Sugar Plum Fairies Dancing in My Mouth

Had a full on awesome time last week celebrating husband's birthday.  I took him out for a night on the town, and *oh boy* was it a night on the town.  Actually, I'm quite impressed with my scheduling and organizational abilities to pull this shite off.  First on the list was an uber awesome manly gift of grilling tools that Bobby Flay would be jealous of.  The "Always Perfect™ Chef's Fork is a digital meat thermometer with a color-changing backlit display. There is a built-in thermometer which measures food temperature and done-ness based on USDA-approved temperatures for nine popular types of food."  Dood.  Then as if that wasn't grilling awesomeness enough for him, yup, I got him an LED grill light that attaches to the handle of the grill.  *Sucks teeth* - yup, it's weather proof.  Eh-em, I rule.

After that was dinner at a semi-highfaluting restaurant.  It. Was. Awesome.  We were greeted with glasses of champagne, followed by incredible appetizers and a fantastically mouth-inspiring-orgasmic dinner... followed by an even more indelible double chocolate molten cake, dashed with hazelnuts, and topped with caramel dressing drizzled over hazelnut chocolate ice cream.  Um, yeah.  At one point I swear I looked up and there was a heavenly light shining down upon our table (and fairies sparkling over my shoulders).  Or maybe that was just my champagne induced psychosis that believed it was fairies or quite possibly a paparazzi camera light on my Chanel™-esque dress.  Oh, yeah, I worked it.  Ok, no paparazzi or fairies, but it sure as heck felt like it. I mean, the maitre d'hotel actually made mention of how much he loved my dress.  *I'm glowing*.

After dinner, we decided to follow through with our reservations to a certain well renowned speak easy.  Lots have been said about this place, and... well, they are all true.  I ordered "The Start of a Beautiful Life" - oh-ho-ho-ho!  Oh, no you di-in't!

Indeed, it was the start of a beautiful life, and in my own personal opinion, my new religion.  O.M.G.  Ginger extract, Manushka honey infused vodka, a million other ingredients, a little fairy dust and a sprinkle of goddess like magic... VOILA.  Holy effing crap.  My first drink of this unearthly libation was like the sugar plum fairies dancing their nutcracker sequence on my tongue and continuing down my esophagus.  An unearthly experience for each and every single one of my taste buds.  No joke.

 

As I visually absorbed the line of elixir syrups at the bar, and the complex working of hands, arms, body and soul into these drinks it came to me... the reason why this place is so coveted.  It's like you have stumbled upon Beelzebub's lair, his own true secret hidden cove to lay back and chill, and with the luck of an online reservation - you have a special invitation.  I can't wait to go back again, and order something else that will knock the proverbial socks off my feet.

I officially claim today "Tazmanian Devil Day"

In the name of all that is holy... today was a crap storm from hell.  I mean, when you feel like you just ran a marathon by 12 pm, that's a friggin' problem right? 

It probably didn't help that I was up until 12 am with husband last night, or that the youngest one was up at the a** crack of dawn with a nightmare screaming (poor kiddo).  We were gallivanting around our hood in celebration of his birthday all night last night.  Ok, ok, so it was fun, *delightful* in fact.  Here comes the ever present "but"... BUT, it just so happens that this was the fourth day consecutively of little to no sleep (insert stress dreams here) and my level of utter and show stopping exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks slamming down on the concrete sidewalk from the top of the empire state building.  You know you're in trouble when the second iced quattro espresso shot soy latte isn't even opening your eyes.  OH YEAH.  That's commonly referred to in my world as Dante's eighth level of hell.  COMPLETELY unbearable, and especially so with a two and a half year old that has a store of energy at 6:30 am of which only bouncing in a bouncy house at an amusement park would satisfy.  At 9:30 am my eyes would not even remotely open, that's when I knew I needed to pull out the big guns.  I half sleepy eyed jokingly asked my toddler to go fetch me a HUGE Redbull from the fridge... when hubby (to my surprise *actually* heard me, meaning he was LISTENING - HOLY WOW) brings me a 12 ounce Redbull.  Thank you dear god.  I love this man right now. 

So, fast forward, and it's 10:30 am.  I have now cleaned the entire house (4,300 sq ft+) in the last hour (our home is on the market and at any second a potential buyer could request a "showing"), fed said toddler, and packed us to go on our errand run... 1st stop: CVS.  Top priority is to get mommy some anti aging crap so I don't look like a skeleton walking in daylight or worse - Joan Rivers.  Mainly because the stress of this life is stripping away any youth I ever had, and then some.  Second stop: post office to pick up mail (because if I don't, I'll destroy my credit from all the late bills I will have to pay out of sheer neglect), third stop: grocery shopping (I'm so bare bones with food right now, I don't even have OJ and am getting creative with school lunches [read: fruit gummy bears and soy cheese with ritz crackers]), fourth errand: picking up big kid from school (which was also half-assed and late because little one decided to take a monster crap in her pants one minute before I needed to leave to pick up big kid).  It was a melange of psycho paced activity from 10:30 am until 2:30 pm.  I won't bother you with the in between of meltdowns, screaming at the highest octave whilst shopping, and she's trying to jump out of carts or dart out into street... nah, that's not worth typing.  Basically it felt like a race to run through as many activities as you could within 4 hours for a million dollar prize.  Except the million dollars is a facade, and I'm borderline hallucinating from sleep loss.

It all ended with kids eating the fresh dinner I made while I proceeded to do a massive spraying of widow spiders on my property with the most lethal spray I could get my hands on.  This stuff is AWESOME.  I watched as the little eight legged heathen devil Brown Widow spiders writhed in agony drenched in the spray.  I'm sorry, I really do love nature, but I love my children more... and the thought of a property drenched in Brown Widow Spiders is not my idea of a safe abode for my kids.  They stood no chance in the wake of mommy inspired, exhaustion fueled hatred.  I got a HUGE honking one that was connected to my favorite chair on the deck - ACK!  No doubt this was the culprit "mommy" spider giving heathen birth to all these little devils basking out on my deck.  *F---!*

After the kids bath time, cleaning of the ears, hair brushing, and all the other brainless activity I do on a daily basis (all while chasing children screaming in laughter at EVERY turn - absolutely no seriousness toward ritual activity whatsoever) I'm ready for a HUGE dirty martini.  Like an 8 ounce-er.

In summation, after the crap storm today, I feel like a half dead jelly fish, ripped apart by a torturous yacht-y propeller, and left for dead on the beach at the highest heat point of the day and picked at by hungry seagulls, then stepped on by a passer by.  Someone stick a fork in me, and throw me in the dump - I'm sooooooo done.

Chicken in a can?

OMG, is there...? That can't be... What is THAT?  Is that really...?  I can't believe it!?!  WHAT?!?

Tonight I saw something that made me scream "holy barf-factor batman!" out loud on my couch.  I was watching my favorite gastronomy network when they showed a god awful image on the screen that will continue to haunt me for years to come.  If this network's main goal was to completely destroy any pleasant memories of my mother's "straight from the farm" Sunday chicken dinner - mission accomplished.  I immediately regretted my decision to continue watching.  In my defense though, my body's physical response to this visual repulsiveness was equal parts of gag-reflex and astonished awe blended together.  It was impossible NOT to keep watching.  Visually, this was (hands down) a "roux" of the grotesque and macabre.

As the next few seconds unfolded (before my open-jaw-dropped-mouth-deer-in-headlights look ensued), I soaked in the image of an opaque slime drenched chicken slopping its carcass and "juice" in one hard thump out of a can and into a pan. 

*Shiver*

I thought, that CAN'T be real?!?  Wait... is it real? 
'O mighty Google, please will thou answer me this riddle?

So far, no dice.  I still can't find serious information that actually proves this awful thing is real and not just a joke.  Seriously?  This thing looked like Carol Ann reincarnated as a chicken returning from the "other side" and slopped with a healthy portion of poultry ectoplasm. It didn't come out of the wall or the television, but instead a huge honking can. 

Actually, on second thought, this is a lovely idea.  Just GRAND.  What a perfect way for you to really stretch out your store bought chicken.  Forget about home cooking from fresh ingredients.  Pish tosh!  All the kids will be screaming, "I'll have more ectoplasm chicken in a can, please!".  Why do I foresee an appetizer of canned Swedish meatballs pairing perfectly with this? 

I have to stop typing, and take a Tums.  My stomach is about to purge.