Let Them Eat Cake

Not sure how it happened, but somehow Gerard and I successfully made a year of marriage...a WHOLE year!!  It was this past Sunday to be exact. I'm sure him traveling as often as he does made it go a little faster than most couples that experience their first year.  Since the amount of time we've actually spent together in person only equals about a solid 3 months...but that's neither here nor there.

Either way, I'm tooting my horn cause I'm proud of US.  Yeah, us.

So here's a look back at that beautiful day a year ago...10~2~10

My father seeing me for the first time (well, as a bride)

Me and my main broads (minus my mom, she's my main girl)...

Now me and my dude....

See ya later!!

Now, the main reason I decided to post about this milestone in our life wasn't to show you our awesome photos, it was actually to talk about the tradition of eating the cake.  And I don't mean the cake that day (well, I do), I mean eating your wedding cake a year later.  Who came up with this?  Who thought that with all the pastries and baked goods available in the world that eating YEAR OLD cake was a genius idea?  Were they really poor?  Lacking taste buds?  I don't really know.  All I do know, is that you can read website page after page of people taking part in this tradition...some who took the proper measures to store their cake had good things to write, and those that were busy the day after their wedding wrote of horror stories and trips to the hospital.

I can tell you this, I DID NOT properly store my cake.  I know I didn't.  And I'm guilty of even realizing this the day I placed it in our freezer.  First, let me show you how beautiful my cake WAS:

That shit's classy...right?!  Don't mind the fact that it's neither raised, nor does it have the stuff on the table that goes there...that goes under a list of crap that went wrong on our wedding day.  (i.e. fat wedding planner that ruined ceremony, hotel being assholes, missing boutonnieres, etc., etc.)  But that day has come and gone, and I can say that a year later...I'm still happy with the whole day.  Anywho, back to the cake.  This is what my cake DID look like.  And from what little bit I had smashed in my mouth and face by my adoring husband, I remember it tasted pretty good. 

When the hotel gave us the box with the top tier of cake to take home, they didn't close the box because of the giant fondant bow at the top...which I appreciate.  But as a two-day old newlywed trying to pack for my honeymoon and finish unwrapping gifts, I didn't really give much thought to the proper steps I should take in freezing my top layer.  With little time to spare, I simply smashed the bow, closed the box, and tied a Target (I told you I was classy) bag around the thing...with good intentions of finding some kind of actual Tupperware or cake holder to place it in before we left on a two-week honeymoon.  Long-story short...that never happened.  And during this past year, we also had our fridge die on us...so I had to rush my beautiful crushed cake to my parents house, and I'm not sure if it thawed a little and re-froze in the process.

10~2~11

Better known as D-Day to my intestinal tract.  Geraldine and I followed careful instructions on properly thawing our "cake" and I know he was really looking forward to having it as our dessert that night.  We opened the box to see a yellow-ish colored wedding cake, with a very smashed bow...beautiful.

After getting out the same knife we used to cut our cake a year earlier, I tried to trick Gerard into helping me "cut the cake" by pretending it was still just too frozen.  Yeah, I'm lame like that.  With the strong scent of freezer burn piercing our nostrils, we both had a bite (actually Jrock had two). 

And let me tell you, year old cake...tastes like shit.  I made us both commit to swallowing a little, just in case there was some weird superstition, and let Gerard spit the rest of his out on the plate.  As a person with IBS, I just pray there isn't any other weird wedding traditions where I have to eat aged foods...cause this tradition is overrated.  Maybe next year I'll just have the bakery recreate a fresh one...mini in size and price of course.



I Hate Rachel Ray

Okay, maybe hate is a strong word.  But I do really get annoyed with her because I'm envious of her, and pretty much any woman that can throw a meal together with ease.  The way she whirls her large ass around the kitchen and somehow piles ALL the ingredients she needs with only one trip to the fridge into those arms of hers...I'll probably never have the ability to do.  I'm jealous...super jealous.  Why can't I throw some crap I have on hand and start with some "EVOO"  and create a delicious meal my husband would swoon for?

Well, for starters I never really learned how.  My mother was never much of a cook herself, and therefore I never knew much about working my way around the kitchen.  But I'm not going to blame my mom's super busy schedule on my inability to learn...cause obviously I picked up on other things, like baking.  But what I'm trying to convey, is that if we ever want a nice home cooked meal, seriously...Gerard HAS to make it.  That's just a fact.

Don't get me wrong, over the past year of marriage and earlier (yes, this weekend will be one year) I've tried my hand at a few recipes.  I use cookbooks, look up recipes on the internet, and really try my best to make a dish that will not only taste great, but won't burn my kitchen down.  So far, most of my meals consist of pure panic, anxiety, and a dash of love...which usually makes for okay meat, and blase sides.

Gerard has a flight home from Phoenix tonight, and he'll be home about 6 am.  He then has to go to work and give a presentation, so I figured he'd be in full-on asshole zombie mode.  What better time than tomorrow night to try and annoy him with one of my shitty home cooked meals?  Perfect!

Last night I thought I'd go get some groceries to start on my progress of being a good wife.  I spent a pretty penny and felt pretty good about most of what I purchased.  Only downside, is that I waited until today to actually figure out what I was going to make. 
Cooking for Geraldine gives me so much anxiety, that I usually come up a list of things for him to choose from...with the last 3-4 being recipes that I've already made him suffer through, or one of the gross concoctions I make for myself when he's out of town (just mark this as food he has no desire to eat). 

Today I emailed him a list of about 5 different choices, and he narrowed it down to the top 2.  Me being the really smart girl that I am, chose the recipe that I've never in my life made before, over the one that I've successfully created (yes! I have one!) and would only need to pick up one extra ingredient for.  But why make my life easy?!?  Really...that would make NO sense.  I wanted to be extra perfect for my zombie/asshole husband and went with this bad boy:

Apple Cider Pulled Chicken Sandwiches with Apple Slaw

Holy Fall...right?!  What a perfect meal for me to make!  (Well, I guess we'll technically have to wait and see).  I had to run to Kroger again tonight to get the rest of the ingredients I didn't have at home.  I spent 30 minutes walking around the joint looking for Apple Cider, one of the main ingredients of the dish.  After getting a very kind store associate to help me look (to make sure I wasn't illiterate) we came to the conclusion that the store does not YET carry apple cider.  Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!  Holy panic.  What do you mean you don't carry apple cider.  Doesn't Walmart, the mall and every other store have shit out for Christmas?  How did Kroger not get the memo??  I was so upset that I somehow managed to pick yet another recipe that was going to cause me more stress than needed...what. a. shame.  I grabbed a $3 bottle of wine on my way out the door to head home and sulk.

It was on my way out of the parking lot I thought about going across the street to Publix.  Oh Publix, you were like a beacon guiding me through the night.  I walked right in (and since I rarely shop there wandered around like an idiot) and finally found the holy grail...my apple cider.  For Publix marked-up prices of course.

After 3 different grocery store trips, I finally drove home feeling pretty confident about tomorrow night's meal.  I went to unload the car with my amazing ingredients, smiling like an idiot because I felt like THE. BEST. WIFE. IN. THE. WORLD.

At that very moment something crashed at my feet.  Oh shit.  I feared that it would be one of my key ingredients, but no, far worse...it was my bottle of happiness.  My cheap wine.  I could have screamed.  I did curse...

I decided I had to man-up and clean the mess, and then I realized that I needed to use my head.  I grabbed a plastic cup and sat the dirty bag of glass shards in it.  Wine was still pouring out of the holes in the bag like a champagne fountain at a wedding...I had to act fast!!  It was a like a Vietnam flashback...so yes, this is what I did:

I made sure to strain the glass shard wine, so that maybe I could salvage some...just any of the bottle that was just soaking into the concrete.  As you can see, I got enough for one glass.  Sure I might now have some bleeding in the mouth...but to me, it was worth every drop.

I just hope tomorrow's meal turns out to be worth all the trouble. If not, I'm going to start watching every episode of Rachel Ray to learn what that slut knows.

Contentment

Well, it's officially September 25th and I survived the weekend without going to my high school reunion.  I didn't freak, I didn't even feel like I was missing out...and thanks to Facebook I can see that many others didn't make it either.  I think part of the reason I feel pretty good about my decision, is that I spent the night with the people that mean the most...starting with Jared's family for dinner, then a little drinking with my family for my cousins birthday, and ended the night at home with beers with my best friend and husband (okay, so I'm the only one that had beers).

I hate to get all sappy on you, cause that's really not my style...but spending time with those people made me realize that I was exactly where I wanted to be.  Not trying to explain what I've been up to over the past 10 years to people that there is clearly a reason I haven't talked to.  Or running into the girls that were in the "it" crowd so many moons ago...I still see them, they didn't go anywhere.

I have agreed to meet up with my friend that came in from Los Angeles tomorrow, but I'm just going to keep my head up, and wait to hear how her new porn acting career is going.  Let's hope I don't have a tourrettes moment and blurt out something I'll regret.  But if I do, I'm sure it'll make for a pretty good next blog posting.

I'm now about to pour a glass of wine, sit on my back porch (it is 79 degrees) and wait on my husband to finish dinner.  Yes, if we're going to eat something good, it HAS to come from him.


I apologize for the actual nice posting, I hope to have something far more entertaining to write about next time. I do have a First Anniversary rapidly approaching (7 days), a Halloween Party that I really hope is filled with debauchery, a trip to Los Angeles, and a trip to Mexico...so yeah, we should have plenty to cover.  Oh, and I still hate work, so I'm sure I'll post about that too.


Until next time...

A Rough Decade

Okay, so I know I'm a terrible American for not posting something on my blog for the 10 year anniversary of September 11th.  I do remember where I was, how I felt, and how thankful I am...blah, blah, some crap everyone else posted on Facebook.  I'm actually a very emotional person, so writing about serious things does not appeal to me...I'm home alone (oh boy, there's a shock) and don't feel like getting all sappy and crying while we discuss that over a $3 bottle of wine. 


And not only did I not write about that, I also didn't write about the two weeks I was away from home; one for work, and the other for play.  Nor did I write about how big of a failure my "garden" is now that I left it stranded for those two weeks...I'm talking we had to rip the watermelon right out.  It was just ridiculous.

What I do want to talk about is something that's been on my mind for the past (absentee) month...a reunion that is giving me mixed emotions.  One that has caused more anxiety than an exam, or what shoes to wear...I'm referring to my 10 year class reunion.  Shit. Fuck. I can feel the vomit creeping up my throat as I type this.  And what better time to discuss this than now, cause it's this Saturday.  Yep, a little throw-up in my mouth.


Don't get me wrong, I have been doing my usual wifely duties around here.  I did watch 9/11 tributes, and the season finale of Rescue Me...but seriously, this reunion is the one thing that has managed to stress me out the most (and my work trip was during hurricane Irene) out of anything I've had looming.  It takes over every conversation, and has me checking the Facebook invite daily.


What is it about this reunion that is so upsetting to me?  Have I not achieved a few bragging rights over the years?  I did get two (count 'em) useless diplomas to hang on my wall (or wipe my ass with), I did get married to a very handsome guy (who is just as disturbingly vulgar as I), I do weigh 10 pounds LESS than I did in high school, and I do now own a house, and live debt free (well, besides that stupid mortgage)...sounds like the American f'ing dream!!  Right?!?! 


Ugh...but it's useless.  The one thing I think I always really wanted out of my 10 year class reunion was to be able to come back successful, and confident.  And I think it's a little late to try and convince people that I invented Post-It notes, pretty sure some sluts ruined that in a movie...





Need one of those dresses ASAP!

 
I do have a friend that's trying to make it big in LA now, so of course she's coming all the way home to throw that in everyone's face.  But I don't really have an awesome porn acting career to brag about.  And the only reason I lost the 10 pounds was because I managed to get Irritable Bowel Syndrome since the last time I saw some of these folks.  And not really sure that's something I should be sharing...even though I always (gladly) do.  Not to mention Gerard has no desire to go, and my best friends and support group will not be there.


I think that's why I've finally decided that I won't go.  I don't want to have any regrets, but thanks to Facebook, most people can see my successes and failures online everyday.  They can also see that I don't exactly look like my senior photo any longer (or at least I hope not).

Yep, that's/was me.  My high school graduation photo. I know, I know...I look like a mix of Vince Neil (if you don't know who that is I need you to get off of my blog NOW) and Chaz Bono.  I had a serious addiction to chocolate chip cookies, and Sun-In for my hair, and the "Rachel from friends" haircut.  Oy vey.

This wasn't exactly the best post to throw at you after a month of silence, but I needed to be honest about what I've been up to.  And deciding whether I've bettered myself over the last decade has been at the forefront.  And let's be honest, I only wanted to go to see if the popular kids got fat, and the band nerds turned hot.  I think that's the only reason they make you have these dreadful things...isn't it?

I bid you a goodnight!!

Buried Alive

So I'm assuming most folks with internet access or anyone actually following my blog, also has cable...I'm guessing.  And I'm also going to assume that you have seen a show on TLC about hoarders, and how they can basically lock themselves into a tiny corner of a room pooping their pants and then launching their dirty diapers into another corner, or if they can get access to it...their yard.  Well, I have a confession to make.  While I'm not currently taking dumps in my pants in a random lazy boy that also doubles as my bed, I am guilty, extremely guilty, of identifying and quite possibly could become a hoarder myself...yeah, it's true.  The time I realized I have a problem was while watching said show and identifying with the subjects that give meaning to every.single.item.they.own.  THAT IS ME.  Whether a snow globe, a card from my 12th birthday, a random notebook from an accounting class, an old calendar with plans listed on it, or just old clothes; I find meaning to it all and have a very difficult time parting.  My husband threatens that if I start this nonsense at our relatively new shared home...he'll set this bitch ablaze.  Seriously, just light it on fire with all my stuff.  And since I have a previous post about buying random "treasures" from the thrift store...this terrible event could actually take place one day.  So I decided to be a good wife, and while Geraldine is out of town (shocker) this week, I wanted to start tackling some of our closets.

I started by organizing some smaller areas in bathrooms and closet the guest bedroom.  But last night I decided to tackle the mother load...the broom closet in our kitchen area.  This thing has an assortment of mail, brooms, candles, car keys, dog supplies, and God only knows what in it.  It's really like a giant junk drawer.  So I went right in and just started pulling things out.  I noticed two boxes that hold thank you cards, one of which being monogrammed with my maiden name.  I guess now that I no longer really "own" that monogram or initials I should really toss the cards.  I opened the box ready to make my first big step in my battle with hoarding, I was going to really throw these things away, and of course I find some sweet wedding cards.

This could derail me...so I allow myself a moment to stop and read the sweet words that were inside.  But when I opened the card I was more paralyzed with shock than I was warm and fuzzy with happiness.  Inside the damn card was a check, for $50, of course dated for almost a year ago.  I then manage to look down and see another card...I brace myself.  Balls!! Mother of Pearl!!  Another check...for $100!!  Son of a!!  My eyes immediately can't see, I'm all of a sudden completely illiterate.  Who are they from?  What will I tell my husband?  What does this all mean?!  And are there others?? 

I knew this was literally the ammunition Jrock needed to argue that I'm not organized and really need to start cleaning up my "hiding" places in the closets.  I hung my head in shame and continued to dig through the mess, and luckily never found any additional checks.  Really not sure what I'll do with the two checks, especially since one is from a man with Alzheimer's, and I'm pretty sure I'd have a first-class ticket to hell for cashing that one.

I also found my bag of wedding cards and spent a good amount of time reminiscing about our "special day" and all the sweet things people had to say.  It really was sweet...so of course, I CAN'T get rid of those.  I just can't.  Hell, I won't.
Guess this whole battle with hoarding will just have to wait, cause for now I just feel an important bond with every.single.item. I find.  : )  Except for the random used tampons I just found in the guest bathroom...those I had NO problem tossing.  But that's a story for another time.

Case of the Mondays

I started a post last night, but never posted it...so here it is!

Another long day at work (I didn't realize I had not taken my lunch break until 3:45) and I'm finally home to relax, stuff my face, and watch pointless television.  Gerard is off to the west coast today leaving emo dog Rollins and I as each other's dates tonight...and every night until Friday.  But we're used to it.  I was actually a little excited about tonight because I got to stuff my face with leftovers...something Gerard isn't a huge fan of. 

A few weeks ago I was looking for an easy recipe to make for myself, and have to eat on for several days.  I like to try and eat somewhat healthy, but find that to be a challenge since I'm terrified of lighting my hair on fire if I try to grill, or starting a grease fire if I cook on the stove top.  So I really limit myself to baking, using the crock pot, or a Foreman, which I believe I've mentioned before.  But I found this recipe online and decided to give it a whirl.  It had spinach, and chicken...so how could it be that bad?  Bad, not hardly...more like AMAZING.  Maybe I'm biased being the chef and all, but this meal was to die for!  Only problem, I'm pretty sure it could have fed an entire family of 5-8.  So I froze the leftovers, and saved them for a later date...which would be now.

It's a Weight Watchers recipe I found online, and even though I literally have NO IDEA what the points mean, I figured it couldn't be all that bad.  So here ya go...

Weight Watchers Chicken and Spinach Lasagna Recipe

Ingredients:
- 1 sprays cooking spray
- 32 oz Marinara sauce, store-bought
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- 1 medium onions, chopped
- 1 pound uncooked ground chicken breast (I used ground turkey)- 30 oz fat-free ricotta cheese (I used fat free cottage cheese)- 2 large egg whites, lightly beaten
- 1 tsp garlic powder
- 1 tbsp Italian seasoning
- 9 dry lasagna noodles
- 20 oz chopped frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
- 1 ½ cup shredded Kraft Natural Cheese Low-moisture part-skim mozzarella, or other brand (about 12oz) I decided to only place the mozzarella on the top...so it would be less fattening.

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350ºF. Coat a large, deep lasagna pan with cooking spray. Measure 2 cups of marinara sauce; set aside. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion; cook and stir until almost tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add chicken; cook until no longer pink, stirring frequently, about 4 to 5 minutes. Add remaining marinara sauce to skillet and stir until well combined; set aside. Mix together ricotta cheese, egg whites, garlic powder and Italian seasoning in a large bowl until well combined.To assemble lasagna, place 2 cups of reserved marinara sauce on bottom of dish. Layer with 3 noodles, 1/3 of ricotta mixture, 1/3 of spinach, 1/3 of mozzarella cheese and 1/3 of chicken-sauce mixture; repeat layers ending with chicken-sauce mixture. (Make sure to spread ingredients to edge of noodles.) Cover baking dish with aluminum foil. Bake lasagna for 20 minutes. Uncover; sprinkle with remaining mozzarella cheese and bake until cheese is melted and edges are bubbly, about 20 minutes more. Remove from oven and let stand 10 minutes before slicing into 8 equally sized pieces.

Makes 8 servings
Each serving = 8 Weight Watchers Points

I paired this with some bruschetta concoction I made from my fresh homegrown tomatoes and bread, and a tall glass of diet sweet tea.  Now I just have to wait around to see if this thing will give me food poisoning, cause I'm certainly not a master when it comes to properly freezing, storing, thawing, or cooking foods.  But I guess you already knew that.

The Break-up

So yeah, I've had radio silence on my blog for a bit, and I guess I should apologize.  But I really haven't had much to share or talk about.  I do finally have some awesome watermelons coming in, and we've enjoyed a few tomatoes that I grew as well.  I even made crepes this past weekend.  Yeah, I made crepes.  My life is boring, but I think I really like it like that.  I just got back in town to have emo dog greet me.  He showed his love by taking a lap around the yard, and then ignoring me.  I think he missed me, but it sucks coming home and not having Jrock there. 

I'm now in my office and doing the usual email and message checking and of course, facebook updates.  I realized that I think I'm outgrowing my facebook account.  It's a little too much like Myspace at this point, a bunch of people I'm not sure I give a crap about any longer, posting drama or stuff that doesn't really entertain me.  I don't care about the new item you just bought on credit cause you live above your means.  I don't care to see pictures of your new baby, your baby is ugly...yes, I said it.  Some babies are ugly.  There are ugly people, so obviously there are ugly babies.  I don't give a poop to see an office whore tagged in posts with the schmo she's banging.  And I really don't care to see my psychotic ex comment and write things on every single person I happen to know's wall every five minutes.  Nor do I really feel the need for your latest inspirational quote you found online, or need to find Jesus.  So I've now decided, Facebook...we're breaking up.  It's not you, it's me.  I'm just not into you anymore.  I no longer find you attractive.  You've lowered your standards over the years (and I could write many hurtful things at this point as to why I feel that way), and you've really let yourself go.  I'm not saying I'm deleting my account...we can remain "friends" but at this point I really don't know if I'll be visiting you any longer.  I've moved on.  Yes, I know those words are painful.  I have a few new girls in my life, Pinterest and Foodgawker.  And guess what?  They really have a lot less drama...and I like that.  But that Pinterest may be getting a Dear John letter soon...that bitch just tries to make me jealous by bragging all day. ; )

I'm sorry it has come to this, but I feel it's for the best.  I need to go focus on my crepe making technique, actually doing work, and being boring.  I like boring.