My Husband Is A Writer

Adam wrote this recently, but he is without blog and this was too good to not share. So I’m posting it for him and also beaming at how talented my husband is. I don’t post a lot of political stuff here, but that’s how good I think this is. Whenever he writes, I bug him about starting his own blog. Please join me in bugging him.

 

Clerk: Welcome!  What can I do for you?

Customer: Saw your ice cream shop here and thought I’d stop in.  I’m dying for some ice cream!

Clerk: Well you came to the right place!  We have two flavors here today: Make America Great Again, and Stronger Together. Continue reading

You Deserve A Better Baked Ziti

As far as being able to follow a recipe and it usually yielding edible results, I consider myself a decent cook. I like to make a big breakfast on the weekends. I like to bake, especially this time of year. I like cooking for lots of people. And I haven’t found something that I straight-up can’t cook *toots my own mediocre horn.* But something I don’t really attempt is writing my own recipes because I do not understand that shit. I’m super jealous of people that can because you guys are fancy as hell.

However, I do love to get my Italian-grandma on occasionally (I can say that because I have an actual Italian grandma) and throw a dish together, recipe be damned.

I’m not someone that can look in my fridge and see what I have and throw something amazing out of left field onto the stove. But I can do some shit with Italian food. Pasta is my safe space. I know pasta. Pasta and I were college roommates and stayed connected for life. And the pasta dish I can most get down with is a baked ziti that isn’t a baked ziti anymore. Confused? I get that a lot.

Since I’ve already told you that I’m crap at writing a recipe, I’m not going to write you a recipe. But if you know how to make a standard baked ziti, which is just sauce and pasta and cheese and sauce and cheese, I can tell you how to make it better.

First trick? Don’t use ziti. Continue reading

Saturday Swears: Food Pairings

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While participating in #NaBloPoMo, I will be doing a few weekly themed posts so I don’t have to think so hard some days. Happy Saturday Swears, folks! Today’s theme is near and dear to my heart because it’s in my stomach, kind of.


 

Going through your standard arsenal of swears can get a little boring. In my youth (which is over and dead and buried,) I experimented with various ways to liven up my expletives.

Tried them in another language, but then no one understands how mad you are at your cable company and everyone should understand how mad you are at your cable company.

Attempted to create a few of my own, but that’s basically like trying to make fetch happen. Fetch is never going to happen. Continue reading

Today.

The only emotion I can equate with what I am feeling is grief. At first, it was shock and disbelief. Then pure, raw, grief.

This felt personal because it was. I’ve voted in elections where my party has lost before. I’ve nursed the disappointment and frustration that comes with that. But this was different.

It feels like an attack on my legitimacy as a person who matters. It’s not because a woman lost, but because a man that treats women with such disrespect and disdain won. That he can say and do anything, hurt anyone, and it might cause a ripple. But the ripple dissipates and rolls out and vanishes. The water looks like it has never been touched.

My face is swollen. My bones ache. My stomach is uneasy at best. And my heart just plain hurts. Continue reading