I am officially old. I felt old when I paid my first bills, when I graduated from college, and certainly when I got married. Still, I have never felt older than I did last night.
I went to a knitting club.
To be fair, I didn't WANT to go to the knitting club. My sister-in-law more or less dragged me to it. We had plans to go out for coffee after her little brother's basketball game, but her grandma invited us to her church knitting club and Michelle signed us up. She then INFORMED me that we were going to knitting club, and her grandma was all excited that we were going so I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Now, I was under the impression that there are certain prerequisites of joining a knitting club. Namely:
1. You must be over 65
2. You must have at least one grandchild
3. You must know how to knit
I was zero for three. Yet somehow I found myself on my way to knitting club.
When we arrived at the church, we walked into the nursery and found the knitting club: fifteen or twenty ladies who, at my best estimate, fit all of the three aforementioned prerequisites of being in a knitting club.
We began by going around the circle and "talking about ourselves," which turned out to be "share how many grandchildren/great-grandchildren you have." I informed everyone that I have no grandchildren, but I do have thirty children. I hastily explained my teaching situation, and the shocked/disgusted looks subsided.
After our intros, we started in on the knitting portion of the evening. We pretty much knitted for two hours straight, except for when Michelle and I took a break in the middle for cookies and coffee. Apparently the ladies have those snacks at all of their club meetings. I do not like coffee, but I did take a cookie. Here was my confusion: the cookie tasted like a chalk/sawdust mix with dirt clods instead of chocolate chips. I was in a ROOM FULL OF GRANDMAS. Aren't their cookies supposed to be delicious?!?! I guess this particular group spent all of their time learning how to knit and not enough time learning how to bake.
They SURE DID know how to knit, though!! Michelle's grandma was knitting a mitten and using FOUR knitting needles at the same time! I watched her do it, and I am still not sure how that is possible. SHE ONLY HAS TWO HANDS. The woman sitting on the other side of me was using circular knitting needles. (!) What are THOSE for? Who even THOUGHT of those?? Basically, these women were knitting masterminds. Michelle's attempt at teaching me how to knit a green potholder resulted in a sad tangle of yarn that sort of resembles astroturf. LOOK, GRANDMA! I MADE ASTROTURF!
I was very skeptical about attending this club at first, but it ended up being pretty fun. I might consider going back someday...but I am definitely bringing my own cookies.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Return to The Watershed
Do you remember The Watershed? It is the bar that I blogged about in my previous post titled "Cougars." My dad read that post and decided that he MUST join in on the fun. He really wanted to experience this bar for himself to see whether or not I was fabricating my crazy stories.
Needless to say, I was not fabricating any of my stories. The Watershed is insane.
My parents decided to ditch me and go to Miami for Christmas, but they came up to Lansing the week before Christmas in order to celebrate with Rex and I there. It ended up being one of the most fun weekends of the whole semester - we had a great time. On Saturday night, after opening presents, Rex and my dad and I decided to go out to the Watershed.
We walked in and there was no music playing. All my stories of crazy grinding fifty-somethings were looking a little weak. I began to get nervous that the Watershed wasn't going to be as crazy this time, and my dad was going to think that I embellished the craziness for my blog (which I SO did not). I should not have worried. The Watershed fully delivered.
When we walked a little but further into the bar, I realized that the reason there was no music playing was because a band was setting up near the dance floor. I figured this was a good sign. The three of us walked over to the bar so my dad could order some drinks for us. Right as we walked up, a hugely fat man with approximately half of his teeth stumbled out of the bathroom. Right behind him was another man holding Fatso's hands behind his back. Fatso walked eerily close to me and slurred, "Hey Barbie" before being led away by the sober-er guy standing behind him. After watching them for a minute with equal parts curiosity and disgust, we turned back to the bar. Big letters on the mirror behind the bar shouted, "SATURDAY NIGHT: SEX WITH EXES!!!" The three of us exchanged glances to see if anyone in our party knew what that meant. No one did.
We got our drinks and sat down in a corner booth so we could have an optimum people watching position. These were some of the highlights:
1. My dad turned to us and whispered urgently, "GUYS! Do you see that chick over there? The one in the red top? She is TOTALLY checking me out." We laughed awkwardly at my dad being checked out while out with his children, but he seemed proud that, at almost 54, he's still "got it." The jury is out on whether or not she was actually checking him out, but he is sure she was. He leaned back in the booth, sighed smugly and said, "Yep yep. She is eyein' the Dan Man." Someone please tell me I was adopted. I cannot be related to him.
2. You know how in a lot of high school movies there is a huge party and then there is some awkward couple making out in a corner? Well, that couple apparently grew up and now hangs out at The Watershed. A couple who was easily as old as my parents was sitting in a corner booth opposite of ours. She was sitting on his lap, and they were making out like stereotypical teenagers in post-prom heat. Um....ew. I'm not sure at what age you are too old to make out anymore, but they were past it.
3. Goth Girl was sitting at a center table with a very scared looking date. You would be scared too if you were dating Goth Girl. She was wearing creepy black clothes and even creepier make-up that made her eyes look like a raccoon's. The man with her looked pretty normal, and I couldn't help wondering if Goth Girl looked normal when he asked her out, but then put on her "going out" clothes and is now scary. I don't blame him for looking freaked out - by the creepy way she was looking at him I suspect he may have become a human sacrifice by the end of the night.
4. Finally the lead singer got up to introduce her band. I think she was really pretty for a middle-aged woman, but I can't be sure because I couldn't tear my eyes off of the disaster-waiting-to-happen that was her cleavage. I give it a 75% chance that her boobs fell out of her shirt by the end of the night. The black spandex of her top was working WAY to hard to keep 'em covered. She took the microphone and said, "Hello Watershed!!! We are Sex with Exes, and we are ready to play for you!" Rex, my dad, and I shared a look of new understanding about the "Sex with Exes" sign. But might I say, at what band meeting was that approved as the BEST name they could come up with!?!?!?
Sex with Exes was...um...how do I say this nicely?...not good. They seemed like a high school band that was really cool in high school, but then all of their peers grew up, went to college, and started real careers while Sex with Exes is still trying to make it. They are playing at a dive bar in Haslett, so obviously they haven't "made it" too far yet. Their music wasn't super, and the main problem was that it was SO LOUD. Loud as in take your ipod, turn it up to the highest possible volume level, and stick the earphones in your ears. Then imagine a sound about ten decibals louder. It was an instant headache for all involved. The dance floor cleared pretty quickly because the sound waves blasted everyone away. There was one brave guy, we nicknamed him "Huggy Man," who really wanted to dance so he would go up to his friends and hug them while rhythmically bouncing up and down. Note to Huggy Man: that's not dancing. It's just being weird.
Sadly, we had to leave shortly after Sex with Exes started playing. The hearing loss just wasn't worth it. My dad was impressed with the amount of craziness at The Watershed, though, and I was glad that my blog was proven true. If any of you want to challenge its validity again, I will gladly go back to The Watershed with you to let you see this for yourself. :-)
Needless to say, I was not fabricating any of my stories. The Watershed is insane.
My parents decided to ditch me and go to Miami for Christmas, but they came up to Lansing the week before Christmas in order to celebrate with Rex and I there. It ended up being one of the most fun weekends of the whole semester - we had a great time. On Saturday night, after opening presents, Rex and my dad and I decided to go out to the Watershed.
We walked in and there was no music playing. All my stories of crazy grinding fifty-somethings were looking a little weak. I began to get nervous that the Watershed wasn't going to be as crazy this time, and my dad was going to think that I embellished the craziness for my blog (which I SO did not). I should not have worried. The Watershed fully delivered.
When we walked a little but further into the bar, I realized that the reason there was no music playing was because a band was setting up near the dance floor. I figured this was a good sign. The three of us walked over to the bar so my dad could order some drinks for us. Right as we walked up, a hugely fat man with approximately half of his teeth stumbled out of the bathroom. Right behind him was another man holding Fatso's hands behind his back. Fatso walked eerily close to me and slurred, "Hey Barbie" before being led away by the sober-er guy standing behind him. After watching them for a minute with equal parts curiosity and disgust, we turned back to the bar. Big letters on the mirror behind the bar shouted, "SATURDAY NIGHT: SEX WITH EXES!!!" The three of us exchanged glances to see if anyone in our party knew what that meant. No one did.
We got our drinks and sat down in a corner booth so we could have an optimum people watching position. These were some of the highlights:
1. My dad turned to us and whispered urgently, "GUYS! Do you see that chick over there? The one in the red top? She is TOTALLY checking me out." We laughed awkwardly at my dad being checked out while out with his children, but he seemed proud that, at almost 54, he's still "got it." The jury is out on whether or not she was actually checking him out, but he is sure she was. He leaned back in the booth, sighed smugly and said, "Yep yep. She is eyein' the Dan Man." Someone please tell me I was adopted. I cannot be related to him.
2. You know how in a lot of high school movies there is a huge party and then there is some awkward couple making out in a corner? Well, that couple apparently grew up and now hangs out at The Watershed. A couple who was easily as old as my parents was sitting in a corner booth opposite of ours. She was sitting on his lap, and they were making out like stereotypical teenagers in post-prom heat. Um....ew. I'm not sure at what age you are too old to make out anymore, but they were past it.
3. Goth Girl was sitting at a center table with a very scared looking date. You would be scared too if you were dating Goth Girl. She was wearing creepy black clothes and even creepier make-up that made her eyes look like a raccoon's. The man with her looked pretty normal, and I couldn't help wondering if Goth Girl looked normal when he asked her out, but then put on her "going out" clothes and is now scary. I don't blame him for looking freaked out - by the creepy way she was looking at him I suspect he may have become a human sacrifice by the end of the night.
4. Finally the lead singer got up to introduce her band. I think she was really pretty for a middle-aged woman, but I can't be sure because I couldn't tear my eyes off of the disaster-waiting-to-happen that was her cleavage. I give it a 75% chance that her boobs fell out of her shirt by the end of the night. The black spandex of her top was working WAY to hard to keep 'em covered. She took the microphone and said, "Hello Watershed!!! We are Sex with Exes, and we are ready to play for you!" Rex, my dad, and I shared a look of new understanding about the "Sex with Exes" sign. But might I say, at what band meeting was that approved as the BEST name they could come up with!?!?!?
Sex with Exes was...um...how do I say this nicely?...not good. They seemed like a high school band that was really cool in high school, but then all of their peers grew up, went to college, and started real careers while Sex with Exes is still trying to make it. They are playing at a dive bar in Haslett, so obviously they haven't "made it" too far yet. Their music wasn't super, and the main problem was that it was SO LOUD. Loud as in take your ipod, turn it up to the highest possible volume level, and stick the earphones in your ears. Then imagine a sound about ten decibals louder. It was an instant headache for all involved. The dance floor cleared pretty quickly because the sound waves blasted everyone away. There was one brave guy, we nicknamed him "Huggy Man," who really wanted to dance so he would go up to his friends and hug them while rhythmically bouncing up and down. Note to Huggy Man: that's not dancing. It's just being weird.
Sadly, we had to leave shortly after Sex with Exes started playing. The hearing loss just wasn't worth it. My dad was impressed with the amount of craziness at The Watershed, though, and I was glad that my blog was proven true. If any of you want to challenge its validity again, I will gladly go back to The Watershed with you to let you see this for yourself. :-)
Friday, December 17, 2010
My Babies
I call my sixth graders "my babies," to which they always cry indignantly "We are not babies. We are TWELVE!" But I don't care if they are twelve. They are still my babies, and I love them like they are my own kids. You would love them too, if you saw all of these crazy things that they do. So here is my next batch of stories - names have been changed.
1. Today was the last day of school before Christmas break, and a few kids brought me Christmas presents. Some of them were REALLY nice! I feel very spoiled. Brian came up to me first thing in the morning, looking very sheepish, and said, "Mrs. Webb, I got you an apple for Christmas. The problem is that I got really hungry on the bus this morning, so I ate it. Can I just bring you one in January instead?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
2. In math class, we have a few students who are missing assignments. One girl got her list of missing assignments, then came up and asked, "What page is the 'page 132' assignment on?" Seriously.
3. Did you ever see the show "Kids Say the Darndest Things"? Well, I used to think that show was hilarious. Little kids are so funny! I never knew that twelve year olds would have funny things to say too, but they CERTAINLY do. They ask TONS of questions, which is great for their learning (sometimes). Sometimes they just ask weird questions, though, which are incredibly difficult to answer tactfully. Here are some examples:
1. "What does 'baby got back' mean?"
2. "What is an example of 'stereotype'?" (try to think of a non-offensive
stereotype that you can share with a class of sixth graders. Go ahead. Try.)
3. "Mrs. Webb, you're married right? Do you and Mr. Webb smooch?"
(literally: they said "smooch.")
4. Sometimes I like to bring juice in my water bottle instead of water. One morning I brought in cranberry juice, and as I was drinking it Henry gasped, "Mrs. Webb, is that blood??" I said that yes, of course it is blood. I am a vampire - what did they expect? Ben said, "Whoa! I've never had a vampire teacher before! Are you going to eat me?" I said that no, I generally do not eat my students. Henry said, "What about me? I have very special blood." I said, "Is it spicy? I really like spicy blood..." to which Ben piped up, "WOW - I am SO glad that I am not Mexican right now."
5. Will offered Jen $100 to go to the movies with him - I am not kidding. She said no. That's probably for the best; I feel like getting paid to go on a date is a gateway into prostitution, and I really want Jen to do better in life than that.
6. While I was teaching, my peripheral vision saw something fly through the air. I saw who caught it, so I said, "MAX! Hand me whatever that is." He stood up, hands behind his back, and said, "I don't have anything! I swear!" He tried to shove something in his back pocket so that he could show me he didn't have anything in his hands, but the bouncy ball missed his back pocket and bounced across the room instead. I couldn't help laughing. "You SWEAR you don't have anything?" I confiscated the ball and added it to my ever expanding collection of sixth grade toys.
7. For my lesson on the reading comprehension strategy of prediction, I created a character called "The Great Webbini." I dressed up like a crazy fortune teller and videoed myself teaching the lesson (you can see the lesson at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW5BkoHoYBg). Before I showed the video to my class, I said, "Okay guys - we are going to do something a little crazy today." Ron said, "OH NO! This is MRS. WEBB talking! If SHE says it's crazy, it's going to be REALLY CRAZY!" I'm glad I've got them on their toes.
8. "The Great Webbini" video was uploaded to YouTube so I could show it to my class, and they all said they were going to go home and show the video to their parents. I didn't believe them, but the video has gotten 70 hits within two days. Oh great - their parents are going to think I am nuts.
9. This morning there were - and I kid you not - green panties in the hall. I didn't have any idea what to do with that. So we put them in a fifth grade male teacher's mailbox with a note that says, "Are these yours? They look about your size..."
10. Gigi gasped during class and turned around in her seat. She screeched "I feel violated!" I asked her why and, equally panicky, she responded "The air is touching me!!!!!"
I am going to miss those kiddos for the next two weeks - I can't wait to see what stories I will come up with in 2011. Stay tuned.
1. Today was the last day of school before Christmas break, and a few kids brought me Christmas presents. Some of them were REALLY nice! I feel very spoiled. Brian came up to me first thing in the morning, looking very sheepish, and said, "Mrs. Webb, I got you an apple for Christmas. The problem is that I got really hungry on the bus this morning, so I ate it. Can I just bring you one in January instead?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
2. In math class, we have a few students who are missing assignments. One girl got her list of missing assignments, then came up and asked, "What page is the 'page 132' assignment on?" Seriously.
3. Did you ever see the show "Kids Say the Darndest Things"? Well, I used to think that show was hilarious. Little kids are so funny! I never knew that twelve year olds would have funny things to say too, but they CERTAINLY do. They ask TONS of questions, which is great for their learning (sometimes). Sometimes they just ask weird questions, though, which are incredibly difficult to answer tactfully. Here are some examples:
1. "What does 'baby got back' mean?"
2. "What is an example of 'stereotype'?" (try to think of a non-offensive
stereotype that you can share with a class of sixth graders. Go ahead. Try.)
3. "Mrs. Webb, you're married right? Do you and Mr. Webb smooch?"
(literally: they said "smooch.")
4. Sometimes I like to bring juice in my water bottle instead of water. One morning I brought in cranberry juice, and as I was drinking it Henry gasped, "Mrs. Webb, is that blood??" I said that yes, of course it is blood. I am a vampire - what did they expect? Ben said, "Whoa! I've never had a vampire teacher before! Are you going to eat me?" I said that no, I generally do not eat my students. Henry said, "What about me? I have very special blood." I said, "Is it spicy? I really like spicy blood..." to which Ben piped up, "WOW - I am SO glad that I am not Mexican right now."
5. Will offered Jen $100 to go to the movies with him - I am not kidding. She said no. That's probably for the best; I feel like getting paid to go on a date is a gateway into prostitution, and I really want Jen to do better in life than that.
6. While I was teaching, my peripheral vision saw something fly through the air. I saw who caught it, so I said, "MAX! Hand me whatever that is." He stood up, hands behind his back, and said, "I don't have anything! I swear!" He tried to shove something in his back pocket so that he could show me he didn't have anything in his hands, but the bouncy ball missed his back pocket and bounced across the room instead. I couldn't help laughing. "You SWEAR you don't have anything?" I confiscated the ball and added it to my ever expanding collection of sixth grade toys.
7. For my lesson on the reading comprehension strategy of prediction, I created a character called "The Great Webbini." I dressed up like a crazy fortune teller and videoed myself teaching the lesson (you can see the lesson at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yW5BkoHoYBg). Before I showed the video to my class, I said, "Okay guys - we are going to do something a little crazy today." Ron said, "OH NO! This is MRS. WEBB talking! If SHE says it's crazy, it's going to be REALLY CRAZY!" I'm glad I've got them on their toes.
8. "The Great Webbini" video was uploaded to YouTube so I could show it to my class, and they all said they were going to go home and show the video to their parents. I didn't believe them, but the video has gotten 70 hits within two days. Oh great - their parents are going to think I am nuts.
9. This morning there were - and I kid you not - green panties in the hall. I didn't have any idea what to do with that. So we put them in a fifth grade male teacher's mailbox with a note that says, "Are these yours? They look about your size..."
10. Gigi gasped during class and turned around in her seat. She screeched "I feel violated!" I asked her why and, equally panicky, she responded "The air is touching me!!!!!"
I am going to miss those kiddos for the next two weeks - I can't wait to see what stories I will come up with in 2011. Stay tuned.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Matchmaker
I would be a horrible matchmaker. This is a fact. If I ever offer to set you up with someone, politely decline.
The first indication that I would be a horrible matchmaker came in high school. My first true attempt at matchmaking was to set up my friend Beth with the object of her affections, Rex Webb. CLEARLY that match worked out really well... I married him.
I play matchmaker at school, too. I am hoping perhaps one of these matches will be successful and cancel out my previous matchmaking transgression. Sixth graders have crushes on each other ALL THE TIME. When people have mutual crushes on each other, they start "going out," whatever that means in sixth grade. If you thought your teachers had no clue who you had a crush on in middle school, you are probably wrong. It's pretty obvious. I pick the "couples" that I like and sit them next to each other in seating charts. If I think they are a bad couple, I sit them at opposite sides of the room. Don't judge me - I derive great joy from this. Plus, you would be amazed at how much a seating chart can make or break a middle school couple. The relationships are largely based on convenience, and if they no longer sit together then sometimes it just isn't worth working through the long distance.
Today I was trying to match people again. It went poorly. I wasn't trying to match my students since we had a SNOW DAY, but I was trying to match my friend Katie. Specifically, I was trying to match her with one of Rex's brothers. She always talks about how she wishes she could meet a guy like Rex because he's so amazing (duh). I told her that he has two brothers, and she should marry one of them because then we would be pseudo-related! Woot! I told her that their names are Tom and Jake. She began asking about them...and that is where things started to fall apart.
Katie: How old is Jake?
Me: Umm...almost...twenty.
Katie: (looks at me suspiciously) Exactly HOW CLOSE to twenty?
Me: Erm...you know...three years...and a few months...
Katie: So he's...sixteen?
Me: Yeah...
So then Katie suggested we move on to Tom.
Katie: How old is Tom?
Me: Almost nineteen.
Katie: How close to nineteen?
Me: Only a couple months. He's seriously close. (It's six months...but oh well.)
Katie: Okay, well let me see a picture of him on facebook.
(we proceed to the computer to stalk Rex's brothers)
Katie: Ew. There is a bloody deer in his profile picture.
Me: Um, if you're not going to be able to handle bloody deer, then I should stop you right now. You're not going to marry a Webb.
Katie: No, I can handle it. But that's gross, so let me see a picture of Jake.
(we proceed to Jake's facebook)
Katie: He is in a football uniform. I hate football.
Me: FINE! I'll find a different picture! He plays a million sports.
(I click on his profile picture album)
Katie: He's wearing a U of M shirt in that picture.
Me: OH don't worry about that! He's not THAT big of a Michigan fan...he pretty much just has that shirt. (WOW...total lie...Jake's the biggest U of M fan I know, including my friends who go to U of M).
Katie: Okay.
Me: Actually, I don't think you and Jake are that great of a match after all...
Katie: Yeah, at least Tom is a legal adult.
Me: Okay. So you can marry Tom then.
So it's settled. Katie is going to marry Tom. Now she just has to meet him...and sift through the "customizations" I made to make him sound like her type...and then fall in love with him and marry him and blah blah blah...
Why do I feel like this isn't going to work out so well?
Perhaps I had better go back to my sixth grade matchmaking. Or possibly give up the art altogether...I don't think it is my best talent.
The first indication that I would be a horrible matchmaker came in high school. My first true attempt at matchmaking was to set up my friend Beth with the object of her affections, Rex Webb. CLEARLY that match worked out really well... I married him.
I play matchmaker at school, too. I am hoping perhaps one of these matches will be successful and cancel out my previous matchmaking transgression. Sixth graders have crushes on each other ALL THE TIME. When people have mutual crushes on each other, they start "going out," whatever that means in sixth grade. If you thought your teachers had no clue who you had a crush on in middle school, you are probably wrong. It's pretty obvious. I pick the "couples" that I like and sit them next to each other in seating charts. If I think they are a bad couple, I sit them at opposite sides of the room. Don't judge me - I derive great joy from this. Plus, you would be amazed at how much a seating chart can make or break a middle school couple. The relationships are largely based on convenience, and if they no longer sit together then sometimes it just isn't worth working through the long distance.
Today I was trying to match people again. It went poorly. I wasn't trying to match my students since we had a SNOW DAY, but I was trying to match my friend Katie. Specifically, I was trying to match her with one of Rex's brothers. She always talks about how she wishes she could meet a guy like Rex because he's so amazing (duh). I told her that he has two brothers, and she should marry one of them because then we would be pseudo-related! Woot! I told her that their names are Tom and Jake. She began asking about them...and that is where things started to fall apart.
Katie: How old is Jake?
Me: Umm...almost...twenty.
Katie: (looks at me suspiciously) Exactly HOW CLOSE to twenty?
Me: Erm...you know...three years...and a few months...
Katie: So he's...sixteen?
Me: Yeah...
So then Katie suggested we move on to Tom.
Katie: How old is Tom?
Me: Almost nineteen.
Katie: How close to nineteen?
Me: Only a couple months. He's seriously close. (It's six months...but oh well.)
Katie: Okay, well let me see a picture of him on facebook.
(we proceed to the computer to stalk Rex's brothers)
Katie: Ew. There is a bloody deer in his profile picture.
Me: Um, if you're not going to be able to handle bloody deer, then I should stop you right now. You're not going to marry a Webb.
Katie: No, I can handle it. But that's gross, so let me see a picture of Jake.
(we proceed to Jake's facebook)
Katie: He is in a football uniform. I hate football.
Me: FINE! I'll find a different picture! He plays a million sports.
(I click on his profile picture album)
Katie: He's wearing a U of M shirt in that picture.
Me: OH don't worry about that! He's not THAT big of a Michigan fan...he pretty much just has that shirt. (WOW...total lie...Jake's the biggest U of M fan I know, including my friends who go to U of M).
Katie: Okay.
Me: Actually, I don't think you and Jake are that great of a match after all...
Katie: Yeah, at least Tom is a legal adult.
Me: Okay. So you can marry Tom then.
So it's settled. Katie is going to marry Tom. Now she just has to meet him...and sift through the "customizations" I made to make him sound like her type...and then fall in love with him and marry him and blah blah blah...
Why do I feel like this isn't going to work out so well?
Perhaps I had better go back to my sixth grade matchmaking. Or possibly give up the art altogether...I don't think it is my best talent.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Special Needs
Rex is trying to convince me that we need to adopt a special needs ferret. I was about to tell him that HE must have special needs if he thinks we can handle any more pets, but then I saw the picture of the ferret.
It is SO cute! How can you say no to that face? One of Rex's coworkers is trying to give away her ferret because she doesn't have time to take care of it any more. It is deaf, so it would be kind of a challenge. She is giving it away with its entire cage and all of its supplies - what a deal! We HAVE always talked about getting a ferret...but then again I'm not sure there is a domesticated animal that we have not talked about getting.
So now I am in a dilemma...should I agree to the insanity of adding another member to our already way too furry Webb family, or should I be the voice of reason and introduce some all-too-rare sanity and logic into our decisions?
Only time will tell.
It is SO cute! How can you say no to that face? One of Rex's coworkers is trying to give away her ferret because she doesn't have time to take care of it any more. It is deaf, so it would be kind of a challenge. She is giving it away with its entire cage and all of its supplies - what a deal! We HAVE always talked about getting a ferret...but then again I'm not sure there is a domesticated animal that we have not talked about getting.
So now I am in a dilemma...should I agree to the insanity of adding another member to our already way too furry Webb family, or should I be the voice of reason and introduce some all-too-rare sanity and logic into our decisions?
Only time will tell.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My Cooking Fail
I really want to meet the person who decided that slow-cooker recipes are easy. Our conversation would go something like this:
Me: Oh hi!
Slow-Cooker Guy: Hello.
Me: Are you the one who said slow-cooker recipes are easy?
Slow-Cooker Guy: Yeah! You wanted to talk to me?
Me: Yes I did. I just thought I should mention that I HATE YOU!! *punches him in the face*
Let me assure you - just because a recipe is cooked in a crock pot does NOT mean that it is easy. Do not believe the lies that people like Slow-Cooker Guy tell you. They are just trying to sell slow-cookers.
I have a dilemma: my in-laws are coming over on Sunday, and I have to cook for them. Don't make the mistake of thinking these are any old people who might be impressed with Macaroni and Cheese, nacho chips, and a Coca-Cola (like I would). This family comes from a long line of FANTASTIC cooks. They won't admit it to you, but I think they might secretly be related to Martha Stewart AND Betty Crocker. Possibly even Aunt Jemima, even though she's black. If you met Jake and Michelle (Rex's siblings), you would believe that they have a black ancestor somewhere. But definitely one who can cook.
I digress. Back to my cooking dilemma. OBVIOUSLY I needed to come up with some great home made recipe that would be easy to cook and still pass as "Okay, I guess this girl really is taking care of my son/brother." I decided to go with Chicken Tortilla Soup. I found an "easy" slow-cooker recipe, and I figured that if I paired this dish with other Mexican accouterments (home made guacamole with chips, quesadillas, etc.) that I would have a pretty delicious meal on its way. I decided to trial run this recipe tonight so that I could see if it was as delicious as the recipe claimed.
WELL. I assembled my ingredients and began to cook. The recipe calls for "shredded chicken," but I happen to know that effectively shredding chicken is pretty difficult. I asked Rex if cubed chicken would be okay, but he said, "Well, it would be okay, but shredded would really taste a lot better..." So obviously I had to shred it. The thing about shredding chicken is that you have to cook the chicken all the way through first, and then you shred it. I took the chicken breasts out of the freezer and put them in the microwave to defrost. These chicken breasts were HUGE!! I don't know if the chicken was on steroids or just well endowed, but our dinner definitely included either the A-Rod or the Dolly Parton of the chicken world.
When the chicken FINALLY defrosted (after three rounds of hitting the "defrost" button and trying to get them to thaw), I put them in the pan I had prepared. I discovered that cooking chicken this way is not very effective when the chicken breasts are as thick as a dictionary. The outside of the chicken CHARRED, and I kept flipping it over and flipping it over, but I couldn't get the middle to cook. I cut the breasts in half and kept trying, but the middle stayed a pleasant shade of bubble-gum pink. By the time the outsides were completely charred, our entire apartment was filled with smoke. YES I had the stovetop fan on, but it couldn't eat up the billowing burned-y steam fast enough. Rex had to open the door to our apartment and turn on our huge window fan in the doorway to try to aim the smoke in the hall (great - so all our neighbors could discover what a fabulous cook I am).
Finally I gave up on the chicken. I left it in the pan (I mean, it couldn't really get worse), and I decided to try preparing the other parts of the soup. I could attempt to cook new chicken once I had the rest of it done. I got out the canned goods I needed and went to find the can opener, but Rex informed me that it was in the dishwasher. So I couldn't put the canned ingredients in, but no problem. I decided I would just put in the spices first! I got out the spices and went to measure them, but I had no measuring spoons. Rex informed me that these too were in the dishwasher. Awesome. I said, "Great Rex. I have been working on this soup for forty-five minutes, I have put in all of the ingredients I can, and our 'soup' is comprised of only TWO CUPS OF WATER!"
Not a good start to my cooking experiment. I was beginning to wonder how much Rex's mom would frown at me if I just got some Hot N Ready's. I suddenly remembered another part to my soup - vegetables! I could begin cutting up the vegetables! I quickly retrieved my slap chop and prepared to chop vegetables. I looked at my recipe, and it called for "one medium sized onion." What the dickens does "medium" mean? That is so vague! I looked in my refrigerator and found that I had two onions. Dang. I was hoping I would have three, and then I could line them up in size order and just pick the middle one. No luck. I was stuck with two onions. I could only have larger and smaller. No medium. I chose the larger one (because after all, who doesn't like onions?) and I set to chopping.
Once I finished chopping my "medium" onion, I began to mince my garlic. Now, I have an issue with this. A confession, really. I am almost 22 years old, and I have NO idea what "mince" means. To the best of my knowledge, "mince" is a fancy word for "chop up really small." I feel like it probably has a more precise meaning, but please don't ask me what that is. As I chopped my garlic into microscopic pieces, I suddenly felt tears running down my cheeks. I was not crying because of my frustration with the garlic, the unopenable cans, or even my chicken ashes. I wasn't even crying at all, but rather my eyes were watering uncontrollably from the freshly chopped pile of medium onion that was sitting next to me. I guess the oils didn't hit my eyes until I started on the garlic, but then they certainly hit me in full force! Have you ever tried to "mince" something when your eyes are watering so badly that you can't even see what you're cutting? I have. I'm lucky I didn't chop a finger off.
FINALLY, after the dishwasher was finished and my burned chicken was salvaged to the best of my ability, I threw all of my ingredients into the crock pot. Then I suddenly realized that I had been using the recipe I was going to use for Rex's family, which has about fifteen servings (you should meet his brothers - they eat a lot). Yep, I had fifteen servings of Charred Soup for only Rex and me.
I let it simmer for the hours required, and I skeptically took off the lid to get a whiff. Surprisingly, it did not smell horrible. Rex and I decided to try some (what did we have to lose?) and even more surprisingly, it tasted pretty good! We even had seconds! Even with us having seconds, though, there are still eleven servings left in the crock pot. Ha ha. Anyway, I decided that we are going to go with this recipe on Sunday after all. Hopefully I learned enough from this experience that we can make it work for Rex's family. They had better brace themselves for this. But hey, if it goes horribly wrong, there are always Hot and Ready's. I may not be in the bloodline of Betty Crocker, but I think I might be distantly related to the Little Caesars guy.
Me: Oh hi!
Slow-Cooker Guy: Hello.
Me: Are you the one who said slow-cooker recipes are easy?
Slow-Cooker Guy: Yeah! You wanted to talk to me?
Me: Yes I did. I just thought I should mention that I HATE YOU!! *punches him in the face*
Let me assure you - just because a recipe is cooked in a crock pot does NOT mean that it is easy. Do not believe the lies that people like Slow-Cooker Guy tell you. They are just trying to sell slow-cookers.
I have a dilemma: my in-laws are coming over on Sunday, and I have to cook for them. Don't make the mistake of thinking these are any old people who might be impressed with Macaroni and Cheese, nacho chips, and a Coca-Cola (like I would). This family comes from a long line of FANTASTIC cooks. They won't admit it to you, but I think they might secretly be related to Martha Stewart AND Betty Crocker. Possibly even Aunt Jemima, even though she's black. If you met Jake and Michelle (Rex's siblings), you would believe that they have a black ancestor somewhere. But definitely one who can cook.
I digress. Back to my cooking dilemma. OBVIOUSLY I needed to come up with some great home made recipe that would be easy to cook and still pass as "Okay, I guess this girl really is taking care of my son/brother." I decided to go with Chicken Tortilla Soup. I found an "easy" slow-cooker recipe, and I figured that if I paired this dish with other Mexican accouterments (home made guacamole with chips, quesadillas, etc.) that I would have a pretty delicious meal on its way. I decided to trial run this recipe tonight so that I could see if it was as delicious as the recipe claimed.
WELL. I assembled my ingredients and began to cook. The recipe calls for "shredded chicken," but I happen to know that effectively shredding chicken is pretty difficult. I asked Rex if cubed chicken would be okay, but he said, "Well, it would be okay, but shredded would really taste a lot better..." So obviously I had to shred it. The thing about shredding chicken is that you have to cook the chicken all the way through first, and then you shred it. I took the chicken breasts out of the freezer and put them in the microwave to defrost. These chicken breasts were HUGE!! I don't know if the chicken was on steroids or just well endowed, but our dinner definitely included either the A-Rod or the Dolly Parton of the chicken world.
When the chicken FINALLY defrosted (after three rounds of hitting the "defrost" button and trying to get them to thaw), I put them in the pan I had prepared. I discovered that cooking chicken this way is not very effective when the chicken breasts are as thick as a dictionary. The outside of the chicken CHARRED, and I kept flipping it over and flipping it over, but I couldn't get the middle to cook. I cut the breasts in half and kept trying, but the middle stayed a pleasant shade of bubble-gum pink. By the time the outsides were completely charred, our entire apartment was filled with smoke. YES I had the stovetop fan on, but it couldn't eat up the billowing burned-y steam fast enough. Rex had to open the door to our apartment and turn on our huge window fan in the doorway to try to aim the smoke in the hall (great - so all our neighbors could discover what a fabulous cook I am).
Finally I gave up on the chicken. I left it in the pan (I mean, it couldn't really get worse), and I decided to try preparing the other parts of the soup. I could attempt to cook new chicken once I had the rest of it done. I got out the canned goods I needed and went to find the can opener, but Rex informed me that it was in the dishwasher. So I couldn't put the canned ingredients in, but no problem. I decided I would just put in the spices first! I got out the spices and went to measure them, but I had no measuring spoons. Rex informed me that these too were in the dishwasher. Awesome. I said, "Great Rex. I have been working on this soup for forty-five minutes, I have put in all of the ingredients I can, and our 'soup' is comprised of only TWO CUPS OF WATER!"
Not a good start to my cooking experiment. I was beginning to wonder how much Rex's mom would frown at me if I just got some Hot N Ready's. I suddenly remembered another part to my soup - vegetables! I could begin cutting up the vegetables! I quickly retrieved my slap chop and prepared to chop vegetables. I looked at my recipe, and it called for "one medium sized onion." What the dickens does "medium" mean? That is so vague! I looked in my refrigerator and found that I had two onions. Dang. I was hoping I would have three, and then I could line them up in size order and just pick the middle one. No luck. I was stuck with two onions. I could only have larger and smaller. No medium. I chose the larger one (because after all, who doesn't like onions?) and I set to chopping.
Once I finished chopping my "medium" onion, I began to mince my garlic. Now, I have an issue with this. A confession, really. I am almost 22 years old, and I have NO idea what "mince" means. To the best of my knowledge, "mince" is a fancy word for "chop up really small." I feel like it probably has a more precise meaning, but please don't ask me what that is. As I chopped my garlic into microscopic pieces, I suddenly felt tears running down my cheeks. I was not crying because of my frustration with the garlic, the unopenable cans, or even my chicken ashes. I wasn't even crying at all, but rather my eyes were watering uncontrollably from the freshly chopped pile of medium onion that was sitting next to me. I guess the oils didn't hit my eyes until I started on the garlic, but then they certainly hit me in full force! Have you ever tried to "mince" something when your eyes are watering so badly that you can't even see what you're cutting? I have. I'm lucky I didn't chop a finger off.
FINALLY, after the dishwasher was finished and my burned chicken was salvaged to the best of my ability, I threw all of my ingredients into the crock pot. Then I suddenly realized that I had been using the recipe I was going to use for Rex's family, which has about fifteen servings (you should meet his brothers - they eat a lot). Yep, I had fifteen servings of Charred Soup for only Rex and me.
I let it simmer for the hours required, and I skeptically took off the lid to get a whiff. Surprisingly, it did not smell horrible. Rex and I decided to try some (what did we have to lose?) and even more surprisingly, it tasted pretty good! We even had seconds! Even with us having seconds, though, there are still eleven servings left in the crock pot. Ha ha. Anyway, I decided that we are going to go with this recipe on Sunday after all. Hopefully I learned enough from this experience that we can make it work for Rex's family. They had better brace themselves for this. But hey, if it goes horribly wrong, there are always Hot and Ready's. I may not be in the bloodline of Betty Crocker, but I think I might be distantly related to the Little Caesars guy.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Reason Number 5463785438 Why I Like Rex
Rex routinely gets up early to eat breakfast with me and send me off to school. This is super nice of him since he usually doesn't have class until noon, and it is very appreciated.
Lately, though, he has stepped it up to the next level. It has been getting colder, so he decided that he has to take extra provisions. Now he gets up BEFORE I do so that he can have hot chocolate ready for me by the time I am ready to eat breakfast. About five minutes before I have to leave, he goes out to my "chariot," (AKA our janky car), wipes off any frost or snow, and starts it for me so that it will be warm when I am ready to drive to work.
Also, just because he knows it makes me feel cool, he puts hot chocolate in a to go mug so that I can take it with me to work. He heard me talking a while ago about how I feel lame since all of the other teachers walk in with their fancy Biggby and Starbucks coffees, and I don't even LIKE coffee. He came up with the plan that when I bring hot chocolate in a travel coffee mug, no one will even know that I am not drinking coffee, and I will still look cool. Oh yeah - at today's staff meeting, I sipped hot beverages with the best of them. Only one teacher didn't have a coffee. Seriously. What a loser. ;-) Who says that being popular and looking cool is only for the students?! Luckily, with my daily hot chocolate in my totally hip mug, I officially consider myself part of the "in" crowd. Ha ha!
So yeah, I think Rex spoils me a little, but that's his fault. It's not like I am going to say no! Just don't tell anyone that I drink hot chocolate instead of coffee...I might get shunned.
Lately, though, he has stepped it up to the next level. It has been getting colder, so he decided that he has to take extra provisions. Now he gets up BEFORE I do so that he can have hot chocolate ready for me by the time I am ready to eat breakfast. About five minutes before I have to leave, he goes out to my "chariot," (AKA our janky car), wipes off any frost or snow, and starts it for me so that it will be warm when I am ready to drive to work.
Also, just because he knows it makes me feel cool, he puts hot chocolate in a to go mug so that I can take it with me to work. He heard me talking a while ago about how I feel lame since all of the other teachers walk in with their fancy Biggby and Starbucks coffees, and I don't even LIKE coffee. He came up with the plan that when I bring hot chocolate in a travel coffee mug, no one will even know that I am not drinking coffee, and I will still look cool. Oh yeah - at today's staff meeting, I sipped hot beverages with the best of them. Only one teacher didn't have a coffee. Seriously. What a loser. ;-) Who says that being popular and looking cool is only for the students?! Luckily, with my daily hot chocolate in my totally hip mug, I officially consider myself part of the "in" crowd. Ha ha!
So yeah, I think Rex spoils me a little, but that's his fault. It's not like I am going to say no! Just don't tell anyone that I drink hot chocolate instead of coffee...I might get shunned.
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