|
My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
|
8:47 a.m. - 2010-02-18
Yesterday was such a cluster-fuck that I don't even want to talk about how things shook out. Suffice it to say I had a very good night's sleep ALONE. Mr Man passed a lovely evening in his den with all his 'worth more than people' crap. Except the truck, of course, that stayed in the driveway. 'Kay? 'Kay. Today I did what I usually do when offloading stress, I cleaned house and ate chocolate. There is also a glass of wine at my elbow, but this is a recent addition and only since the chicken is marinating in it I thought the chef should get a bit marinated too. Hey, why should some organic chicken boobies have all the fun? The marinade is one of my 'chuck it all in and see how it comes out' specials. Along with the Gallo there's EVOO, lime juice, several hefty splashes of Devil's Spit hot sauce, garlic- both minced and powdered, paprika, oregano, onion flakes and ground black pepper. And of course, Alton, there's a bit of kosher salt too. We actually use kosher salt on the table. Some time ago someone had given me a tiny jar of snooty French sea salt and in the using of it we got used to our table salt in big crunchy bits served off a salt spoon. So when the snoot stuff ran out I started using kosher salt. It works. While no exact measurements have been taken it does seem we all use far less of it to season our food. I've thought about getting a salt grinder, but I rather like dipping up the salt with that wee spoon. I also like what I keep the salt in, a lidded tea mug all covered in intricate Chinese designs. I'm not one of those nutjobs who's terrified of salt, but if this method painlessly cuts down on our consumption, why not? ~~~ It's the next morning. I had to stop there to go learn how to play Super Mario Bros Smash Brothers Brawl. Or some such like that. I have discovered my son can't teach someone to do something AT ALL. Whether it's because he's an Aspie or whether this normal for a 12 year old doofus, I don't know. Some of both, I suppose. But only after frustrating myself nearly to tears trying to get the hang of the controller (NINE buttons! NINE!) with Wolf muttering, "Hit Z, B, and the toggle! Geeze, Mom!" that's when Wolf finally opens a very concise tutoring screen and says, "I dunno, would this help?" Uh, yeah, you doof. A very slow and easy 'learn the controls' tutoring program DID help. Who'da thunk it? Before the tutor thing while I was still struggling and gnashing my teeth and Wolf was gabbling nonsense at me I turned to him and said, "Wolf! The last time I had a Nintendo controller in my hands was 1991 and it only had 3 buttons. This is like if I sat you in the car and told you to drive. You understand? This is HARD for me! How well would you do trying to drive the car if all I did was yell, "Clutch! Turn signal! Dim the lights! Clutch!" at you?" He, of course, looked at me as if I were speaking Urdu. But eventually he understood. It was beyond his initial comprehension that people, especially grown people, are not automatically hardwired to play Nintendo. I mean, his brother had been teaching him to play since before Wolf was potty trained. (And my, wasn't that a joy trying to pry a joystick out of his hand so I could sit him on the toilet before he wet himself and the rug?) Alex made sure his little brother was video game literate, he left the toileting to me. A right challenge it was too. Take a gander HERE. Anyhow, eventually I was able to make my guy jump and punch okay. Still miles and miles from proficiency, but I imagine I'll get better with practice. Hoo hoo! Just wait until it's time to teach Wolf to drive! Revenge will be mine. Oh yes, revenge will be mine. Btw, the chicken came out great! Nice and juicy. I can't play Nintendo worth a fiddler's damn, but I'm a hella good cook. That's something anyway.
|
