Duck La Orange

    If you've ever cooked a duck, you can join me in my feelings of sadness and grossed-outness, all the while feeling slightly guilty that you totally LOVE the taste of such a cute little creature. It's not quite the same as eating an ugly cow or a goofy turkey.... ducks are cute. And they quack. I can almost feel good about eating something that simply moos or gobbles. But quacking is adorable, almost as adorable as that little waddle they have..... Ok, feelings of guilt are steadily increasing, so let me rewind back to yesterday's dinner.
    As part of my new plan to try at least one new food or meal per week, I was excited to see that our local grocer had displayed whole ducks (insert teardrop here). I hesitantly nabbed one up and decided that I was going to make Duck La Orange. Now, if there's one thing that Betty C. taught me, it was that ducks are rather oily birds. They have incredibly thick skin that holds in the juices (grease) and that juice (grease) needs to be released. So, to prepare these birds, you have to tie their legs together like a turkey and then stab the crap out of them. Once the skin is sufficiently punctured (resembling a Law and Order: SVU victim), the oils will drain out of the duck as it cooks. What I failed to realize is that the oils will drain out into the pan and sizzle, smelling similar to a grease fire for the next 2.5 hours while it cooks (and then for at least another 28 hours after....still counting). I decided that I would have to drain the oil out of the pan every half hour or so in order to prevent having a fried duck as opposed to a roasted duck.
    Upon smelling the house, my husband had decidedly made up his mind to eat elsewhere for the evening, sure that the meal was going to be a complete disaster. I convinced him to at least give my cute little bird a try (also telling him that grilled asparagus is really much better than it sounds). Sure enough, little Donald came out looking golden, crisp, and juicy, covered in orange sauce and spices. Once the fatty skin was peeled off and gagginly fed to the dogs, we were less disgusted and able to dig in to the deliciousness that was our duck. Pat even liked the grilled asparagus, although he felt that they did not live up to the praise that I had tried to give them earlier (he's apparently not strong enough in his masculinity to handle nasty smelling pee for a day). Finally, although the duck is gone and it's bony carcass removed from the house, it's smell may forever last with us. Well, the duck's smell along with Cinnamon Bun, French Vanilla, and Toasted Almond... if those don't work, I'll be forced to whip out Coffee Bean (the enforcer of all candle scents).
To summarize:
Ducks = Cute / Delicious / Greasy
Asparagus = So-So / Smelly Urine
Candles = Useless

Internal Chickens

   Apparently my husband has lost interest (rather rapidly, I might add) in the conversations that I start up with him regarding my ovulation cycle. I can't imagine why he, as the father of our future children, would find this topic in any way "icky" or taboo, but alas, it has happened. He no longer cares to hear about peeing on a stick, reading an ovulation meter, or the details of why it's not ok to "get it on" certain days as opposed to others. He has decided that from now on, he will simply touch my stomach and ask, "Baby?" If the answer is no, he does not want to get grossed out hearing why, and if it's yes, he simply doesn't CARE why. He has also chosen to refer to my ovaries from here on out as "chickens". The word "ovary" apparently doesn't set well with him, and since both ovaries and chickens lay eggs, he has chosen the mature route regarding all reproductive talk. So tonight, me and my internal chickens are going to curl up with a good book and a movie... all alone... just as my pee stick instructed.

Paddles and Paws

    Although Valentine's Day is officially over, my husband had yet to open his little Valentine's bag from one of his clients. So, today was the day that he dove into the gift and pulled out some heart-shaped erasers, a Transformer Valentine, and one of those paddles with the string and ball connected so you can bounce the ball up and down on the paddle. Strangely, however, the paddle was heart shaped with a long handle attached. Take a moment, if you will, and really get the visual of what this paddle looks like. Two rounded heart shaped bumps with a long handle coming off the other end. Got it? Although slightly obsene, the gift caused both of us to burst into laughter, especially after I broke the ball off trying to play with the paddle! I think the people at Designer International Group, Inc. need to put a bit more thought into their next holiday design plan before mass producing phalic toys for children.
    Speaking of bloody feet, we woke up this morning and I noticed that our window on our front porch was broken. This is the second broken window we've had in 2 months, which is really quite peculiar since we have no idea how this keeps happening.... that is until we saw our neighbor's dog with a protective bag hooked to his front paw, limping clumsily across the yard. Sure enough, Mac saw our dogs through the window and jumped up, slicing the pad on his paw almost the entire way off. Poor Mac. Maybe Designer International Group, Inc. will be able to create something disturbing to cheer him up.

Thin Mint Revenge

    I was never a Girl Scout growing up, but those cookies have it going on! Me and my hubby, we love our Thin Mints. Every season we purchase a box (or 6) from our friends' daughter to be supportive (and gluttonous). The first season I bought just one box of Thin Mints (I wasn't married, afterall, and it was just me, so I figured that was plenty), only to find that my not-yet-husband ALSO loves Thin Mints and that he is willing to search out my cookie stash and eat my box of deliciousness. So, from that point on, we have always purchased at least a couple boxes of the minty treats. I placed my order and received the cookies yesterday. I came home this evening and discovered that an entire box was gone, empty, eaten! I couldn't believe that they went so quickly and I didn't even get one stinking bite! Therefore, tonight I will take my rightful revenge. That other box of Thin Mints? My dinner. You better believe I can put away that entire box in one sitting, not because I WANT to consume my daily allotment of calories via Thin Mints (ok, I actually DO want to consume my daily allotment of calories via Thin Mints), but it's the principal of revenge. It's just not as sweet (no pun intended) if done halfway. And a very sweet revenge it will be!

Puppy Play Time

   We have implemented a new activity in our house. It's called Puppy Play Time. The dogs get so excited when we even say the words (partially because I know they understand fluent English and partially because I jump up and down while talking in baby-talk when I say it). Puppy Play Time consists of both Pat and I going outside together with all 3 dogs (which is usually not allowed because they run off when they're all out together) and we take turns chasing the dogs and having them chase us. They get playing and running and barking like mad. Not only is it incredibly funny to watch them, but it's good exercise running all over the place.
    We decided earlier this winter that PPT (figure it out) is at it's absolute finest when there is fresh, fluffy snow everywhere. So tonight, after getting this completely unpredicted snow storm, we took the dogs out to run amok. And run amok they did. The snow was coming down heavily, landing on my eyelashes as I took off chasing the dogs toward the open field. And THEN I ran face-first into the clothes line. The crazy thing about running into a clothes line is that the metal wire has some give to it.... so you kinda keep going for a while as it digs into your nose and cheek BEFORE you fall backwards. I have to say I laughed as I had tears in my eyes, especially since I was wearing a head lamp and should've seen the wire (did I mention the snowflakes in my eyelashes?). At least the dogs had fun, right?

A Poisoned Apple

    You may think that fairy tales are nonsense. Afterall, they all consist of villians, magical spells, and usually a victim or two. Well, I'm here to tell you that fairy tales may not be true, but if we could have learned anything from Snow White, it's that eating anything that an old woman forces down your throat will, in fact, kill you. Let me back up to the beginning.....
    Once upon a weekend, in a small farm house, far, far away from anything, a woman and her husband invited the man's parents and grandmother over for a simple dinner. It was a pleasant affair, one that had not a hint of malice or underlying evil. It was just after dessert was finished and the dishes were being washed when the old woman pulled out of her magical purse a vile of clear liquid and a tube of nasal healer. The medicine is said to be tasteless and can cure any infection. The nasal healer will relieve congestion and clear out any disease that has latched itself onto one's nose. As the young girl turned from the sink, the old woman shoved a spoonful of her witch's brew into the girl's mouth, before she had nary a chance to object. She crowded around the new wife with the nasal healer, assuring her that it will make her young and beautiful (ok, ok, it's just gonna make the allergies better, but when you can't breathe, it's as good as youth and beauty!). So the young woman followed the instructions and squirted the poison into her nose. (FAST FORWARD 24 HOURS).
    Four nose bleeds later, the woman found herself cursing the old woman and then cursing herself for falling into the evil trap. The words "as seen on t.v." ran through her head over and over, thinking of the woman's claims that the medicine was tried and proven to cure all ailments. The woman and her husband, who had been feeling well for several days, found themselves coughing up phlegm and concerned about rattling sounds coming from their lungs.
    I don't know if you believe in fairy tales. But what I can tell you for sure is that there is always a villian, a magical spell, and a victim or two.....

An A-? Really?

   My spoiled husband has taken to "rating" my dinners as of late. I'm actually given a grade on various courses of the meal, followed by a critique of "a little under seasoned" or "a bit too much garlic" or "it just feels like it's missing something". The other day I made catfish (for the first time ever) with panko bread crumbs, lemon, and cajon seasoning. It was DELICIOUS, but my husband rated it a B+. He had sersiouly one bite of fish that was a little lemony and he proceded to scrape off most of the crust after that. Today I made Chicken Monterey, corn, and a creamy fruit bowl. It was a very quick and easy meal, but came out perfect. What did he give me? An A-! What was the minus for? It could have used just a "touch" more salt. Do you want a rating, "dear"? How's this... C. It stands for couch. Enjoy.