Want to hear something spooky, something so supernatural the hairs on your neck will stand up and salute?

I have powers.

Not necessarily powers that are awe-inspiring, mind you. For example, I can’t teleport or light a cigarette using my finger. I can’t fly or stop time or shoot icicles from my fingertips.

I can however, make dining establishments build locations close to my home.

It happened a few months ago, when I wished for a Dave & Buster’s to appear and it did. At the time, I had no idea of my powers and proclaimed that I wanted a Jimmy John’s near me.

And today, after months of fervent wishing, it happened. In the location that I desired, three blocks from our house.

It wasn’t all happiness and rainbows, though. It took lots of mental dedication and a refusal to give up. First, a Starbucks went up. Then a nail salon. Since only four more spots were available, I had to step it up. So I concentrated extra hard.

And I made it happen with my mind.

It’s there. The sign says so: Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches. Three blocks away.

I hope they deliver.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wish for a Big Boy Restaurant.

Restaurant Review: Buffalo Wild Wings

Anyone who knows Jason and I understands that we will never be called “foodies.” We love food, don’t get us wrong, but we’re definitely not part of the crowd that enjoys dining at a different restaurant every time. And we’re not the couple that goes to places to try unique, hard-to-find items such as herb-encrusted sea tentacles. In fact, we are the couple who frantically tries to find the “regular” bread at Panera, because what’s up with their fancy stuff anyway?

Our simplistic nature toward food is simple: 1) Jason has texture/taste issues with all fruits and vegetables (except for potatoes) and 2) I am part Norwegian.

Frozen goods

This morning as I was opening the freezer to get ice for the cats’ water (shut up), two pounds of hamburger, one pound of bacon, a ginormous pack of tortillas and two packages of hot dogs came hurtling out of the appliance and applied themselves to the top of my bare foot with such velocity that I was too stunned to mutter my standard off-color response to such situations.

I guess I should’ve seen it coming from the hot dogs, but the bacon? After all I’ve done for you?

Anyway, I have been plotting this week’s demise since last Sunday, and it is now finally Friday. My plans this weekend are delightfully slim: eat at Jimmy John’s, buy a grill and clean the house. And maybe attempt to put together the 438-piece grill. And then grill two pounds of hamburger, one pound of bacon, and two packages of hot dogs.

And serve it all in some tortillas.

Buffet buffer

Jason and I went to eat at Old Country Buffet (OCB) this weekend for Sunday breakfast. We only go there every 6 months or so, because that’s all our digestive systems will tolerate. (Maybe it’s because I had both fried chicken AND chocolate ice cream for breakfast. Or did I?) I told Jason we should eat at OCB every day for a month and do our own documentary, a la “Super Size Me.”

I’d call it: “O-C-Besity.” Ha ha! I kill me. (If the fried chicken doesn’t first.)

CSI: Kitchen

I cannot figure out why our cats have been attempting to eat the following items:
– White bread
– Freshly baked chocolate chip muffins
– Bakery croissants
– Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies

I don’t know what the deal is. I just know that I now have to hide the above items in cupboards, because despite the plastic wrappers, hard plastic boxes, or industrial-strength Ziploc baggies, it is not enough to deter two felines who obviously have developed a serious carb addiction.

Last night I had put two chocolate chip cookies in a Ziploc and threw it into my lunch bag, stupidly forgetting to zip said lunch bag and place it in a hermetically sealed fortress surrounded by laser security technology operated by rabid dogs. So I was treated to a 1:48 a.m. wake-up call consisting of rustling sounds and tell-tale forbidden activity. On my way to investigate, sans proper eyewear or clothing, I stepped on a cookie that had been freed from its plastic prison, smooshing it into a thousand pieces before finding the other cookie still in the bag, on the floor, surrounded by tell-tale chewed-out holes.

Spring’s break

I was going to be a good little bee and work during my lunch break. Then I decided that every minute I stay here steals a year from my life, so I headed over to Wendy’s for some chili.

As I was about to pull into the parking lot, I saw a throng of teenagers walking across the street. They were departing from a large orange vehicle.

Brain: Hmmm…that’s a lot of kids. Wonder where they’re going? La dee doo…

{10 seconds pass}

Brain: Oh no! It’s a BUSLOAD of teenagers!!! And they’re going to Wendy’s!!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!!

So, I got to knit in the drive-thru line for 10 minutes.


It’s cold and wet and dreary today, to the point that I could see my breath. And it wasn’t raining as much as it was dispelling icy pellets of HATE.

Chicken little

Last night I made dinner. Now, I am not exactly what one would call a gourmet in the kitchen, and in fact, Jason and I routinely have items in our pantry that can simply be described as “meat-in-a-box” or “meat-in-a-can.”

So yesterday, channeling Betty Crocker, I decided I wanted to exercise my cooking muscles and add to my recipe book, which woefully consists of about 10 recipes, one of which is some pudding concoction that I attempted once that tasted like burnt rubber if burnt rubber tastes like death, and yet I cannot bring myself to remove said recipe, because that would only leave 9 recipes in the book, and well, that is just SAD.

So yesterday I made bacon-wrapped chicken, which is not exactly the most healthful dinner around, but I like bacon and all forms of chicken and I live with a man who physically cannot eat any vegetable except for potatoes without gagging. (You don’t even want to know what happens if we get a pizza and the tomato sauce is too chunky.)

Anyway, this chicken dish was awesome. I threw on spices and herbs and tenderly wrapped the bacon around the chicken, and it was so moist and tender and delicious, from the noises you would’ve thought we were making a porn movie in our basement instead of eating dinner. Plus, I served it with Rice-a-Roni, which is not homemade, but is like my own personal motto. Rice-a-Roni = Me. I even made some last weekend on our portable camping grill – that’s how addicted I am to it. Ahem.

Now I’m flush with excitement from my cooking success and I want to make some more “from-scratch” recipes. Here’s where I need a favor. Do you guys have any cool recipes you’d be willing to share with me? I’m open to anything, as long as there’s no veggies in it unless it’s potatoes (or, if the veggie can easily be picked off or put on the side, because I – love veggies. Except for broccoli, which can suck it. And cauliflower. And beets. Boo, beets!).

My so-called revenge

I thought this week at work would be a relatively easy one with the president gone. But no. I’ve already had two straight days without a break putting together this stupid presentation for a very large bank. I now refuse to do business with this bank just because of the fact that they had this due during the holidays. Plus, you’d think I was the only competent person working here, with all the requests I’m getting. And I know that’s not true – I’m highly incompetent.

To compensate for my workload, I ordered Jimmy John’s. When they delivered my order, I found they forgot my kettle chips. That was the whole reason I ordered from them – screw the sandwich, I wanted needed the chips.

If I were ever to exact revenge upon someone, I wouldn’t kill them or torture them or anything like that; I would curse them with a thousand little annoyances for the rest of their life. Things like their alarm clock not going off, not having hot water in the shower, spilling coffee on themselves, being stuck in a huge traffic jam, getting a paper cut, having their lunch order be wrong, missing the bus, etc., etc. So they’d never have a truly awful day, but they’d never have a truly good day either.

I wonder who cursed me today?

Advertising to the lowest common denominator

While grocery shopping last night at Cub (Home of the “I’ll Leave my Cart in the Middle of the Aisle and You Can’t Stop Me” syndrome), Jason and I noticed that Heinz ketchup has some limited-edition bottles, where “celebrities” such as Terry Bradshaw, William Shatner and Mia Hamm come up with pithy taglines. Here are their contributions:

Bradshaw: “Served at the Immaculate Reception”
Shatner: “Fixes Burgers at Warp Speed”
Hamm: “Worthy of Gold”

But the best one had to be from Lindsay Lohan: “Burger-licious”

After convulsing with laughter for 5 minutes, we decided Lindsay could’ve done better.

Maybe something like: “Oh, my God! This stuff’s, like, red and stuff!”

For what it’s worth, my contribution would be this: “I put ketchup on ketchup.”