If You Make This, I Will Hunt You Down

So just in case you live under a rock, and haven't ever heard me mention my homegirl, Solitary Mama, she is doing a hilarious Anti-Blogger series on things not to blog about. {Oh,  maybe you’re new here, welcome, sorry this is the first post you’re reading} The newest Anti-Blogger post is on recipe thievery, or just plain bad recipes, check it.

The response to her recipe post was overwhelming, and by that I mean, three or four of us were rolling and tossing around the idea of writing our very own bad recipe post.  Solitary caved to the pressure and put a link up on her site.  Daddy’s In Charge even did TWO: One and Two {you have to click #2 the Linky list on Solitary's post}. Overachiever.

So  I was in the middle of writing my cup o noodles post and I knew, I had to blog Octopus soup.  Now Octopus soup is a completely stolen recipe, but I will site it for good measure, I've also changed the wording to the directions as to match the absurdity of the photo.  Now before I astound you, this is an actual recipe that I saw on a  blog a while back.  No .Lie.  I have been laughing and gagging about it for weeks.  Behold:

Octopus Soup:  Intermediate, according to All-Recipes

I've Never Ever Made This

Ingredients

·                                 1 (16 ounce) package hot dogs

·                                 2 (48 ounce) containers chicken broth

·                                 1 1/2 cups chopped fresh chives

If the ingredients alone haven’t made you start dry heaving, read on.

Directions:

• Open your pack of hot dogs, which aren't particularly good for you anyway.  If you must, use some that don’t include fillers, perhaps the packaging might then include the word “natural”.  Steer clear of hot dogs labeled, “almost natural”, “1/3 less filler”, “made in China”.

• This will require a sharp knife, butter knife, Swiss army, whatever you have on hand.  Slice it up, whoa, whoa, wait and don’t go crazy, leave a nub at the top for the head.

• Gather chives and broth.  I’d probably go fresh on the chives here, the dried variety might have an unsettling crunchy texture.  My guess is if you’re making this treat for someone you “love”, you aren’t going with the homemade, organic, or even low-sodium broth. I assume you need to fetch the can opener and go to town.  Throw your chives and broth in a pot and boil it.  MMMMM, yummy, nothing like scalding hot chive-broth.  Pour said boiling broth into a bowl, oh, wait, it's soup now, I mean pour your soup into a bowl, plop in your hot dog and watch the magic…the jangly legs will curl and viola, an octopus.

Now if it were me, I might toss in some goldfish, just so my kids wouldn't starve, maybe some Swedish fish for dessert.

AHOY matey, a soup fit for a pirate.  Indeed. 

Disclaimer:  If you make this for yourself or for your kids, I will call Bobby Flay and his Food Network Posse to come hunt you down.

Now go have some fun and blog your worstest easiest recipe and link up over at Solitary Mama.  

The Lies I Tell Myself...

I think everyone lies to themselves a little bit.  Oh these pants aren't too tight, no body will care if I wear my jammies to the Wal-Mart, they won’t notice if I’m gone, {here’s the Mack daddy}  I’ll do it tomorrow.  Whoa, whopper and we've all said it knowing there is a slim to none chance of follow through.   We tell our selves these little lies so we won’t go postal, or in my case maintain some semblance of a normal life.

So if I haven’t told you, I’m on a quest for inner peace.  I think I’m like ¾ of the way there, give or take.  Believe what you want.  This means a lot of self-examination; especially after I open my sassy mouth; but I digress. So I’ve come to terms with a few lies I tell myself and why I need to start being honest with myself:

Mr. Right Is Out There and I’ll Find Him Someday

Maybe.  I haven’t given up hope.  But I have come to terms with the fact that he might not be out there.  I still have like 40 years or so.  You see in order to be happy, I have to be okay with that.  I am okay with that.  If I spent my time or energy in the “waiting room’ I’d be missing out on so many other things.  I already think people don’t complete each other, they complement each other.  I don’t need anyone to make me happy; I have to do that for myself.  I'd have to say, I'm pretty doggone happy too.  At this point any man that can tolerate my snark {and alarming natural beauty} and that I can spend more than an hour with, without rolling my eyes twenty times, will just be icing.

I’ll Have More Kids Someday

Oh wait...I'm good.

I have two beautiful children, for whom I thank God everyday.  Selfish to want more, but I can’t help myself.  While I was still married, as I sat in the doctors office receiving my son’s Autism diagnosis, I remember the words, “please don’t let me be pregnant, please don’t let me be pregnant” run through my head.  I thought I was pregnant, but a blessing in disguise I wasn’t.  I don’t think it would’ve been something I could’ve handled, it would’ve torn me apart as I already felt like I was sinking in a unknown sea a named Autism.  Now, I’m older and wiser and know the ropes and think I could handle more children and allow myself to think…maybe.  But truth be told, I’m not getting younger, right I know, what kind of crap is that?  Things will only get riskier, my eggs are planning for retirement and I have to accept that that may not happen naturally for me.  I didn’t know I could have heartache for something that is just a glimmer of hope.  My kids just fill me with so much joy, I'm a junkie, I need more.

You Cannot Melt Cellulite

I’ll never forget the day I read the words, “cellulite…genetic…never goes away…no cure…”  It’s all a blur, all I remember is the tequila.  For years I have fell prey to the snake oil salesman, buying the magic cellulite crap cream, doing 9 bazillion lunges, and crazy yoga contortions.   The only hope there is out there is liposuction and airbrushing, and both cost money, money I don’t have.  Alright, I’ll get off the subject before you start stabbing the computer screen; sorry to be the bearer of bad news. 

I Can Be Friends with My Ex

Lie.  I think I’ve lied to myself longer than I should on this one.  It was for the kids after all.  I’m divorced for a reason,  if he changed or made some amazing transformation we might still be married; and my life is not a 90 minute happily ever after movie, so what am I thinking?  I was married to this person for 9 years, we still know how to push each others buttons, and as much as healing has occurred there will always be scars.  So friends, no; I’ve been burned one to many times here.  But friendly I can do.  Texting, simple hi and byes I can do. {You have no idea how much I edited this puppy down}

I'm Crazy or I'm Not Crazy

I am both the poster child and the self-proclaimed referee for all things crazy.  If you're going to say something crazy that makes no sense, I'll be the one to point it out to you.  On the flip side, rarely anything I say makes much sense.  Conundrum.  Have you ever said this to your friends, "is it just me?"  Loosely translated, that fool is the crazy one and I'm normal right?  Naturally only your best friends would tell you you're crazy and crazy people or people that want to shut you up would agree you're not crazy. You can't argue with crazy people either, that gets you nowhere.  Jury is still out, I may or may not be crazy. 

I’m Smokin’ Hot

Oops, typo, I still believe that one!

Are there any lies you tell yourself?  Go on, let the healing begin.

It's Just 26 Itsy Bitsy, Teensy Tiny Litte Posts....

Dear Diary, wait, I mean, hi friends!  This is a full disclosure of what's coming down the pike on BGOMS.  Solitary Mama roped me into doing the Blogging A-Z Challenge.  Okay, she didn't force me, it was one of those, "hey, I'm going to the bathroom" then I said, "oh, I'll come with you".  Girl thing, we hang in packs in the bathroom, or Triads.  Crazy type things are more fun with friends who tell you, "No, you're not crazy".

Here's the skinny, Starting April One, you blog about something "A" related, whatever inspires you, then everyday in April, sans Sundays, you blog the next consecutive letter in the alphabet until you reach "Z".  It doesn't have to be long or serious or even funny.  Solitary did "W" is for Weasel last year.  That was one of the first posts I ever read of hers, and I've been stalking her ever since.

Last year the blogging A-Z challenge had over 1300 participants!  It's a great way to meet other bloggers and bring new readers to your blog.  And you know I love me some awesome bloggers and my blogging community!  It's a good way to stretch the writing muscles and find your niche.  I am hoping by Z I will be able to compose a grammatically correct sentence, yes lofty goals.

At any rate, I can not promise you that it will be entertaining, although, I'm certain it will be mildly funny.  I've never really taken my blogging seriously, so I wouldn't start now.  And I also promise not to send all those posts through my Triberr stream, because that's just plain irritating.  I will take any suggestions you might have for a letter, because I need some help {I'll link back to you if I blog your suggestion}.  I might lose followers, well more than usual, if I do "P" is for Punching Kittens, or "W" is for waxing {wait, did that}.  Actually the more obscure the better, seems I have a knack for obscurity.

Comment with your suggestions if you have them, or even better join me...unless you're scared.  I'll be there to support you, read and tell you you are not crazy.





Click above to find out more and put your name on the list, don't wait, nobody likes being last.  I'm number 816.