Rate the Hate the Third

We're trying to eat seafood at least once a week, since we love it with a capital L and who knows if we're going to get transferred to Des Moines or something next year. We gotsa squeeze it in while we can.

This week's dinner is Shrimp Scampi, which is so much more unbelievably easily to make at home than you think it is. The thing is, it cooks up really fast, so you have have have to prep everything first. No exceptions.

First, set 1/2 pound linguine to boil. Angel hair is nice, too.
You simply take a pound of raw shrimp and toss it with 2 tsps of your favorite seafood seasoning (gratuitous Emeril Essence plug again). Add 2 tsp of olive oil and 1/4 cup butter to a skillet and heat on med-high (um, I never, ever use high heat. For anything. Ever.) Add the shrimp and cook for about 2 minutes, turn them, add 1 1/2 tbsp garlic and 1 tbsp capers (which I usually skip unless Josh is home) and cook for 30 secondsish. Now you need liquid. White wine is yummy, but I use 1/2 chicken stock or vegetable stock instead, 1/4 cup lemon juice (about 2 lemons squeezed) and 2 more tbsp butter. I like butter. Sue me. Cook that for about 1 1/2 minutes. Sprinkle on a little salt, a little more pepper and some fresh parsley on top. Put the cooked pasta on a platter and dump the whole saucepan on top of it.
That's it. It takes less that 10 minutes.

The question is: Do you think they ate it? Or, to make it easier, on a scale of 1-10, how much do you think they hated it? 1 being Best. Dinner. Ever. and 10 being We're Called Child Services and the Food Network to tell on you, you horrible, horrible woman.

I am a twelve year old boy

While I was in Denver a few months back, Josh went out to get bottles for the baby. See, she only takes a bottle at bedtime and on the rare occasion that she consents to a nap. So I only have 2 bottles. It's fine, really; I don't need anymore than that. But, truth be told, her bottles were getting a little ratty from wear and they did need to be replaced. And good on Josh for taking the initiative there.

I don't think he's ever bought bottles before.

They don't sell the brand of bottle she likes here, and he was forced to get something new. One of the boys used Playtex bottles, and my guess is that he saw the name and thought that would be right. My guess is that he's also never heard of a drop-in bottle. I get home and he tells me that he bought her bottles, and showed me them

He said, "I don't get it. They have a bag in them. She hates them."

Why, of course she hates them. She hates everything. But, he'd bought them and I figured we'd give'm a try. These bottles come with a liner that drops into it. It's supposed to cut down on the air in the bottle or something, and it makes cleaning them much easier. I ran out to the store to get a pack of liners for this thing so we could try to use it. I got the box of liners

brought it home and opened it up. Brace yourselves. This is where it gets good:

Remind you of anything? Here. have another look:

Yes, some sicko said to his wife one night, "You know, dear, these things really aren't working out for us, but I bet they'd make a lovely liner for a baby bottle." Now, I get it that when you're on your 4th month straight of post-partum depression and no sleep, you need nothing more than a good, hearty laugh every now and again, but seriously; nothing that looks even remotely like this is coming anywhere near my daughter for the next 30 years. Period.

The baby's side

(Shhhh....I'm supposed to be sleeping right now, but what that old hag don't know won't kill her...)

Hey guys. My mom's been talking some smack about me and I think it's my turn to get my 2 cents in. First, the stroller. She's raging on and on about how I snuck some lipstick and she couldn't see me because I was in the stroller. Well, I didn't even want to be in the stroller. She put some stupid belt around my waist and buckled it, and I had to attempt a jail-style prison break. I really did! I even managed to get one whole arm free, but a leg got stuck in the loop instead. Hey, I'm short; it happens. It's not my fault she made me sit in that thing.

And let's talk about that stroller. I did not want that stroller. We went to the baby store for one and I found the stroller OF MY DREAMS. It was HOT pink and had Dora the Explorer all over it. It was beautiful. She found this piece of crap.

Look at it...it's HUGE. I mean, she can strap my 7 year old brother into it, too. And no trace of Dora anywhere. Dumb, huh? I told her not to buy it. I said no, I grabbed at the Dora stroller, I hollered and pointed, I tried to climb the display rack. What part of me throwing myself on the floor screaming doesn't this chick get? The Dora stroller didn't even have a canopy on top, so she totally would have seen me getting her lipstick if she'd only bought the right stroller. Not. My. Fault.

And the lipstick? Pink. Pink is MY favorite color. Hers is orange. If she buys pink things, I naturally assume they are for me. What, does she want me to ask nicely? Um, please is for candy. Period.

And what grown woman takes a toddler shopping? For UNDERWEAR? There is nothing shiny in that store, there was not one puppy for me to look at. No one offered me a lollipop or a book to read or anything. The last thing I want to do on a perfectly good Monday afternoon is look at old women's knees while they buy black pieces of string sewn together that they call underwear. People, I know underwear. I have underwear. This is what underwear looks like:

That junk was NOT underwear. And to top it all off, Brainy Smurf over here gave me chocolate ice cream. Um, I'm one. You may as well hand me a 6 pack of Red Bull and a White Cross. Of COURSE I needed an apple. She gave me mall lunch and then ice cream. Duh. Apples make my teeth strong and make me poop in one big turd instead of that goo she's always bitching about. Woman, I suggest you start picking your battles better.

And thank you, blog readers. for hearing my side, too. We all know you just come here to look at sweet pictures of my beautiful face anyway.

Your Loving,


I almost forgot!

It's Wednesday. I owe you a picture. This one is of me, very f*#ing pregnant, and my goofball, greaser kids. I post it only because of how big my boobs were in this picture, and we seem to be on boobs this week. Trust me, they needed their own satellite system.