Thankyou Baby Brother

Last night I had made an awesome dinner of smothered pork chops, rice, and organic green beans and 5 minutes before it was done, my sister-in-law invited us for dinner. To surprise my brother we were to meet at a local legendary italian restorante, we will call it the Pasta Nazis. This place is epic. At the Pasta Nazis you cannot go wrong ordering the special or something completely different than you would think you would like, because no matter what you order it will be utterly delicious. That is until last night.
Everything went up without a hitch, if you toss aside our space cadet waiter, in the beginning. Just a family surprising a young man with dinner after he was offered an amazing job, at a family owned restaurant. He was thrilled to share the good news and we were thrilled to hear it. It was beautiful. That is until our second round of water came out and the family all agreed that the water tasted heavily metallic. This was fine. We had all selected fabulous dishes such as Fettucini Alfredo, Spaghetti Carbonara, and Eggplant Parm. But you see, little did we know the problem would lie not only in Carbonara but also the Alfredo.
Our waiter said they did not have ranch for our salads, yet when we were presented with peppercorn cream dressing we knew he was wrong. Another fellow waiter came to ask my husband what chicken he ordered and where it was on the menu, my husband ordered the Carbonara. Once I told him how to make Carbonara he still requested I show him where it was at on the menu and I knew we were in trouble. When the dinner arrived the Carbonara looked correct. I was relieved, as this is my husbands favorite italian dish, and patiently waited for my alfredo. When it arrived all my patience flew right out the window with the second round of bread we ordered and never recieved. I am still not quite sure what I got but it sure as shit wasn't alfredo. I told the waiter and told him I didn't want it and when he left I thought that was that and reserved myself to not return to the resturant for awhile. Then the chef came out. He was pissed and proceeded to tell me that it was alfredo, he assured me, as he made himself. And then I lost it every shred of decency in my body.
I am sorry for all of you who have never made homemade alfredo because it is not only heaven on earth, but it is also one of the easiest sauces to make.I can make homemade alfredo with whole milk and coffee creamer for Christ's sake! So I bit my tongue until the check arrived and in detail, wrote the recipe on the back of the reciept. If you are going to presume you know how to make alfredo, then at least allow someone to show you how to really do it. Yes I understand the the irony here, allow me to digress anyhow.
This is the type of place you do not cancel a pizza you ordered for fear of being told to never call back. The type of place that if you ask for salt the waitress will literally glare at you as though you were Satan, not respond, and leave the table until your check is ready. When you go to the Pasta Nazis you can often hear screaming from the back, or the front depending on who's fighting, and you laugh about it. And if the brothers chase eachother with knives, as they often do, you know it will not effect your dinner and tip well for the entertainment. Even when the brother was sent to prison for being busted in a coke ring, you hurry up and make your reservation for fear you will never have true italian again for the rest of your life. This place was that epic. Nothing could possible foil the greatness you were about to eat. That is until last night.
I say "Thank-you Baby Brother" because the night was still wonderful. He brought us together on a boring Tuesday night to share amazing news of his huge income jump, the thought of them buying a house, and the notion of trashed birth control pills for him and his wife. It was still beautiful even though the service was hidious. He showed me that one does not need food to have a good time, and for me this is momentous. I also say "Thank-you Baby Brother" because now I can save 45-65 bucks for two, and make my alfredo at home. I know longer idolize the Pasta Nazis and their amazing food.
Alfredo Sauce (without creamer)
1 Cup Heavy Cream
1-2 Cloves Minced Garlic
1/4 Cup of Parmesean
1/2-1 Tsp fresh black pepper
2 Tbl butter
Sea Salt to taste
1.) Saute butter with garlic cloves on medium for 1 minute.
2.) Add remaining ingredients and cook on medium-low until thickened.
P.S. Everything in the above blog is true. The glares, the screaming, the knives and even the cocaine. Don't believe me? Visit Cheyenne, Wyoming and ask anyone, anyone, about the Pasta Nazis and I assure you, you will get directions promptly.

Saturday Again...

I love Saturdays! No really I do, its my day. My day to do whatever it is I want, and today I want to clean. Yep, I have been psyching myself out all week for this day and I think it has worked. That or the Zoloft is finally doing its job! Whatever the reason, I have my day planned to a tee. Living room, bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. Note that I saved the kitchen for last because I hate it. You would think someone that loves to cook as much as I do would want a clean kitchen to do it in. No that's the funny thing about an amazing cook, she/he can cook under any conditions, even WWIV conditions. You learn to cook around the mess. Just push something to the side, ignore the stickiness at your feet, and pray to God for a halfway clean pot.
But the reality is cooking is a spiritual thing, a very creative explosion of ideas, and cleaning... well isn't. I suppose for some it can be quite relieving and a cleansing of the soul. For me it is torture. I, having ADHD, struggle to focus efforts on one thing for an extended period of time. And by extended period of time mean anything longer than 5 minutes. You could say I have a childlike mentality, and when it comes to cleaning you be right because the entire time I am cleaning I am thinking of ways to get out if. But that's where your rightness stops, because my ability to creatively get out of cleaning is simply short of genius. I simply think of the best thing I could make for dinner that would require the most amount of time, search the internet for dessert ideas, and when four o'clock rolls around my hair is done, my boobs are pushed to my chin, and I am wearing the sexiest thing I can muster while getting ready to plate a 4 star meal. Yes ADHD and creativity are bitches, but damn if I haven't impressed the husband more than I can count because of them. Oh and that whole getup most certainly gets me out of cleaning because in order to eat, and then have sex, the husband must wash dishes and silverware.
But perhaps I am being to hard on myself because I am, whether lazy or not, am using my creativity to my advantage, and doing it well. That I can be proud of. Because at the end of the day it doesn't really matter how clean your house is, whether or not you are envied because of how you decorated, or if your house is so organized when your husband leaves you his next wife can find everything. No, what matters is that your husband would never think of leaving you because the quickest way to a mans heart is through his stomach and then his genitals, and as I have mentioned I have those things mastered.

You Otta See It...

Wow, as the title says, you really otta see my house... It kind of slipped to the wayside over the past week along with my drive. Yep I have none and the dishes have long sinced piled up! Do I have words of wisdom for my one follower? How can I give any wisdom? I have fallen into a rut and while I know the best thing to do is grow a pair and just do it, but I havent got the energy to even sprout a hair.
I have found, even though I am only a part-time housewife, this is the hardest job on the planet. I stress about whether or not the hubby ate breakfast, why the bread didnt rise, the mounting pile of clothes, and what to make for dinner that will wow. I am stressed over all of it. And the funny thing is I am constantly reminded of what my father used to say, "a room is not, truly ever clean." While my spacial side says, he's full of shit and lets try, my logical side says he's right. Even if you spent hours cleaning the same room, dust particles will still fly or the dogs will still shed at least one hair.
The women who actually are housewives, and who do it even moderatly well, have my highest praise. You are amazing! I want to be you! And of course, what medications are you taking. No seriously, if not medications, what is your secret. Please tell me. And those women who do this job while raising children...you are not human, you are angels.
Maybe the women of the 1960's and 70's had it right, get the hell out of the house and earn like a man. Money is great, and so is a boss. A boss gives you an agenda, tells you what to do and when to do it. Didnt meet the deadline? Stay late and let the hubby take care of dinner. Yes its a beautiful thing having a boss to be afraid of, because all I have is my husband.
My husband, while he is a wonderful man, was raised by one of those Super Moms of the 80's. She worked, sometimes several jobs at once, and still came home and took care of dinner and the house. I love the man I call my husband, but because he was raised by a WonderWoman he does not question my tactics when it comes to the house. He believes I am simply waiting until tomorrow. Maybe, tomorrow I will do the dishes. Maybe tomorrow I will mop the kitchen floor, vaccum the living room, take out the garbage, and dissenfect the fridge all before four with a rib roast and twice baked potatoes ready when he comes through the door.
I can handle the rib roast and the twice baked potatoes just fine, I am a kickass cook and always have time for that. But the rest...the rest might just have to wait until tomorrow.

Saturday

It is 9:30 in the morning and I am waiting for the coffee to brew. Later I will make a sour cream pound cake and a dinner consisting of ribeye, twice baked potatoes, hericot verts with lemon, and a spring mix salad with homemade dressing of unknown design. Yes that is my day, planned to a tee. What I should really be doing is cleaning. Irony loves me because while it has always been my dream to be a housewife, I absolutly fucking hate cleaning. I hate it with such a passion I would rather have a real job. I mean seriously who wants to not only clean the toilet but to also clean beside the toilet, and the side, from where my husbands dog likes to pee just so he can be "cool" too. Or give my precious dog, Baby Girl/Queen Bitch a bath because Bear, my husbands dog, went pee on her for being a royal bitch. Lord only knows what she does to him, especially since Bear is the most loving, loyal, happpy, extremely excitable dog on the planet. But it happens frequently.
So what is like to be a part time housewife? Most of the time FABULOUS! I am passionate about cooking, obsessed with writing, and did I mention I am passionate about cooking? So little history...my family is from the south, and those of us that didnt have weight loss surgery are huge. So for as long as I have lived I have eaten tons of to die for food with my wonderful family.Well I had weightloss surgery in 2004 and my obsession with food has not ended. More about that in another blog. I like to cook challangeing things such as beef wellington but my husband, bless his heart, is simple when it comes to food. If it has meat, cheese, butter, some form of starch, and something that came out of the can it's "really fucking good."
Please dont gag, but then again if I was you I probably would. I am very much in love with my husband and taking care of him, honeymoon stage never really wore off and its been 4 years. Maybe it hasnt been long enough. But I still love to make sure his underwear are bleached and clean, and even love picking up his 5 day old socks that are so dirty they are moist. No, if you wondering, I am not wearing a 1950's polka dot dress with sky high heels, makeup for a night on the town,and a girdle. Nope. I am wearing my husbands oversized sweat pants, and a little boys "School House Rocks" tee shirt. But believe me, if ,could get away with the first without looking crazy I would so do it.