Tag Archives: humor

Stray thoughts….

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#1. We’re spending Thanksgiving Day with friends this year and along with my luscious crabmeat toasty appetizers and a cappuccino mousse trifle dessert, I was asked to bring… are you sitting down?

Green bean casserole. 🤢

While I’ve been known to make that abomination (for certain spouses who shall remain nameless) I can’t say I’m a fan. So I searched high and low for a recipe that would make it more palatable.

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I found one for the crock pot that sounded much better than the original. Fresh beans, fresh mushrooms, heavy cream, fresh garlic and thyme etc.

It was a bit of a pain to make and littered my kitchen with dirty dishes… but thankfully I did a dry run a few days ago before I served it to the group.

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Sadly, the trash can was the only appropriate place for it. Blech! How something so promising could taste so horrible is beyond me.

I shall now be making the original bowl of slop that everyone expects.

Clearly it can’t be improved.

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#2. I heard that Paul Rudd had been voted Sexiest Man Alive in People magazine. I can’t say I agree, but I won’t argue with this logic:

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#3. I believe I have officially reached the point of no return on the less than graceful decline into old age. I know this because the only way I can remember to add a song to my iPod is to take a picture of my car radio when it’s playing.

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And yes, I said iPod.

Told you I was old.

🤣

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More random nonsense

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First I brought you wine for cats. Now?

There’s kitty ice cream.

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I’d ask if this is really necessary and why I couldn’t just let Dudley lick from my bowl…

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But I’m not apt to partake of a frozen dish of sugared mackerel anytime soon.

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Oh, if looks could kill.

Quick, get him some feline wine.

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Finally… a sensible use for the crock pot collecting dust in my closet.

👍

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Is that just me…?

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The moose is loose.

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My booze moose came in the mail Saturday.

And I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a puzzle .

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This is the type of thing that makes the spatial reasoning challenged among us break into a cold sweat.

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Oh! The horror.

But I wanted to surprise the husband so I dove right in….

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And soon, a boozy moose appeared.

Was I disappointed in the lack of decent beer portrayed? Yes.

Busch Light and Coors Light will never pass our beer fridge’s portals.

Nope. Never. Not happening.

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I’ve determined the best place to hang him is on the big barn doors that are no longer doors. The husband’s warped antique mirror will have to be relocated…

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And his English pub ring toss game might be an issue.

Because while the booze moose is fun, it’s not what you would call solidly constructed. One errant ring toss could ruin him.

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This will require deep thought, so for now…..

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He’s just bellying up to the bar.

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It could be worse.

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Naming a new pet isn’t a difficult process, at least for me.

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I’ve always been able to spend a little time with them and discover their rightful names. Like Lord Dudley Mountcatten.

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It just came to me, and to be honest, I think it suits him perfectly.

My husband disagrees. And of all the pets we’ve ever had, this is the one name he refuses to use.

Does the Royal title put him off? Perhaps.

Is it too much of a mouthful? Maybe.

But as I keep telling him, it could have been worse.

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Weird products you may need.

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Or not.

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Though you have to admit, they could come in handy.

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No. No one needs that.

And the rest of us don’t need to see it.

Ever.

Trust me on this.

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Personally, I’d love to see one of these on every dining table in America. Remember when we had actual conversations during meals ? Hard to believe, but yes…. we did it face to face, not screen to screen.

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What the…

What?

😳

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Recipe fails.

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Because I like to share the joy with friends at the holidays…

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If that doesn’t have them oohing and ahhing at the Thanksgiving table, nothing will.

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A grilled cheese recipe book? Please.

It’s bread, a slice of cheese and melted butter. Even my culinary challenged husband can do that. No book required.

And if you thought that was bad?

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Just… no.

My late MIL was the Queen of Spam.

Spamloaf. Spam Mac and cheese. Spam and eggs. Spamgetthi. Her kitchen was a gag worthy cornucopia of Spam. You never knew where it would turn up next.

The fact that this monstrosity of meat still exists makes my stomach tremble in horror.

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Oh fur Pete’s sake.

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Who’s Pete? And why are we always calling him out…

Never mind. I’m actually here to gripe about my phone’s autocorrect.

Because in the past month, every time I type for it gets changed to fur.

Every. Single. Time.

Don’t get me wrong, predictive text rocks. And I’ve trained mine to spit out Mountcatten when it isn’t even a word.

But I don’t text about fur.

I don’t email about fur.

I don’t blog about fur.

(Which ironically, now that I want to… keeps changing to fir.)

So WTH?

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