Cooking 101

When baking, turn the oven ON.

We've had a lovely garden this summer. We planted zucchini, tomatoes, jalapenos, (Our fresh salsa is da bomb!), basil, dill, mint and, for the first time, red peppers. For a week or so now, because I didn't know what to do with them, I have kept two ginormous red peppers on the plant even though they needed to be harvested.

I decided to stuff them and finally got the gumption to do it last night so we picked those huge, gorgeous red peppers. We spent about 1 1/2 hours preparing the stuffing, making a garden salad and cleaning as we went. Finally, the time had come to put the peppers in the oven. I set the timer for 35 minutes, put the dish in the oven and sat down a minute to relax. We passed the 35 minutes talking and playing cards. (I kicked serious butt in rummy. Actually I felt kind of bad for Boyfriend. He almost cried the lashing was so severe.)

At last! The oven beeped signaling that dinner was done. (At this point I will tell you that I was starving, and had been for quite some time.) I opened the oven and noticed a distinct absence of heat emanating from it. It turns out the timer is only a timer and does not cook food.

Me: I am sofa king we todd it.

BF: I know the feeling.

Weekend Warriors

Boyfriend and I were invited to go camping and boating last weekend with a childhood friend of mine. My friend and her husband have a big, air conditioned camper with a television and another couple going on the trip had a pontoon boat. We would be camping in the lap of luxury.

I really wanted to go. Summer was coming to a quick close, I had only seen my friend a couple of times, boating, camping—I’m in. But, I knew Boyfriend had had a hard week. It had been blistering hot, he does manual labor, and he was exhausted. So, on Thursday night, I told him I did not want to go if he was going to be the least bit uncomfortable or did not want to go in ANY way. He said I could go without him and I told him I would rather stay home with him. I told him I would leave it up to him. He would be the decider. I completely expected to stay home, and that was fine with me.

On the phone Friday afternoon I asked him about the trip and he responded, "Let's go camping." Well, party on! I called my friend and told her we were coming. She could expect us around ten.

I got home from work a few hours later and Boyfriend was lying in the recliner. He hadn’t really packed anything, but he had gone to the store to get beer. Thank the good Lord. Because, as the minutes wore on, I would really, really, really need that beer. And a couple of shots. And a gun.

Boyfriend looking pitiful and like he would rather go to war than go camping:

Me: Do you want to stay home?

BF: I'm committed now.

Me: No, I could just make a phone call and tell them we're not coming.

BF: We're going.

Me: Why did you say "Let's go camping" when you didn't want to go?

BF: Why did you ask me?

Me:

The bitching, moaning, cursing and heavy sighing continued while getting ready.

Later in the car:

BF bitching about work and being tired and anything else he could think of:

Me: Why the hell did you say you wanted to go when you really did not want to go?

BF: To appease you. To make you happy.

Me: This is NOT making me happy.

BF: For future reference, I'm sick of traveling!

Me: Where have you traveled? You haven't been anywhere since June and it's almost September.

BF:

Me: Give me a fucking cigarette.

The two-hour ride was so special.

We were almost at our destination and called my friend to see if she was hungry. (We hadn't eaten dinner since we didn't want to interrupt the love fest that was going on.) She told us the only thing open was Burger King and to get her a Whopper Jr. meal. As we waited in the drive-thru to order, BF jumped out of the car to take a piss.

When we were readying to leave the next morning, BF couldn't find his wallet. We looked all over but no luck. I told him I was sure it was at home, since he regularly walks out the door sans wallet.

We had a great weekend. The weather, the lake, the boat, the food, the drink, the company--spectacular.

We got home Sunday evening but there was no wallet. Looking back, he thinks that drive-thru piss cost him about $250 in cash and a few hours of legwork canceling all of his plastic, putting a fraud alert on his credit, closing his checking account, etc.

I’ve told him over and over that the world is not his urinal. Maybe next time he’ll listen.