Single Servings: The misadventures of an almost domestically competent single woman

All the single ladies! Yes I know, there are only two of you left in the tri-state area, but, this blog's for you. I'm calling it “Single Servings,” and it's intended to document the attempts of a single woman with just enough domestic knowledge to be dangerous in the kitchen. I tried an experiment recently, and it involved food. Even though I rarely get home from work before 11 p.m., it typically takes me an hour or three to wind down before I can fall asleep. I even more rarely feel like doing housework, though I do, for whatever reason, always have the urge to vacuum...but I tell myself this would be un-neighborly. One particular night, I had the munchies, and I just happened to have a bag of chips – but I was fresh out of Mom's homemade salsa. Not wanting to go to the store, I took a self-guided tour through what my mother once described as Mother Hubbard's cupboards, and wondered what I could throw together for chip dip. If there's one thing I have in abundance, it's cream of mushroom soup. I don't know why, but if the world were to run out tomorrow, well, just give me a call. I think I used to have a favorite recipe that used it and I was perpetually running out, so I got in the habit of buying a can every time it was on sale. I've since forgotten that recipe, and cooking for one is downright obnoxious, so I do not tend to have a well-stocked kitchen. But old habits die hard, and the cream of mushroom soup crop is doing well. I also grabbed a can of refried beans, and a few other odds and ends, thinking, “I wonder what this would do.” I've always been intrigued by weird food combinations – fries and vanilla ice cream, corn dogs and ranch, pickles deep fried in batter – so this seemed like an opportunity. While the flavor wasn't bad, it was too heavy for chip dip. I also should probably add that during my “let's keep the mushroom soup companies in business” phase, I would sometimes buy different variations, basically because I get bored with repetition. That's fine and dandy, except when you accidentally grab a can of mushroom soup with roasted garlic when the situation would be much more suited to plain, old mushroom soup. Really, it should be called "scent of roasted garlic with a mushroom garnish" for as strong as it smelled. I learned something about myself: I apparently do not like overwhelming garlic smell. It ruined the chances of it working as chip dip, but, really, isn't self discovery what it's all about? Despite being underwhelmed with my invention, throwing out that much “food” would have given me nightmares full of reprimands from starving children in third-world countries, so, I had to come up with an alternative. I thought, maybe use it with some kind of meat? I'm not that imaginative, so I found some pork chops, thought, “Yeah, OK, that works,” and went with that. I bought a couple pork chops, and smothered one in the experimental goop in a baking pan. As a contingency plan, I smothered the other one in barbecue sauce, because you can't really screw that up. The result? Delicious. Pork chops dry out pretty easily if you don't use some sort of sauce or marinade, and the creaminess of the mushroom soup worked perfectly to keep the meat tender. The little hint of refried beans and tomato added flavor to what can sometimes be a bland cut, and you don't have to spend 20 minutes measuring out 18 different spices just to get some flavor into it. The whole process gave me renewed respect for people who create recipes, because it's way more involved than you'd think, even for something as basic as this. I didn't have a book to tell me how long to cook the food/at what temperature, so I called my Holly Homemaker oldest sister and we think tank-ed our way to a logical solution. And, best of all, the recipe makes almost the perfect amount of sauce for two pork chops. For a single person like myself, handling two chops is much more manageable than something like a rump roast or even a package of bacon. I paired them with a can of green beans, and had what passes for a pretty balanced meal in my world. I actually got two meals out of it. So, basically, I'm ruling this experiment as a success. If I keep experimenting, I might find a home for all the rest of these mushroom soup cans. Ingredients: 2 pork chops 1 8 oz. can of refried beans 1 8 oz. can of cream of mushroom soup Either 1 can of tomatoes or 1 large fresh tomato Directions: Open the cans. Mix together the beans, cream of mushroom soup. Chop up the tomato(s) and add to the mixture. Put the pork chops into a small baking pan, and cover with the sauce. Cover with aluminum foil, and bake at 325 for 45 minutes.* Makes 2 servings. *If you don't own a meat thermometer, use a knife and a fork to cut into the pork chop. If it's still pink, put it back in the oven. If it's white, it's ready to eat. (This would be why they call pork "the other white meat.")

"Stuff" that happens to me

Obviously, updating my blog has been a huge priority in my life. However, it's been re-suggested to me that I start a website. It will be called "S*@# that happens to me," and it will essentially be what this blog is: Posts about the weird s*$& that happens to me. It also will feature regular contributions from my more entertaining friends. If you're wondering about the somewhat crass title, here's where it came from: About a month ago, I get a text message that wakes me up. It's from an unknown number, asking me an usual question: "Do u have an AR-10s for sale?" This is not my typical wake-up text, so, I do what anyone would do in this situation: I ignore him. I get another text. "Or just any ARs?" He included his name in the text. I don't know him, but I recognize the last name, and more specifically, I recognize the 3-digit code as being from the same coverage area as my own cell. So at this point, I still am trying to pretend that someone in my area is not trying to purchase assault rifles from me. I again ignore the text. I then get yet another text from this individual, requesting further information. I realize this fellow will not be ignored, so I finally respond: "I think you may ave the wrong number." Almost instantly, as if he'd been literally waiting by the phone, I get: "Who is this?" I suppress the urge to fire back with, "No. No. You don't get to ask that. YOU texted ME." and instead say, "My name is Candy, and no, I don't have any ARs, 10s or otherwise." A few minutes later I get a sheepish response, "Oh. This is the wrong number. Sorry Candy!" I give him props for having a sense of humor, at least. This is the second time this has happened to me. I apparently have a very similar number to someone who deals in firearms. Back to the website idea, I naturally tell this story to, well, everyone. As I'm telling my sister later than same day, she pauses and says, "You have weird s*$& happen to you." Yes. Yes I do. I tell that to my friend, Brian, and he says I should turn that into a website. I said I could rename my blog to that, but I am attached to my current name. And thus an idea was born.

Duck you gooses

Recently, I heard a rumor about elementary schools trying to ban Duck Duck Goose from their playgrounds. Then, I read an article about a school in Massachusetts that already has banned tag from its recess playgrounds. Apparently, they're "too violent." Then I found this: http://www.petitiononline.com/dckdckgs/petition.html, and I hope it's a joke, because I laughed the entire time I read it. Here's my response to calling Duck Duck Goose part of the "sinister underbelly" of playground games. Editor’s note: If you do not understand sarcasm, do not read this. The world is a dangerous place. At any moment, doors could fly open, heels could snap off, pieces of satellites not completely consumed by the Earth’s atmosphere could come hurtling in from outer space and squash unsuspecting victims. We must be vigilant. We must take back the safety of the world, of our children. These are things we must do, in order to return to those golden years of lead paint and no seatbelt laws where people somehow manage to live past the age of 7 without constant adult supervision. 1. Along with banning things like cell phones and eating while driving, because they serve as distractions, we also should ban all children under the age of 12 from cars. Kids who scream, yell, fuss, or fight are a distraction to the driver, and therefore a hazard. 2. Actually, the only real way to keep the roads safe is to ban all vehicles. There will be no driving of any kind. People may only walk at slow speeds on designated roads during daylight hours. 3. At schools, children should no longer be allowed to actually play on playgrounds. These should now be called “discussion” grounds, where children can walk in small circles and discuss foreign policy and Dora the Explorer. After all, letting them run around and run into each other might actually help them learn social skills, release pent up energy and help them focus in class, encourage exercise as child obesity continues to rise, and, oh, right, act like children. We don’t want that. 4. People should have permits before having children. There should be a multi-faceted application process, that weighs financial security, intelligence, criminal record and physical appearance. Only attractive, smart and “good” people will be allowed to raise kids, because smart, attractive and athletic children are much more safe than ugly ones. 5. Microwaves and ovens will be banned, as will deep freezers. Anything too hot or too cold could cause damage to someone or something at some time in some way. 6. In accordance with No. 4, it will be illegal to live in all states in which the temperatures regularly rise above 85 or dip below 32. Hot and cold extremes have been known to cause health problems, and even death. The only way to avoid that is to remove both people and animals from harm’s way. Any person or animal discovered inhabiting the illegal space will be prosecuted as a criminal. Hopefully when everyone moves onto Hawaii, it doesn’t sink the rest of the way into the ocean, because swimming also will be illegal. We don’t want anyone to drown. 7. It will be illegal to grow, import, export or have anything to do with peanuts, because some people are allergic. 8. Bees will be completely banned, as some people also are allergic to them. 9. Anything made of glass, including all glassware, windows, and decorations will be banned. Glass can shatter, and those jagged edges could be deadly. 10. All knives will be banned. How will you spread butter, you may ask? It’s a non-issue, because all foods other than fruits and vegetables are banned, for health and safety considerations. This is just the first step we can take, to ensure the next generation grows up in a safer world than we did. It’s for the children.

Pop goes the weasley can

Last night, I got home from the grocery store with three items in my hand, one of them being a 12-pack of Sprite Zero. Somehow, I still managed to drop the box on the threshold, which resulted in all 12 cans of pop rolling down my front step.
In between putting the cans back into the box and fighting to keep Mort from running outside, I must have miscounted, because I thought I had them all safely returned to the box.
This morning, however, as I backed out of my "driveway," I saw one lonely can nestled against the sidewalk curb. I'm not sure if it froze overnight, but I'm a little scared to open it. Who knows what could happen?

Disjointed thoughts

At random:

1. At the hotel, we had a guest checked in under the name of Jason Alexander, and another under the name of Ronald MacDonald. Not the *actual* people, but, if I didn't work the graveyard, I still would have tried to get their autographs.

2. Sports editor, to me: "Well, they're not the worst golf photos I've ever seen." Best compliment ever.

3. I'm writing an article about the local chapter of the Knights of Columbus, and all Ron Burgundy's voice keeps ringing in my ears, making it very hard for me to focus.

All keyed up.

This week, I locked myself out of my house and my car. Simultaneously. It was about 9 p.m. Friday night, and I was going to go over to a friend's house to watch a movie. I walked out the door, and as soon as the door shut, I knew something wasn't right. I dug through my purse, and realized I didn't have my keys. So, I texted my friend. She said she and her husband would be right over.
I called my realtor, who has an extra key. No answer.
Drew and Amy show up. Drew asks if I have any windows we could possibly get through. I had just cleaned my bathroom with bleach that afternoon, and had had it open, so I thought that might be the way to go. Trouble is, it's a window behind a large bush and is about level with my nose (I'm 5'10).
So, Amy gives Drew a boost and pretty soon all we can see are his legs sticking straight up. Then, I hear him yelling at my cat, who was in the bathroom at the time. Needless to say, Amy and I were laughing. Drew lets me in, I grab my house keys, realize my car keys weren't there. I look in my purse, and sure enough, there are my car keys. Amy just shook her head and said, "Don't tell Drew." So, I didn't.
Here's why this happened.
I have a spare key that I normally keep outside. But, I had used it earlier in the week, and forgot to put it back. So there went my extra house key. As a failsafe, I keep a set in my car, in my glove box. I always have a spare set of car keys in my purse, too, in case I should lock myself out of my car. It's been known to happen.
Well, a few weeks ago, my glove box decided to quit opening. I guess it felt entitled. But, there's a little notch next to it, that will trigger the release if you stick a key or something in there. Naturally I pick my ignition key to stick in there, and of course, it got stuck. So as I try to jimmy it out, with no warning or give whatsoever, the key just snaps right in half.
This is where I gasp in horror and just stare at my broken key.
Took me a week to get the key remnant out of the glove box, but I did manage to retrieve it without resorting to pliers.
So now my spare set of keys have become my main set of keys. So when I locked myself out of my car, I didn't have my spare set. So then I was locked out of my car, I didn't have access to my failsafe (house keys in glove box).
It's all very complicated. Needless to say, I have now replaced the hide-a-key outside, and will be getting a spare car key made as soon as I can.

Whew.

I moved. Again. This time I moved all the way to Ogallala, Nebraska. I've been here about a month now, and I have to say, it seems awfully boring without all the transients and interesting people I encountered on a daily basis on the Rosebud.

But, of course, this is still my life and weird stuff still happens. For instance, my first week here I had a fun little experience.

I live in a duplex. The living quarters are separated by a garage, the only parts that are connected are the utility rooms. This is where the washer/dryer hook-ups are. This is where my cats got through a hole in the wall into my neighbor's house. My neighbor also happens to work where I do. Fun times.

He was nice about it...the first time.

Having cats has reminded me why I'm a dog person. They make no sense to me whatsoever.