If you read my last post, you know that I don't like birds. Like at all. I hate them. However, I don't want y'all to think that I'm completely heartless, so I'm gonna tell you a little story about when I tried to put my fears aside and help a little feathered demonic creature and why I don't do that anymore. Honestly, this is probably one of those "you just had to be there" stories, but who knows, hopefully, you'll enjoy it.
I don't remember exactly how long ago this was, but I do know that I wasn't in high school yet, so it was probably somewhere around 13-14 years ago. Wow, doing the math for that made me feel really old. At first, I was thinking maybe it was about ten years ago. Then I realized that that would've made me sixteen-years-old. Wow, that's crazy. Anyway, I was probably somewhere around thirteen. So, you know, old enough to be embarrassed if someone besides my mom had witnessed this, but not quite as embarrassed as I would've been if I were sixteen.
Anyway, let me set the scene. It was a Sunday evening and my mom and I were just getting home from church. I was wearing a dress and a pair of black dress shoes. Thankfully they weren't heels, but if you know me, you never would've assumed that they were. I mean, have you ever seen me walk in heels? No, you haven't, because it's not a pretty sight and I didn't want to subject you to that. You're welcome. I promise that this is relevant, even though it doesn't seem like it.
So we were just pulling into the driveway and my mom noticed that there was a little baby bird at the edge of a mud puddle at the end of our driveway. Against my better judgment, I told her that she should get it out of the puddle and put it back in a tree or something. She was as shocked as you probably are, but like I said, I'm not completely heartless, and I knew that if the bird stayed where it was, it would almost certainly be eaten by my neighbor's dog. I didn't want something like that weighing on my conscience. Notice that I didn't volunteer to do this myself though, I wasn't that nice. And if I were to get up the courage to help it, I definitely wouldn't have picked it up like my mom did. I might've knocked it across the road with a stick or something. Actually, that probably would've hurt it worse than the dog eating it. Oh well, guess it's a good thing I let her take care of it. Now even though it was technically my idea to save the creature, I still wasn't too excited about it. I was already scooting as close to the passenger side door as I could possibly get when she picked it up. She started talking about how cute it was. I replied that it wasn't cute and she better not let it fly into the van. To which she claimed that it couldn't fly and that "it's not gonna get you." Pause.
Y'all remember that Jeff Foxworthy bit where he's talking about the guy who got his nipple bitten off by a beaver? If not, you should watch it. I had to in order to refresh my memory and am now back after watching an hour and a half's worth of Jeff Foxworthy standup. Anyway, for the unlucky ones who haven't head this, he met a fan who's brother-in-law had his nipple bitten off by a beaver. He and his buddy had accidentally hit it with their truck and had gone to get it out of the ditch because they wanted to take it to the taxidermist. Now here's why this is pertinent to my story. In this bit, Jeff says "'look at it, it ain't cut up, or bloody, or nothin'.' And apparently 'nothin'' is the word that brings a beaver back to consciousness. And at that point, the animal lurched out and bit his nipple off."
Well in my story, apparently "get you" is the phrase that gives a sickly-looking bird the ability to fly, because, at that point, the animal lurched out, squawked it's battle cry, and flew right into the van. But not just into the van. It flew directly toward me and would've landed on my chest had I actually still been in the car at that point. Y'all, I ain't ever ran that fast. My mom said that it was like everything except me was in slow motion. She said that when she looked up, the car door was closing behind me and I was already standing on the front porch, which I'd estimate is probably about 25 yards from where we were parked.
Disclaimer: I'm terrible at estimating, so by "about 25 yards" I mean it could be anywhere between 10 and 50, or more. I don't know. The only thing I know about yards is that there are a hundred of 'em in a football field and that this was probably less than half of a football field. Maybe I'll measure it so I can tell you for sure.
Disclaimer 2: No I won't, I live in Texas and it's hot out there.
Mama managed to get the little demon out of the van and disposed of it. It was only after this that I made my way back to the car and we pulled around the house and into the garage. When we walked into the living room, my grandpa was coming back from the front door. He and my grandma said they thought they heard a herd of kids running through the front yard, but by the time he got to the door, there was nobody there. Once my mom finally stopped laughing, we told them that it was actually just me running across the yard at a pace that probably would've beaten Usain Bolt in a sprint. While wearing dress shoes, remember.
So there it is, the first and last time I tried to help a bird. They've just had to fend for themselves since then.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
That one Time I was Viciously Attacked by Wild Vultures in Branson
Ok, so maybe "viciously attacked" is a little strong considering that they never actually touched me. And I guess I should clarify that they were actually Macaws, not Vultures. And since they were part of a pet show, most people wouldn't classify them as wild. But let's be honest, if I'd titled this, "That one Time Two Professionally Trained Macaws Flew Over my Seat in Branson" you probably wouldn't be so eager to read this. Click-bait, ladies, and gentlemen.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I can't stand birds. It doesn't matter if it's a Hummingbird or a Hawk, they're all equally terrifying. And if they can talk, well, that's just plain witchcraft. I mean come on, if there could only be one species of animal that could talk, why in the world did it have to be birds? Maybe that's what I'll ask the Lord when I get to Heaven, "Why not dogs, or cats, or even gerbils? Why'd it have to be birds?" I've been afraid of birds for as long as I can remember. This is probably because when I was a kid, my neighbor had Martin houses and the angry mother birds would dive-bomb me as I rode my bike to the little store beside my house. Evil creatures, those mama Martins. So I usually try to avoid birds at all costs. I now know better than to let my mom convince me that I'd really enjoy aviaries, and I refuse to eat outdoors at restaurants. However, when my mom mentioned going to the Amazing Pets show while we were in Branson, the thought that there might be birds there never even crossed my mind. Probably because I don't consider birds pets. Now I know some of you probably disagree. Some of you may even have a pet bird. And that's ok, good for you. Just know that if I'm aware of this, I'll probably never go to your house. But seriously, why birds? You can't cuddle a bird. They don't run to the door to greet you when you get home from work. Well, they might, but running birds are creepy, they're like giant, feather-clad roaches.
The first half of the show was great. Real pets, you know, dogs and cats, jumped hurdles, rolled barrels, and other cute tricks. Then after intermission, the announcer said something that made my skin crawl. He said that the trainer was going to showcase his amazing birds. Oh. My. Gosh. As soon as the two trainers came out on stage, I started sliding down in my seat. If they did anything on stage, I couldn't tell you what it was, I had slid down far enough that I couldn't see over the head of the man in front of me. Then the trainers started to make their way off of the stage and down the aisles. I slid down a little farther. "They better not stop at our row," I mumbled to my mom, who was already laughing. I'm sure you can guess exactly what happened. Yep, the two trainers, birds in hand, stopped at either end of our aisle. "Seriously?" I groaned and slid down in my seat as far as I could go. I wasn't technically on the floor, but I was close. I slid down so far that my head was laying in my seat. From this position I watched, and felt, the birds fly over our row one-at-a-time. After that little demonstration, the trainers proceeded on down the aisles. I thought it was over. It wasn't. They then proceeded to have the birds fly in an X across the audience. By this point, my mom couldn't breathe or see through the tears that were now streaming down her face, and those around me were turning around to see what I was doing in the floor. "I don't do birds," I told them. After they finally took the birds backstage, I crawled back into my chair to watch the last little bit of the show which included Siberian Huskies and a cat performing a trick that had apparently been done in the movie, Big Fish.
So yeah, no more pet shows for me.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
That One Time I Discovered That I have a Phobia of Waterslides
Remember when I actually did a good job of keeping up with this blog? Yeah, come to think of it, me either. But wow, it's been a while. I used to say I was going to do better and would post more often, but let's get real, I probably won't, so I'm not going to promise anything.
Earlier tonight my grandma asked me to write down this story because she wanted to share it with some friends of ours and I thought, "you know what? I haven't blogged in forever, I could totally kill two birds with one stone and use this story for a blog." Side note, there has to be a more effective method of killing birds. I don't think my aim or arm strength is good enough to even kill one bird with a stone, let alone two, but I digress.
Several years ago, my mom and I took a trip to Branson, Missouri. It was a really fun trip. This was the trip on which I discovered the deliciousness of Lambert's Cafe (Home of Throwed Rolls). It was also the trip on which I discovered that I have a pretty significant fear of waterslides.
We stayed at Welk Resort which was a really nice hotel, mostly because they gave us a bag of snacks and bottles of water, what can I say, I'm easy to please. It also had an indoor waterpark right across the parking lot which was free to anyone staying at the hotel. We knew about this before leaving on the trip, but I'm not normally one for swimming, so I didn't bother packing a swimsuit. However, a day or so after we got there, I decided that I wouldn't mind spending a couple hours at the waterpark, so we bought me a bathing suit at the local Walmart and headed across the parking lot to check it out. Like I said, I don't normally like to swim, probably because I can't, so I headed straight for the vacant hot tub. For a while, I was sitting there thinking that sitting in a hot tub by myself was pretty awkward. But then someone else entered the hot tub, which I discovered was even more awkward, so I got out. While I was in the hot tub and not thinking about how incredibly awkward it was, I had also thought about trying the water slide. I mentioned this to my mom who was sitting in a chair off to the side, waiting for me to get ready to go back to the hotel. "I wish you would," she said. I mentioned that I wasn't sure since I couldn't really swim. She then pointed out that there had been a kid that had been down the slide three or four times already. She said, "if a kid can do it, I'm pretty sure you'll be fine." Terrible advice, but it worked. After watching several kids pop out of the end of the slide, skip across the water a couple times, and then walk out of the pool, I made my way up the stairs to the top of the slide. While waiting for my turn to hurl towards impending death, I came up with a strategy to minimize the risk of drowning as much as possible. The plan I came up with was to drag my heels all the way down the slide to keep from building up too much speed. In my mind, this would mean that I would pretty much end up sitting at the edge of the slide at the bottom where I could simply slip into the water and make my way out of the pool. Of course, I didn't take into account the water jet at the slide's entrance. I sat down at the top of the slide and before I even had the chance to dig in my heels, the jet propelled me down the slide at a speed I had not previously experienced outside of a car. Remember what I said about the kids just skipping across the water a couple times before putting their feet down and walking out of the pool? Yeah, that's not how it went with me. I flew out of the slide, all four limbs flailing, hit the water which someone had apparently replaced with a slab of concrete, and bounced off of the bottom of the pool. I came up coughing and sputtering, not quite sure where I even was anymore, and the "lifeguard" lady hollering at me to get out of the pool. I found the ladder, climbed out, and informed my mom (who was laughing hysterically) that I was done. I grabbed my towel and bag of dry clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. But the fun wasn't over yet. I had noticed as soon as I got out of the pool that it felt like I had a tremendous wedgie. Upon pulling off my one-piece swimsuit, I discovered that the wedgie didn't go away. I reached around to my backside and pulled a piece of paper out of my butt. I dried off, got dressed, and went out to inform my mom of this newest development. I told her that the force of me hitting the concrete water was so strong that it had ripped the tag from the inside of my suit and forced it up into my rectum. Upon showing her the piece of paper, she laughed even harder, informing me that it wasn't the tag, but rather the piece of sanitary paper that they apparently put into the crotch region of bathing suits. I guess this was a little better than my tag theory, but not by much.
So yeah, I don't do waterslides anymore.
Earlier tonight my grandma asked me to write down this story because she wanted to share it with some friends of ours and I thought, "you know what? I haven't blogged in forever, I could totally kill two birds with one stone and use this story for a blog." Side note, there has to be a more effective method of killing birds. I don't think my aim or arm strength is good enough to even kill one bird with a stone, let alone two, but I digress.
Several years ago, my mom and I took a trip to Branson, Missouri. It was a really fun trip. This was the trip on which I discovered the deliciousness of Lambert's Cafe (Home of Throwed Rolls). It was also the trip on which I discovered that I have a pretty significant fear of waterslides.
We stayed at Welk Resort which was a really nice hotel, mostly because they gave us a bag of snacks and bottles of water, what can I say, I'm easy to please. It also had an indoor waterpark right across the parking lot which was free to anyone staying at the hotel. We knew about this before leaving on the trip, but I'm not normally one for swimming, so I didn't bother packing a swimsuit. However, a day or so after we got there, I decided that I wouldn't mind spending a couple hours at the waterpark, so we bought me a bathing suit at the local Walmart and headed across the parking lot to check it out. Like I said, I don't normally like to swim, probably because I can't, so I headed straight for the vacant hot tub. For a while, I was sitting there thinking that sitting in a hot tub by myself was pretty awkward. But then someone else entered the hot tub, which I discovered was even more awkward, so I got out. While I was in the hot tub and not thinking about how incredibly awkward it was, I had also thought about trying the water slide. I mentioned this to my mom who was sitting in a chair off to the side, waiting for me to get ready to go back to the hotel. "I wish you would," she said. I mentioned that I wasn't sure since I couldn't really swim. She then pointed out that there had been a kid that had been down the slide three or four times already. She said, "if a kid can do it, I'm pretty sure you'll be fine." Terrible advice, but it worked. After watching several kids pop out of the end of the slide, skip across the water a couple times, and then walk out of the pool, I made my way up the stairs to the top of the slide. While waiting for my turn to hurl towards impending death, I came up with a strategy to minimize the risk of drowning as much as possible. The plan I came up with was to drag my heels all the way down the slide to keep from building up too much speed. In my mind, this would mean that I would pretty much end up sitting at the edge of the slide at the bottom where I could simply slip into the water and make my way out of the pool. Of course, I didn't take into account the water jet at the slide's entrance. I sat down at the top of the slide and before I even had the chance to dig in my heels, the jet propelled me down the slide at a speed I had not previously experienced outside of a car. Remember what I said about the kids just skipping across the water a couple times before putting their feet down and walking out of the pool? Yeah, that's not how it went with me. I flew out of the slide, all four limbs flailing, hit the water which someone had apparently replaced with a slab of concrete, and bounced off of the bottom of the pool. I came up coughing and sputtering, not quite sure where I even was anymore, and the "lifeguard" lady hollering at me to get out of the pool. I found the ladder, climbed out, and informed my mom (who was laughing hysterically) that I was done. I grabbed my towel and bag of dry clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. But the fun wasn't over yet. I had noticed as soon as I got out of the pool that it felt like I had a tremendous wedgie. Upon pulling off my one-piece swimsuit, I discovered that the wedgie didn't go away. I reached around to my backside and pulled a piece of paper out of my butt. I dried off, got dressed, and went out to inform my mom of this newest development. I told her that the force of me hitting the concrete water was so strong that it had ripped the tag from the inside of my suit and forced it up into my rectum. Upon showing her the piece of paper, she laughed even harder, informing me that it wasn't the tag, but rather the piece of sanitary paper that they apparently put into the crotch region of bathing suits. I guess this was a little better than my tag theory, but not by much.
So yeah, I don't do waterslides anymore.
Monday, August 10, 2015
Basketball, Longhorns, CatDogs, and Breadsticks
First of all, if that title doesn't catch your attention, I don't know what will. A long time ago, on a blog that I did such a good job of keeping up with that I eventually forgot every detail of my login information, I began what I had intended to be a series entitled "The Saga of Beth's Strange Dreams" or something catchy like that. In this series I had planned to blog about the weird/funny dreams that I had on basically a nightly basis. I think I made one post in which I discussed a dream about being on the Titanic as it was sinking or some other dramatic crisis, and that was the end of the series. I'm not saying I'm picking that series back up, I mean it's been almost a year since I've posted anything on this blog and can probably only access it because of the handy "remember me" feature, but I did have a pretty entertaining dream last night that was a little too detailed for a Facebook post, so here it goes.
The dream began with my friend, Lacey, myself, and a few people who I don't know, driving to the Houston Airport. We were going to watch the SFA vs Sam Houston game, but unlike the yearly Battle of the Piney Woods football game, this was basketball. For some reason, our plan was to drive to the airport and fly to the game. I don't even think this is possible. I mean, the game was in the same city, but I digress. The excitement started early on when I lost Lacey while trying to cross the street between the parking lot and the entrance to the airport. She darted through oncoming traffic like a lunatic while I opted to wait for a large enough space between cars that if I were to trip, I might still have a chance to get up before being crushed by a speeding car. As is actually the case in real life, I had never been inside an airport and was now left to embark on the usual airport activities alone, although I did have Allie. Yes, I brought my dog along for what I can only assume would be a five-minute flight across Houston. I somehow managed to purchase my $40 ticket, check my bags (yes I also had luggage on this trip) and hand Allie off to a man who assured me she'd be well taken care of until time to load her into the cargo area of the plane. It was then time to find the rest of my party. I darted through movie theaters, a video game tournament of some sort, and a house party (this was a very strange and busy airport) and finally found Lacey sitting on a couch drinking coffee. We made our way to a Taco Bell in the food court for lunch. At this Taco Bell, they were experimenting with a new sandwich concept which included a fried chicken fillet smothered in BBQ sauce and served on a sub roll. I'd probably never order this in real life, (I mean, what does Taco Bell know about sandwiches?) but in dream world I did and it was delicious. Unfortunately, I only got to take one bite before it was announced that our flight was boarding and we apparently couldn't take food on the plane, so both our lunches went into the trash. When we arrive at our terminal, gate, whatever the little waiting area is called where you wait for your plane to be boarded (have I mentioned I know nothing about airports?) things really start to heat up. When we handed the already perturbed ticket taker lady our boarding passes, we were informed that you could not actually fly across the city of Houston. Already hangry (a state of anger brought about my hunger) my temper began to flare and I asked why were allowed to purchase tickets if we would not actually be able to use them. I don't remember the answer I was given, so sat down beside Lacey to pout and watch the basketball game on television. We discussed many times why we couldn't just go get the car and drive there, but apparently, the case was just that Lacey and I were on some type of "do not fly" list because the rest of our party had been allowed to board and had the car keys. It was at this moment that I realized that Allie and my bags were on the plane as well so there was really nothing to do but watch the game on TV and contemplate whether or not it would be sanitary to go pull my sandwich out of the garbage so I could have lunch. We either got bored with the game, or it was over, I don't remember which, but eventually we began to explore the airport while we waited for the plane to return with Allie, my bags, and our ride home. We stumbled across a movie theatre that was showing an Ellen DeGeneres movie in which she read you her book, "Seriously... I'm Kidding" (can this please happen in real life?) so of course, we watched that. After the movie was over we exited the theatre and were met by about fifteen Texas Longhorn football players in full gear. Apparently, this airport also hosted college football games. We snapped some pictures and Lacey somehow ended up with a football helmet and we headed back to wait on the return of our plane. It was then that I was informed of some disturbing news about Allie. At some point during the flight, my dog had turned into a cat. If that wasn't strange enough, she was also being quarantined since I guess species transformation isn't something you see every day, and it was determined that I could not take her home until a few hours had passed. Lacey had to work the next day and our ride was nowhere in sight so we came to the most logical conclusion there was, we would walk home and find someone to drive us back to Houston to pick up my cat dog. It wasn't pleasant. We walked for many hours, mostly through swamps and other wooded areas, and for some reason, despite the fact that it was freezing, I was wearing shorts and flip-flops. We somehow made it home and began our search for someone who could drive us back to Houston. We saw that there were lights on in my church and explained our situation to my pastor, Bro. Greg, who agreed to drive us back to Houston along with Sis. JoJo and most of our youth group. As a thank you, we stopped at Olive Garden in Lufkin, which is apparently open 24 hours a day in dreamland, and bought him dinner.
I woke up thankful to find that Allie was still a dog, that I had an intense craving for Olive Garden breadsticks, and unfortunately no pictures of me with any members of the Texas Longhorns football team on my phone. It was definitely a mixture of emotions.
The dream began with my friend, Lacey, myself, and a few people who I don't know, driving to the Houston Airport. We were going to watch the SFA vs Sam Houston game, but unlike the yearly Battle of the Piney Woods football game, this was basketball. For some reason, our plan was to drive to the airport and fly to the game. I don't even think this is possible. I mean, the game was in the same city, but I digress. The excitement started early on when I lost Lacey while trying to cross the street between the parking lot and the entrance to the airport. She darted through oncoming traffic like a lunatic while I opted to wait for a large enough space between cars that if I were to trip, I might still have a chance to get up before being crushed by a speeding car. As is actually the case in real life, I had never been inside an airport and was now left to embark on the usual airport activities alone, although I did have Allie. Yes, I brought my dog along for what I can only assume would be a five-minute flight across Houston. I somehow managed to purchase my $40 ticket, check my bags (yes I also had luggage on this trip) and hand Allie off to a man who assured me she'd be well taken care of until time to load her into the cargo area of the plane. It was then time to find the rest of my party. I darted through movie theaters, a video game tournament of some sort, and a house party (this was a very strange and busy airport) and finally found Lacey sitting on a couch drinking coffee. We made our way to a Taco Bell in the food court for lunch. At this Taco Bell, they were experimenting with a new sandwich concept which included a fried chicken fillet smothered in BBQ sauce and served on a sub roll. I'd probably never order this in real life, (I mean, what does Taco Bell know about sandwiches?) but in dream world I did and it was delicious. Unfortunately, I only got to take one bite before it was announced that our flight was boarding and we apparently couldn't take food on the plane, so both our lunches went into the trash. When we arrive at our terminal, gate, whatever the little waiting area is called where you wait for your plane to be boarded (have I mentioned I know nothing about airports?) things really start to heat up. When we handed the already perturbed ticket taker lady our boarding passes, we were informed that you could not actually fly across the city of Houston. Already hangry (a state of anger brought about my hunger) my temper began to flare and I asked why were allowed to purchase tickets if we would not actually be able to use them. I don't remember the answer I was given, so sat down beside Lacey to pout and watch the basketball game on television. We discussed many times why we couldn't just go get the car and drive there, but apparently, the case was just that Lacey and I were on some type of "do not fly" list because the rest of our party had been allowed to board and had the car keys. It was at this moment that I realized that Allie and my bags were on the plane as well so there was really nothing to do but watch the game on TV and contemplate whether or not it would be sanitary to go pull my sandwich out of the garbage so I could have lunch. We either got bored with the game, or it was over, I don't remember which, but eventually we began to explore the airport while we waited for the plane to return with Allie, my bags, and our ride home. We stumbled across a movie theatre that was showing an Ellen DeGeneres movie in which she read you her book, "Seriously... I'm Kidding" (can this please happen in real life?) so of course, we watched that. After the movie was over we exited the theatre and were met by about fifteen Texas Longhorn football players in full gear. Apparently, this airport also hosted college football games. We snapped some pictures and Lacey somehow ended up with a football helmet and we headed back to wait on the return of our plane. It was then that I was informed of some disturbing news about Allie. At some point during the flight, my dog had turned into a cat. If that wasn't strange enough, she was also being quarantined since I guess species transformation isn't something you see every day, and it was determined that I could not take her home until a few hours had passed. Lacey had to work the next day and our ride was nowhere in sight so we came to the most logical conclusion there was, we would walk home and find someone to drive us back to Houston to pick up my cat dog. It wasn't pleasant. We walked for many hours, mostly through swamps and other wooded areas, and for some reason, despite the fact that it was freezing, I was wearing shorts and flip-flops. We somehow made it home and began our search for someone who could drive us back to Houston. We saw that there were lights on in my church and explained our situation to my pastor, Bro. Greg, who agreed to drive us back to Houston along with Sis. JoJo and most of our youth group. As a thank you, we stopped at Olive Garden in Lufkin, which is apparently open 24 hours a day in dreamland, and bought him dinner.
I woke up thankful to find that Allie was still a dog, that I had an intense craving for Olive Garden breadsticks, and unfortunately no pictures of me with any members of the Texas Longhorns football team on my phone. It was definitely a mixture of emotions.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Adventures in Cooking
I'm now a full two weeks into this semester and was finally able to see two of my favorite people tonight, Lacey and Addie. When Lacey and I lived in our first apartment, we decided it'd be nice for our group of friends to share the cooking responsibilities. Thankfully even though we're not roommates anymore, this tradition has continued. Tonight was my turn.
When I cook for myself I very rarely have any problems. Actually, aside from the hamburger broiling accident, I can't think of any. Let me fill you in on the Hamburger Broiling Accident of 2013. My mom got me hooked on these frozen hamburger patties that you can buy at Walmart, so I decided I'd get some and have a burger one night. Of course, she normally cooks them in a skillet, but I'd seen how they pop and sizzle so decided that wasn't for me (popping and sizzling make me nervous), so I read the back of the package until I found the directions for broiling them. How hard could broiling be? I actually don't guess it was too difficult, terrifying, but not difficult. I followed the directions perfectly and set a timer to let me know when to flip them. A few minutes later I began hearing strange noises coming from my oven. I think to myself, "well that can't be good" and walk into the kitchen to check on the burgers. I open the oven door and am greeted by flames. Yes FLAMES, there were flames in my oven. I slam the door shut and spin around and grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink. This was when I began to question everything I've ever known about fire extinguishers, the main question being "can you even spray a fire extinguisher into a hot oven?". I decided against it and turn the oven off. After a few seconds, the flames subside and I'm only left with a partially charred, partially raw hamburger patty, but it was ok since the hunger had been scared out of me. So I don't broil things anymore.
Anyway, now that we've gotten that out of the way, back to how I'm normally an amazing cook and a perfect whiz in the kitchen. Last week I decided to face my fear of frying things (remember, popping and sizzling) and made a batch of hot water cornbread, which is only one of my favorite foods ever. Although it wasn't nearly as delicious as my grandma's it was still pretty good, especially for a first attempt. Since it was such a success, I decided it'd make the perfect bread item to go with the pork chops and black-eyed peas I was planning to make for Lacey and Addie. Here's where it gets interesting.
I asked Lacey to text me when they were on the way so I could start frying the bread, it was then that I realized I wouldn't be able to let them in since I'd have batter all over my hands. You see, since getting Allie, I've trained my friends to knock rather than just coming on in so I don't have to worry about Allie getting by them and going out the door. So I had a brilliant idea, I'd put her leash on her and tie it to the handle of the refrigerator door. Don't do this, ever, it's not brilliant, it's really rather boneheaded, but we'll get back to that in a minute.
One of the only things that didn't work right when I made my first batch of hot water cornbread, was that the batter was a tad too thick, so this time, I planned to fix that by adding a little more water. Unfortunately, I added a little too much and that made it too thin. No problem, I'll just add more cornmeal. Too thick. Added more water. Too thin. Discovered I was out of cornmeal, so decided it'd just have to work. Although I'm doing better about not screaming any time the grease pops (actually didn't even wear a hoodie this time), there ain't no way that I"m gonna put something into a skillet half full of grease with my bare hands, I use tongs instead. This worked fine when I made this last week, however, this batter was pretty thin and wasn't sticking together very well, so my patties were really just little lumps of batter in the skillet. I remembered that I had an unopened box of 3 Cheese Texas Toast in my freezer, so decided to scratch the whole hot water cornbread idea and just pop some of the toast in the oven. This is what was happening when Lacey and Addie started knocking on my door.
I called for them to come in, but they didn't hear me, so I went and opened the door. Well, when Allie realized that people were here and that they were actually coming in, she got super excited and came sliding across the floor with the handle to my refrigerator door still tied to the end of her leash. Thankfully I am somewhat mechanically inclined and was able to fix this later, so no harm done. Thank goodness, I really wasn't looking forward to explaining to maintenance how the refrigerator door handle just fell off on its own.
I explain to my guests the disappointing news that we will be having toast rather than the deliciousness that is hot water cornbread, and that we'll have to wait about 5 minutes for it to be ready. Thankfully they were good sports. When the bread is done, I begin making us some tea in the Keurig and go to get some ice out of the freezer. My freezer has been in an iffy mood here lately, Some days it does its job and there are no problems, then other days it decides that it just doesn't wanna freeze things and I get to eat ice cream soup. Apparently, today was one of the days that it decided it was tired of doing what freezers do. The ice trays that I'd refilled and placed in the freezer last night were mostly filled with really cold water. Some were kind of frozen, but when you touched them the delicate icy shell would break exposing their liquid centers. I did manage to get a few frozen ice cubes into our glasses and we enjoyed lukewarm peach tea with our supper, which was also lukewarm by this point.
Moral of the story, nothing ever goes as planned, especially when other people are there to witness it. Thankfully I have awesome, understanding friends who still seemed to enjoy their dinner, cold pork chops and all.
When I cook for myself I very rarely have any problems. Actually, aside from the hamburger broiling accident, I can't think of any. Let me fill you in on the Hamburger Broiling Accident of 2013. My mom got me hooked on these frozen hamburger patties that you can buy at Walmart, so I decided I'd get some and have a burger one night. Of course, she normally cooks them in a skillet, but I'd seen how they pop and sizzle so decided that wasn't for me (popping and sizzling make me nervous), so I read the back of the package until I found the directions for broiling them. How hard could broiling be? I actually don't guess it was too difficult, terrifying, but not difficult. I followed the directions perfectly and set a timer to let me know when to flip them. A few minutes later I began hearing strange noises coming from my oven. I think to myself, "well that can't be good" and walk into the kitchen to check on the burgers. I open the oven door and am greeted by flames. Yes FLAMES, there were flames in my oven. I slam the door shut and spin around and grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink. This was when I began to question everything I've ever known about fire extinguishers, the main question being "can you even spray a fire extinguisher into a hot oven?". I decided against it and turn the oven off. After a few seconds, the flames subside and I'm only left with a partially charred, partially raw hamburger patty, but it was ok since the hunger had been scared out of me. So I don't broil things anymore.
Anyway, now that we've gotten that out of the way, back to how I'm normally an amazing cook and a perfect whiz in the kitchen. Last week I decided to face my fear of frying things (remember, popping and sizzling) and made a batch of hot water cornbread, which is only one of my favorite foods ever. Although it wasn't nearly as delicious as my grandma's it was still pretty good, especially for a first attempt. Since it was such a success, I decided it'd make the perfect bread item to go with the pork chops and black-eyed peas I was planning to make for Lacey and Addie. Here's where it gets interesting.
I asked Lacey to text me when they were on the way so I could start frying the bread, it was then that I realized I wouldn't be able to let them in since I'd have batter all over my hands. You see, since getting Allie, I've trained my friends to knock rather than just coming on in so I don't have to worry about Allie getting by them and going out the door. So I had a brilliant idea, I'd put her leash on her and tie it to the handle of the refrigerator door. Don't do this, ever, it's not brilliant, it's really rather boneheaded, but we'll get back to that in a minute.
One of the only things that didn't work right when I made my first batch of hot water cornbread, was that the batter was a tad too thick, so this time, I planned to fix that by adding a little more water. Unfortunately, I added a little too much and that made it too thin. No problem, I'll just add more cornmeal. Too thick. Added more water. Too thin. Discovered I was out of cornmeal, so decided it'd just have to work. Although I'm doing better about not screaming any time the grease pops (actually didn't even wear a hoodie this time), there ain't no way that I"m gonna put something into a skillet half full of grease with my bare hands, I use tongs instead. This worked fine when I made this last week, however, this batter was pretty thin and wasn't sticking together very well, so my patties were really just little lumps of batter in the skillet. I remembered that I had an unopened box of 3 Cheese Texas Toast in my freezer, so decided to scratch the whole hot water cornbread idea and just pop some of the toast in the oven. This is what was happening when Lacey and Addie started knocking on my door.
I called for them to come in, but they didn't hear me, so I went and opened the door. Well, when Allie realized that people were here and that they were actually coming in, she got super excited and came sliding across the floor with the handle to my refrigerator door still tied to the end of her leash. Thankfully I am somewhat mechanically inclined and was able to fix this later, so no harm done. Thank goodness, I really wasn't looking forward to explaining to maintenance how the refrigerator door handle just fell off on its own.
I explain to my guests the disappointing news that we will be having toast rather than the deliciousness that is hot water cornbread, and that we'll have to wait about 5 minutes for it to be ready. Thankfully they were good sports. When the bread is done, I begin making us some tea in the Keurig and go to get some ice out of the freezer. My freezer has been in an iffy mood here lately, Some days it does its job and there are no problems, then other days it decides that it just doesn't wanna freeze things and I get to eat ice cream soup. Apparently, today was one of the days that it decided it was tired of doing what freezers do. The ice trays that I'd refilled and placed in the freezer last night were mostly filled with really cold water. Some were kind of frozen, but when you touched them the delicate icy shell would break exposing their liquid centers. I did manage to get a few frozen ice cubes into our glasses and we enjoyed lukewarm peach tea with our supper, which was also lukewarm by this point.
Moral of the story, nothing ever goes as planned, especially when other people are there to witness it. Thankfully I have awesome, understanding friends who still seemed to enjoy their dinner, cold pork chops and all.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
It's the Most Awfullest Time of the Year
I realized today that it'd been forever since I've written anything on here and decided that needed to change. You see, it's Final's Week and at 10:30 tomorrow morning I take what I am expecting to be the most difficult exam ever written in the history of the world, so you understand why it's crucial to listen to that little voice in my head that tells me that all 2 of you that actually keep up with this, may very well begin showing symptoms of withdrawal soon if I do not provide you with some sort of blog to get you through this next week.
Final's Week is a bittersweet time of the semester. And by bittersweet I mean that it's basically like a lemon with a grain and a half of sugar in the middle of it. On one hand, the semester is almost over, the light at the end of the semester-long tunnel is finally becoming visible , but on the other hand, there's a freight train full of final exams to squash you into the railroad tracks.
It's the time of year when the library is more crowded at 3 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon that it's been all semester, at least 80% of any given college student's liquid diet is composed of coffee, Red Bull, 5-Hour Energy, or any other caffeinated beverage, and McDonald's begins to sound like fine dining when compared to the Ramen Noodles and Mac and Cheese we use as sustenance for the the week.
It's also the time of year for our procrastination skills to be truly tested. We all know that Final's Week is coming, it's not some huge secret that is sprung on us during Dead Week of every semester. We know it's going to be incredibly stressful. We know we're not going to get a decent night's sleep all week. We know that due to lack of time and money, more junk food will be stuffed into our bodies than went into Morgan Spurlock during the filming of Super Size Me. We know exactly what to expect, and yet nobody begins to prepare for finals until MAYBE the weekend before. We begin to have thoughts like, "sure, I can read that entire textbook in 2 days, not a problem" or "I can totally make an A in this class if I make a perfect score on the final, no big deal". Unfortunately we're just kidding ourselves and we normally realize that about 3 hours before the time of the exam.
At some point during the week I think we all decide to take a step back and see what our true goals should be. Going into every final I know the exact score I need to make to either a) maintain the grade I already have, or b) bump myself up to the next letter grade. I don't know why I do this, all it ever does is psych me out because I know good and well that no matter how comfortable I am with the material, I'm never going to make an A on a math final, but I still do it every semester.
I don't really know where I was going with any of this, there's no grand idea behind any of it, really just felt like writing and taking a study break. Now to continue preparing for the most dreadful exam of my life.
Don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a while, I will either be studying or maybe even possibly sleeping throughout this week, but until next time, stay awesome.
Final's Week is a bittersweet time of the semester. And by bittersweet I mean that it's basically like a lemon with a grain and a half of sugar in the middle of it. On one hand, the semester is almost over, the light at the end of the semester-long tunnel is finally becoming visible , but on the other hand, there's a freight train full of final exams to squash you into the railroad tracks.
It's the time of year when the library is more crowded at 3 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon that it's been all semester, at least 80% of any given college student's liquid diet is composed of coffee, Red Bull, 5-Hour Energy, or any other caffeinated beverage, and McDonald's begins to sound like fine dining when compared to the Ramen Noodles and Mac and Cheese we use as sustenance for the the week.
It's also the time of year for our procrastination skills to be truly tested. We all know that Final's Week is coming, it's not some huge secret that is sprung on us during Dead Week of every semester. We know it's going to be incredibly stressful. We know we're not going to get a decent night's sleep all week. We know that due to lack of time and money, more junk food will be stuffed into our bodies than went into Morgan Spurlock during the filming of Super Size Me. We know exactly what to expect, and yet nobody begins to prepare for finals until MAYBE the weekend before. We begin to have thoughts like, "sure, I can read that entire textbook in 2 days, not a problem" or "I can totally make an A in this class if I make a perfect score on the final, no big deal". Unfortunately we're just kidding ourselves and we normally realize that about 3 hours before the time of the exam.
At some point during the week I think we all decide to take a step back and see what our true goals should be. Going into every final I know the exact score I need to make to either a) maintain the grade I already have, or b) bump myself up to the next letter grade. I don't know why I do this, all it ever does is psych me out because I know good and well that no matter how comfortable I am with the material, I'm never going to make an A on a math final, but I still do it every semester.
I don't really know where I was going with any of this, there's no grand idea behind any of it, really just felt like writing and taking a study break. Now to continue preparing for the most dreadful exam of my life.
Don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a while, I will either be studying or maybe even possibly sleeping throughout this week, but until next time, stay awesome.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Times I Realize my Dog's Actually Kind of Smart
I've realized that I don't really give Allie enough credit for actually being a pretty smart dog. This is probably because at least once a day she spends several minutes barking/growling at her reflection in my bedroom window, runs into a wall, an end table, or some other piece of furniture on a daily basis, and is constantly knocking toys under my bed or couch and then headbutting the furniture thinking that's gonna magically free her toy from its grasps. Yes, on most days I'm pretty sure she has a few screws loose, but tonight I've come to the conclusion that my dog is more observant than I am.
Before you get too amazed at this possibility, I should probably tell you that I"m one of the least observant people on the planet. I once asked my mom when they put down new flooring in her bathroom and was informed that this had occurred six months earlier. Keep in mind that this was when I still lived at home and showered in this very bathroom every day. I can spend the entire day with a person and not be able to tell you what color shirt they were wearing. So please don't ever ask me if I notice anything different about you, because unless your hair went from black to blonde or something drastic like that, I'm probably just gonna have some weird "deer in the headlights" expression and try to change the subject. Unless you've painted the fence outside of your house, I do tend to notice things like that. Yes I know I'm weird.
Anyway, Allie has decided to show me on a couple different occasions tonight that she's much more observant than her owner. The first was when I finally broke down and decided it was time to empty the kitchen trash. Since the dumpster is at the other end of the apartment complex and down a huge hill, it's not a trip I try to take very often. However, since getting Allie, unless I've let the garbage get so out of control that I can't carry it with one hand, I take Allie along with me. This has actually only happened twice since I've gotten her (yes I empty my trash more than once a month, but I usually try to do it when someone can give me a ride to the dumpster because I'm lazy) and she has already learned what it means when I take the bag of trash out of the trash can. As soon as I pulled it out her tail started wagging and she ran around the apartment with glee.
The second time was just a few minutes ago. We're getting ready for bed so of course I get her leash on her to take her out before putting her in her crate. I decide as I open the door that we should go ahead and go to the mailbox while we're at it, so I bring her back inside to grab my keys. This had pretty much the same effect as the trash bag. She was suddenly wide awake and very excited to be going on another adventure. In just 2 months, she's already learned that when I bring my keys with me it means that we're not just going to the bathroom and right back inside, it means we're actually going somewhere that may be even more exciting than the grassy area under my balcony.
Now she's back to her usual self, spinning in circles trying to find her favorite ball which is actually under her. But I had to take a minute to brag on her for a little bit. It's the little things like this that keep her from driving me completely insane by eating my rug, pillows, and everything else I own.
Until next time, stay awesome.
Before you get too amazed at this possibility, I should probably tell you that I"m one of the least observant people on the planet. I once asked my mom when they put down new flooring in her bathroom and was informed that this had occurred six months earlier. Keep in mind that this was when I still lived at home and showered in this very bathroom every day. I can spend the entire day with a person and not be able to tell you what color shirt they were wearing. So please don't ever ask me if I notice anything different about you, because unless your hair went from black to blonde or something drastic like that, I'm probably just gonna have some weird "deer in the headlights" expression and try to change the subject. Unless you've painted the fence outside of your house, I do tend to notice things like that. Yes I know I'm weird.
Anyway, Allie has decided to show me on a couple different occasions tonight that she's much more observant than her owner. The first was when I finally broke down and decided it was time to empty the kitchen trash. Since the dumpster is at the other end of the apartment complex and down a huge hill, it's not a trip I try to take very often. However, since getting Allie, unless I've let the garbage get so out of control that I can't carry it with one hand, I take Allie along with me. This has actually only happened twice since I've gotten her (yes I empty my trash more than once a month, but I usually try to do it when someone can give me a ride to the dumpster because I'm lazy) and she has already learned what it means when I take the bag of trash out of the trash can. As soon as I pulled it out her tail started wagging and she ran around the apartment with glee.
The second time was just a few minutes ago. We're getting ready for bed so of course I get her leash on her to take her out before putting her in her crate. I decide as I open the door that we should go ahead and go to the mailbox while we're at it, so I bring her back inside to grab my keys. This had pretty much the same effect as the trash bag. She was suddenly wide awake and very excited to be going on another adventure. In just 2 months, she's already learned that when I bring my keys with me it means that we're not just going to the bathroom and right back inside, it means we're actually going somewhere that may be even more exciting than the grassy area under my balcony.
Now she's back to her usual self, spinning in circles trying to find her favorite ball which is actually under her. But I had to take a minute to brag on her for a little bit. It's the little things like this that keep her from driving me completely insane by eating my rug, pillows, and everything else I own.
Until next time, stay awesome.
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