Holy Crap! (See Also: About Damn Time)

7 May

That was my expletive-free reaction to the “You’ve Been Freshly Pressed” email I got last week. For once, I didn’t curse. It was weird.

Dudes, I’ve been waiting for this shit since the day I started blogging. I didn’t know why exactly, I just knew it was the ultimate in WordPressery. Thing is, I’m sort of a terrible blogger but cocky enough to think this should have happened a long time ago.

If you expletive newbs stick around, which I sincerely hope you do, you will discover the following about this site:

1. I swear a lot. I mean, HELLO, you should have @$#^$ing figured that out already, based on the blog title alone.

2. I’m pretty self-obsessed.

3. I LOVE comments and I try to reply to all of them. But I’m also extremely lazy.

4. Sometimes I don’t blog for weeks (please refer back to #3).

5. My kid is cuter than yours. Sorry.

Cheers, Newbs!

My “Me” page is horrendously out of date so I wouldn’t recommend going there. I’m pretty sure I’m still pregnant over there.

I complain/rant a lot, red velvet everything makes me go mad with rage, I don’t get very controversial. My favorite blogging phrase is “but that’s another post”. Don’t get too excited when you see that phrase, however, because that post rarely comes. I love bourbon, which could explain quite a bit.

You can check out the “Us” page for more info but there isn’t actually much there either, but the rundown on this family is as follows: Married for 7.5 years, straight outta college, military, beer-loving, Rock Band playing, little crazy. Like, we have a party every year where attendees must wear jorts crazy. Maybe this is another post.

See, told you.

You will never see a photo of my husband, known throughout the internetz as Big A. Nor will you ever see the real name of either Big or Little A. This is clearly by design. Some of my friends don’t even know their real names, so don’t be offended.

My brother recently passed away, so be prepped for the occasional grief/recovery/emotional post. I’m not going to Trigger Warning that shit because we’re all adults here, so if you’re not crying with laughter within the first two sentences, you’ll be in ugly tears by the end. There’s your !@#$% warning.

I started this thing with the intention of ranting about all the things the @!%#@ Baby was “ruining” for me. Except I ended up with the easiest pregnancy and the fastest delivery in the history of babies so I sort of look like a whiner now. Maybe when we go for !@#$ Baby #2 I can get the pregnancy hell I so desired. JUST JOKES.

If you’re still with me by this point, maybe even begging for more, I can be ALL OVER YOUR @!%#! SOCIAL MEDIA. Follow me on Facebook and/or Twitter. I also Instagram because I loves me some fake filters.

Some of my earlier posts that I felt deserved a little more attention:

If you explore, you’ll find shit that I don’t even remember writing. Skimming through some of those blog titles was a glimpse into deep depths of forgotten lore.

So, hugs, homemade frosted cupcakes and bourbons for all the new followers and subscribers and friends! Thank you for checking me out. I’m looking forward to getting to know you and checking out your blogs as well. Now, have a !@%# nice day, because I said so!

I WAS FRESHLY PRESSED, YO!

Photo Friday: Spring in MN vs. Spring in MD

3 May

Life in Maryland last week was a liiiiitle different then it was when we were in Minnesota the week before. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home state and never waver on that, but they are bat shit crazy with the weather this year. Like, it snowed while I was there. At the end of April. And they got substantial snow yesterday. IN MAY. That’s weirder than The Great Halloween Blizzard of 1991, for reals.

I go through snow withdrawal  so I didn’t mind. We played in it! Little A wasn’t impressed. Possibly even annoyed I put him in it because that snowball? Went straight down my sweater immediately following that photo.

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spring7

We returned home to 65 degrees and sun. And played in bright green grass.

spring4

He wasn’t impressed with that either. And played perhaps isn’t the right word. Froze in place seems more accurate. He wasn’t sure what to do.

He seemed to enjoy the swing and the slide and/or the basking in the sun but was unimpressed with his first baseball game.

spring3

spring5

spring2

sping1

He’s just bummed the Reds lost. Or maybe that it wasn’t a Twins game. Shit, it was pretty warm, maybe he missed that cold white shit. A big week of firsts (snow, grass, slide, swing, public transit (not pictured), baseball) and varied weather!

You may notice an extreme difference in my hair. There’ll a blog post about that. Because it had gotten RIDIC awful. And it’s the @!#%!# baby’s fault.

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Memories in the Mundane

2 May

It generally happens when my head is empty.

I’m running, I’m driving, I’m cooking, I’m trying to sleep, I’m thinking.

I’m stuck in my head.

And memories just regenerate and I have nothing to do but remember.

And it’s not touching things like finding a card.

It’s random crap that I can’t even BELIEVE I remember, like when my brother told me I made the worst mac and cheese ever.

I was 12. Maybe 11. He was in middle school. He went to middle school at the HIGH SCHOOL which made him and his friends a big deal. And I always wanted to impress them. He asked me to make mac and cheese and I happily accepted.

Because, seriously? I’d been making mac and cheese from a box for years by that point. I loved that shit. I had the decreasing butter, increasing milk down to a SCIENCE.

But he gave me specific instructions.

Don’t cook the noodles all the way.

Add twice the milk.

If you say so, bro. But I made it to his specifications. He told me to.

It was gross.

Crunchy. Runny. Inedible.

He called me out on it, called it the worst mac and cheese ever. And I, in one of my now-recovered first moments of bitch, called him out on his terrible directions. He relented, we laughed, it was over. I’m pretty sure they made a frozen pizza.

Twenty minutes of life that was somehow remembered and now will never be forgotten.

Annoyed at My Crying Baby? Blame the FAA.

1 May

We’ve been lucky enough to take several trips with baby in tow in his first year on Earth. And totally lucky that he is an excellent flier – relatively quiet, sleepy, calm. We have the scheduling thing down: plan flights around feeding times, feed him on take off, enjoy the long nap for the majority of the flight. NAILED IT.

Until the FAA steps in and furloughs the crap out of your best laid plans.

The face of flight delays.

The face of flight delays.

$^%@ you, FAA.

Last week, Little A and I stepped up to the gate in Minneapolis just as they were announcing the 1.5 hour delay. The plane was at the gate. AT. THE. @$#%^ GATE. Delay was caused because of the Air Traffic Controller furlough, blah blah blah. So now there’s a hungry, tired baby who will be forced into a short fast. Otherwise, he will be a wide awake, flailing, screaming baby at 36,000 feet. I don’t want that. You don’t want that. No one wants that. God doesn’t want that.

I wandered the terminal for over an hour, back and forth right and left there and back and over again. At least I got some exercise in. I really wanted a beer. Finally, I could not stand NOT feeding that poor beast so we sat near the gate and he ate. As he finished, boarding began. This might work out okay.

I ASK THAT YOU TAKE NOTICE OF THE MIGHT.

Beautiful in its irony.

Beautiful in its irony.

I had the row to myself. That never happens! My luck was turning! Except it was bulkhead so the trays were in the arms so the arms didn’t raise so it didn’t @#!%! matter anyway. #!%! you, luck.

Little A pounded on the window for awhile, tried to engage the ladies behind us, continued his quest for the perfect lap triple axle. And we sat at the gate. Because they needed fuel. BECAUSE THEY APPARENTLY DECIDED NOT TO REFUEL WHILE THE PLANE SAT LONELY AND DESOLATE AT THE GATE FOR TWO HOURS. They didn’t turn the air on so it was stuffy as shit and I was left praying that kid wouldn’t decide now would be the time to M his Bs.

Finally we get up in the air; kid immediately konks out. I follow suit. And we sleep through beverage service, beverage clean up and whatever else happens on a two hour flight (the answer is nothing).

HERE’S WHERE IT GETS FUN AND I HATE FURLOUGHS.

Being home with my parents already wonks his schedule. Flight delays increase the problem. Not to mention, by this point I’m the hungry one, not to mention tense from an awkward position with an aching back because I swear the woman behind me found a way to UNrecline my seat every time I fell back asleep after REreclining it.

So let’s review. Hungry baby who loves to crawl who hasn’t touched floor in five hours. Hungry mom who hasn’t been comfortable in five hours. A few dollars saved at the government level to delay a flight two hours.

THIS IS FUN. YAY.

The MINUTE the seat belt sign comes on, Little A goes berserk. Squirming, crying, flinging, back bending, practicing every evasive technique he learned in night school. I can’t stand up to soothe him, I can’t make a bottle, he refuses everything I offer. Blanket? Nope. Rattle? No. Teething ring? Oh, hell no. This is his first melt down on a plane. And I’m trying not to stress cry.

What finally shuts him up? Sitting him between my legs on the floor for the remainder of the descent. My legs were wrapped around him, my arms always underneath him, I’m practically in crash position. Safest decision? Probably not, but no less dangerous than the chances of him flinging himself out of my arms. As we neared ground I put him back in my lap. Magically, on the ground, he went silent.

SERIOUSLY, @!%!% BABY? F YOU.

Those smiles and “sweet baby” comments I got at the beginning of the flight? Gone. I got grimaces and glares and a few “bless her heart” eyes. A snide “well he almost made it” passive comment from the Seat Unrecliner.

I was never one of those damn-it-there’s-a-kid-on-the-plane type of people. Sometimes it was annoying but I could usually dig up enough sympathy to ignore it, even in my bitchiest state. When my kid ended up being the master flier, I internally gloated. Well, so long to that.

Those people hated me for fifteen minutes, FAA, and it’a all your damn fault.

Don’t blame the parents, dammit! Blame the government.

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Food for Faceholes: Chicken Fajita Chowder

17 Apr

Chicken Fajita Chowder via dearexpletivebaby.com

As you may know, I have quite a penchant for making fun of Sandra Lee and her whole box-things-turned-into-gross-new-things shtick.

And then a few years ago I realized that Big A and I semi-homemade something that immediately became a staple in this house and now it’s time to share  it with the world. Or the eight of you that read this.

V-8 made this pretty decent boxed corn chowder stuff and we turned it into a better take on chicken tortilla soup.

AND THEN V-8 DISCONTINUED THE SOUP AND I WAS ANGRY. ANGRRYYYYYY.

Trader Joe’s saved the day when I discovered a suitable substitution, though.  So if you have a TJ’s…you can have this chowder. If not, well, then you’re shit out of luck and I got nothing for ya.

We always have the ingredients for this in the house, so it really isn’t “fresh”, but damn we like it. Frozen chicken breasts, jarred jalapenos, seasoning packets, WHAT UP. I have zero qualms about my sodium use. Clearly you can use whatever fajita seasoning blend (you fancy people and your Penzey’s and your whatnot) you like and adjust to taste. I never used to add corn, but the Campbells/V8 soup had a little more texture than the Trader Joe stuff so I add some now if I have it.

Chicken Fajita Chowder

2 chicken breasts
1 box TJ’s Creamy Corn and Roasted Pepper Soup
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
fajita seasoning
2 tbsp finely chopped jalapenos (optional)
1/2 cup frozen corn (optional)

Place the chicken breasts in a crock pot and cover halfway with water. Sprinkle about a tablespoon of fajita seasoning over the top and cook on low for about five hours, less if using thawed breasts.

Remove chicken; shred or chop it. Empty water from the crock pot and clean out on residual chicken gunk that may be left behind.

Put soup, chicken, black beans, jalapenos and corn back into the crock pot. Add about two tablespoons of the fajita seasoning, or to taste. Heat through on high – about 45 minutes. You could also do this on the stove – this would take about 15 minutes, but why dirty another pot.

Serve, topped with shredded cheese and tortilla chips. Sour cream it up if you’ve got it.

Variation: SAVE FIVE HOURS. Use chopped or shredded rotisserie chicken, start at step three, dump everything into a pot and heat on the stove for 20 minutes. I’ve never done it that way, but I fail to see how it wouldn’t work.

I like to make things more complicated.

And there you have to. FIVE HOUR or TWENTY MINUTE CHICKEN FAJITA CHOWDER.

Chicken Fajita Chowder via dearexpletivebaby.com

You’re welcome.

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