(Fred sent me these links this morning.)
Kanye: Douchebag.
Beyonce: Class act.
There are entries up at Love & Hisses for Friday and yesterday. Bill had to have a little maintenance work done on one of his eyelips, and so far it’s looking pretty good.
Saturday was a super-busy day for me, a day I spent mostly in the kitchen. When we went to the flea market two weeks ago, we bought a big bag of apples so that I could make some Caramel-Apple Jam and some applesauce. I let the apples sit in the kitchen because I didn’t want to deal with them, and finally Saturday I decided it was time to get my ass in gear. I made a batch of Caramel-Apple Jam, but unfortunately after all the work of peeling and slicing and dicing the apples, the fucking stuff didn’t gel, and so what I’m left with are 7 pints of Caramel-Apple syrup.
(I guess that means I’ll need to start making pancakes or french toast to use the syrup on, right?)
I actually think the syrup would be a good hand pie filling. I may have to give that a try.
I have plenty of apples left, so I’ll likely try another batch of the jam this week before I use the rest of the apples to make and can applesauce.
I also made a Reese’s Cup Chocolate Peanut Butter Cake. Really, really good cake, but also very filling, and the pigs ended up getting about 3/4 of the cake when all was said and done. Next time I make it, I’m going to freeze half of it, right off the bat, I think.
I cut the tops off and froze about a gallon of habaneros (I have a ton of them put away now, which is a good thing – Fred says he thinks the habanero plants in the garden are just about done producing), and put a couple of trays of cayenne peppers in the dehydrator to dry (to grind up into cayenne powder because we have about three years’ worth of cayenne powder, but apparently we need to just KEEP ON GROWING the goddamn things, so what the hell else am I going to do with them?).
We had a late lunch/ early dinner at Logan’s Roadhouse, then swung by the grocery store to pick up a few groceries. At home, I spent some time with the kittens and then put together a batch of King’s Ranch Chicken to have for dinner on Sunday, because we had plans and didn’t know what time we were going to get home for dinner.
(Also, I did several loads of laundry at some point during the day and hung them out to dry, then brought it all in and put it away. I am SUCH the Superwoman!)
After that, between Snackin’! Time! and medicating the kittens and scooping the litter boxes, it was time to sit down and watch TV for the evening.
Sunday morning I got up with the intention of making baked blueberry french toast, which I had started the night before, and do you know what I fucking hate? I fucking hate it when recipes say, for an ingredient, “Family-size bag of (whatever)”, and at the grocery store there’s a small bag and a big bag, but the big bag doesn’t say “Family-size bag”, but you assume it’s the family size bag, since it’s the big bag, and yet it turns out to be way too fucking much.
Why can’t recipes list the size of the bag required as “10 oz” or whatever? God, I fucking hate that shit.
(And no, I’m not providing a link to the baked blueberry french toast, because I’m not recommending it, because once I determined that there were too fucking many of this item in the dish, instead of going the rest of the way to make the dish, I gave all that shit to the fucking pigs. If you’re desperate to find a baked blueberry french toast recipe, Google is your friend. And you’ll likely find a recipe that doesn’t start with a goddamn “family size bag” of pita chips FOR THE RECORD.)
So I vacuumed the downstairs, which desperately needed it, and I made pickled jalapeno peppers for Fred, and I checked my cayenne peppers in the dehydrator, and found that they were not, in fact, dry enough to put through the blender.
Fred and I ate breakfast, and then we hit the road in his truck. We drove for an hour and a half to get to Smith Lake, to test-drive a boat, and something was wrong with the engine, so that is yet another boat we did not buy.
We stopped at a flea market on the way home and it was the same old crap that all flea markets always have (but it’s always fun to look, anyway). Then we stopped at a store near the flea market, and it had just about anything you could imagine. There were tools galore and metal signs and all manner of ugly home decor. It was kind of neat to look around that place, actually, and we must have spent 45 minutes wandering around that place before we left.
We got home around 2:30, and I ate lunch and then took a nap with the kittens and pretended to listen to Fred babble on about boats much in the way he pretends to listen to me babble on about kittens, and then I mostly slacked for the rest of the day.
(When I put it that way, I feel like I didn’t accomplish nearly everything I’d intended to over the weekend. Oh! I also emptied, scrubbed out, and refilled all the litter boxes in the house Saturday morning. How about that?)
Wild Hoyt, jumping into the cat tower cubby.
Feeling smug about his conquering of the cat tower cubby.
Bill, in the cat tower cubby, kept biting the end of his tail and then squealing in outrage that someone was biting his tail. He might not be the brains of the operation.
Bill’s Jazz! Paws! as he lays in the cat tower cubby.
Annoyed Hoyt.
“Hey, you! I said no paparazzi!”
“I swear to be cute, the whole cute, and nothing but the cute, so help me dog.”
Jake. Maybe Elwood. How the hell would I know? These boys need to wear collars so I can have some kind of clue who’s who when I see them from a distance or in a picture.
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: By the way, I still want a pet hummingbird.
2006: Maddy sadly contemplates the vast expanse of my thigh. How will she ever cross it and reach freedom?!
2005: For the record, there’s a big fucking difference between pranking someone and just being an asshole.
2004: Like, so world-weary, like “I can’t be bothered to sign ‘love’, because it sounds so warm, I need something COLDER, so I’ll just scrawl ‘as ever’”.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.