|
navigation
current
archives
links page
profile
|
|
bitchin' in the kitchen
December 17, 2007
Ike Turner and Dan Fogelberg died in the last week. It only goes to show how eclectic my musical taste is, that I feel a great sense of loss over both.
I am currently concocting a large pot of my own Franks and Beans recipe--Beenieweenie as it is known 'round these parts. I've got the sauce coming together nicely on the stove, the beans are ready to go in, and the hot dogs are cut up and waiting.
This is my best potluck dish; something I came up with years ago when young and impoverished, working with other impoverished folks. Back in the Wally World days, whenever we would have a potluck, we would end up with ten jellos salads, ten macaroni salads, 2 potoato salads, and zero protein.
So I hit on the idea of bringing franks and beans. I could make an entire crock-pot full for under $10.00, I've never had a complaint about my baked beans, and between the beans and a pound or two of inexpensive hot dogs, there was protein galore. And after I took them for the first time, no one would ever let me bring anything else. So I got REALLY GOOD.
I don't make them much anymore, but we are having a holiday potluck at work tomorrow, and after looking at the sign-up sheet, I realized that there were about 20 desserts, 15 appetizers--and nothing even slightly main-dishy.
So out comes old faithful.
And you know something? I can still fill up a crock-pot for under $10.00. Righteous.
What puzzles me is why I'm bothering. I don't like those people, I don't like my employers, I hate my job, but still I soldier on.
I have a boss who is fucking make-work crazy. A born bueaucrat. And I can feel half of my hair fall out and the other half turn gray every time she walks up to me. Most days, I want to stab her with a fork. And I just kicked in a fin to buy her a Christmas gift. Suckage.
Husband isn't on my good side right now, either. he must have figured he's gotten all of his gifts from me, because "nice" is right out. He swore to me faithfully that if I rinsed off the dishes last night, he'd do them today before he went to work. Fibber. So now I have all of last night dishes, on top of the beans mess.
Which is why it's taking me forever toget a stupid entry written. The writing gets sandwiched between making the beans, in stages, and cleaning up the kitchen (also in stages). I think I'll call it done. Just so I have something I can call done.
Reading: �The Boys From Brazil�, by Ira Levin.
Listening: Nothing special. Just the radio going, playing assorted crap.
At Random: click here
|
|
|