32 posts tagged “wife”
For years the wife and I have been making a McDonald's mutation sandwich which we dubbed the Beef N' Bird.
Equal parts double-cheeseburger and McChicken.
Discard one set of buns (i.e. let the kids eat them when they swoop in to take a break from the playground.)
Combine the meats, sauces, and assorted veggies (term used loosely)
between remaining set of buns and there you have it.
The Beef N' Bird.
I was inspired by this when preparing dinner last night and classed-up (ever so slightly) the original concept.
Gourmet Beef N' Bird:
Pan-fry a large medallion of beef sausage until crisply browned then cut in halves and cook two chicken tenderloins pan-fried in the beef sausage drippings.
One large leaf of Romain lettuce placed on a plate, with a thin layer of sun-dried tomato pesto spread over it, then sprinkled with grated Romano cheese.
When the meats have cooled slightly (so not to wilt the lettuce) alternately place sausage halves and tenderloins on top of the Romain leaf.
Drizzle spicy wing sauce or BBQ lightly over the meats and serve.
My yen and yang seem to swirl around food-stuffs.
This past week I, among other things, went grocery shopping and got taken out to dinner.
You know the stereotype of the slow moving grocery line caused by a coupon-clipper, paying with cash and exact-change, who doesn't begin to start rummaging for these items in her massive saddle-bag until she's verified a price-match for every item scanned and then made sure all the bags made it into the cart?
I fear that I might become that person.
Twice in the past week I've picked out items, checked them out, paid for them, and not gotten home with them.
I suspect it is because I always have the kids with me when I'm shopping and the clerk, bagperson, and myself are usually distracted with them being cute when it comes time to put the bags back into the cart.
The latest instance was milk.
I picked up six, paid for six, and only got four home into the fridge.
(half-gallons mind you, they were on sale and thus less expensive per volume than the full gallons.)
However, as cosmic balance, the Millionaire and his wife were in town and I got taken out to dinner.
Chicken Oscar at Merchant's upstairs dining room and 18 year old Macallan scotches.
I'm going to make the choice to be really happy about the meal out, the good booze, and the after show at Tootsie's.
After all, no point crying over milk you paid for but were too lame to remember to put in your cart, so your 2 year old could have spilled it when you got home anyway.
Success.
Got the Notary cornered along with two of the tellers at the bank branch to act as my witnesses for my will.
One peculiarity in the process.
To determine if I was of sound mind, the Notary asked me a few questions.
First was, "So, you just moved here last summer?"
Easy one, "Yup."
It was the follow-up to that which threw me.
"Have you found a church yet?"
Recovering, quickly, well it felt quick to me, I reply, "Sure, yeah, we've looked around and settled on (fill in name here because it's where we got my eldest daughter into affordable preschool.)
Banker/Notary: "Well, that's fine, but if you ever feel like joining a community of passionate believers, my church is up on (local road name here) and we'd love to have you join our fellowship."
Not the kind of witnessing I thought I'd get to legalize my will.
I guess church attendance qualifies as exhibiting a sound mind in these parts.
"Uh, yeah, sure, I'll talk to the wife about it." One of the joys of marriage is being able to use the spousal-conference as a reason to not do anything immediately and be non-committal.
Then while the tellers fill out all their various info to make the will official and I'm a captive audience; he goes on about all the benefits about moving all of our funds to his bank and all the other various account add-ons he can push on me.
So, first he wants to save my soul; then he wants all my cold hard cash.
I shall keep both to my own counsel.
But I'm all legal, official, and fixed up to die.
Gimme an F...
Gimme an I...
Gimme an S...
Gimme an H...
What's that spell?
Taco Salad with Lemongrass Chicken Spring Rolls.
I had the eldest daughter assist with this one.
Just shy of 4, she was able to shred the romaine lettuce leaves by hand.
She also sprinkled the chopped onions into the skillet with the hamburger while it was browning.
Then she poured a little of both ranch dressing and cheesy pasta sauce onto the salad and mixed it in with a spoon.
Finally, she crushed the (generic) chili cheese Fritos by hand and stirred them in.
By then, the frozen Lemongrass Chicken Spring Rolls were coming out of the oven and ready to be placed for presentation just as my wife arrived home from work.
The wife and I open the door with the little jingly bell on it, hop over the raised doorway lip (truely wicked) and stroll into the local boozeria.
She is quickly dazzled by naughty labeled wines and lost to the brightly neon corner of the shop to giggle.
I press on, to the furthest darkest back corner.
Man-country, where they keep the whiskeys and bourbon.
Old Charter is a new addition for this shop. (I've read it's part of the Buffalo Trace Distillery, Lexington, KY.)
They have a puzzling variety of vintage; 1 year, 3 year, 5 year, 8 year, 10 year and 12 year.
Not to be overcome with indecision, I grasp the 12 year (90 proof) and emerge back to the fluorescent light of the cash register.
On the way, I do the wife a favor and grab a big ol' tear-drop bottle of Rain vodka. Lovely container, organic contents.
The kind of vodka that doesn't need to hide behind flavorings, mixers, or additives.
The wife won't buy it for herself, because it makes her feel guilty to buy anything but Popov.
On the other hand, I have every incentive to buy her good vodka because well...
The old man behind the counter is restocking the hip/boot size bottles and doesn't notice my arrival.
I clear my throat.
Nothing.
I set the bottles down again, jingling them together a bit. Clink, clink, nothing.
Right about here, lizard-brain is telling me to just side-step back on out through the door to the car with my prizes.
The wife walks up.
Just then, old man turns around and jumps with a start, "Will that be all then?"
Yeah, she was wearing one of her boobie shirts.
Old man's still got the radar.
Wife looks at the receipt in the car, "Did you really need the 12 year?"
"Well yeah. I've never had Old Charter before."
"So?" she says
"Here's the thing, if I started off by trying the younger stuff, each bottle would have been cheaper, true, but might have been more expensive overall."
"Huh?" she says.
"Look, if I try the one year, and it sucks, I would think, well, maybe the three year would be better, so then I buy that, and if it sucks, I might think, well maybe the five year is better and so on, until I end up buying the twelve year old anyway. So, this way, I start off with the twelve year old. If it sucks, I don't need to try any of the others because this is as good as it's going to get. If I do like it, I can always downgrade until I find the one that's too young, then go back up just one notch from then on."
"You way over-analyze your booze, but thanks for the vodka."
"Anytime. Anytime."
Wife was out of town last week on business.
Back for the weekend.
Then left again yesterday for a full week of business.
I went shopping for my usual moping food to see me to the other side,
but found my desire straying from the usual frozen pizza selection.
Fried chicken.
Bacon.
Fried chimichanga frozen burritos.
Chips.
Cookies.
Cigars.
Domestic macro brew (more on that later.)
OK, and one token frozen pizza.
Things that I don't buy when she's around to scold me.
And that is how I know that she's a positive influence.
My wife; the anti-vice.
Actually getting a babysitter tonight and going out with the wife.
Sushi.
I'm not really the biggest fan, but am attempting to acquire the taste to expand horizons.
OK, that's a lie, sort of.
My wife belongs to the Sushi Meetup group and I'm just tired of being left at home with the kids while she goes out.
So, this time, I'm tagging along.
Bring on the sake.
About the title:
See, inside my own head, I made an "Animal House" joke.
I thought about not explaining myself.
That should tell you a lot.
So, I went to a yoga class at the YMCA with my wife.
First one in my life. I just don't do organized classes at gyms.
It was a dare of sorts.
After class she said that it was a hard class and that I did quite well.
It surprised her.
Gee thanks.
Always good to know that I'm not actually as clumsy as people assume by looking at me / knowing me.
Tis far better to have a known a breeze that passed, than never to have felt the wind at all.
Yes, I stole the spirit of that from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850
When real life picks up I find I don't mind missing PC time at all.
Days or weeks go by without checking email.
Blog entries from others stack up that seem like they should be gotten to.
Meanwhile, mine are the anti-matter of the blogosphere.
I know things happened on those days, but nobody can see it.
Just gaping holes of nothing in the record.
Joined the YMCA these past couple of weeks and picked up the old routine without a beat missing.
Summer finally turned off and with it the humidity and the air conditioning.
The girls are active all their waking hours.
Eldest is a big girl now, with a backpack, lunch box, and school projects to be brought home for the front of the fridge.
Then a breeze picks up making it absolutely perfect out of doors.
I pick up a Shiner Bock from the fridge (Spoetzl Brewery, Shiner, Texas), the bucket of sidewalk chalk for the girls and make for the patio and my soft padded chair in the shade.
Begin the countdown until the wife comes home from work.
My eldest daughter runs into the office to join the wife and I.
She blurts out, laughing, "I protected (youngest daughter)!"
The wife and I look at each other and ask simultaneously, "From what?"
Youngest explodes in giggles, "From ME!"
My kids are beating my curious nature out of me.
Some things I just really don't want to know the answers to anymore.
The wife hops up to go investigate.
I hop up to top off my drink.
