Slammin’ Salmon. Not The Movie. Just What I Ate For Dinner.

have you ever tried to eat an entire pound of salmon?

if you haven’t and you think that you want to try – i would advise against it.

 

unless you make it like this.

and then it turns out like this:

but note that after a probable failed attempt you will feel like you want to die. 

but the whole place will still smell like the delicious salmon you just made and you will think you’re in heaven.  but you’re really in hell.

so if you’d like you can dump all of the following in a pan and enjoy it yourself:

preheat your oven to 350 and in a greased pan put a pound of salmon and top it with a sliced red onion, one juiced lime, one juiced lemon, and a crapload of dill.  bake it for 25 minutes.  then proceed to eat till you puke.

also, it has been brought to my attention that the mange hounds don’t like blinds.

and now you must excuse me – because if there’s one thing i’m good at it’s making poor choices.
oh, and not learning my lesson.

so the rest of that pound of salmon will be my bitch.  it.is.written.

 

The Stench

after over-indulging in vokda all weekend i vowed that things would be different.  
like a herald – i declared:

i will go to the gym on all the days!
i will not drink on all the school nights!

but alas – that lasted one day.  

because i went home and made the mistake of looking in the door of the fridge and spotted a half a bottle of champagne.  it was all down-hill from there.  

but i will say this – given the right mood, and the right alcohol – i can become extremely motivated.  which was the case the other night.  when i whipped up dinner and dessert but ate too much of the dessert that i only had three bites of the actual dinner.

my stomach hurts just thinking about it.  and so does my head.

i found a recipe called chicken in tarragon cream sauce (fyi, shitler is useless because when i called home to have him check to see if i had tarragon he thought i was fucking with him because he’d never heard of it before).  but the recipe. is. delicious.  well, the three bites i had anyway.

so in all seriousness.  you should make this.  because if i can make it and not fuck up then that means a monkey could probably fucking do it too.  which speaks volumes of the monkey.

but  moving on to more important things – i also made these:

but seriously.  i’ll never understand how this:

ends up looking (and then in turn, tasting) like this:

a few notes.

here is the recipe for the chicken.  i’m too lazy to type it all up.

here is the recipe for the banana bars.  if you look at the recipe and then realize that mine have white frosting and the original ones have nutella frosting and you’re wondering why; it’s because i don’t even know where the fuck to look for nutella.  and frankly, i would feel real douche-y buying nutella.  i also have an aversion to nutella.  mainly because i took french in high school and my teacher, madam moran, was a raging bitch who loved nutella.  and loved to pronounce it in that douche-y way you’re supposed to when you’re taking french and who was always trying to get me to join the french club and do skits at competitions but the bottom line is that i barely knew how to conjugate my verbs.  so that’s the backwards explanation about why i didn’t make nutella frosting and i just used the cream cheese stuff out of the carton.

sidenote, in case anyone was ever wanting to do some sort of fucked up science experiment in which you leave a salad in the backseat of your hot car for two weeks – i would advise against it.  but in the event that you do decide to conduct such an experiment and you’re looking for a hypothesis – might i suggest, “if i leave a salad in my hot car for two weeks then it will smell like a dead body.”

so you’re welcome.

plus it seems only fitting that a post that began with delicious food would end with food that was probably breeding maggots.

So What If It Looks Like a Smurf Jizzed All Over My Fingers

i’m covered in batter and frosting.  and it’s caked on and sticky. and after i find a patch of it and wash it off i find more.  it’s never ending. 

but i guess that’s better than actual smurf jizz.

things got a little out of control in the cupcake department tonight.

and i decided to do something outrageous with the cupcake batter:

i blue myself - a la arrested development.

smurf jizz cupcakes.

i was excited about smurf jizz cupcakes until shitler suggested i do this:

so now i have brewers cupcakes.  which is ok – because they won tonight.

but i also have a shitload of cupcakes.  so it’s good that i bought this cupcake tote (something i never thought i would say) during my frenzied shopping:

more importantly, shitler kept eating the frosting (sometimes by the spoonful).  then he ate a cupcake.  after he ate like five tacos.  then i made him eat another cupcake because i had cut it open and wanted to take a picture of it and i didn’t want it to go to waste. 

he protested. 

but caved. 

then he made love to it.

then he said he was going to puke. 

then he got up and took a shit.

DMX Is In Couples Therapy.

here i sit.  it’s not 5 o’clock and i’ve polished off the last of the open bottle of champagne, painted my nails with sparkly polish, and eaten too many champagne cupcakes.

and it feels good.
like i was meant to do this.

but more importantly – everyone needs to make these goddamn cupcakes.
they’re delicious.

i’m no professional and my process is the worst – where i destroy everything in my path until my end goal.

but they were perfection.

pink and perfect.

my attempt at decorating leaves something to be desired.

the champagne i’ve been drinking all afternoon was mediocre.  but it looked lonely – like it needed someone to drink it.  so i did.

my cuticles are gross.

here’s the recipe for those delicious fucking cupcakes.  oh, and here’s the link – so you can see how they were actually supposed to look.

champagne cupcakes

1 box betty crocker super moist white cake mix
1 1/4 c. champagne
1/3 c. vegetable oil
3 egg whites
4-5 drops of red/pink food coloring

champagne frosting

1/2 c. butter or margarine, softened
4 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. champagne
1 tsp. vanilla
4-5 drops red or pink food coloring

heat oven to 350.  place baking cup in each of 24 regular muffin cups.  in a large bowl, mix dry cake mix and champagne.  add oil, egg whites, and food coloring.  beat with electric mixer on medium speed.  divide evenly among the muffin cups.  bake for 17-22 minutes.  cool completely.  in a medium bowl, beat frosting ingredients with a mixer until smooth.  frost cupcakes.  sprinkle with garnishes!

also i’m watching tough love and some twat just told a dude that she likes vodka in her wine.  my kind of lady. 

and seriously.  dmx is in couples therapy.  i know this because i’ve been watching vh1 all afternoon. 

and that’s how you know you’ve watched too much vh1.

Textual Feeling: No, You Can’t Stick Your Finger In There

a quick aside.  in that my day is crap.  but then it gets a little bit better than crap.

when i was little and had pink eye or some other eye infection shit and needed eye drops put in my eyes – all bets were off.  one parent had to hold me still, while the other had to use their fingers to stretch out my eye and put the drops in.  then i would scream like they were dropping acid in my e yes.  to this day, i’m terrible with eye drops and anything eye-related.  which is why i don’t wear contacts.  but then i don’t always wear my glasses so then i get massive headaches and my eye sight just gets worse and worse.  but i just continue suffering rather than do something to remedy the situation.  like just wear my fucking glasses.

is this going somewhere, you ask?

yes.  it is.

for some fucked up reason i could not sleep last night.  it was awful.  the type of “you can’t sleep” that has you staring at your significant other like you’re going to murder them in their peaceful slumber because you’re so goddamn jealous.  

anyway, i slept for an hour.  which was pointless and i should have just stayed up all night because the hour of sleep didn’t do shit except make me crabby, whiny, and psychotic-looking with my red, irritated eyes.  

miraculously, i found eye drops in my purse.

and tried to administer them at my desk.

which was a terrible idea.

because i drained half the bottle because i keep freaking out and missing my eye and squirting it all over my face so it just looked like i was hysterically crying.  

happy fucking friday.

but then seriously.  happy fucking friday.  because i forgot i had this in the freezer:

but now i have gut rot. because i ate too much and too fast.

b: sweet mullets?

me: i want to make cupcakes first.  i’ve had a rough day.

b: can i come over and stick my finger in your better?

me: butter or butthole?  i’m confused.  i’d be pissed either way.

b: batter.

me: no, i forbid it.

b: that’s awfully ride.
b: rude.  goddammit!

me: good job.

Cupcakes, Champagne, and KFC

i called shitler this afternoon.  with a purpose.  to inform him what time we were going to my grandparents for dinner.  when he called me back – it was to tell me that he had KFC for lunch.  like i gave a shit.  he launched into the specifics of his meal.  

2 piece original recipe, macaroni and cheese, and a biscuit with honey.  

to which i reacted with disgust.

me: honey is gross.

shitler: no, it’s not  it’s good.  i didn’t even know.  they didn’t have any jam – so i was all, gimme some fucking honey!

me: i have to go back to work.  this has been a waste of my time.

shitler: i’m going to fucking kill you.

me: k, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye.

it’s like he bluffs for a living.  and makes empty threats.  whatever.

it’s not kfc – but it’s liver sausage.  and i’ve never met anyone that loves it more than shitler does.  he would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could.

but that’s neither here nor there.  i’m going to make these cupcakes this weekend.  only because it gives me an excuse to buy champagne.  one bottle for cooking.  two or more for consumption.  a twitter/college friend is going to as well.  and then we will battle it out via pictures.  although i’m the most concerned with how much champagne she can consume.  and perhaps how many cupcakes she can eat without puking.  so stay tuned.

Best Motherfucking Xmas. Ever.

tis better to give then to receive.

i just think i’m bad at accepting gifts.  because when people give me something extremely nice it makes me feel uncomfortable.  and then i feel bad that they probably spent a lot of money on me.  and then i worry about appreciating it enough and end up feeling like i’m not appreciating it like i should considering how much they probably spent on it.  which is why i don’t have nice things.  and which is why i love when people give me socks as gifts.

but this christmas has officially become the best ever.

because my manager got me this:

i'm so happy i could cry.

i will not be working the second job tonight because i’m going to go home and have a meatloaf extravaganza. 

pictures to follow.

Textual Feeling: Cunt College

B: do you think they have a Culinary University of North Texas?

me: i would hope so.  you applying?

B: i will.  if it exists.

me: your research begins now.

i’ve spent the better part of my afternoon designing logos for this non-existent school.  b did a quick google search and found no conclusive evidence that this college is real.  which is sad. 

but then i started thinking about the movie where the kid doesn’t get accepted to any college he applied to so he makes his own college.  and everything works out in the end because his college isn’t so focused on staunch success and clear cut black and whites and it’s like a giant “fuck you”to corporate america and all those bullshit standards that get drilled into kids. 

but life isn’t like that.  so get over it.

here are my logos:

the upside down llama has nothing to do with cooking. or cunts.

if this is a buffalo, i'm pretty sure you can eat it.

i'm fairly certain you can't eat bald eagle. but this is my logo tribute to america.

on a side note: if anyone reading this has deep pockets and would like to fund the Culinary Institute of North Texas it would be greatly appreciated.