Eight. Minutes.

Calling Tech Support

Our Satellite went out a few weeks ago. I don’t watch regular tv during the day so I kept forgetting to call. Here lately, I only watch regular tv when I go to bed. And by then I am not calling about it. Yesterday I finally remembered during reasonable hours. 

I called Dish Network Tech Support so basically I called India. A very nice man named Bert answered the phone. 

His real name was not Bert.  I find it slightly sad that when a company outsources all of their calls to a foreign country, the actual residents of that country that work there have to Americanize their names.  His real name is no doubt something Indian with great meaning, yet to appease the pompous Americans, his name is Bert. 

So I gave Bert my account information and I tried to explain the problem.  The box works just fine. We can still view everything on DVR but we kept getting the “Searching for Signal” screen (Error Code 015, if you were wondering) which said to me, the dish itself was faulty.  I explained this to Bert.  He asked me a few questions and I answered them as best as I could. 

Five minutes pass with mundane questions such as: What is the weather like outside? Is it Sunny? Is it hotter than normal? etc.  Basically, Bert wanted to know if it was raining.  It was not. What saddens me as well is that Bert deals with these pompous Americans all day long and I have no doubt that some people call during a thunderstorm because their signal is lost making this Bert’s first question.  I bet at that call center in India, they could play a drinking game. Everyone take a shot when someone calls because of a lost signal due to the rain. It interrupted their American Idol watching, dammit!  FIX IT!  

After I answered all the easy questions to weed out the really stupid people who usually call, I interrupted Bert:

“Bert, you are a super nice guy and I hate to waste your time. But I have checked all of these things already and I think you are going to have to send someone out here. Can you just send someone, please?” 

Bert said he would like to do that but he has to ask these questions before they send a technician. 

23 minutes later...

Bert: “Stacey, we are going to have send a technician.”

You don’t say?

Twenty eight minutes of questions. During this time I turned it off, turned it back on. Unplugged it, plugged it back in. Check the set up about 4 times after making minor adjustments that didn’t do anything. Made sure the cables were properly attached to the box and the wall, etc. All of the things I did about 2 weeks ago. But I humored Bert and did what he asked. As I said, he was a nice guy. 

Bert told me a technician would be there between 8:00 and 12:00 today.  He also told me that we have a warranty (we do?) and we wouldn’t get billed. He congratulated me on having the warranty and then reiterated, “That means you will not be charged.” Thanks, Bert!

So I get up early this morning, around 8:45.  I could have slept much longer but I figured with my luck I would be asleep and then they would be here. Stella would go nuts at the door and I would still be half asleep when I answered the door.  Also, every Dish Network guy that has been out to our home have both been pretty cute...I’m just sayin.

So I get up and go about my morning routine just waiting for the doorbell to ring so we can get this fixed and I can go on about my day. My morning routine is as follows:

Pee (of course)

Brush my teeth

Make the bed

Grab a Perrier out the fridge

Fix a regular water in my Memphis Tervis Tumbler

Turn on the fan in the living room and turn the air down to 70 ensuring that I am freezing

Get a blanket and sit in the red oversized chair and read.  

I usually read for at least 2 hours every morning. Sometimes 4. It just depends. You know that point when you are reading and you are sitting there and you are like “Okay, I think I am done.” I just wait until that happens. 

So I go about my routine, still expecting to be interrupted. 

Dude gets here at 12:15.  Of course he does. I could have slept so much longer. He leaves at 12:23.  Eight minutes. It took him eight minutes to fix the problem.  He had to replace some splitter thing that had gone bad. 

And this guy wasn’t cute. Bummer. 

Making Sushi

I attempted to make sushi on Sunday.

I didn't do anything fancy. I did some vegetable and fruit rolls with cream cheese and a crunchy shrimp. If I sucked at it, I didn't want to waste a whole hell of a lot of money on ingredients if it was all going to be a blob of crap.

My only concern was, "How does the rice stick together so well?" There is no trick to it. Rice is sticky and you have to continue wetting your hands to keep it from sticking to your hands so you can actually manipulate the seaweed. It also stuck to my hair, my tank top, my face and my foot.

I didn't do too shabby for my first time. It was very messy and I hadn't a clue of what I was doing but every single one got eaten. Not in one sitting, even though that has never been an issue with us, but it was tasty.

My next sushi venture will be raw. I think I am ready. Yes, just after one time I am ready for the big time. I am a genius at cuisine, you know.

My next ethnic food attempt will be: Indian. Real indian. Not like chicken curry.

Betty Crocker is a Chump Compared to Me

Making Delicious Breakfast Pastries!

In addition to make delcious bread, the breadmaker also has dough settings.

David has asked me a few times these past few weeks, pleaded with me actually, "Please stop making things."

I like to cook and bake and there are only two people there to eat whatever I make so the duty goes to David and myself to make these things gone. I don't care for being wasteful.

What I used to do, when I had a job, was bring at least half of it to work and give it away there. I suppose I could still drive up there and deliver my home baked goodies to my former coworkers but I just don't see that happening.

One day I made soft pretzel dough and when looking for that recipe I came across the recipe for cinnamon rolls. I pointed it out to David and his exact words, "Please don't make those." And I said I wouldn't.

So I made them on Sunday. I made them while David was gone doing something or another. He walked in smelling the aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls and he looked at me and said, "What did you do?" He acted mad for about two seconds and then he ate one. That day I had one cinnamon roll that I saved throughout the day. David had 4. I am just saying.

He does like to complain about me making an entire cake for two people to eat and when I fix his plate for dinner he always says, "That is way too much food." But does he ever have an issue cleaning his plate or putting a large dent in a cake? No. No he does not.

And the cinnamon rolls have been frozen in packs of 3 for later consumption.

Don't tell me those don't look delicious (they were).

Bake Delicious Breakfast Pastries

In addition to make delcious bread, the breadmaker also has dough settings.
David has asked me a few times these past few weeks, pleaded with me actually, "Please stop making things."

I like to cook and bake and there are only two people there to eat whatever I make so the duty goes to David and myself to make these things gone. I don't care for being wasteful.
What I used to do, when I had a job, was bring at least half of it to work and give it away there. I suppose I could still drive up there and deliver my home baked goodies to my former coworkers but I just don't see that happening.

One day I made soft pretzel dough and when looking for that recipe I came across the recipe for cinnamon rolls. I pointed it out to David and his exact words, "Please don't make those." And I said I wouldn't.

So I made them on Sunday. I made them while David was gone doing something or another. He walked in smelling the aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls and he looked at me and said, "What did you do?" He acted mad for about two seconds and then he ate one. That day I had one cinnamon roll that I saved throughout the day. David had 4. I am just saying.

He does like to complain about me making an entire cake for two people to eat and when I fix his plate for dinner he always says, "That is way too much food." But does he ever have an issue cleaning his plate or putting a large dent in a cake? No. No he does not.

And the cinnamon rolls have been frozen in packs of 3 for later consumption.

Don't tell me those don't look delicious (they were).

Instead of a Chinaman Peeing on a Rug, it's a Chihuahua Peeing on a Couch

Painting a Couch

Yeah.  When I tell people this they look at me like I am crazy or stupid or both. Alcohol and boredom yield very peculiar results. I didn’t use fabric paint or anything nor did I look up the proper procedure for painting a fabric couch. I just did it. 

Our current kitchen table is a hand-me-down from my parents from when I was a kid. We each had our own seats where we always sat at every dinner. I now sit where my mom used to sit, which is weird (if you were wondering, we do eat at the kitchen table a lot, just me and David. It’s a good habit to get into, I feel). I painted the legs on the kitchen chairs the same purple as the wall. To kind of jazz the table up a bit since we can’t afford a new one and the table is still in pretty good condition. And while I had the paint out I started looking at the couch. 

It’s a loveseat that was, again, another hand-me-down from my parents. We aren’t too cool for used furniture. If it’s free, it’s me. 

It’s a cheap fabric loveseat that my parents threw upstairs in what people call a “playroom” for their slothful children to destroy in time with their snack food eating and non-stop tv watching (It was 1998 when it and the matching couch were bought and my sister and I were certainly old enough to know how to treat furniture, we were just slobs).  

Christy and I would fight for the couch every Sunday morning.  The first person to get up and get their beverages and snacks for the day won the couch all of Sunday.  The couch laying honor was only given up when one of us actually got up to leave the house for candy or TCBY.

There were some days when Christy would never show up on Sunday. Probably still passed out from the night before in someone’s front yard (What? This actually happened). And I would have the couch all to myself to stretch out on and watch endless TBS.  And there were many a day when the loveseat would go unused, keeping it in pretty good condition. 

David and I took the set with us to our apartment.  The couch was already covered in unidentified stains (don’t want to know) and the cushions had seen better days.  At the apartment is when we also added Stella to the Logan Family.  She was a teeny adorable puppy and potty training was in motion so both pieces of furniture were spotted with Puppy Pee as well. Some parts were actually soaked in pee but we just turned the cushions over. 

When we moved into the house, the couch was retired to the Deer Camp, where all hand-me-down anything go to die. 

The loveseat we kept, and in its years here it has sustained some hell.  It sits in front of uncovered windows and, in the sun, it has faded considerably. My one hanging inside plant that I have yet to kill hangs over it and when I do remember to water it, I tend to over water. The water then drips onto the left arm of the couch. So now we have a faded, water-stained couch spotted with aged Puppy Piss.  It’s dirty and dusty and I have had to resist the urge to burn it for a very long time. 

So the loveseat was going to be thrown away and replaced with something else. 

I finished painting the chair legs and I looked at the half-empty can of paint. Paint that will no doubt be sent to the garage to age and probably thrown out in time. I then looked at this disgusting, festering eyesore of a couch. From the paint, to the couch. And I thought “Why the hell not?”  

The end result was surprising. And I think it is going to hold up for quite some time, as well especially since it doesn’t see a lot of traffic anyway. 

Please ignore the white sheets covering the cushions.  Those will be recovered once I pick out fabric. The white sheets were given to us by our Asian neighbor.  She is a housekeeper at some hotel (she told David which hotel but he has a very hard time understanding what she is saying...and so do I. It takes some concentration).  We think it is a fancy hotel because she tells us (at least we think she does) that if the sheets have any small defect they have to be thrown away. The same goes for towels or rags.  I would never use hotel sheets for actual bedding. I am sure the sheets have been bleached to high hell and are perfectly safe, but they skeeve me out.   She has given us countless sets of sheets so I used them to cover up my grody, embarrassing loveseat.

Many other things have been painted in my time off but that is for another blog for another day. 

Learn New Skills! Like Cleaning!

Mopping the Floor

I am not the best housekeeper.  I didn’t know how to work a washing machine until I moved out of my parents house in 2004. Everything was always done for me and for that I will always be grateful to my mother. 

During my endless hours at home I mopped the floor for the first time in my life. I am in no way exaggerating. I have never, ever mopped a floor until Monday; August 10, 2009.  

My least favorite thing in the world is washing dishes. Especially the dishes that have been sitting in the sink overnight (or, let’s be honest here, for a few days) and the water has been sitting in a dirty pot and it’s now all cold and murky. To me, mopping the floor is like taking grody dishwater and smearing it all over the floor. It just seems counter productive. So I just don’t do it.

I got the idea to actually mop while watching tv. I asked David “Do we have a mop?” He looked at me for a second, speechless, and then said, “Uh, yeah.” I didn’t know. I have never used it before. The few times (very few) that the floor has been mopped, David has done it. It never even crossed my mind that the floor needed to be mopped. 

I started with the kitchen and since everything was out and the sink was full of Pine Sol and Windex (I didn’t know...) I might as well do the rest. In doing this I came to a very sad and enlightening observation...we are some gross people. 

I am a messy cook.  Flour, nuts, cornmeal, sprinkles, all of it goes undetected once it falls on the floor. If it’s a big chunk I just call Stella and she takes care of it. If it’s small enough it sticks to your feet and then once you walk on a rug, it gets transferred to the rug and then it gets vacuumed up every week (that’s a lie, ever other week).  The floor gets indirectly swept.  It’s taken care of.

Not so much.

Some people reading this may or may not know that David is a flooring contractor and he is responsible for all of the flooring in our home* (if anyone happens to need flooring installed...help the Logans out, I am unemployed you know). And I used to work at a flooring distributor providing us with a nice discount. So the floors in our home are very nice. Probably nicer than our dirty asses deserve. 

Our laundry room, you know the place that we take our clothes to be cleaned, was vile. And, yes I am slightly embarrassed to admit this, the tile floor in our laundry room has never been cleaned. We have been in this house since 2005.  Four years, with a dog who violently sheds, and we have yet to clean the laundry room. It’s been organized and cleaned “out” but it has never seen soap of any kind. And if we didn’t store broom in there, it wouldn’t have seen that either. 

I don’t really sweep either. We have a hardwood vacuum for the massive amounts of dog hair and I use that quite often but a broom seems so...archaic. Since it has never been cleaned or swept there were some super gross things in the laundry room floor: forgotten pieces of dog food, a ziploc bag with “Stella”  written on it that I know was from 2006, empty spider eggs, dead spiders, and (sigh) a small, dry pellet of dog poopie.  

There was also a green blotch on the tile that I thought was a naturally occurring aspect of the tile. It wasn’t. The blotch is still unidentified but it surely did come off with a little scrubbing. 

Overall the mopping experience was a good one. The floors looked so...clean when I was finished. Who knew? I am not saying I am going to do this again any time soon but the results were quite impressive.  

* I did grout a closet before we moved in and it was the most horrible thing ever. It was so messy and time consuming that I eventually started crying and threw a small hissy fit.  David then took it away from me and did it himself in about a tenth of the time it would have taken me. 

If Cookies Don't Get Me Hired, My Boobs Will

Resume Perfecting (Fake and Real)

BLAH. The word “resume” (as in that thing you put together to get another job not as in continue what you were doing) strikes an uneasy, about-to-vomit reflex, to me at least. 

I have never needed a resume until now and when faced with the task of actually creating one, I was lost. And, to be honest, sort of annoyed at having to do this in the first place. Annoyed at what? Not really sure. Maybe annoyed that people aren’t lined up to hire me (how dare they!).

I went on Monster and filled out all the blanks and that was the template for my resume. I didn’t have much else to add to this and I really didn’t know what to add. Thankfully, I have friends who deal with resumes and they were happy to jazz it up for me. It was much, much appreciated.

But then I got to thinking; Why do resumes have to be so formal and boring? This does not show what sort of person I am or what I can even do, really. Sure it shows the countless computer programs that I am capable of operating but they don’t know how good I am it. I guess that is what my portfolio is for. 

Can’t I just say the things that I want to say about what type of chick I am and how I would be to work with? Isn’t that what people really want to know in an interview? I have no doubt that I can do whatever job is offered to me, and I know I can do that job well, but how am I as a person? Here is my Fantasy Resume. The resume that companies SHOULD ask for when hiring anyone:

Stacey Garrett Logan

Job Title: Being Awesome

Years Experience: My Whole Life

Skills: Kicking Ass. Taking Names.

Objective:

To have a job that I enjoy and doesn’t make me want to kill myself.  

Qualifications: 

I am super qualified, for anything. For real. I could do any job you would ever need done.  Of the many computer programs that I can operate, I have taught myself each and every one of them in record time. If your company requires me to manipulate a computer program that I have never seen before, give me 2 days and I will rock your face off. 

So, like, why hire me: 

I am a cool girl, and I have been told I am fun to work with. Isn’t that what is most important? To spend an entire work day with someone who you don’t mind hanging around?  When the opportunity strikes, I can also be very entertaining.  I excel at story telling especially when the story contains my family or my friends. I like to laugh and my level of Goof is off the charts when time and opportunity permits. 

I am a hard worker. I worked for the same company for 10 plus years and in that time I worked in every single department. In those departments I worked hard and I always got the job done well and it was done in time. And most of those years I only worked part time and STILL outworked the full timers. 

I am a good cook and excellent baker. I can give you a long list of references that can vouch for this fact. I also like to bring treats to work to share with my coworkers on a random basis. Who doesn’t love treats?! Can you say, “Increase company morale”?

I am pretty giving. For every holiday, if I like you, be prepared to receive a “happy” from me. Usually consisting of childish trinkets and loads of candy. And if you have any sort of pop culture obsession, be prepared to be inundated with said paraphernalia. 

I am creative thanks in no small part to my love for reading, television and movies.  Every creative aspect from my former company for the past five years was solely created by me. Coworkers even came to me with personal requests as well and I was happy to use my creative skills to help a dude out. 

I am smart. This resume should prove that. 

I am unemployed. I need a job. Mostly because I would like to keep a roof over my small family’s heads and, to be honest, I need cable and I enjoy my fair share of trips to amazon.com. I also like to be occupied for the majority of the day and job helps with that considerably.

So hire me. I promise you will not regret it. Be ready to receive a pat on the back from each of your superiors.  They will recognize the genius in you for hiring me. I’ve seen it happen and it could happen to you. 

Saturday and Sunday - Blog Free

I have chosen to take the weekend off. You people get the weekend off, so why shouldn't I? 

Plus, I literally do nothing on the weekend. And this has not changed since I have had a job. I used to clean on the weekend but now I do that every day so there is no need. 

Sunday has and will always be the day that David and I watch movies and drink all day. I am in no way ashamed to say this. We don't move from the couch and we start drinking around noon (sometimes sooner).  You should try it. It's good stuff. 

So everyone enjoy your weekend, I will see you back here on Monday with fresh Tales of the Unemployed. Maybe you all can take this time to register as one of my Followers? Just a suggestion.

Maybe Play some Twister this Weekend:

I Hear the 7th Circle of Hell is the Grocery Store

Going to the Grocery Store

I know that this is far from the truth but I feel like I spend a full day at Kroger every week. It only feels that long because I hate it so much. I have tried going to Kroger drunk to see if that makes it any more enjoyable, but then I just have to pee midway through and I usually buy way more than I need.

I am also the youngest person at Kroger at noon on a random Thursday. The youngest person without children, that is. And usually the bitches that do have children have a car seat in the basket and a toddler walking alongside.  And they are always blocking EVERYTHING. Especially while they let the toddler pick out what kind of cookies or cereal they want. And you say, politely, “Excuse me...” with a smile on your face and you get this aghast look like “How dare you, I have children.” And your point...

Usually at Kroger I have some form of incident and these incidents fall into categories, and I have no clue of what it is about my face that complete strangers always feel the need to tell their honest opinion:

Tattoos - It’s hot outside and I usually wear a tank top or a dress to when I do my shopping. Of course once I enter the automatic doors I start freezing my ass off. My tattoos are usually always showing.  And someone always, ALWAYS, comments on them and usually they are the people that work there. And it is the same people every time. 

I am a fan of the self checkout.  I use my own bags (you should too) and the checkers and baggers get very snippy when you hand over your bags. I do not see the issue since you can fit so much more in them than those dang plastic bags. Especially since every Kroger bagger puts no more than 3 items in each bag. It drives me insane.

I am not really sure why people always feel the need to comment on tattoos. Usually they are complimentary, but not always. 

The Self Checkout Lady, I call her Martha (not her name), is usually there. I have had to explain to her at least three times what the one on my arm is and the significance. I really hate explaining the significance of tattoos to people. But, whatever. And after I am finished explaining Martha ALWAYS says “Oh...Okay, that’s different” then she walks away. Every time. 

The next is a girl who mans the self checkout randomly.  She is about 20 and I call her Stephanie (not her name).  She has one tattoo of a flower (Guess where it is?!?!) and she tells me about it every time I see her. And her boyfriend (who I have reason to suspect is fictional) has tattoos as well. Then she asks me how many I have and what they all are and where I got them and it is exhausting. Especially when I just want to get my flour, sugar and salsa and get the fuck out of there. I usually hide from her or I go to the line that she is not in. It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t had to answer these SAME questions every time to the same girl.

Then I got this random dude who wrangles carts that asked to touch it. He was at least 50 years old and he ran up to me as I was entering Kroger and said, “That’s a cool tattoo you’ve got there. Wow. Can I touch it?” My response, “I would rather you didn’t. It just feels like skin.” Creeeeepy. Who does that?   

Dogs - The few times that I buy dog treats are usually the times that I have too much crap to use the self checkout. Someone always comments. Usually they ask what kind of dogs I have. I tell them and every FREAKING time they turn their nose up when I say “Chihuahua.” Stella Bean is awesome and she will rip out your jugular for saying otherwise. Lay off Chihuahuas! 

So yesterday I explain to the bitch checker what sort of dogs I have and I am sitting there watching the bagger struggle with my reusable bags (why is it that every bagger has the hardest time ever putting groceries in reusable bags? It’s not rocket science. I could do it in less than a minute) I paid and got my receipt and I am waiting for all of my groceries to go in the bags, Bitch Checker says this:

BC: Do you have any children?

Me: No, just the dogs. They are my children.

BC: *eye roll* Dogs are NOT children! I don’t see how people can say that. Dogs should never be referred to as children.

Me: *bags finally ready, taking cart from slow bagger* You are right, Dogs are so much better. It’s really an insult to dogs. Toodles. 

Yeah, I said “toodles.” I am not sure what it is, but I only have these incidents at the Southaven Kroger. 

I have to start going to Shnucks.

Semi-Professional Bath Giver

Babysitting!

Let me say now that I will in no way babysit anyone else’s children.

Christy (my sister) informs me that she paid someone $50 to watch the boys for 3 hours. Uhh, I will do that. I do it for free but if I am getting paid, I might be a little more eager.

Tuesday night was Christy’s turn for dinner. After dinner, Garrett asked Christy if he could run their bath water (Garrett is 4 and Whitman is 2, they bathe together).  That was a big negative from Christy so I offered to watch while Garrett ran the bath water himself. I wasn’t aware that neither my sister or my mother would ever show up to help in the bathing process.  

Not that it is a big deal. I have given them a bath many times and they always make it...entertaining. Yes I suppose that is the correct word to use. 

Garrett runs the water and turns the cold all way the way on. “I want a cold bath,” he says. I convinced him otherwise. Garrett then gets in the bath and says, “Stacey, watch this,” and he stands in the tub full of water that both he and his brother are about to take a bath in and he pees. Fresh bath water, now containing toddler piss. And as soon as I put Whitman in the tub, guess what he does? Pees. Awesome. 

I knew this was coming. They do it every time and you have to learn to live with it. Yes, they took their bath in pee water. Don’t blame me, I am not their mother. 

I wash their hair and all that so the bath itself is done. Then they both ask for more soap in their hair so they can give themselves Soap Mohawks. Garrett fixed Whitman’s and vice versa. This does give me a little hope that they will be as cool as their Aunt Stacey when they are older. 

 They love baths so they are in no hurry to get out. I am stuck in the bathroom watching them. What seems like hours pass and Garrett stands up and says “Stacey, look...” he turns around and there is a distinct turd poking out of his booty. Yes, you read that correctly.

I walk into the kitchen and tell Ron, “Your oldest son just showed me a turd poking out of his butthole. I am not removing it. That is a job for someone else.” I have no issue with changing diapers or wiping after they potty but I flat out refuse to remove a turd while it’s still clinging. 

Ron goes to take care of the situation and comes back and says, “It wasn’t a turd. It’s a Power Rangers sword. He thinks it’s funny to stick it up there.” I say, “How is that better??  ”  I was more comfortable with the turd.  

It wasn’t a large sword. It’s action figure size and he didn’t actually insert anything, he just held it in his butt cheeks. The kid will do anything for a laugh but that didn’t make it any less disturbing. And he thought it was hilarious. I go back in the bathroom and he was cracking up. He says, “You thought I poo pooed ” 

Then they both start putting the bath water, the water they have both bathed and peed in, in their mouths and start spitting it at each other. I try to hold back the gags as I let the water out of the tub so this bathtime will finally end. 

Boys are freaking weird and they start being freaking weird at a very early age. Weird and super gross. 

I would rather starve than eat your bread

Now is the time to use all of those wedding gifts that have never been used. The road to a yard sale is paved with good appliance intentions. At the very top of our laundry room storage closet sits, a bread maker...

When David and I registered for wedding gifts we didn’t have any issues on what to pick or what we needed. Except the bread maker. The Breadman Pro to be exact. We had no use for a bread maker and I had no want for one. David did. He registered for it at Target and, of course, someone bought the thing for $100. That was one big gift that we could have gotten something that we could actually use. Taking it back WOULD have been a good idea, but David was positive we would be lost without one. 

Almost 4 years later, the Breadman Pro has only been used once. David tried it the first year we had it. I wanted nothing to do with it and was still boycotting its existence and the massive amount of space it took up when storage space is always in short supply. I didn’t even eat the bread when he made it. I realize this makes me a brat.

I would say day 4 of having no job this thought crossed my mind , “I could use that fucking bread maker.”

I had no clue of what to do with the thing so I moseyed on over to Kroger. They have those boxes of bread mix that you can use in a bread machine. So I got one of those just to try it out. I followed the directions on the box of mix and as I am kneading the dough with my hands on flour covered wax paper, I think to myself, “If I have to do all of this bullshit then what good is it to have a bread maker? It needs to rise for 3 hours? Why don’t I just bake the shit in the oven? Dumb.” 

Then I looked at the actual book to the bread maker. 

Oh. 

If I hadn’t gotten all bake-sure of myself, I might have actually used the thing how it was intended to be used. All you have to do is throw all the ingredients in the bread maker, choose what type of bread it is, and hit start. It does the mixing, kneading, rising and baking for you. This whole bread maker phenomenon started to make a lot more sense to me. It’s actually kind of cool...for a kitchen appliance. 

So in a week and half I have made: 2 loaves of white bread, 2 loaves of Italian herb bread, a loaf of multigrain flax bread and a loaf of whole wheat bread. And just so no one will be overly concerned about my carb intake, I have been freezing the bread for later use. 

I wanted to make sourdough bread but you have to have a starter that you let sit and rise for 5 days, stirring 3 times a day. Then you use the starter as an ingredient to make the sourdough bread. I read the cockamammie instructions for the sourdough starter and thought “Who on earth has time to do this?” Wait. I do. 

So now sitting in the poorly used project room there is a loosely covered bowl of sourdough starter sitting on a long forgotten treadmill. So far I haven’t forgotten to stir the mixture 3 times a day. And in all seriousness I can barely contain my excitement for when I actually get to eat the sourdough bread. 

I also got asked the question, “Isn’t it cheaper to just buy a loaf of bread?” No. No it’s not. 

You can buy all the ingredients pretty cheap and the ingredients last for at least 5 loaves. Also the ingredients last a lot longer than a loaf of bread. Plus when you make your own there are none of those pesky preservatives in your bread. And with regular Wonder Bread (we buy Kroger brand bread, we aren’t proud), you don’t get the added bonus of saying “Yeah, I made that.” 

Introducing my Jobless Ass

What does one do when they are unemployed? This is the first time since I was 17 that I have never had a job.

And I usually get the question, “So what do you do all day?”  

Well there is the obvious: look for a job. But there is really only so long you can spend a day surfing the internet and posting your resume to any website that will allow it. I am about to post my resume on Facebook. It couldn’t hurt. 

What did I used to do? A bastardized sup-par version of graphic design. I created the advertising and promotions for a floor covering distributor. It sounds far more glamorous than it actually was. But I was freakin’ good at it and I enjoyed what I did. 

I am currently looking for something along those lines or really just any job that I won’t hate. I worked for a lot of years with a job. That is all it was, a job. Maybe let’s dust off the old brain and actually use it to earn a paycheck, what do you think?

But enough about finding a job. What am I doing when I am sitting at home ALL DAY LONG while everyone else I know is actually working. 

It makes a for a long day, I will tell you that much. I used to think the days at work were endless and mind numbing... just wait until your weekend never ends and there is no end in sight. 

Most days I am not even sure what day it is. Not like the 12th or whatever, but like today is Tuesday. I just realized that. It is only TUESDAY!

Since I have been given the precious gift of time, I am trying my damndest to make the most of it. You know those things that you have always wanted to do but you neither have the time or the want to actually do them. I know that the last thing I want to do when I get home from a long ass day at work is crap around the house. So, now, since I have nothing else to do, let’s get some shit done. 

Go ahead and check back daily to see my progress around the house and to gauge my amount of boredom. 

And I now have a blog. I did get the idea from Jana and I thought about it long ago and now I will have time to update the damn thing. Go check it out. I am going to post occasionally on the ‘book as well. So go to my blog. Let’s make me famous.