I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: September 2009

They’re not just for roofing

Tony has shingles. That’s the whole post.  I couldn’t expand on that if I wanted to (which I really really don’t).


You wanna come over for dinner?

I made a dessert tonight that was better than anything I’ve had in a restaurant in years.  Seriously.

I was inspired by an episode of Ham on the Street on FLN.  I happened to be flipping channels the other day and stopped to watch.  This guy, Ham I suppose, was walking around a city street with a can of sweetened condensed milk (scm for the remainder of this post).  Because I’m southern, there’s always a can of scm in my pantry, but the only thing I know to make with it is lemon meringue pie.  I really wanted to know what he was going to do with it, especially outdoors.

Ham found a hot dog cart and talked the vendor into letting him put his can of scm in the hot dog warming water.  Appetizing, right?  He left it there to simmer and returned in three hours.  Then he opened the can and the scm had become dulce de leche without the hours of constant stirring it normally requires. He ended up using it in a trifle which looked okay, but I knew I could top it.

So what did I make?  You’re gonna want to go get a paper towel or something before I tell you.  Drool is bad for your keyboard.  I’ll wait….

…got it?

Okay here’s what I did.

I made the dulce de leche by simmering the scm in a pan of water for 3 hours.  Then I took tortillas and spread butter on them, sprinkled them with brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg.  Then I stuck them under the broiler to get it all melty.  Then I put sliced bananas on top of the tortillas and drizzled on some dulce de leche and stuck it back under the broiler for a minute to get the bananas a little warm and gooey.  Then I rolled the tortillas up like crepes and drizzled on more dulce de leche.  I served it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with, yup, dulce de leche.

Holy calorie bomb!  It was delicious.

Anytime I make a new dish, I immediately pick it apart and decide how I will make it differently the next time.  I know it sounds like that dessert couldn’t be improved, but consider this…

  1. Crepes instead of tortillas
  2. Homemade vanilla ice cream
  3. Saute the bananas in butter and brown sugar and then flambé them in rum, like bananas foster.

You’re totally trying to figure out how to get invited to my house for dinner now, aren’t you?

One more thing

So I’m still hung up on this whole Dear Abby thing.  Seriously, click here to read the letter.

It’s got to be fake, right?  Who spends 15 years with someone (husband, brother, gay bff, whatever) and sites the good times they “frolicked through fields” and “exterminated rodents together” when describing their “bliss?”  I’ve been married 13 years and have never frolicked, killed critters, or felt that either of those activities would make our relationship more blissful.

I’ve always thought Dear Abby letters were heavily edited because they’re all written in a similar style and tone.  Now I think they’re flat out fiction.  I feel disillusioned and a little dirty.

Dear Abby, you’re a smartass

This morning I was reading the paper and happened to glance at Dear Abby*.  I’m not a regular Dear Abby reader, but the lead sparked my interest: “Woman’s Shocking Discovery Puts Man in Unmarked Grave.” My curiosity peaked, I read on.

Here’s  the gist… a married couple discovers they are half siblings.  The man has a heart attack shortly thereafter.  The woman then writes to Dear Abby because she wonders if she should put “Loving Brother” (ew) or “Loving Husband (ew, ew) on his gravestone.  Abby’s reply?

“He was everything to me.”

*The actual letter sounds fake, but it’s still funny.

Apples don’t like worms

So Cooper broke my laptop.  I don’t have proof or anything, but my mama instinct is rarely wrong.  He yanks out the adapter cord and bangs on the keyboard anytime I leave it unattended.  I suspect most computers don’t enjoy that sort of treatment.

Saturday it wouldn’t charge unless I held my breath, closed one eye, and prayed to Steve Jobs.  Sunday, the battery was full, but it wouldn’t boot up.  Not normal Mac behavior.  Yesterday I was reading and busy with kids and actually enjoying a few days away from the screen (plus I still have the iPhone for emergency computing needs).  Today the DTs hit, so I went to the Mac store.

I dropped it off at the service desk with my official opinion, “This little worm yanks out the cord a lot and I think he made it mad.”  My grasp of technology is astounding, right?  Then I spent 20 minutes saying, “Don’t touch that” while dude tinkered with it.

Long story short, I was right, it’s all fixed now.  Here’s what you missed while it was down…

… not a damn thing!


At the salon where I indulge in the occasional pedicure, there’s a sign that I find puzzling.  It’s a photo of a woman’s hands.  One hand has short, neat, bare nails and is holding nothing.  The other hand has dragon lady nails with airbrushed details and is holding a wad of cash.  Above the photo are the words “No…Yes!”

As I wait for my toes to dry, I stare at this sign and speculate.  Does it mean I have to pay a lot of cash for scary nails, but bare nails are free?  I sort of knew that already, hence the pedicure only policy. Maybe it means I will be entered in a drawing to win money if I allow them to pimp my nails.  Pimp, hmmm…. I’ve got it!  When I become a hooker I will make much more money if I spring for the fancy nails.  Good to know as the economy is in the crapper and I may need that extra dough.

Baby proofing

As the mom of a toddler, something I say quite often is “No, not safe.”  Cooper is insanely curious and alarmingly reckless.  I know a few moms-to-be read my blog, so I’m putting together a list of the things you should go ahead and remove from your home before your child turns two and discovers them.

  1. Knives
  2. All silverware, actually
  3. Furniture that can be easily scaled
  4. Furniture that cannot be easily scaled (a tempting challenge if there ever was one)
  5. Just get rid of all furniture and throw some mattresses on the floor
  6. Weapons
  7. Toys that resemble weapons
  8. Toys that do not resemble weapons but can be used to hit your brother anyway
  9. Ninjas
  10. Small objects that fit in orifices
  11. Large objects that fit in orifices
  12. Hell, just sew up all orifices and put the kid on life-support until he’s five
  13. Granola bars. Really.



Yesterday I took the boys with me to vote.  I don’t vote in every little election, but a friend of ours was running for school board*, so I wanted to do my part.

A photographer from the local paper was there and he asked if he could take a photo of me while I voted.  I looked like crap, so I said that I wanted the kids in the picture to take the focus off me.  Here’s how it turned out…


So instead of being a nice image of me sharing the democratic process with my children, it looks like I’m a redneck who:

a. Named her kid Cooper Cooper

b. Is not married to her baby daddy so she named her kid after herself to get her last name in there somewhere.


* Congrats, Randy!

My turn!

Cooper has three favorite phrases right now: I do it, I need it, My turn.  Right now he wants to type on the computer and he is throwing all three lines at me, so here’s Cooper’s turn….

hgvfoiollllllllllllll76r5cjjjjjjjjjbjhggg hhb  ffg ghg ggh  gggghhrfa ddaduuifgh ugh rgh

Now he says, “I’m done. I no do it. I want orange juice.”

So there you have it, Cooper’s first blog post.

My marriage is a teenager

Today is my thirteenth wedding anniversary.  As usual, Tony headed out of town early this morning.  It’s no big deal.  We’re not celebrators, nor are we all that romantic.  I actually only remember three specific wedding anniversaries.  Our first, because we ate frozen wedding cake.  Our fourth, because we were on vacation and Tony gave me a diamond solitaire necklace.  And last year, because we forgot it until late in the day.  In fact, the only “tradition” I can think of in our relationship is that we address cards and notes to each with our initials written in lower case letters.

As he was headed out this morning, Tony said, “Our marriage is now a teenager.”  He then added that we should start having sex like teenagers, “grabby and awkward.”  I’m the one who usually says the pervy stuff, so it was a funny exchange and it made me laugh.

tc, Starting a busy week apart with a shared moment is all the anniversary I need. Love, jlc

Mom’s night out

I’m starting a monthly mom’s night out.  If you live in Northwest Arkansas and need a night away from your kiddos, get a sitter & join us tonight!  We will be at the new La Huerta in Springdale at 7 p.m.  As long as you are female and over 21 you are invited.

Clicky clicky

The coolest shirt I ever owned

When I was a kid, maybe eight or nine, my step-dad went to Alaska.  He’s an avid hunter, so I’m sure he returned with all sorts of game and some large dead things with which to decorate our home.  I don’t remember the specifics.  What I do remember is the shirt he brought home to me.  It had a very large, very ugly fish on it and said “Alaska, just for the halibut.”  I seriously wish I still had that shirt.

Typical toast

This morning Jack wanted toast for breakfast.  Yay, easy breakfast request!  So I popped it in the toaster oven and set about to do a few quick chores while it browned.  I heard Cooper stirring, so I got him up, changed his diaper, and washed my hands.  Then he wanted dry cereal and milk in a cup.  I put that together, and then Jack appeared in a ridiculously mismatched outfit.  I pulled out an alternate shirt for Jack and then Cooper wanted his clothes too.  Then I remembered the toast.  Too late.  Start over.

Back to getting Cooper’s clothes.  Then Cooper’s cup was leaking, so I had to clean milk off the couch.  Then Jack remembered something vital he needed to tell me about.  It turned out to be a rambling story with no point.  Shit!  The toast!

Third try.  I stayed in the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher.  This batch turned out perfect.  As I slathered on the butter, I noticed something odd on the toast.  On closer inspection, I realized there was a little spot of toasted mold on one of the slices.  I was paralyzed for a moment.  Do I scrape off this tiny patch of fungus and keep going, or do I open a new loaf and start a fourth batch of toast?

What do you think?

Caterpillar orgy?

What the heck is going on here?

%d bloggers like this: