The Man Cold

Ah yes, The Man Cold.  Killer of strapping young men worldwide, it is quickly becoming one of the worlds most prolific and contagious viruses, infecting an estimated 20 million men on a daily basis.  There is no cure, there is no vaccine, and it can not be stopped.

Unrelated to The Common Cold, suffered by women and children around the world, The Man Cold has much more severe symptoms including:  Extreme fatigue, excessive use of Kleenex, muscle weakness, inability to lift arms, teary eyes, whining, and a sense of utter despair and hopelessness.

The Man Cold usually occurs when a man's significant other comes down with The Common Cold.  The virus will then mutate when transferred into the man and will then be virtually unstoppable, able to be passed from one man to another, completely annihilating all motor skills and daily functionality until The Man Cold is either overcome, or kills the man.  Mysteriously, though, the virus will always mutate back into The Common Cold when passed back to a woman.

While a woman can still preform daily tasks when she has come down with The Common Cold, such as working, laundry, and cooking, The Man Cold renders it's victims completely useless for the 2-3 days in which the man is affected.  That is, of course, if he lives through the ordeal.

Excessive?  Yes.

There is but one solution to this epidemic that I can propose.  Since we women seem to control when our men become infected, once we notice the slightest symptoms of The Common Cold, we should avoid all contact with all men until every symptom has gone.  To obtain optimal conditions, I suggest women should not go to work, kick out all men, then call other ill feeling women to come over and drink copious amounts of liquor. This "All Female Group Quarantine" should last for at least 4 days, to insure the virus has passed, before coming into contact with any man. Obviously, cooking and laundry will be strictly prohibited during this "Quarantine" as to not needlessly spread this dangerous virus.

We have the power, ladies, to protect our men from this devastating condition.  As a matter of fact, I believe I feel the sniffles coming on...WHO'S BRINGING THE BOOZE?!?!?!?

Sorry Honey, you can't come home.  We're uh....sick.

Asshole Chicken

The other day I had this BRILLIANT idea to try and make something new for dinner.  I set out 2 chicken breasts to thaw and spent the entire next day thinking and planning about what I would do.

When the time came, I mixed up some broccoli, corn and an ass-ton of cheese with some yummy seasoning and the always useful, Tony’s.  I flayed and pounded out the chicken breasts, crammed them full of my delicious mixture, wrapped them up like burritos and stuck about 15 toothpicks in each to hold all the goods in. 

I put them in a glass casserole dish and decided to dump a can of broccoli cheese soup over the top for some added deliciousness.  Stuck them in the oven at 350 at sat down to anticipate my delectable creation.

Big Dinosaur was impressed!  Hell, I was impressed with myself!  40 minutes later, with our mouths watering to the point of drool puddles, I pulled them out of the over.  They were glorious, smelled like heaven and bubbly cheese was seeping out of the cracks.  Amazing.  I was so excited I could barely contain myself. 

I put them on a plate and asked Big Dinosaur to go get my phone because I was going to cut that bitch in half, take a picture and post that shit to facebook so all my friends and family could “Ooo” and “Awe” over my kick-ass culinary skills.

I start pulling out the toothpicks and one was being stubborn.  I gave it a good yank.  The entire plate fell to the floor and my beautiful stuffed chicken breasts smashed to the disgusting less than clean kitchen floor.  I just looked at it for a second then looked up at Big Dinosaur.  He was looking at me trying to figure out what my reaction would be.  I started bawling like a tiny baby.

Crying is a very rare thing for me and Big Dinosaur does not handle it well.  He just doesn’t know what to do but knows he wants the tears to stop.  He quickly bent down and scooped up the ruined mess of chicken, broccoli and cheese and tossed it in the trash can.  He just kept repeating, “It’s okay!  I’m sorry!  It’s okay!  I’m sorry” and giving me hugs. 

I of course told him to quit apologizing because he didn’t do anything and he says, “I know, I’m just sorry that happened to you!!”   I was so mad at myself I just kept repeating, “I’m so stupid!  Why do I ruin everything?! I’m such a moron!  I suck at life.”  Although, I have a hard time talking when I’m crying, so it sounded more like, “Sussha stooopid! Ijuss runn errrthinnn! Sussha morrrn! Isuuuuuuk liiif!”

2 days planning and 2 hours preparing a meal which neither of us got to enjoy.  I didn’t even get to take a picture of it before I destroyed it.  We ate nothing but mashed potatoes for dinner.  Worst. Dinner. Ever. 

I am, however, going to try it again because it sounds so dammed delicious.  That chicken was an assjacket.