one that drives me the most bonkers - and managed to occasionally even enjoy myself a bit. Spent a bit of time later that evening with an out-of-town friend and her new dude; it was nice catching up with her and I even kept my full and complete composure while she described their budding relationship and how they’re setting up a happy new life together, the dynamics of their interactions etc. which could have been word-for-word how TOS and I were in our early days, shit even our not-so-early days…
All in all, I was pretty damn pleased with myself. I cried silently when my dad invoked TOS during the pre meal blessing but dabbed my eyes primly and went right back to making small talk and the occasional witty joke ( ) and was otherwise doing ok. More than ok.
Early this morning, I dreamed of him. He could walk again, and he told me that everything had been a medical mistake, that he hadn’t had WNV and that the doctors had just been wrong. I lay in his arms and told him that all I’d done was hope and wish that he’d com back, and now he had, and I lay there with my head on his shoulders and was washed over with an immense sense of gratitude, the same one I felt IRL when we lay together like that.
And that’s when I woke up. Slowly, gradually, so for a few seconds I was awake and yet fully expected him to still be there right next to me. The first moment of realization was … Omg that hurt. Bad. And I haven’t been able to stop crying off and on since then. I’m sorry to put this here, it’s beyond mini I guess but I didn’t feel like starting a separate thread and I just wanted to put this somewhere, anywhere, in the hopes of getting it out of my head. It’s a lovely sunny afternoon and I just want to take a pleasant walk instead of wallowing in my own fear and pain.
me, verbatim at the table to my mother: “yeah, nothing improves somebody’s appetite like being ORDERED to eat.”
Cue: entire rest of table laughing
Me, internally: I wasn’t kidding yanno.
I was there two hours ahead of the guests to help prep and was snacking the whole time, so by the time the meal was served I really wasn’t very hungry and had to suffer yet another round of "eat, eat! What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry? Poor dear … " and the like. Ugh.
One time, kinda late at night, he offered me a cup of coffee with Bailey’s. I asked him why he wanted a wired drunk on his hands and he told me that he just wanted me drunk and that the coffee was decaf. We were still up until the sable hours of the morning. I love him, but he’s evil.
) and was otherwise doing ok. More than ok.