Let’s have a little gib-gabby sesh, Reader. It’s been a long time and you need to know what I’m up to because All The Things
and none of them are super important.
I’ve been winter cooking. And lemme just get this right out there: I do not really make good meals most of the time. Some of the meals some of the time are good. But usually? A big pile of nope.
Last weekend I spent my hard-earned time and money making a county-home’s worth of stuffed cabbages, and imma not sure exactly where the recipe went awry, but it was HEAVY on the black pepper and also on the garlic. And I followed the recipe and also didn’t even use as much as it called for, but something. Something, Reader, happened.
I’ve officially declared these to be my Last Attempt to Make Stuffed Cabbage, because this was two strikes for me with them and now I’m breaking up with it.
Tonight’s dinner is also questionable. Butternut squash ravioli (yes, thank you Aldi), but then my attempt at a brown-butter-sage sauce?
Firstly, I didn’t have sage so I figured thyme would add the “savory.” And then I threw in some mushrooms, and instead of spinach (as the recipe r
equired suggested), well, I figured I’d use up my button mushrooms and zucchini. Because it’s in the vegetable category. And then I tossed in some pine nuts and walnuts for good heart health, and I recently found a good bottle of brandy so I splashed in a dash, and then what’s ravioli without cheese, so I gave the Parm can a good shake, and then lastly to complement the fall flavors of the ravioli, I figured some pumpkin pie spice might … spice it up… and now here we are. Moderately okay, but is it worth dirtying a pan and also the calories? Probably not.
And that’s why I should buy a meal subscription kit, because my friendie Eunnie has made a bajillion recipes from one of these things and they all look good and also the shopping is done for you. Mostly. I need to rethink my strategy.
Also, Foodnetwork, I can open up my availability if this has enticed you into offering me a cooking show.
When I’m not mindless scrolling the social networks, I’ve been reading a few things and what I’ve been digging right now is get your sh*t together and I’ve been implementing some of the sh*t she tells ya to do and it’s working. A little. I’ve got a giant-a$$ to-do list All. The. Damn. Time and Every. Single. Day and some of the things have been getting checked off the list.
Except for right now, where I should be vacuuming, but here I am FOR YOU, Reader, so you can check off your own to-do of Read Some Nonsense and you’re welcome for me helping you attain your goals.
I’ve also read To Shake The Sleeping Self while I was on my most fabulous 10-delicious-days-at-the-beach vacation, and it was … good. Not life-changing for me, other than I realized what I don’t want (which is just as important as it points you to what you do want), which is spending a year and a half riding a bicycle in horrible conditions and I will instead just skip right to taking the magic mushrooms that grow in cow shit and have the big revelations about life. It seems safer and also I’m fifty-five damn years old this month and have the knees of a 90-year old so that amount of bike riding is out of the question so don’t even ask me.
My Apple watch band sometimes smells like cat pee, and I know this seems quite possible because I have
six three really badly-behaved cats so yeah, sure, why not.
Except my watch is only ever on my wrist, or in the closed-door bathroom charging.
It’s as if my wrist sweat somehow chemically reacts and emits a cat-pee smell, and I don’t need this in my life.
It stinks RIGHT NOW, so I keep sniffing my wrist and it’s just a weird quirk I don’t need to officially adopt because as I’ve mentioned I’m already fifty-five damn years old this month and while I like to pretend I’m still a young and cool hipster, there have been a few instances as of late that have made me realize the world views me as beginning-stage ELDERLY. Boy scouts have to officially offer me their arm to help me cross the street, which frankly sounds wonderful because you know, the 90-year-old knees.
So. Anyone else have an Apple watch wherein the velcro band sometimes smells like pee? Raise your hands please, and assure me I’m not alone. But don’t wave them around because we don’t need to fan that smell.
Speaking of cat pee.
I mean, now that
I you brought it up.
Poor. Old. Girl. Elderly Kitty Purry. I’m woooorrrrrrrried about her, Reader.
She has been PEEING in her own cat bed, and then sleeping in it. I pick her up and she has a faint smell of old-lady-cat-pee, and then I have to give her a cat bath with my make-up removing wipes and wash her bed. All. the. time. Like, every. day. In fact, they are in the washing machine right now.
The other night she didn’t pee in her cat bed, but instead walked over to her bed pillow – which is behind my pillow on the bed – and peed almost directly on my head, but actually on her own pillow and what the fuck is going on and you wonder why I haven’t been here? These are the things, Reader. These are the things.
I can’t spank her or even be harsh against her. She’s teensy weensy, clocking in at around six pounds and also she’s 19 years old and we don’t spank the elderly.
So I send up a message of gratitude that I have a monster washing machine five steps from my bedroom and wash all the things and then I kiss her and tell her it’s all going to be okay. She has truly taught me unconditional love. Don’t mistake that as not being frustrated as fuck with it, but you know. Life, lemons, pies, margaritas, and all that.
My work does offer pet insurance at a discount, so I looked into that for her because more than likely her cat dementia is going to kick in even harder, but guess how much it costs for pet insurance on a 19-year-old cat?
Almost as much as it costs to insure a 55-year old woman.
So i’ll just keep sniffing. And washing. And hoping. And praying I don’t get my actual head peed on in the middle of the night because dear lawd, please no thank you.
Every day I mention out loud but mostly to an empty room that Taylor Swift and I are living identical lives and I’m absolutely sure I’m right.