Warning: Use of undefined constant user_level - assumed 'user_level' (this will throw an Error in a future version of PHP) in /nfs/c01/h02/mnt/911/domains/halfasstic.com/html/wp-content/plugins/ultimate-google-analytics/ultimate_ga.php on line 524
Well, people, it’s been a while since I
spat out whipped out a post and in retrospect it doesn’t seem like there’s too much to say. But, let’s dig deeper… shall we?
The other day I decided to cook a chicken, rotisserie style, on the grill. We have the gizmo that you plug in and it turns the bird on a spit via an electric box bolted to the side of our monstrosity of a grill.
This, in and of itself, is not that noteworthy. However, I would pay big bucks, (if I had them), to have had someone take footage of me trying to get that damn chicken on that spit. That sucker is 45″ long. I looked like a dwarf trying to maneuver that stupid chicken onto that spit and not skewer anything or anyone else, (including myself). WAY harder than you’d think! I never never would have thought it would be so awkward.
See the two prong things. Well you, (and of course by “you” I mean me), have to tighten one of them on there at the right spot that the chicken needs to be on the grill and then ram the bird down on top of them impaling it and not any part of yourself, most specifically your hands. And, once again, by “you” and “yours”, I mean ME!
Then, you slide the other pokie thing down on the other end of the chicken, shoving it hard so that it impales the damn thing as you cuss and laugh manically. Then tighten it down with a pair of pliers because your hands are too sore from multiple stab wounds to do it without them.
shoving placing the spit into the hole of the turning deal and and resting the other end in the… other end receptacle, I flipped the switch on and left it alone on low for a solid hour. It was about an 8 pound chicken.
It took every bit of that time to clean my kitchen with anti-bacterial spray everywhere some sort of raw chicken/chicken juice squirted and/or landed. That was several days ago and I still don’t feel entirely clean. I am probably a walking salmonella factory.
I am now watching Craig Ferguson and it’s a rerun, (So much for up to the minute reporting. Snort!), and he’s saying that Michelle Obama “TOUCHED the queen.” I am guessing he’s talking about The Queen of England. He’s acting like it was a mistake and a horrible faux paus, however he tends to be a tad sarcastic and facetious at the least, when it comes to anyone English. (He IS Scottish.)
I’m still wondering what the story is? And how do you “make up” for “touching” somebody?
Henrietta had a visitor today. Her next door neighbor from her old neighborhood that she hasn’t seen in about 5 years came to see her today. My SIL, to her credit, brought her out to see her. She was absolutely beside herself with joy. It was so funny, she saw her from across the room right when she entered the doorway and she practically yelled, “Barbara!” They sat and talked for hours and hours. It really did make Henrietta’s week to be able to sit and chat and get caught up on all the neighborhood gossip. Especially what’s going on in the house she and Marcos lived in for close to 50 years. Her eye’s grew huge as Barb related tales of how the woman that lives there with the three grown men is married to one of them, but she goes out partying till all hours of the night with the other ones and she’s had two babies since she’s been there and nobody in the neighborhood knows whose children they are! THIS? Is exactly the kind of crapola Henrietta lives for.
She will be talking about this visit and all the accompanying gossip for a solid week. To me. And the really funny part will be the way the stories will grow and grow in her mind as time passes. Eventually, her house will have become a brothel with a line of men outside and circling the block.
I will keep you appraised of the situation. It’s only right. 🙂
The… boyfriend-in-law was outside giving my yard a makeover. That’s about the only way to describe the before and after shots that make a jungle look tame. It was VERY bad. He showed up about 1:00 and finished and left at 4:00. Three hours to mow and weed-eat a front and back yard the size of mine if ridiculous. THAT is how bad it was.
Tomorrow is Easter and do ya wanna know what my plans are? Do ya, huh, do ya? Get a load of this!
The SIL and her bunch of people that descend on my house for every holiday, to consume as much as possible of everything I cook and then leave as soon as they’ve eaten, are… otherwise engaged. Where? Who cares. It is going to be quiet and I might put a ham in the oven. I might not. I might cook the Easter bunny if he pisses me off.
WOO-HOO! Reel me in, I am COMPLETELY out of control.
Last night I called Mither and asked her what she was doing. She told me she was about to watch a Maverick’s basketball game.
I had better preface this little rambling with the fact that there has never been a bigger Dallas Maverick’s fan than both Mither and Auntie-Poo.
Aaaaanyway, she mentioned to me, (not for the first time), at some point in our conversation that she was not supposed to be talking to anyone on the phone when the game is on because Auntie-Poo might call and yell at her if she wasn’t paying good attention to the game and couldn’t keep up with what Antie-Poo was talking about.
We laughed about this, just because they are both fairly hopeless and then I told her I was going to wait until the game started and I was going to call Auntie-Poo and chat aimlessly to her for a while and then call her back several times. Just cause I’m that way. Ya know?
All of the sudden I heard evil laughter and Mither said that I should call her at exactly 8:30 then she would call her at 8:33 and when Auntie-Poo told her she was on the other line talking to me, Mither would yell at her that she WAS NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ON THE PHONE WITH ANYONE ELSE DURING THE BALL GAMES!
So I did this and all went to plan and when Aunti-Poo came back to me after Mither called her I asked who it was and she said, “Oh, it was your mother and she told me I have to get off the line cause the basketball game is on.” We both agreed it was absurd that SHE have to get off the line and when I told her that we set her up to be caught she decided that she would have all my cousins call Mither one at a time, just to “chat”, during the game. There are four of them.
That was the last I’ve heard of them. I haven’t talked to either one of them today and they are out of pocket. I left messages for both of them to call me, so I will follow up sometime.
Sometimes I wonder at the mechanics of this family.