Random Thought WTFEVER
I fried up some catfish for lunch, and I'm frying up the rest of it for dinner. I love catfish. Fried. And dipped in a liberal amount of tartar sauce. Just doing my part to keep Mississippi fat.
I woke up this morning with a very sore left foot. How does one injure one's foot during one's sleep? Was I hiking in my sleep-- while wearing inappropriate footwear?? It's reeaalllly sore! I mean, I'm limping here, people!
Pookie, aka The Darkness, aka the demon cat from hell woke me up three times last night with various demands. It was very cold outside, so I didn't want to throw him out at first. The second time he got me up, I tried, but he hid under the pool table and I was too sleepy to get on my hands and knees and drag him out by his tail. The third time, I just cussed really loudly until Tim got up and dealt with it. Two middle-of-the-night cat related incidents is my limit, especially when Charlie is getting up every 3 hours for some reason instead of sleeping for 5 or 6 through the night like he was a week or two ago.
Maybe my foot is sore from all the walking around the house I did in the middle of the night while chasing the stupid cat. Did I kick something and not remember it?
Tim started working in a different pharmacy. Same hospital, different pharmacy. Now he's working in the employee pharmacy. That's right. They have a whole pharmacy just for their employees and their families. It's like a retail job except that he only has to deal with one insurance company, and they're not nearly as busy. His schedule kicks ass-- Tuesday through Friday, 7:00 to 5:00. But I can't figure out why he's been leaving here at 6:00 a.m. and not getting home until 6:30. I suspect he's doing that annoying go-the-extra-mile thing he likes to do even though nobody respects him for it and it brings him nothing but pain. Either that or he's having an affair with some pharmacy slut-puppy. It's probably the extra mile thing.
I am really baffled as to how I injured my foot during my sleep.
The politically incorrect kitchen cleaning project is 90% complete. I got the main stuff cleaned out and organized. I have a garbage bag full of tupperware rejects, which is a lot less than I expected to have. There were so many mixing bowls and storage bowls that I haven't got enough room for all of them, even the ones that do have lids. There are 13 storage bowls of various shapes and sizes still setting on the counter because I'm trying to think of who might could use them.
And I say the project is only 90% complete because there are still a couple of cabinets that I didn't get to, like the space under the kitchen sink. It's packed full of half empty bottles of random cleaning sprays, and the floor of it is just filthy. There's also a cabinet next to the stove that I haven't tackled yet. Saw some mouse turds in there, too, dammit. I hate dealing with mouse turds. My mouth waters because they make me afraid to swallow just in case a rat turd somehow ended up in my mouth. I have to wash my hands every two minutes and visit the trash can just as often to spit out the excess un-swallow-able saliva. Everything that comes out of a mouse turd cabinet has to be washed thoroughly, then the shelves have to be vacuumed, sprayed, wiped, Lysoled, and covered with some kind of liner. This particular cabinet is a big space where we store things we rarely use, like the George Foreman grill. I dread cleaning the things that are stored under there, because they can't be run through the dishwasher like tupperware can. This means lots of contact with items that have had contact with the mouse who has left his mouse turds for me to swallow. So I'm putting it off. Ninety percent is pretty good, right?
Right.
Tim's home, and there's some catfish to be eaten, so peace and catfish grease.
I woke up this morning with a very sore left foot. How does one injure one's foot during one's sleep? Was I hiking in my sleep-- while wearing inappropriate footwear?? It's reeaalllly sore! I mean, I'm limping here, people!
Pookie, aka The Darkness, aka the demon cat from hell woke me up three times last night with various demands. It was very cold outside, so I didn't want to throw him out at first. The second time he got me up, I tried, but he hid under the pool table and I was too sleepy to get on my hands and knees and drag him out by his tail. The third time, I just cussed really loudly until Tim got up and dealt with it. Two middle-of-the-night cat related incidents is my limit, especially when Charlie is getting up every 3 hours for some reason instead of sleeping for 5 or 6 through the night like he was a week or two ago.
Maybe my foot is sore from all the walking around the house I did in the middle of the night while chasing the stupid cat. Did I kick something and not remember it?
Tim started working in a different pharmacy. Same hospital, different pharmacy. Now he's working in the employee pharmacy. That's right. They have a whole pharmacy just for their employees and their families. It's like a retail job except that he only has to deal with one insurance company, and they're not nearly as busy. His schedule kicks ass-- Tuesday through Friday, 7:00 to 5:00. But I can't figure out why he's been leaving here at 6:00 a.m. and not getting home until 6:30. I suspect he's doing that annoying go-the-extra-mile thing he likes to do even though nobody respects him for it and it brings him nothing but pain. Either that or he's having an affair with some pharmacy slut-puppy. It's probably the extra mile thing.
I am really baffled as to how I injured my foot during my sleep.
The politically incorrect kitchen cleaning project is 90% complete. I got the main stuff cleaned out and organized. I have a garbage bag full of tupperware rejects, which is a lot less than I expected to have. There were so many mixing bowls and storage bowls that I haven't got enough room for all of them, even the ones that do have lids. There are 13 storage bowls of various shapes and sizes still setting on the counter because I'm trying to think of who might could use them.
And I say the project is only 90% complete because there are still a couple of cabinets that I didn't get to, like the space under the kitchen sink. It's packed full of half empty bottles of random cleaning sprays, and the floor of it is just filthy. There's also a cabinet next to the stove that I haven't tackled yet. Saw some mouse turds in there, too, dammit. I hate dealing with mouse turds. My mouth waters because they make me afraid to swallow just in case a rat turd somehow ended up in my mouth. I have to wash my hands every two minutes and visit the trash can just as often to spit out the excess un-swallow-able saliva. Everything that comes out of a mouse turd cabinet has to be washed thoroughly, then the shelves have to be vacuumed, sprayed, wiped, Lysoled, and covered with some kind of liner. This particular cabinet is a big space where we store things we rarely use, like the George Foreman grill. I dread cleaning the things that are stored under there, because they can't be run through the dishwasher like tupperware can. This means lots of contact with items that have had contact with the mouse who has left his mouse turds for me to swallow. So I'm putting it off. Ninety percent is pretty good, right?
Right.
Tim's home, and there's some catfish to be eaten, so peace and catfish grease.
I, too, love catfish, but I don't love the catfish I cook - I just never seem to get it to taste like I want it to. BUT, we have a brand-new PENN'S CATFISH RESTAURANT (!!!!) here in our town, so I've been eating lots of theirs, which always seems to come out just right.
One thing I do like to do when I make catfish is make mealed onions. I slice a couple of onions into thin rings, throw them in the meal along with the fish, and then in the pan to cook along with the fish. I don't batter them or anything, just meal them. They are WUNNERFUL.
Now I think I'll have to go to Penn's again today..........
Posted by
Anonymous |
10:39 AM
I've become a pro at frying catfish, but would rather go out to eat it. There's a place on 49 on the north end of Hburg called Rayner's. Their prices are high and the service is less than great, but it's the best catfish I've ever had. I got Tim to take me there the night before Charlie was born because I knew it'd be a long time before I could eat again. That was the last time we went out to eat, and it's apparently never going to happen again.
Posted by
Mommy Needs a Xanax |
11:46 AM