Rant ahead, possibly ageist; read at your own risk
Ahab has the attention span of a fruit fly. He channel surfs incessantly. Click, click, click, pause for ten seconds, click, pause, click, click click...PICK ONE, I want to scream. Stick with something! No, I didn't mean NASCAR.
He also dials the heat up to a sultry 80F, which I find intolerable. I am engaged in passive-aggressive war over the thermostat. Sweaters, man! Try them! Don't just sit around in your light-weight cotton shirt-sleeves and whine that you're cold.
Do I sound heartless? Sorry, but I don't give a fuck. I live in a house with NO heat save for space heaters, I've routinely survived 50-something indoor temps, 80 degrees, FFS? Is ridiculous.
He got it into his head that he wanted shrimp scampi. I went to Publix to get shrimp, only to discover that the sale advertised in flyer he had didn't start til the next day. So I went back the next day---with him, after his 9:30 AM doctor's appointment. Shopping with said fruit fly...not fun.
And may I just say, I don't even *LIKE* shrimp? These, especially, looked like they'd grown up in the recent gulf oil spill. So basically, I was cooking it for him, not us. The recipe was from Rachel Ray (whom I also don't like, perky little foodie wannabe), and the instructions called for heating a pan on high heat until water vaporized, adding oil, then garlic and crushed red pepper 'until fragrant'.
Until the smoke alarm goes off, is more like it. I ended up dumping the pan in the sink and bolting out the back door and yarking up bile on the patio.
When I could breathe again (not exaggerating, that was a truly toxic combo), I went back and started over. Lower heat, slower cooking time, Ahab said it was good, which may have saved his life, by that point, and tried to get me to have some. No fucking way.
Mind you, it hasn't been ALL bad. I've gotten to drive Ahab's car, which is quite nice (2009 Hyundai with all the amenities), and I didn't miss the season two premiere of Justified, which was---*flails*. I now completely understand what that reviewer meant when they described Mags Bennett as the love-child of Tony Soprano and Paula Dean. Wow! (And hopefully next week, we get more Boyd. I heart Boyd.)
Tomorrow I'm home again, thank your Mother/Father God.
I'll be off to bed in a little bit...as soon as I trip the thermostat.
.
He also dials the heat up to a sultry 80F, which I find intolerable. I am engaged in passive-aggressive war over the thermostat. Sweaters, man! Try them! Don't just sit around in your light-weight cotton shirt-sleeves and whine that you're cold.
Do I sound heartless? Sorry, but I don't give a fuck. I live in a house with NO heat save for space heaters, I've routinely survived 50-something indoor temps, 80 degrees, FFS? Is ridiculous.
He got it into his head that he wanted shrimp scampi. I went to Publix to get shrimp, only to discover that the sale advertised in flyer he had didn't start til the next day. So I went back the next day---with him, after his 9:30 AM doctor's appointment. Shopping with said fruit fly...not fun.
And may I just say, I don't even *LIKE* shrimp? These, especially, looked like they'd grown up in the recent gulf oil spill. So basically, I was cooking it for him, not us. The recipe was from Rachel Ray (whom I also don't like, perky little foodie wannabe), and the instructions called for heating a pan on high heat until water vaporized, adding oil, then garlic and crushed red pepper 'until fragrant'.
Until the smoke alarm goes off, is more like it. I ended up dumping the pan in the sink and bolting out the back door and yarking up bile on the patio.
When I could breathe again (not exaggerating, that was a truly toxic combo), I went back and started over. Lower heat, slower cooking time, Ahab said it was good, which may have saved his life, by that point, and tried to get me to have some. No fucking way.
Mind you, it hasn't been ALL bad. I've gotten to drive Ahab's car, which is quite nice (2009 Hyundai with all the amenities), and I didn't miss the season two premiere of Justified, which was---*flails*. I now completely understand what that reviewer meant when they described Mags Bennett as the love-child of Tony Soprano and Paula Dean. Wow! (And hopefully next week, we get more Boyd. I heart Boyd.)
Tomorrow I'm home again, thank your Mother/Father God.
I'll be off to bed in a little bit...as soon as I trip the thermostat.
.