Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Whipped Cream

Thursday, Gary came back from his Dad's birthday with some of Mr. Wonderful's Pumpkin Crockpot Cake. It called for whipped cream.

In this house, the whipped cream is the aerosol kind and is not applied to the cake but directly into the mouth of the partaker. Bite of cake, curl of whipped cream on the tongue. Repeat. 

Gary, in the Kitchen, with the Whipped Cream

I offered up my tongue for a spritz and he shot it all over my face. Game on. 

"Bastard!"

"AAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA." It was the best of Gary's three laughs, the long gaspy one, compared to the tv-watching seal bark laugh and the contemptuous hillbilly yuk-yuk.

I needed a weapon. I could have gone with a shaken soda but that would be too messy. Instead, I went past the landing at the top of the basement steps and into the laundry room for the Windex.

Gary grabbed the whipped cream and headed over to see what I was up to. "What are you doing?" 

Ellen, on the Landing on Top of the Basement Steps Which Is Between the Kitchen and the Laundry Room, with the Windex

(Before I go on - I want to assure you no one falls down the basement steps. There. I know you worry.)

"POISON!" he screamed, as I sprayed him in the back with Windex.

I hung the Windex back in the laundry room. "What poison? It's Windex. It won't even stain." 

He kept complaining about poison as I joined him in the kitchen.

I noticed he'd left the whipped cream on the counter."Prove to me it's poison."

While he went to get the Windex from the laundry room, I picked up the whipped cream.

Ellen, Outside the Laundry Room, with the Whipped Cream

I got the cream and lay in wait while he found the Windex ingredients. 

He barreled out of the laundry room. "Water, Isopropyl Alco - AAAGGGGH!"

He shook off most of the whipped cream, but some made it on to his face.

I ran to the kitchen and laughed. I foolishly sat the can down as I pounded on the counter.

He pointed at the whipped cream on the floor. "You're cleaning that up."

"Fair enough" I said, and headed back to the scene of the crime. I got most of it up with a paper towel and my foot, but I had to lean over to get the last little bit.

Gary, Outside the Laundry Room, with the Whipped Cream

I was wearing the loosest pajamas I own (see above: cake), so I could barely feel the waistband being lifted up before Gary sprayed whipped cream into my butt crack. 

I had to concede defeat after the anal creaming. I tried to get him to lick it off, but I actually had peed myself laughing so it was a good thing he didn't fall for that.

To the Max

Moon to the Max - tonight marks another visit from the Supermoon, bringer of wacky dreams. Since the moon is new it will be an invisible Supermoon. Will that make it more powerful? Will it bring the same strange dreams as last time? I now have the menopause dreams to punch up with the Supermoon influence. Or does menopause make one immune to the pull of the lunar cycle?

Dave to the Max - God only knows how the Supermoon might influence my bipolar diabetic brother Dave, who is ON STEROIDS for a cough. Steroids make one manic and diabetic, and this, on top of his natural mania and diabetes, makes for a crazy blood sugar roller coaster of eating and organizing. He's called an average of four times a day every day this week. Strangely, he hasn't called tonight. Perhaps his mouth is tired from eating.

It Has Escalated

Last night Gary made a chicken pot pie. He started with a recipe but then tossed in some water chestnuts for texture, and of course it was inspired. He added sun dried tomatoes to the pot roast and those are the best bits, of course. I have no idea how he knows what to add.

Of course, that meant I had to make meringue cookies today. Delectable, especially since I bothered to check the humidity before I started. 

Gary had sent a photo of the pot pie to his mom last night. Today he sent a photo of the cookies with the subject, "Ellen returns fire."

He's been thumbing through recipes this afternoon to find something that will up his game. Casseroles are too pedestrian for him now. He did find a recipe for turkey roasted in champagne.  

I suggested bread, but he dismissed it. (PERHAPS HE WILL LET ME KEEP BREAD.)

 

Fondrama

The fondant icing for the cake spawned a weekend's worth of drama. From the minute he heard I was hoping to make the fondant he discouraged it. 

Here's a little snippet of the soundtrack of my weekend.

"You are setting yourself up to fail. Why are you trying to do this? Do you even know if you like fondant? What's in it? Glycerin! You will blow the house up! This is just like when the stained glass. Dangerous chemicals all over the house! They'll find us dead!"

(Yes, I know food-based glycerin isn't a dangerous chemical. Eventually Gary found out, but not before a leader at my work commented he couldn't even taste the nitroglycerin in the icing.)

This  went ON all weekend.

I kept trying to figure out why he was so discouraging. He's usually a bit discouraging when I try new things. It must be his way of saying "I don't want to see you frustrated and failing." But as I say, this was unrelenting.

Finally, I took the cake to work and we dropped the subject. Tuesday he was making chicken in a pan, which stuck. When I reminded him it would all come up when he deglazed it, he snapped:

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO. AND STOP USING FANCY WORDS LIKE DEGLAZE. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT." 

And, of course, that's what he had against the fondant. We were cooking equals for a while, then he became much more confident than I am, then a better chef, and then I had to one-up him with the damn fondant.

I'll have to make sure to tell him I pronouced it wrong for an entire weekend, plus half a day at work until Anne the Baker corrected me. "Fawn-DAWNT" might sound fancier but it's plain old "FON-Dint."That'll make him feel superior again.

Fondant

Last week I toyed with the idea of making Joy's cake a fondant cake, but I didn't know how.

That was last week.

Updated: Dirty Jobs. Dirty.

Gary hasn’t just been sitting around since he’s been retired. He’s self-employed. He works every day at his new job, where he works with his hands. Well, hand. He puts in hours of work every day at his hand job. Research, too. Not just getting his hands dirty.

I have a side job similar to Gary’s (his is full time), and you could say I like to keep my hand in too. However, I have adopted modern day technology to assist me in my job. Gary’s a purist, he can produce the same result without electricity, it just takes him longer. Like the Amish.

Gary was helping me with my job the other day (it goes even faster when he helps), and when I was done in less than a minute (it goes really fast) he spoke with envy of how I could do such quality work in such a short amount of time.

Technology, I answered. Then I started to think about it, did a little research on my own, and I have purchased a life-like robot for him that can take on some of his duties. I know he won’t like it at first. I doubt he’ll even use it. If he uses it I doubt he’ll use the 21^st century features after the first time. But it might catch on, with my help. 

================================

Update:

Gary, refusing to join the Industrial Revolution, actually dismantled the device so he could use the Luddite part while the mechanism remains SHUNT.

Greetings from the Trash Company

It's a routine now. I come home Thursday night, the trash isn't picked up, I call in and hear the recording with the excuse du ... semaine. Once there was a snow day, once two guys got sick, once one guy got sick but didn't tell anyone where he parked the truck. It's okay. The recording just tells me to keep it out another day.

I called about my bill the other day. At night I usually hear the apologetic recording. That's why I was surprised when a) the owner picked up and b) just screamed "TRASH!"

"TRASH!"

"Um ... hi, I was calling about my bill?"

Then he transitioned to a typical customer service tone. "Yes, how may I help you?"

Poor thing. Must be tough to run an tiny trash company during flu season. 

Look What the Polar Vortex Blew In

I've never been inclined to attend Mardi Gras, but while we were in NOLA last month I softened my views on public urination and drunkenness. Of course, we won't go back so soon to New Orleans for this coming Mardi Gras, but we thought might want to see what the Saint Louis Mardi Gras looks like.

Evidently Mardi Gras isn't just Fat Tuesday, it's more like a Fat Fortnight. For example, on February the 23rd, the weekend before the Mardi Gras (observed) parade, there is a pet parade. I don't know what happens at the St. Louis Pet Mardi Gras, maybe dogs show their teats for beads, maybe they urinate on the sides of buildings, perhaps there are floats. (I doubt there are floats.) (You know every dog would be hanging its head off the side off the float.)

BUT guess what band is playing immediately after the pet parade?

Barenaked Ladies!

How fun is that?

Weellll ... Okay. I guess.

See you in an hour

Well, an hour and five to ten minutes

Whoops - that would have been embarrassing

Joys birthday pineapple upside down cake

I Have Done My Penance

Years ago I literally (yes, literally) turned in my library card. See:

http://www.mocklog.com/queen_mediocretia/2006/09/forgive_me_o_li.html

This winter Gary heard that the library will let you check out books on your iPad or Kindle. Since the are about 20 Jack Reacher novels at seven bucks a pop, I supported his plan to get a new library card.

He insisted I get a library card too. I suppose a twenty year sentence is long enough to pay my debt to the library.

Still, the slate isn't completely wiped clean. Gary's card, lost long ago, is still active, but they truly did de-activate my library card. Because I don't have an active library card I have to use the last four digits of a very old phone number as my password. Gary hasn't used his card during the last twenty years either, but his is still active so his setup was easy.

I think this system will work well for a scofflaw such as I. I can't see how I would keep a book overdue on-line. I believe they would just pull my access on the due date if I don't renew the book.

Really Stupid

I should be tied to my bed so I don't do stupid things in the middle of the night.

Two days ago I scalded the tip of my tongue by eating an overly-hot hot dog. I just ignored it, as I do, until it woke me up in the middle of the night. Well, it partially woke me up. Believe me, I was not in a normal alert state.

If I were alert i would have shuffled to the bathroom to get the Ambesol. Instead I shuffled out to the kitchen to find something cold in the freezer. 

There was no ice. I tried putting my tongue on the empty plastic ice cube tray. Not cold enough. Box of brussels sprouts? Not cold enough. Piece of metal on the front of the shelf? Ooooo, that looks good.

As I leaned in I even heard Flick cry "Thuck! THUCK!" from the Christmas Story. But I was half asleep. 

I woke up when my tongue got stuck on the freezer shelf. Not too stuck: a good head jerk did the trick. No need to call the fire department. 

The result was a slightly bloody tongue that night, and some frozen tongue on the freezer shelf which I scraped off this morning.

These instructions do create perfect looking popovers.

The taste is very mild, but that just means you have to add extra butter.

---------------------From www.preparedpantry.com

Popovers are a most interesting quick bread: they don’t use either yeast or chemical leavenings to make them rise. Instead they rely on steam to form oversize, crispy breads that pop up three times their size hollowed out on the inside. To make all that steam, popover batter is light with lots of liquid and popovers are baked in a hot oven to create a burst of steam.There are two tricks to making popovers: make ‘em pop and don’t let them collapse. Everything else is easy. You make them pop with high heat to create steam and you make them rigid enough that they won’t collapse with proper baking, enough baking to make them rigid.

Here are the keys to great popovers:Use a high protein bread flour to make your popovers.Mix the batter well to develop the gluten; the gluten provides much of the strength to the shell.Use enough eggs; the proteins in the eggs provide strength to the shell when baked.Bake until the shell is crispy and nearly dry,When nearly baked, slash a slit in the side of each popover allow steam to escape and dry air into the popover to dry and cook the inside.Remove the popovers from the pan immediately so that they don’t sweat and soften.

Recipe
This is our basic popover recipe. These are delectable hot with butter and a gourmet jam. You should make and serve this often.

Ingredients

4 large eggs
1 cup milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup high protein bread flour (I just used regular bread flour)
butter

Directions

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.1. In a medium bowl and with a whisk or whisk attachment, beat the eggs, milk, and salt together. 
2. Change to the paddle attachment. Beat in the flour until it is completely smooth. Continue mixing for several minutes to develop the gluten. 
3. Use a pastry brush to grease the insides of the popover cups with butter. If you are using a muffin pan, grease every other cup. Place about a teaspoon of butter in the bottom of each cup. 
4. Fill the cups two-thirds full. Bake at high heat for twenty minutes. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees and continue baking for 15 minutes. (Different ovens cool differently and may require different times.) Turn off the oven. 
5. Open the oven door and quickly make a one-inch slit in the side of each popover to release the steam. Close the oven door and let stand in the oven for ten minutes or until the popovers are dry and firm enough to avoid collapsing.
6. Remove the popovers from the oven. Lift the popovers from the pan immediately by grasping the tops with an oven mitt. Let them cool slightly before serving.

Same popovers LATER

Popovers right out of the oven

2013. A Fine Year

Prologue: I wanted to get three things done today. 1) Fix a clock 2) Reset all my passwords 3) Write this post. Of the first two, the clock was the most relaxing, but then a spot of glue seeped in the wrong direction and I must start from scratch. The Great Password Shift was even more stressful and went so poorly that I've stopped cold. I did reset the password to this blog, so if you never hear from me again that's what's happened. So, after disasters 1 & 2, I bring you 2013 in Review.

The Year in Changes of Life

Well, let's just start with the biggest change of life right off the bat. I hope it stays changed forever. I refer of course to my basement. My basement is clean, my garage is clean, oh, and my uterus is clean. Perhaps I have found the secret to controlling ones reproductive state: as the basement goes, so goes the womb. All areas are clean, dry, and free of bloody puddles. Long last the Menopause.

Gary had some changes too. Gary's sudden retirement has gone well so far. He's taken on some cooking, all the dishes, errand-running, repair schedules, and we share the shopping. I still do the cleaning every few months. He's still resting. He napped so much today that I told him it was like being married to a man in a coma and left the house.

Our health is on the upswing. In 2012 I had no new lesions, and I hope 2013 was the same. Gary's back has improved since he finally embraced the physical therapy. He's so much stronger. Where before a muscle twinge would make him take to his bed for a month, now the same twinge makes him stretch like a yoga master and it's over in a few minutes. It was a great reversal of long-held attitudes that made him accept that some one could help him. I'm delighted.

It's just the two of us. I can't report on the dog's health because the dog died in January 2013. It's the first year without a dog since the last century or so. I'd miss having a dog greet me only now I have a husband greet me, and I don't have to clean up the husband's bowel movements when I come in.

What we learned: Some problems, such as menses, are cured by patience. Other problems, such as backs, are made worse by patience and must be wrestled to the ground. 

The Year in Screaming Fights

It took several screaming weepy fights to convince Gary that a Physical Therapist could help him. Hopefully this has convinced him trained professionals know more than Dr. Google.

Our trip to Nashville and Jacksonville was essentially one long screaming weepy fight interrupted by a concert and a funeral. 

What we learned: When we start using a tone, we switch to speaking Henrietta Pussycat. She just showed up in the grocery last night. "Ellen, so WHAT if we already have birthday cards... meow meow birthday cards meow!"

The Year in Trips

Chicago in February
Quebec in June
Nashville and Jacksonville in the fall
New Orleans in December

What we learned: Always bring a flashlight in case the engines fail, the lights won't come on, or the safe is in the closet.

The Year in Music

We travelled to Nashville to see BNL, unaware they were coming to St. Louis.
We saw Cowboy Mouth in Chicago, unaware they were coming to St Louis.
We saw Boothby Graffoe, Ben Folds, and Guster in Nashville as well, and Sammy Hagar in St Louis.
And I must include the musical The Book of Mormon. It came to Saint Louis a week after I saw it in Chicago, but at least this time I knew it was coming.

What we learned: Traveling to see a band means they'll reciprocate by coming to see you.

The Year in Strange

We were visited by pestilences when a tornado hit our street, felled two of our trees, and then maggots grew in its wake.

One stranger rear-ended me and another accused me on the phone of cheating with her husband.

We saw Kim and Kanye at a Bob Evans.

I read a Salinger story during its Brigadoon day on the web.

And finally, last night we were at Starbucks (Economizing? What economizing?) when the car in front of us paid for us and the car behind us. Happily, a third car pulled in line that we could pay for. Ha HA foiled your plan, Pay It Forward SUV. 

What we learned: You can effect affect change in your life, but sometimes change just hits like Kimye rear-ending you, spinning you like a tornado, and then paying for your coffee.