Category Archives: Sweet Domesticity

Fangsgiving for Farging Iceholes

Posted on by

Happy Fangsgiving! I hope your day is going well. I am up to something! That something is bacon-infused bourbon for old fashioneds.

So far I have poured bacon grease into the bourbon, which I poured into a big pitcher first. Then I put it in the fridge overnight, because the pitcher did not fit in the freezer. This was a mistake. The grease did not congeal enough, really. I strained the grease out and bumped the bourbon in the microwave so the fat would remelt, since it was all in separate little globs. I am hoping it makes one big lump this time around. I may have to pick up some cheesecloth when I go out to get oysters.

I am not making Fangsgiving dinner this year, for the first time in eons. I will tell you why, straight up. P. and I had a row last week in which he told me that he was “not really into Thanksgiving and all the trimmings.” This is like telling a devout Catholic that “that Pope guy is okay, I guess.”

It wasn’t really spite that made me pull the plug, honestly. It was more an overwhelming since of “meh.” Why bother? I said this aloud. My feelings were hurt that my dinners that I work three days on with scratch broth and stuffing and the brining…that they were so take-or-leave. FNIF. ~dramatic violins~

“I will just make whatever then, and treat it like any other day,” I said. I had a notion of getting half a turkey breast and just slapping a couple of things together like a normal weeknight.

“I have always thought we should make something besides turkey,” P. declared.

“If it is not a turkey meal, then it is not really like Thanksgiving,” I said. “It is another fancy meal that you can have any day of the year.”

“Oh, well, if you are not going to cook, I will,” P. declared. And it was on like Donkey Kong.

“I think I will make a brisket,” he announced a couple of days after the Incident. I don’t even know what animal that comes from.

“Okay,” I said, resignedly, and with some attempt at actually being supportive. I tried not to think of gravy and cranberry and stuffing. I tried not to think about how much I enjoy planning menus and CHOPPING and getting the timing just right.

A couple of days after that, and it was a different story again.

“I’ve been thinking,” P. said. “It is just not Thanksgiving without a traditional meal.”

“Oh,” I said. “What a completely original thought that I have never heard come out of anyone’s mouth, especially not mine four days ago.”

“Yeaaah. So I am making a turkey.”

And he is. I am sitting on my ass. The world’s gone mad, I tells you.

Also, Halloween pics are finally up, if you’re interested. And Egg and I are podcasting tonight, if you have a last-minute question.

Dear MF Diary: Father’s Day

Posted on by

“Why is it Father’s Day, Dad?” Strudel said.

“Because your father’s a motherfucker,” I said, so only P. could hear.

“WHAT?” Strudel said. She hates being left out.

“Look, in the street, is that Xmas Steve?”

“NO MOM, he’s on his boat drinking sock beer in the summer!”

“UP TOP,” I said to P., and got my five.

I almost had to kill him this morning because I caught him RUNNING UP THE STAIRS with this bucket of dry ice from the grocery order and he ALMOST TRIPPED. I don’t know what would have happened, exactly, if he would have spilled it on himself, but if I had to take his ass to the emergency room I would have been HELLA PISSED.

FROOTY!

In Other News: Eggbags for Sale, Ten Cents a Pail

So, I am putting a little line out there now. The cute chooks I got when I was on hiatus yon these two months are now halfway grown and need new homes. This was my plan all along, to have some spring chicken raising funtimes and then move them up and out. Here we go! Write a blog! Tell a friend! Say it was horrible!

Fifteen per or all three for forty. You pick up and bring crates/boxes. Hatched March 29.

Saffron is a very elegant and sexy Easter Egger who will lay pink, blue, or green eggs. Dunno yet. She seems smart, like most EEs I have known.

Aloha is a Silver Wyandotte, and so named because the girls thought I was saying Hawaiiandotte. Of course. She will lay brown eggs and is VERY OMG PRITTY.

My favorite, who I will be sorry to let go, is Rose the Giant Blue Cochin. She is pretty mellow and has the cochin waddle and the fuzzy feet, so probably not ideal for a super wet run. She is extra sweet like Marty McFly was last year. I love this breed.

Anyway, drop me a line if you’re interested. If I don’t hear anything for a month or so I will move on to Backyard Chickens.

Xmas for Jerks

Posted on by

What’s up, Xmas humpers? Life is pretty good because my BFF is in town, and I may get to see her once or twice. She is a busy lady. I am on one of my cooking sprees, of course, due to being trapped in the house all holiday style. Yesterday I started drinking eggnog at about three NOM and it made me all sleepy by dinner, but my secret superpower is that I can take a wee tiny mininap where I just shut down, wake up in ten minutes, and can go five more hours. I do it a lot when I am flying or traveling. I jumped up and literally started doing high kicks, and then put the crab cakes in.

Xmas Eve means seafood. I have read that this is an Italian tradition, but for once when I was growing up they were out of the picture on Xmas eve. My stepfather was allergic to fish, but he would stay out getting tossed all Xmas eve, so my mom would serve it. Now I grow up and it is a happy tradition. Hell, it always was happy, because it meant he would be gone til the wee hours so I didn’t have to be mute and careful. I loved any meal where I was allowed to speak.

Years later it is no mystery why I hated holidays for years. I remember one year on his birthday, also December, we made a cake and wrapped his gifts and he didn’t show up. It got later and later and I was sent to bed. In the early morning he came home and my mom threw his cake at him. I slept through one of these messes, for once.

So I made crab cakes and quick boiled and chilled unpeeled shrimp to peel and eat with cocktail sauce and there was some funky rice mix thing and those fail carrots from the backyard. Also rolls that looked like little sofas. Tonight I am making Fucking Beef Wellington (scratch save the frozen puff pastry) and potatoes and trifle for dessert.

I used to make stock from scratch and everything from scratch, but I am taking shortcuts this year as I am not entertaining. Often that doesn’t matter, I will do it all from scratch anyway, but I am not quite fully in it this year. I’m really pretty happy right now (happy-ish…I could do with some more moneys) but I feel like I am in some kind of weird zen undead Bodhisattva Zombie Jesus phase where I am not quite here. I am one foot in the home and hearth, and one foot out in the world, and a mysterious third foot deep inside my head. The result of this is that my house is not very clean and the gravy is coming out of a jar, but this too shall pass. I will find my feet and know what I want to do again.

Speaking of moneys, I am officially hired for retail job, beyond Xmas. I think I can get forty hours, which means survival and a little beyond. There is this part of me that knows that I am competent and good with people face-to-face, and it turns out I can sell like a motherfucker (WHO KNEW?) so of course my boss pulled me out of the rest of the holiday rabble. There is this other part of me that is a little sad that this is what I am excelling at right now, but, you know, if I flunked out of my holiday job, that would be even worse for my self of steam.

Yesterday I applied for three more writing/editing positions. I see jobs I want, I see jobs I should be able to get, but I am sure they are being filled my ass kicking asskickers with like loads of experience on me. I am slumming it in retail and they are slumming it at my level. Craptacos.

OIC

Posted on by

“I can’t wait until Christmas Steve comes, Mom,” Franny said. “When does he come again?”

“Christmas Eve eve, remember? And only if you’ve been naughty enough.”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

“CHRISTMAS STEVE! YAY! I GOT A LAUNDRY SCOOP!” Strudel said.

“I hope I get road-marking tape again,” Franny said.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get some crap that breaks in the first day, from whatever place Steve hits before he gets here. Maybe you will luck out and he will break into a construction site again,” I said.

“That wasn’t CRAP! And it didn’t break in the first day. Remember, mom, we made tapey lines all over the house.”

Uh-huh, I remember.

“So, Franny, what else did you get for Christmas last year? Like from me and Strudel’s dad?”

“Umm….”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” she admitted.

“Strudel, what did you get for Christmas last year?”

“A LAUNDRY SCOOP!!”

Dear MF Diary: Change Tastes Like Carrot Caek

Posted on by

Dear Jankateria,

Freddie Reynolds was staring at me by the senior locker bay today! I found a dollar on the ground! And my camera cable came! It’s been what, a month ffs?

In November, we made an Obama cake to celebrate. Pardon my ghetto non-cake professional skills, but here we be:

Here are the girls helping me make it. If I let Strudel continue, assuming she never got bored, it would have taken her FIVE HOURS to shred carrots. No lies.

Here is Hester Prynne all asplodie:

:'(

She is put back together now, but still no hard drive. Soon, soon.

The tail end of the fall harvest happened. Garden vs. Storebought. FIGHT!

We have a new layer, El Bandito! She makes wee eggs. Currently she is broody. Probably a good time for that, as it is cold as fuck.

Today alternates between dance party and snow

Also, my moar fight shirt came in the mail. MOAR FIGHT! I made this. By the power of Photoshop!

Speaking of dorky internet shit, I applied to be a community manager for a gaming software company. There are so many interesting jobs out there. I’ve decided to think of my relentless applying to jobs and interviewing as my hobby. I may continue this after I get a real job, even. I can now write a cover letter in 41 seconds.

ETA: I was all scattered a little and forgot to post a couple:

Frozen Calliope:

And the top of the Xmas ficus this year. Sorry your arms got cropped, Michelle! Blame US Weekly!

Dear MF Diary: Fangsgiving 2008. No spirit animal…YET.

Posted on by

1. Yesterday I took Franny to get her ears pierced, one of those little lady rites of passage I suppose we all go through at some time or other. I got mine done at six and when I was eight they closed up due to me wearing some crap Claire’s earrings for several days in a row. I think I was swimming a lot that summer and they were corroding or something gross like that. Then I was re-mallgunned at ten. Currently I have six holes in my ear; three were mallgunned and three were piercing shopped. I am very proud that Franny’s first unnatural holes in her body were done by a PRO. FESSIONAL. PIERCER. (*is smug*)

She kind of jibblied around a little bit and I brought her back to Earth with a gentle “Hey, this is a big girl thing, so you gotta sack up and act like a big girl for this.” She held very still and listened to directions and, unsurprisingly, thought it was going to hurt worse than it did. Now she has sweet little hoops with captive beads and they look so cute. I feel relieved to finally have fulfilled my birthday promise, despite the fact that spending any money is making me cry right now.

2. I got turned down for yet another job where I made it to the multiple interview stage and got another “We thought you were a really strong candidate, etc.” This is starting to affect my self of steam. In a way I am relieved, because I thought the job sounded dull, and would be tough as a resume stepping stone (it had a weird job title and was kind of nichey writing) but I see another yellow bill come into the mailslot today and I think it certainly would have been better than a poke in the eye. I should have an interview next week for a position that has “editor” in the title, which excites me. I am ready to give blood to get one of these increasingly rare positions.

3. Retail job is going well…except for the fact that my lazy typety type ass is not used to being on my feet for 6-8 hours. When I come home from retail job, I disappear into a pit after barely being able to get the kids done for the night and sleep for 11 hours. I am not kidding. I wake up refreshed and wonder where my day went.

I got hazed on my first day on the floor. A regular employee came in with the foulest mood I had ever seen, and this is someone who spent 5+ years in record stores surrounded by aspiring Jack Blacks-in-High-Fidelity of all stripes. I introduced myself to her and she pointedly ignored me and picked up the phone. Then she told me that if I “put anyone off” with my nose ring I should direct them to her. I told her I wasn’t worried because I’ve had it for half my life now and when I smile people know I am friendly. I mean, it’s Seattle, FFS. People don’t really bat an eye at me. Then the adorable gay boy who took me under his wing was singing and she said, pretty loudly, “Could you be any more flaming?” I forgot how different retail environments are. Sexual harassment, non-PC statements, and just plain-old nastiness just run rampant. I know this happens in offices, too (I have seen it, for sure) but it seems like everything boils down to the lowest common denominator when you slap someone behind a register.

By the next shift she decided I was non-useless, and now I seem to be in the clubhouse somewhat. She has been shoving the ESL/tourists off onto me because I have always had a knack for understanding the Japanese and a lot of patience. Now I hear her call across the store: “SJ! Translate!” I have to say this is the most fun retail job I’ve ever had. Yesterday I was talking to someone about this knifemaster I was reading about in Oly and the difference between Japanese and American knives. The company ethos dictates that you just pretty much stand around talking to people all day. It’s much less dismal than, say, the time I put in at Tower or even the indie stores.

4. Yesterday on the way back from work I was listening to the Nippers, and they were interviewing this lady who wrote Things That Makes Us [Sic] (GET IT??), about grammar. Additionally, she is a founding member of SPOGG, which, you know, right on for grammar analness but yesterday on the radio she was actually espousing correcting our friends and loved ones when they stray off the grammar trail. I was a little saddened by this, because she seemed whip-smart otherwise. She likened correcting people’s grammar to pointing out the fact your friend has spinach in their teeth. I say no to this. She claims that your friends will thank you, I claim that they will not call your pompous presumptuous ass back. Unless this is a form of public trolling, in which case I say WELL PLAYED. IRL lulz are hard to come by, and should be seized when possible.

5. Fangsgiving. I am thinking about my mom today, thanks to an email exchange I was having with my friend and neighbor, who is helping me with my Hester Prynne problems, thank you babby jesus. I was telling him about adventures in cooking for my mother, the ingrate.

1999. I am living in a rambler in Phoenix with SeaFed. We also have a roommate who thinks that we’re crazy and who is chased out by my mother and sister’s presence eventually. My mother was with us after fleeing the East Coast and her third marriage. I had discovered that I liked to cook after becoming the gothic trophy wife of my drug-dealing husband and finding that I had both too much money and too much time on my hands. I was really starting to get my chefery on at this point. Since we were a small gathering of four for Thanksgiving that year, I decided to get schmancy and make cornish game hens with a honey-apricot-herb glaze of my own devising.

They turned out beautifully. Golden, fruity, crispy around the edges. Stuffed with nuts and scallions and crap.

My mom’s response: “I can’t believe you didn’t make a turkey.”

2000. Franny is a wee little six-week old sprog and we have all caravaned to the PNW’ed (booooo) and are housesharing in Shoreline. I am vaguely and stupidly excited about the prospect of us all Fangsgivinging together in the house, me, my mom, my sister, and now Franny. I wanted to contribute, so I offered to make stuffing. I decided on cornbread and I made an unholy fuckton. I even did it “right” and made it a day or two before so it could dry out a bit beforehand. Verily it was delicious.

My mom’s response: “Mmm, I think I prefer StoveTop.”

2005. I am crammed into the shittiest yet nicest apartment we can afford. Daniel comes over, as well as my sister and mother, who deigns to let me have Thanksgiving at my house. I was very pleased with the company and the group effort.

My mom’s response: “This meal does not contain enough organ meats.”

Conclusion: if you are cooking for someone who is a StoveTop-eating, gibblet-munching, persnickety ass, don’t expect great things. This year I am making it Southern style with bourbon gravy, cornbread stuffing, and beans-n-bacon. NO ONE will be persnickety. Happy Fangsgiving.

P.S. Renee Khan and others, I am working my way through Sepulchre and even taking notes. FOR JOO.

Again with the Pumpkins

Posted on by

There’s been a lot of this sassypants business lately. I kind of jokingly corrected Franny, reminding her to keep the guts over the pot. Then the other one chimes in with “I’m not doing that.” If I correct Strudel, then the other one says, “It wasn’t me.” I KNOOOW. Sheesh, meddlers.

Quite a difference from two years ago, in some ways.

I carved my pumpkin for a contest for an online game with a first prize of ten million meat. I hope I place, because even second and third place is good, and there are two of each place. Bonus points if you know what this is! Where my fellow nerds at?

There Will Be Blood, It Might Be Yours

Posted on by

How to Make a Horse Ears and Mane Headpiece, Shabbily and In a Hurry!
Approximate time: 3 hours
Difficulty: BWUH? I can has make a needle threaded.
Cost: $10, for ears, felt, and yarn, with loads of yarn left for another project.

Well, as I have mentioned, Strudel decided she was going to go as Bad Horse for Halloween this year. Display and Costume could give me no love on the plain brown horse ears or a mane, so I was forced to make my own. This is very bad, because I am the shoddiest seamstress in the world. There’s no quality control, no pride of work. Only “CRANK THAT SHIT OUT, YEAH.” I am conversant with the deadly art of the sewing machine, but I prefer to handsew. I sew fast as HALE, too, WHAM WHAM sewing ninja!

Bad Horse is just some brown horse that Joss Whedon rented from somewhere in Hollywood, so my main objectives were to provide brownness, in the form of suit and ears, with a black mane and tail. I am going to paint her face night of, if she holds still.

I started with these ears because they looked the horseiest in shape. I decided to use them as a “frame” so I didn’t have to stuff ears (buy fluff) or attach them to a headband. Plus they were like two dolla.

As you can see, I already started sewing brown felt to them. I sewed white triangles to the inside of the ears and WA-BAM, done. If you look too close, though, it looks like Horse Ears of Frankenstein, so, err…don’t look too close.

Then it was time for the mane event. HO HO HO, Lame Giant. Okay, I was puzzling how to make the mane. I wanted something that would kind of cascade, but not just be strings hanging down from the headband. Ultimately I decided to cut a piece of brown felt to about 12″x3″. I made black yarn loops to sew onto the felt piece. I left a space on the felt piece for the headband, which I would need to attach when I was done.

Yarn loops!

I cut the yarn about 14″ long.

I was doing this part while I was watching Dexter, so I was sitting on Hester Prynne. Please admire caps lock, the most used BUTTON ON MY KEYBOARD!

Then I doubled the yarn twice…

And tied it in the middle with a piece of yarn that was the same length as the loop. Yarn Loop! This means that some ends were loopy and some were straight. I liked the texture, but once sewn on you could cut all the loops in half to make all the hairs straight.

Then I took the loops and sewed them to the felt by their middle knot in rows of twos and threes, alternating rows until it was jammed and your couldn’t see the brown. About a half an inch seemed like enough room between rows. I made sure that I was securing the knot by sewing it down well.

Then it was done, lurking like an unholy keyboard mirkin!

I sewed it to the headband, and voila! Quick and dirty horse ears and mane! I sewed the felt to the underside of the headband, and then sewed in a couple of rows of yarn loops on top of the headband so it was not a brown gap in the middle of the mane. I did not make the length of the yarn loops shorter, though the headband stuck up in the middle. It didn’t seem to matter.

I hope she will use it for dress up after Halloween. Pictures on the kid later.

Now go kill someone!

Signed, Bad Horse.

They Say It’s Better The Second Time/They Say You Get to Do the Weird Stuff

Posted on by

Woo! Today I spent a jolly morning at the DMV. My picture makes me look like my head was farmed in one of those melon containers that makes melons grow all square. FFS, people. At least it’s not stroke victim. It’s more perturbed blockhead.


Artist’s Representation of New Driver’s License Photo.

Then, as a reward for finishing that hein (tm Maisnon) task, I went to the costume store to get missing bits for the girls’ Halloween costumes. Strudel is going as Bad Horse, so I have to make her ears and a tail, and she has a set of brown clothes. I was going to make her a horse head, but her little body is so wee I thought she would do better with face paint. I got myself some bad ass gloves for my Captain Hammer costume. I wouldn’t have fussed with it at all, but on Saturday I am going on a fun run with a cross-dressing superhero theme. I have been wearing the shirt all summer.


Please Hammer Don’t Hurt ‘Em.

Yeaaah. I have no explanation for my behavior.

Quickly changing the subject, Calliope the Easter Egger laid her first egg. Alas, it was on the glass fake eggs in the broody box, so it incurred a dent. I think it will be okay til tomorrow in the fridge, since it looks like the membrane is intact. Eyuck, these early eggs are so bloody on the inside. But if I was laying eggs for the first time, I imagine I would bleed some too.

My complaint is not about the bloody eggs or even the hole, but the COLOR. Calliope! You are laying grey eggs! BOORING! REFUND! What a rip.

I am going to start slow-cookin’ stew made out of some animals and stuff I found (freegan, lol A) and go for a little run. If you see some crazy lady running around on Saturday running and shouting “The Hammer is my PENIS,” then please move to one side and do not obstruct the flow of impending justice.

It’s all about the Hamiltons, baby

Posted on by

I know that symbolically, fall is supposed to be a time of harvest, followed by death, but I always see it as a time of renewal, probably because many of us have to retreat into our houses in the winter, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to go quietly into a dirty and cluttered one.

Today I decided to move my bedroom around until it was more to my liking. It made the whole thing feel bigger, which is a good thing now that my true love and BFF Hester Prynne is up here. I like the fact that I moved a bit further away from the box, which I can still hear a little when she’s in sleep mode. (For Vista, there is no sleep, only WAIT.) But in this neighborhood, a little white noise is a good thing.

Come into my boudoir! Je voudrais un croissant! If this goes well, you can meet my parents next.

Before!
Here’s the bed before, tucked up against the east wall. The Bandito and Imelda lurked overhead. I never really liked them together like this; it was a little too Dejeuner sur l’Herbe for my liking. I was in the process of taking down an old and faded Dios de los Muertos paper cutout that I got downtown. The black squares were so light they turned that grody brown color that my coolio black jeans used to turn in the ’90s, making me all sad panda. Yes, my bed is a mess, but in my defense I knew I was about to move it. Yes, I know that my house looks like it was decorated by clowns on LSD. We LIKE color, mmkay?

After!
I turned the bed to be against the north wall. This made more space in the middle of the room. I also turfed out one of the nightstands and put it next to Hester Prynne, which sort of hides the cords. I like it. Aren’t you supposed to face north, according to those those juju feng shui peoples? Whatever. I likes a change of pace. Now I have just the bandito over my head, as it should be. He is my patron saint.

On the table, not that you asked, is this week’s New Yorker, Sophie’s World, which I am rereading for the third time, Are You Really Going to Eat That?, which looked great at the library but feels very been-there, done-that once you dive in. WOT, people eat durians you say? And they are super stinky, you say? To the author’s credit, they are older essays, from before the era of being a click away from reality show models narfling dog stew. She actually writes an interesting blog, I must say. Also there is a rented Curious George DVD, which Strudel is currently partaking in and enjoying very much.

Before!

Here’s Hester’s newish home. It turns out you can put baby in the corner. Notice the sad, sickly, and neglected arrowhead plant over the computer. The pot is so large that it made it hard to hang up a picture in that corner. I trimmed off the dead leaves and gave it a little shower to get rid of the dust, and popped it into the girls’ room, which gets more sun, and stole their philodendron.

After!
I moved Imelda to the south wall so I can gaze upon her lovely boobsage first thing in the a.m. I can stare at her while I am trying to think of what to write next.

I am kind of chuckling as I’m posting this, because I think about those fancy bloggers who make changes in their house and photograph it all and run it through special filters so it looks like a fucking home decor magazine. At my house you have wires and clutter, and nothing that looks like it came from Crate & Barrel, because nothing did. More like, Cardboard Box & and Barrel Made Out of Cardboard Printed with a Barrel Pattern. Oh, and IKEA, so same diff, really. Tomorrow I will clean off the top of my dresser at least, and photograph it with shimmery burning candles and moody wicker balls in a hand blown glass basket made by armless peasants in Madagascar.