Thursday has been bluesy. I got a last minute project this morning that took up a lot of time.
After it was done, I’ve been working on a 2011 budget. Daddy needs a new pair of shoes … and a crapload of new equipment.
It’s depressing to look at my wish list and the reality list. Working with photography and video, there are products that could make my life much easier. But it takes budget.
So after I sat looking at numbers for hours, I got up to refill my water bottle around 3:30. I walked to the fridge all mopey like. I played my little pursed-lip trumpet and then collapsed on the ground in a mound of tears and my own feces.
It was rather ugly.
It makes you wonder if I’m two or 105.
My basketball league resumes tonight. The game is at 9 p.m. Yes, I play basketball. For a league. I used to be pretty good … when I played with a bunch of little Christian kids in Jr. High. Among Chicago street kid giants who went to heathen schools and played on real college teams, I’m a pipsqueak with a 0% chance of making anything other than a freethrow … and that’s when someone gets me the ball and I can draw a foul.
Ninety-nine percent of my readers just shut down completely after I talked about basketball for one whole paragraph. They may have reached for a razor blade even. If that’s the case, you need help. Basketball talk shouldn’t encourage you to think about suicide.
If you didn’t know I played basketball, you probably don’t know that I play on a 9-ball pool league too. See, you’re learning all kinds of great things about me today. Every Wednesday night, I’m usually in some grubby bar with a bunch of grubby people waiting for my turn to play pool.
I hope your Thursday was less than bluesy. If it has been bluesy and if you’re lying on the floor in a pile of your own excrement right now, that’s weird, because where’s your computer that you can do both at the same time? But if you are, get up and take a shower. Put on a clean pair of undies and take a walk. It’ll do you some good.
Pictured below: A monument honoring the memory of Paul the Psychic Octopus was unveiled today at the Sea Life Centre in Oberhausen, Germany.
Someone invested in building this monument to woo and people invested in coming out to see it?
Germany, check your pulse? Are you still alive?
Last night I posted a shot from our Wednesday dinner. I promised today that I would post the recipe. This is from the America’s Test Kitchen Winter recipe book. If they get angry for posting without permission, it’s your fault.
- 1 Sheet (from 15-ounce box) Pillsbury pie crust (we used generic)
- 2 tbs olive oil
- 5 garlic cloves
- 1 tbs cumin
- 1 cup pimento-stuffed green olives, quartered
- 1/2 cup golden raisins
- 2 (14.5-ounce) cans diced tomatoes
- 1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 rotisserie chicken, skin discarded (in your mouth), meat shredded into bite-size pieces (about 3 cups)
- Salt and Pepper (not the rap duo)
1. Adjust the oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 400 degrees. Line backing sheet with parchment (I did not do this step). Place dough round on parchment baking sheet and cut into 8 wedges. Bake dough until cooked through (14 minutes). Cool on making sheet until pastry is firm, about five minutes.
2. Meanwhile, heat oil in large skillet over medium high heat until shimmering. Add onion and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and cumin and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Stir in olives, raisins, tomatoes and chicken brothe and cook until thickened about 12 minutes.
3. Stir in chicken and season with salt and pepper. Arrange dough wedges on top of chicken filling and serve.
4. You can thank me later for all the sex you get from your significant other after cooking this dinner.
The brunt of it starts at 3:25.
Via Cynical C
See Suzie walk. See Suzie pray. See Suzie get mocked in a cartoon. Poor Suzie.
Via The Friendly Atheist
I loved these two shots that Tina took of Zoe and Talulah … separately of course. We only have them together in a couple shots.
The cuteness factor might explode your brains so wear a cuteness condom if you have one.