Archives from 2002-2006

Oct

15

Cookies, formal wear, dong

When JB is gone, I pretty much give myself a pass on the diet and exercise front. It’s the only luxury I can enjoy during these times, really, and so I take full advantage — although I did find myself performing an endless series of Entertain the Baby squats tonight while half-watching the debate with Dylan fussing angrily from the baby carrier. OW MCCAIN HURT MY ASS.

Yesterday Riley and I made what I’m calling Cow Pat Cookies (perhaps you can imagine their general appearance post-baking?) and holy jesus they are good. If you’d like to indulge in what’s basically a brownie in cookie form, here are your instructions. You’ll need:

2 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
4 squares unsweetened baking chocolate, melted and slightly cooled
2 teaspoons vanilla
4 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

(I substituted those ridiculously healthy omega-rich walnuts for some Reese’s peanut butter chips.)

Heat oven to 350. Mix up your sugar, oil, eggs, chocolate, and vanilla. Offer toddler a lick of the spoon. Beat at medium speed with electric whatsit while your kid whines about how it’s too fucking loud OMG. Add flour, baking soda, and salt. Mix it all up until this crazy stiff dough forms, glomming up your beaters all to hell. Lick beaters clean. Stir in walnuts/peanut butter chips/M&Ms/Xanax/etc.

Plop globs of dough on greased baking sheets, bake for 10-12 minutes if you want to follow the recipe, 8-9 minutes if you like a slightly uncooked brownie center. Become disgusted with child when he proclaims cookies “too weird looking”, eat six or seven while browsing TMZ.

In other news, JB’s brother is getting married in January, and I need a dress. Specifically, I need an amazing dress, because people I have worked SO GODDAMNED HARD on my body this year (Cow Pat cookies aside), and I never get the chance to truly dress up. My fashion constraints have to do with the fact that I’ll be corralling two small children on my own since JB is best man, so I suppose it needs to be flexible, and possibly stain resistant. HELP.

Also, I have been encouraging my children to embrace violence and weapons:

Also also, I have a new post up at Lemondrop, which has to do with Clive Owen’s dong. Well, not really, but sort of.

Oct

14

On the range

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JB is out of town for several days and while last time I cut him some slack because he was on a business trip that included the once-in-a-lifetime experience of hiking the Great Wall of China, this time he’s . . . well, he’s in Wyoming. Hunting antelope.

Can you even EAT antelope? I don’t think so. I don’t want to try, anyway, unless there’s such a thing as an antelope tiramisu.

Anyway, I’ve been dreading this little testosterone-fest because holy crap, a whole week on my own with the children. I love my boys but uhhhhh, parenting solo with a baby and toddler pretty much shits the bed. And not like a dry, easily-rolled-off-the-sheets turd, either, more like a horrific splattermess a la Trainspotting.

Well, we are making the best of it, as evidenced by recent camera contents:

Heh. I was trying to take a mirrored photo of the two of us, but Grabby McLungerton was all about that camera strap. How apropos that I was wearing my SOMETIMES I WORRY ABOUT ZOMBIES t-shirt.