I made beef stew in the crockpot for the first time. I’ve never actually cooked beef before. And considering my track record with crockpot failures, I had no idea how things were going to turn out. It actually worked. Go figure. Which is good. Because we’re going to be eating it for another three days. — Anyway O.A.R.
1.) Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be allowed to do laundry. If I’m not drawing blood or smashing my head, I can’t seem to do a complete load without screwing it up. I don’t even know how many times I’ve run stuff through the washer only to realize that I never put soap in the machine. Last night I threw a load in the dryer and never turned it on. Things would get done a…
S: *heavy sigh* R: Everything alright? S: Oh…just reading the internet. R: Realizing all hope for humanity is lost? S: Pretty much. R: Reading the internet will do that. S: I’m going to go back to watching music videos of cute boys in bands. R: That’s a good idea. Because it’s better than reality right now. (Shattered (Turn the Car Around) by O.A.R.) — Shattered (Turn the Car Around) O.A.R.
I can barely see the burbon drowning next to me and I just lost it all… Ahem. Wrong obsession. Anyway. I have been waiting a very long time for this game. And after dealing with a bunch of computer issues (yay tech support husband) I can finally play the damn thing. I’m terrible at video games. I lack the skill and coordination and reaction time and everything important for not failing and dying over and…
I made cheese burger macaroni for dinner. Or hotdish in a skillet. Because this is Minnesota. It’s pretty much homemade hamburger helper. I had an inspiration recipe and then changed most of it to fit my liking. Because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m using a pound of Velveeta in anything I cook. Gag. Turned out pretty well for an experiment. Bob liked it, so that’s one for the victory column. — Light…
Hell week. Headache that won’t die and the sensation of my uterus being ripped to shreds and no drugs work. I’m considering googling home hysterectomies. I don’t need the damn thing anyway. But now I have Bob all to myself for nine days and I’m not sharing him. And I have cake. If the Nug doesn’t get to it first. — Hey Girl O.A.R.
