sent this and made me cry first thing this morning. Bastard.
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Did you know that you can FREEZE eggs? This is awesome news to me, because (I am told) chickens tend not to lay so many eggs in the winter, and even though they’ll likely lay more than enough eggs for us, I’d still hate to run out in the middle of the winter. Because I am NOT buying any more damn store-bought eggs, damnit. I used the last one I had in a meatloaf last week, and I vowed that another store-bought egg would never cross my lips again.
(At home, anyway. I’m not going to be an annoying “Is the egg in that recipe from a FREE-RANGE chicken, or one of the tortured chickens at a factory?” person in restaurants or at other peoples’ houses, I promise.)
I don’t know why I was so surprised to find that you can freeze eggs, but after all – you can freeze human eggs*, why not chicken eggs? Over the weekend I cracked a dozen eggs in a muffin tin (an egg in each cup), froze them, then slightly defrosted them so I could get them out of the damn cups, put each in a plastic bag, and put them back in the freezer.
(Fred pointed out that in the interest of saving the earth (goddamn hippie), I should have put all the eggs in one bag, then I could break off a frozen cup o’ egg whenever I need one. I’ll keep that in mind for next time, I suppose.)
*Probably you don’t keep your human eggs in your own freezer next to the homemade tomato sauce, though. Or maybe you DO. Just don’t mix them up with the chicken eggs. Human eggs, scrambled, taste just a bit too humany, if you ask me.
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A few weeks ago on Rescue Me, Gina Gershon dismissed Kevin Costner’s Open Range as “too act-y.” (On a side note, I love the hell out of Denis Leary, but he kind of looks like a troll, and I feel that in real life there’s no way on earth women who look like Gina Gershon and Jennifer Esposito and hell, even Callie Thorne would take one look at his trollish countenance and throw themselves at him full-force. I mean, you could argue that it’s because he’s a firefighter and women just looooooove a firefighter, but the man can barely take two steps down the street without some woman or another demanding a quickie in the nearest phone booth. Are women in NYC that desperate? On the other hand, I think he is HOT (which is not to be confused with good-looking), so I have no leg to stand on. But, please. Tell me he doesn’t look like a troll. Okay, maybe not a troll; really, he looks more like Gollum and Gollum… is not a troll? Right? Or is he? I never paid no mind to those Lord of the Ring movies.
)
Fred has adopted and uses that description – “too act-y” – ALL the time now. We rented A Beautiful Mind last week, and he said “I don’t know. It’s not going to be too act-y, is it?” He’s expanded it to cover books. He opened a book on my bookcase, read a few lines, and said “Oh, that’s WAY too word-y.”
God knows that when we come up with good lines, we run them into the ground. To this day, we use “
Helloooooo Mr. Gingrich!” on each other.
Fred saw a Saturday Night Live skit with Norm Macdonald as Bob Dole, and so when one of us (hi) is feeling bitchy and accuses the other of thinking mean thoughts, said accusation might be met with “Bob Dole didn’t say that!” as code for “
I didn’t say it, but I cannot deny the truth of what you’ve said.”
I know all couples have their weird little in-jokes. Tell me about some of yours.
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Okay, I’d write more of an entry, but I’ve been spending a LOT of time messing around with the new camera, and I have some cool pictures to share. Click on any of them to see the full-sized version – but be warned, those full-sized versions are HUGE.
Sights from around Crooked Acres.
Habanero. We have a ton of these.
Flitting in line at the feeder.
Fire ants devouring a dead cricket. Yeah, gross. But cool, too.
Baby cucumber from our second planting.
Egg, minutes from the source.
Gerbera daisy, on the front porch.
Okra flower.
Spot, trying to sleep if the crazy lady with the camera would go away.
Stinkerbelle, wondering whether she should flee, or flop over on her side. I told Nance yesterday that Fred spends so much time talking about how gorgeous Stinkerbelle is, that I feel like he’s having a midlife crisis, only instead of dumping me for a younger, prettier model, he brought The Other Woman to live in my house. I suppose I’m lucky that if I had to, I could take her in a fight. I think. She might be one of those dirty fighters, though.
Yesterday I thought for sure that I’d lost Sugarbutt. I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house, and repeated calling didn’t bring him running (well, sauntering. He MOSEYS when you call for him, unless it’s snack time, then he’s The Flash), so I got all worried, because I’ve been leaving his collar off so it wouldn’t rub on his neck, and the other day he tried climbing the fence (other cats might try climbing the wood poles of the fence. Not our Sugarbutt – he was climbing the wire part of the fence and having a time of it, too), so we started putting his collar on him, but yesterday I’d left it off. Finally, despite the fact that it was raining, I looked in the back yard, and in the corner, there’s a spot that is sheltered by many tree branches. Sugarbutt was laying there, watching the rain. Brat.
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Previously
2006: I sense I’m being royally fucking screwed over by the goddamn advantage-taking photographer. Who’s probably lighting his cigars with $100 bills as he drives around in his limo.
2005: Ants ain’t fuckin’ welcome here, if you hadn’t guessed.
2004: No entry.
2003: What above the Bumsen is up with that?
2002: It’s the front yard or bust, baby.
2001: That’s pretty much how we all felt.
2000: That’s the price of getting old, my friends.]]>