Recipes

Life is Good

I’ve kept a diary since I was in third grade, and one thing has always been true:  The more interesting my life gets, the less I write.  🙂

So you might take that to infer that my lack of activity here indicates that interesting things have been happening.  And… you’d be somewhat right.

The most significant thing is, I’ve changed jobs again.  This time you might even say I’ve changed careers!  I’m still in accounting, but doing something completely different and in a completely different industry.

Around August, it became apparent that my health could no longer sustain the travel my job requires.  I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rhuematoid Arthritis as a child.  Since my teenage years, I have only had a minor flare here or there, easily controlled by over-the-counter meds and the occasional cortisone shot.  But, in November of last year I began to have more serious symptoms.  The cortisone shot didn’t help this time.  It would ebb and flow, but things got progressively worse as the year went on.  After a particularly tiring work trip that included almost 24 hours in a airport due to delayed flights, I just kind of fell apart.  It was time to make a change

This is kind of a big deal because I’ve worked really hard at building a career in my current niche, and I was good at what I did, and I was paid well, etc.  However, it was more than just my health.  I don’t say these kind of things often, but I felt that God was telling me I needed to make a change, and now.

So… I did.

Several things have happened since then that I won’t get into here, but have confirmed that this was the exact right thing to do.  Besides that, I am loving my new job, loving my short commute, loving having regular hours, and my marriage is improving.

Also!  I think I’ve cooked more in the past month than I have in the past two years (which might be part of the aforementioned “marriage improvements”…)

The latest addition to my recipe book is this.  I was looking for a recipe to use up some ham pieces I had, and when I came across the recipe I had almost everything I needed to make it, so I thought, what the heck.  I substituted canned chunk chicken breast (two 12.5 oz cans) for the turkey, and doubled the crackers for the topping, but otherwise followed the recipe exactly.  Tarzan didn’t love it, but he also didn’t complain (which might also be part of the aforementioned “marriage improvements”). Our oldest granddaughter (who is currently living with us), liked it too.  In fact, the next day, she chose the leftover casserole over the ribs Tarzan had grilled (and he was very offended).

So anyway.  Things have slowed down a bit.  Priorities have changed.  Life is good.

Recipes · Uncategorized

Pursuit of the Perfect Taco Pizza

Early last week, Tarzan grilled some sirloin steaks.  A few days later, noticing the leftovers had not been eaten, I consumed the rest of it for lunch one day.  Apparently all day long that day, he had been dreaming of coming home to his leftover sirloin.  I really thought he had forgotten about it.  To make up for it, he wanted to go to Pantera’s Pizza, which is over an hour away (on a work night!) to try their taco pizza.

My husband is something of a taco pizza connoisseur.  He claims that Pizza Hut used to have the best taco pizza, but they discontinued it.  I think that must have been a long time ago.  Probably before I was born.

He doesn’t like Casey’s taco pizza.

There used to be a place a couple of towns over that had it, although he said it wasn’t as good as Pizza Hut, it was passable by his standards.

He had recently been perusing Pantera’s website (that iPhone’s good for something!) and saw that they had taco pizza and wanted to try it.

So, heavy with guilt from eating his sirloin, I had to give in (did I mention it was a work night?!).

He was sadly disappointed, as Pantera’s taco pizza did not meet up to his expectations.  The main thing they all do wrong, he says, is they fail to use refried beans.  Pantera’s version appeared to use some sort of thickened-up taco sauce in place of pizza sauce, which in Tarzan’s estimation, made the meat too greasy.

Last weekend, we took a boat ride.  We sputtered down the river to the next river town over, docked our boat (probably on someone’s private dock, but there wasn’t a NO TRESPASSING sign), and walked to a local pizzeria.  We were the only customers there, and Tarzan and the owner of the pizza parlor debated the makings of a great taco pizza.

They agreed to disagree.

At any rate, over the weekend I picked up the makings for a taco pizza from the grocery store, and we tried it last night.  My version was roughly based on this recipe.  The biggest thing I did different was instead of making two 12 inch prebaked pizza crusts like the recipe calls for, I used a refrigerated Pillsbury crust (13.8 oz, classic crust) and made one larger pizza, with the same amount of toppings (Tarzan doesn’t like his taco pizza with the tortilla chips on top, so I left that out).  The crust filled up essentially all of a large cookie sheet… I prepared the it as directed on the packaging of the pizza crust (including greasing the pan, and prebaking for 8 minutes on 400) and then, once the toppings were on it, baked it another 6 minutes at 350… because I thought that’s what the directions on the crust package said, but now that I’m looking at it, it actually said to keep it at 400.  So that might explain why the crust wasn’t as crispy as we would have liked it… something to note for next time.

Tarzan had two or three pieces, liked it okay – thought it would have been better if the crust was crispier.  Thinks next time we should make it with thin crust.

This made a LOT of food for two people, and it’s a heavy meal (you have to eat it with a knife and fork).  Tarzan won’t eat leftover pizza, so I had it for lunch and dinner today… and I think we still have 6 or 7 pieces left.  It was definitely worth making, and next time he has a hankering for taco pizza I think we’ll just make it at home.  He says he liked it just as much as he liked anything we’ve gotten in a restaurant recently.  So until Pizza Hut brings back taco pizza, I guess this is our game plan!

 

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Meet Charlie

This introduction is long overdue.  On April 2, Charlie the La-Chon, officially joined our family.

When I met him, it was like a scene out of a cartoon or a Disney movie or something.  Like when there’s a bunch of dogs in a pound, and People are coming, and one particular dog is showing off, so he gets picked?  That was Charlie.  Pick me!  Pick me!  Pick me!  He was practically pushing his litter mates out of his way to get to me and show off.  When I went to leave, he tried to climb in my purse.  He wouldn’t fit, so he started trying to pull things out of it to make room.  I was pretty smitten.  But he wasn’t old enough to go home yet and I didn’t know for sure what my work schedule was going to be, at this point I was just window-shopping. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him!  I knew he was “the one”.  I had already named him before I even knew for sure I was going to get him.

Anyway, I picked him up on April 2 and he’s been an excellent addition to our family.  I asked Tarzan a week or so ago if he was glad we got him, and he said, “Oooooh yes.  You’re a lot less crabby now!”

Ha!  I didn’t take offense.  I don’t think I realized how having a loving pet around impacts your stress levels.  And we’d had our Delilah since before we were married (we shared custody of her before we moved in together), so we had never really been without a pet.  I realize now that Delilah, in a way, made us a family.

Charlie is a bit more attached to me than Delilah was.  Delilah loved everyone, but she didn’t really love any one person more than anyone else. Delilah didn’t necessarily have to be in the same room with me at all times – sometimes she was, sometimes she wasn’t.  For example, because of the robe hook that I have over the door of my bathroom, the door doesn’t really close all the way (unless you really force it, which I never do).  Delilah wasn’t bothered if I went into the bathroom and closed the door.  Charlie, on the other hand, pushes his way in.  Delilah lived here almost ten years and never even tried.

Charlie will follow me around the house.  It’s particularly funny when I’m doing something that requires me to be in and out of several rooms in a short period of time, like folding and putting away laundry or something.  He wants to be wherever I am, but he also wants his toys with him.  He’s constantly carrying his toys into whatever room I’m in, settling down to play, then just about the time he gets situated I go into another room.  He’ll jump up, grab his toys, run after me.  Get settled into that room.  Then, when I move again, a few minutes later, he’ll kind of *sigh*… and draaaaag everything to the next room.  Settle in, and kind of give me a look like… “Don’t you ever sit still, woman?”

He’s a very good boy.  We love him.

 

 

Recipes

Why You Haven’t Heard From Me and What I Made For Dinner Last Night

I haven’t been the most faithful blogger, have I?

The last couple few months have been sort of…hard.  A lot of little things that aren’t such big deals on their own kind of adding up and making it difficult to find nice things to say.  Such as:

  • My husband made a large, unauthorized purchase.  I am still trying to devise the appropriate punishment.
  • My mother married my uncle and moved an hour and a half away.  This was also unauthorized.
  • I injured myself and could not exercise for nearly 3 weeks.  Which in itself is enough to make me cranky (exercise is my stress reliever) but also I was taking a pain medicine that I believe was making me anxious and unreasonable.
  • Our dog died the Tuesday before Christmas.  I was out of town for work at the time.
  • Someone very close to me has been going through some really hard family stuff and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help.
  • I got a ticket for rolling through a stop sign on New Year’s Eve.
  • We began having these weird power surges in our home and couldn’t figure out what the issue was.  It all came to a climax on our anniversary when we blew a breaker on the pole outside of the house… at 8:30 pm while I was in the basement on the treadmill.  (Imagine being thrown off a treadmill in pitch darkness.). And then my husband almost died because I almost killed him over a half-baked DiGiornio pizza.
  • Work has been either feast of famine… and each is stressful in its own way.
  • I found out I have emphysema.  Which explains a lot about my recurring bronchitis and why cough medicine never seems to help as much as it should.

BUT IN OTHER NEWS.

I made dinner last night.

My brother and I got my dad and stepmom iPhones for Christmas.  I put them on my data plan.  Since they do not have wi-fi at home, they needed to come over to my house and install the latest software updates.  I also needed to change some settings on their phones to see if I could stop them from blowing through our data so quickly.  (What did they do with themselves before they had iPhones?  I don’t know.)

So I invited them over for dinner.

I made Beef Tortellini, an old recipe I’ve had for a while but I think this is the first time I tried it.  My edits to the recipe:

  • I started 2 cups of water boiling on the oven while I put everything else together.  By the time I had everything else in the crockpot, the water was boiling, and I added two teaspoons of beef bouillon granules to the water for the beef broth called for in the recipe.  Granules dissolved really quickly.  Easy peasy.  Don’t buy beef broth pre-made if you can help it.  This is so much cheaper and less waste.
  • I didn’t brown the meat.  I never do when I’m making things in the crockpot.  I believe it’s a wasted step.
  • I used one teaspoon of minced garlic, because we are not huge garlic people.
  • I used about 30 oz of marina sauce.
  • Didn’t have fresh green beans.  Had a 12 oz bag of frozen cut green beans, which I let thaw overnight.  Probably wasn’t necessary to thaw them though.
  • I used 2 teaspoons of dried parsley.  (The rule for converting fresh spices to dried, is use about a third of what you would use if you were using fresh.  The recipe called for 2 tablespoons of fresh parsley.  A teaspoon is about a third of tablespoon.)
  • I used 1/4 teaspoon of dried rosemary, approximately the same logic as for the parsley.  Roughly.  It’s ok.
  • I couldn’t find 9 oz packages of refrigerated cheese tortellini, Walmart only had 20 oz.  I used the entire 20 oz package.  I think it would have been too soupy otherwise.  And adding the tortellini in 30 minutes before and turning the crockpot on high worked perfectly.  (That always makes me nervous, adding things in the crockpot at the end, not sure why.)
  • I put the stuff on about 10 am, added the tortellini at 4:30 p.m. and we ate at 5 p.m.  So, total, 7 hours cooking time.

It was a good meal.  I served it with just salad.  My husband did go back for a seconds, although I could tell it wasn’t his favorite.  But at least he didn’t complain.  I think next time I would serve it with shredded parmesan cheese.

I also made banana cake, because I had some over-ripe bananas to get rid of.  I have two banana cake recipes, one calls for sour cream and the other calls for buttermilk.  I was actually going to make the buttermilk version, but when I got to the store all they had was half gallons of buttermilk, and I did not need that much, so I switched to the sour cream version.  Made the cake exactly per the recipe, but I used whipped cream cheese frosting…although the frosting in the recipe looks interesting and gets great reviews.  Just wasn’t feeling that adventurous… and couldn’t see buying instant coffee just to make cake icing.

Anyway, the cake was definitely the star of the show.  Dad went back for seconds (so did I), Tarzan had a huge piece, and my stepmom requested to take some home with them.

Here’s to a better 2018!

 

 

 

 

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The Mineral Spirits Incident

This entry reminded me, in some ways, of my childhood.  In that, having brothers who were so much older than me, it was kind of like I was an only child.  She refers to her brothers as her “safety net”, which prompted this memory…

I had to be at least 10, because Brother #2 had already moved out of the house, married.  I know it was summer time, and considering I spent most of the summers before I turned 10 with my grandparents, I’m going to guess it was the summer I turned 11.

Anyway.  I get bronchitis nearly every year, and I think this may have been the first time I had it.  I had this horrible dry cough.  All I did was cough.  Cough medicine didn’t really help.  It had gone on for weeks.  It was admittedly annoying, especially to my father.

We had recently adopted a long hair cat, named Jodie.  Being a long hair cat, she occasionally had fur balls.  She slept with me at night, and my dad decided that maybe I had inhaled too much cat fur.  Essentially, he diagnosed me with fur balls.  (This is a 100% true story, I swear.)

So he looked on the package of the fur ball medicine to see what the main ingredient was.  The main ingredient of fur ball medicine is mineral oil.

We were home alone.  My mom was at work.  I don’t think this would have happened if she’d been home…

He took me to Wal-Mart and he bought mineral oil.

Now this part I don’t know how it really happened – I don’t know if he was saying “mineral oil” and I heard “mineral spirits”, or if, possibly he was saying “mineral spirits” when he meant “mineral oil”?  I’ve thought about this a lot, because I kinda doubt at that age I knew what mineral spirits was?  However it happened, in my mind, I got “mineral spirits” twisted up with “mineral oil”.  I do know, however, that I didn’t know what either of these things really was.

We got home, and he administered to me two tablespoons of mineral oil.  It was awful.  Like drinking baby oil.  In fact, I bet baby oil is made of mineral oil. It was really, really awful.

He made me drink two tablespoons of mineral oil, and then he went out to cut the grass.   The phone rang.  It was my brother.

“Dad made me drink mineral spirits!”  I told him.

“Dad did not make you drink mineral spirits.”

“Yes!  Yes he did!”

“Ginger.  Dad did not make you drink mineral spirits.”

“He did.  He said it would help my cough.”

“Ginger.  If Dad made you drink mineral spirits, you’d be dead.”

Even before he said that, I was pretty sure I was dying.  Now I knew I was dying!

I heard a deep sigh on the other end of the phone.  Like he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask, like he was pretty sure he could just hang up the phone and never think about it again, but in the off chance… 

“Why would Dad make you drink mineral spirits?”

“Because he thinks I have fur balls.”

I could almost hear his eyes roll through the phone.

“Why… would…  Dad… think… you have…  fur balls?”

“Because he says my cough sounds like Jodie’s cough when she has fur balls.  So he looked on the fur ball medicine and the main ingredient is mineral spirits!”

“Not mineral spirits, Ginger.  Mineral OIL.  Two different things.  You’ll be fine.”

I was not convinced.

“Mineral spirits is like alcohol.  It would have burned a hole in your throat.  You can’t drink mineral spirits.”

Then, I heard laughter through the phone, when he put it together and realized, yes, it was very likely that Dad did make me drink mineral oil, “He really made you drink mineral oil?  You won’t die, but I bet that was pretty nasty!”

That may be the closest he’s ever come to feeling sorry for me…

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How I Found Out I Might Actually Be a Robot

Today, I was an “extreme early riser”.

For the last several years, my work schedule/commute required me to get up before God.  This let me off the hook when it came to things like Morning Workouts or Morning Meditation.  I was already getting up at 4:30 a.m., no reasonable person would think I should get up earlier.

Now that I’ve settled into my new routine off working (sometimes) from home, it occurred to me that maybe I, too, could become a Morning Exerciser.

My Fitbit One died a few weeks ago.  I’m pretty sure I lost it at Wal-Mart, which coincidentally is where I think I lost my last Fitbit One.  I had a Fitbit Zip for a while, which, while cheaper, was a pain because you have to replace the battery every few weeks.  And I was always losing the little battery-removal tool, and I was worried about the ensuing domestic violence that might occur if I continued to have to seek Tarzan’s help getting the back off my Fitbit to replace the battery.  (Domestic violence on my part, just in case you somehow stumbled across this blog not knowing… well, not knowing… ME.)

(This is relevant, I’m getting to it.)

I decided I was tired of losing Fitbits at Wal-Mart, and did not need further temptation to abuse my husband, so I invested in a Fitbit Alta HR.

OMG.  I love it.  The feature that’s relevant to the story is its “silent alarm” feature.  You set an alarm and it buzzes on your wrist.  This is particularly handy if you are sleeping with someone who does not need to get up before God, and would really prefer that if you are going to set an alarm clock to go off that early in the morning (or late at night, whichever) that you please not hit snooze 12 times.  So anyway, with the silent alarm feature, it buzzes on your wrist, which does not wake whatever non-God fearing person you’re sleeping with… you can even snooze it, if, in your sleepy, God-fearing state, you can remember the magic combination of taps that will snooze it rather than turn it off…

For reasons I can’t explain (well I can, but it wouldn’t make sense, and face it… you don’t really care) I decided I needed to get up at 4 a.m. this morning.  And miracle upon miracles… I actually DID it.

Mostly the reason I actually did it was because I had a semi-important self-imposed deadline that required me to get up this early (I wanted to impress somebody, okay?)… I really did want to get up this early… and I tried to snooze my Fitbit, but I accidentally turned it off, and then I had to either get up or go back to sleep and sleep until Tarzan’s alarm went off.  So it was on purpose that I got up at 4 a.m., but also… a little bit of an accident.

As a result, I had my first official experience with “extreme early rising”.  Which I think is a thing.  A new fad or something.  I don’t know.  I think my nephew is reading a book.

I have to admit, I had a really productive day!  I completed the TPS report I needed to complete in time to impress the people on the west coast that needed impressing… I felt that I was working much more on-task and focused for a greater portion of the workday than usual.  I’m thinking, there may be something to this!

Then, it’s time to do my timesheet.  At the new job, you have to include comments on your time entries.  As in, you have to provide a summary of what you did with the time.

And… when I went to do my timesheet, I realized I had no idea what I did with the last 4 hours of the day.  And I had no idea why what I did with the first 4 hours of the day took FOUR hours.  And then I realized that actually, it was 2:30 p.m. and in reality I needed to account for TEN hours.

So as I’m pondering this, I remember that I wanted to log into a FTP site to start a large download, that I realized sometime during the day that I needed to do, but decided to do it at the end of the day, so I could just leave my laptop to the downloading and it would be ready in the morning.

It’s approximately 2:33 p.m. when I first start the process, by logging onto the FTP site.

I enter my email address and enter my password.  It takes me three times before I realize I’m entering the email address from my old job.

I enter the correct email address and enter my password.  That password is not correct.  I check, yes, it’s the password I’ve written down.  I try again, maybe it was just a type-o.  Nope, still no good.  I try another common version of my password, in case I wrote the password down wrong.  Now I’m locked out, too many failed log in attempts.  I must wait 15 minutes and try again.

It’s now 2:47 p.m.

I set a timer for 15 minutes (yes, I actually do this).  I go get a snack.  At 2:50 p.m., my Fitbit buzzes with a “reminder to move”, so I walk to the mailbox.  I get back inside, I read the mail.  Enter some stuff into Quicken.  The timer goes off.

I enter the correct email address and what I originally thought my password was.  It still doesn’t work.  I enter the correct email address and the same version of the password I tried earlier (I don’t know why, I might have typed it in wrong the earlier – you can’t see what the hell you’re typing)… That doesn’t work.  I enter the correct email address and the granddaddy of all passwords that I only use when no other password will work.  Now I’m locked out for another 15 minutes.

I click to RESET PASSWORD NOW.  It tells me I cannot reset my password now, I’ve had too many failed attempts.  I must wait 15 minutes.  I wonder, is that 15 minutes on top of the other 15 minutes?  I don’t know.

It’s now 2:58 p.m.  I set an alarm for 15 minutes.

I go get a snack.  I think of something to say I did all day today and I do my timesheet.  I play Words With Friends.  The alarm goes off.

I click to RESET PASSWORD NOW.  It sends me a link to my email.  I open my email, click the link.

I have to prove I’m not a robot.

It shows me a picture, subdivided in grids.  It tells me to click on all the grids containing street signs.

That sounds easy enough.

I click on grid containing a stop sign.  Oh look, the edges of the stop sign are outside that grid.  Do I click on the grid with the edges, too?  Yes, probably.  Click click click.  Got all the edges.

I wonder if you click on the post that the stop sign is on, too?  Why the hell not.  Click click.

I hit “submit”.

I have not convinced Them that I’m not a robot.

Another grid of pictures pops up.  Again, click on the pictures containing street signs.  It’s a picture of like a residential street.  There are signs that are literally street signs, they say the name of the streets.  I click on all the grids containing those signs, and the posts.  Then there’s a sign on one of the houses, proclaiming the house number.  Does the computer consider house numbers street signs?  I do not know.  I decide no.

I hit “submit”.

I have not convinced Them that I’m not a robot.

Another grids of pictures pops up.  More street signs.  I say to hell with street signs.  I click on the “Give me another test” button.

Now I get a bunch of separate pictures, with the instructions to click on all of the pictures containing cars.  Cars.  Ok, I can do this.

There are pictures of cars parked on the side of the road.  Click click.

There is a picture of a shiny new car in a dealer’s showroom.  Click.

There is a picture of a Hot Wheel…. Are you kidding me? 

There is a picture of what appears to be a child’s drawing of a house, with a car in the driveway.  I can’t even.

It is now 3:38 p.m.  I have spent nearly an hour and I haven’t even figured out how to log into the %$#@! FTP site.

And now I guess understand why it’s necessary to get up by 4:00 a.m. to be successful in life.

This is my testimonial.  Extreme early rising.  It might really be the answer!  And, also…

OMG! You guys…!  I MIGHT BE A ROBOT!

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Why I’ve Never Been to Chicago

If you knew me really well, you might be surprised that I work in a profession that requires as much traveling as mine does.  When I was younger, I had a pretty marked aversion to travel.  I would sometimes decide I wanted to go somewhere (like to to Vermont for summer camp) but right before I was set to go, I’d back out.  (The Vermont camping story could be an entry all it’s own – even though I never actually went…)

My last two trips to Pittsburgh had layovers at the Chicago Midway International Airport on the return legs.  I’ve flown in and out of Midway many times, but, as I mentioned to the passenger next to me on my return flight Thursday night, I’ve never actually been to Chicago.  I almost did once, though…

When I was growing up, one summer my mom planned a girls’ trip for us.  I think it was the summer between fifth and sixth grades, but it might have been the summer between sixth and seventh.  She was going to take me to Chicago.

I did not have any particular desire to go to Chicago.  It sounded like a very Big Place.  Then I overheard her talking about talking to someone she knew who had been to Chicago, who was giving her advice on whether the hotel we had chosen was in a safe area, etc.  This put me on high alert.  I deduced that if we needed to be concerned about finding a “safe” place, then there must be a lot of “unsafe” places in Chicago.  At this point in my life, I had not yet been exposed to many situations where I was aware of needing to be aware of the safety of my surroundings.  Now, of course, as an adult, I get it.  But then – the very fact that we had to consider safety told me this was not a place I thought we needed to go.

So I objected.  I told my mother I didn’t want to go to Chicago.

She was disappointed.  She really wanted to go to Chicago.

Instead, we went to Iowa.  We visited an Amish colony.

I have a feeling on the thrill-a-meter scale of zero thrills to ten, a visit to an Amish colony in Iowa is about equal to a visit to Chicago.  *shrug*

And with that, here’s Waylon Jennings, singing about all the places he’s never been:

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The 5 Love Languages

I understand if you aren’t in the habit of taking relationship advice from a person who’s been married three times… maybe I’d be better at writing an entry about “what not to do”, but recent events reminded me of a pretty good book I read years ago.  I think it’s worth reading, and it did change the way I looked at my relationship.  The concept is that each of us expresses love primarily in one (or maybe two) ways:

  • Words Of Affirmation
  • Quality Time
  • Receiving Gifts
  • Acts Of Service
  • Physical Touch

And, if someone expresses love to you in a language that’s different than your primary love language, you might not recognize it for what it is.  You might go about feeling unwanted and unloved, when in fact, the other person has been trying to show you love all along.  Thus, it behooves you to learn your partner’s love language, both so you can recognize when they are expressing love to you, and so you can return the favor by expressing love in a way they will recognize.  (It would also behoove your partner to do the same, but hey, we all know that we can only control our own behaviors, right?)

My primary love language is quality time.  Secondary, probably receiving gifts (that’s become less and less important to me as I’ve gotten older, I suspect less so in time as I’ve gotten more and more self-sufficient – nowadays, if I want something, I buy it for myself!)

My husband’s is acts of service.  He expresses his love for me by fixing things, building things, and keeping the outside of our home nice.  I once asked him how he knows I love him, and he told me because I put his medicine out for him every week.

Lately, things have just been going on.  Nothing bad, but we haven’t been spending a lot of time together (remember, that’s my love language) and I’ve been feeling a little… well, neglected!  (He of course, doesn’t notice anything wrong, because that’s not his love language.)  I suggested to him over the weekend that we go for a bicycle ride.  He didn’t want to. I slunk away, feeling rejected.  Then I thought, well, he didn’t recognize my request as an attempt to reach out in love, because… it’s not his language.  So, later that afternoon, I suggested that he teach me how to cut grass.  (Yes, it’s true, I have somehow lived to be 40 years old and never learned how to use a riding lawn mower.)

He looked at me like I had two heads, but once he comprehended that he heard me right, he was right on it!  He had to hurry up and get the lawnmower going, before I changed my mind!  We spent about half an hour with him coaching me, and then he went back to the garage and worked on his current “project” (the one that’s taking all his time away from me) while I cut a big portion of our back and side yard (we have about 4-5 acres of grass total that he cuts, so it took a little bit of time).

He didn’t complain (much) about the results, he took pictures to prove it happened, I got some attention, and (I think) he felt loved.

What’s your love language?

 

Uncategorized

Why I Might Have to Become an Uber Driver

So I’m getting ready to travel to a new Big City for work, one where I’ve never been.  Everyone at the new job says they prefer Uber and Lyft rather than cabs, and it seems that management encourages that, because the cost is quite a bit less.  So I downloaded the apps.

Except, when I was setting up my Uber account on the app, I accidentally told it I want to “drive for Uber”, rather than that I wanted to be a passenger.

Now I’m getting about 5 emails and texts a day from Uber, wanting me to complete my registration to become a driver.  And telling me how excited they are that I’ve decided to become an Uber driver, and how much money I’m going to make and how this decision is going to Change My Life.  And testimonials about other Uber drivers and how wonderful their lives all are now that they’ve decided to take control of their futures and drive for Uber.

It’s all pretty convincing.

I’ve figured out how to stop the emails, but I’m still getting the texts.  I’m afraid the only way I can get it to stop, is just to sign up.  As my friend Jasmyne suggested, then, when my fares ask, I’ll have a funny story about How I Became an Uber Driver.  Maybe they’ll feel sorry for me, the way I was forced into the trade… and leave bigger tips.  I don’t know.

And then, after I make a million dollars, and my life has been changed, I can write a testimonial about how I became an Uber driver just so they’d stop sending me texts.

And I guess… this can be Plan B in case the new gig doesn’t work out.

Recipes

What Happens When You Marry A Man Who Won’t Eat Vegetables

Last night I made one of my all-time favorite meals.  The problem, of course, is that Tarzan won’t eat it.  Because of this, I’ve only made it maybe 3 times since we’ve been married.

*sigh*

This is one of those things, that I can’t fathom why he doesn’t like it.  It’s sooooo good.  He tried it once and he won’t even bother with it anymore.  He had peanut butter and jelly and bacon for dinner instead.

Here’s the recipe:  Vegetable Beef Skillet.

I make it pretty well exactly as written.  This time, I used a 12 oz bag of frozen broccoli and cauliflower (I let it thaw in the fridge for a couple days ahead of time, but if you aren’t an obsessive planner like me, I might suggest you zap the veggies in the microwave a few minutes before you add them, otherwise they might not be tender enough for some people) and since I had a can of diced tomatoes that included onion, I didn’t add the onion the recipe calls for.  Also, I’ve never seen plain “nacho cheese” soup, but you can find “Fiesta Nacho Cheese” soup usually.  I’ve never seen it at Aldi, but you can get it at Wal-Mart.

So… this is what I’ll be eating on the rest of the week.  No complaints, it’s really good!