ground control to rachel...earth to rachel...come in...over.: Valentines and House Fires

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Valentines and House Fires

It's been three years since I started this blog and I'd wager it is as popular as it was when I started it. lol Anyhoo (god, I hate when people say that and I just said it. What does that mean?), I went through my archives to check out where I was in life three years ago and was reminded why I do not cook. For your amusement, here is my entry from Valentine's Day 2004:

"Being that he was broke and I am single mother/student (i.e. BrokeAssMammaJamma), we did the laying low thing all weekend. I got groceries and played house...Betty Crocker/Valentine/Drinking Buddy/Personal Loveslave all rolled in one for the long holiday weekend, Mr. Man…ok maybe more like Betty’s danger prone cousin. I somehow managed to overfill the casserole dish so the cheese from the lasagna spilled out and onto the bottom of the oven, thereby catching on fire and filling my house with smoke. The Man and The Kid had to watch TV in the front room shivering under blankets with the heater blasted on 90 degrees to offset the 35 degree draft that was coming in from all the windows being open while I ran through the house frantically waving dishtowels around over my head in an effort to air the fucking place out before the smoke alarm went off. THEN as if I didn’t demonstrate my housewife dysfunction enough Saturday night, on Sunday, I decided to barbeque a tri tip, I mean how can I fuck up BBQ??! Oh the reality never ceases to prove my logic wrong. It was all looking good until I went to turn it after 15 minutes and when I opened the lid of the bbq, the whole fucking slab of meat was on fire. Not just burnt but up in goddamn unrelenting flames. In a panic, I start hopping up and down (no clue why because it really didn’t help put out the fire) and beating it with the big ass bbq fork thingy, stab it through it’s center, yank it off the grill, sending it off the fork, into the air, over my shoulder and onto the pavement of my patio with a sloppy thud. Well, the fire went out. Looking over my shoulder to ensure the coast was clear, giving myself clearance, I then hosed it off, slathered it with bbq sauce and stuck it back on the grill. Hey, the ten second rule always applies in times of desperation and no one was harmed in the production of this meal. Overall, the food tasted really good with my side dish of humiliation."

Sweet. As if I needed to remember why I do not cook. Not only do I cause house fires when I cook but I blow shit up too. I can't even hard boil eggs without blowing those motherfuckers up. Hence, the reason Sean has banned me from the kitchen. Well, there are worse things in life than not being able to cook. I could be stupid.

We will see how this Valentine's Day pans out. Probably pretty uneventful since the idea of the grand production of going out to eat with a 9 yr old and an infant (who most likely will wake up demanding a nipple right before the food arrives which sucks because I end up breastfeeding through the entire meal and by the time she is satiated and I get to put her down or pass her off, my food is cold) is not exactly romantic. But I have enough romance in my every day life to make Valentine's Day less important than it was in past relationships with boys (not men) who didn't deserve me (hair flip) and whom I bent over backwards for (for no logical reason actually) and who always disappointed me.

So, in three years, I am still broke, still can't cook, and I am still funny. What has changed? I finally turned my backwards taste in men around. I fiinally took interest in a good guy and I am keeping him.

Hey, I deserve a pat on the back.

*pat*

Hey, another for good measure...

*pat*

Labels: house fires, nipples, valentine's day