Homemade Blueberry Sauce OR “Why An Intruder Will Never Be Able to Murder Me”

I once wrote a story about a nice guy who ended up breaking into the home of his boss and strangling the maid when he unexpectedly found her there, innocently cleaning the inside of a giant vase with a vacuum hose. He snuck up behind her, yanked the hose from her hands and wrapped it around her throat. She twisted and kicked for a while, but he just dragged her around the house, tugging her along backwards from one room to the next to keep her from re-gaining her balance and putting up any real fight.

After she was dead, he kept his grip around her throat for another few minutes because he had seen so many movies where characters who are certain to be dead turn out to not be, and come back in the third act to surprise the killer who then stumbles down some basement stairs in shock and bangs their head against a water heater and dies.

Of course, the killer then never comes back to life in the same unexpected way the original victim did because they’re after all, a killer, and we expect fairness to prevail in our movies, unless the movie is directed by Robert Altman or someone German. But in real life, I know for a fact that you’re less likely to die from hitting your head against a water heater than you are if an intruder drags you around a house backwards by your neck with a vacuum hose. Ask anyone off the street about this; you’ll get the same answer.

When I was a kid and my parents let me stay home by myself, I would pull the largest knife out of the kitchen drawer and stab a cardboard box in my toy closet repeatedly, honing my aim and fortitude in case a burglar broke into the house and tried to kill me. Looking back, perhaps I should have asked myself why I thought a burglar might break into the house between 2 and 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, but ever since the time I was first able to pull myself out of my playpen, I have lived feverishly by the motto that you can never be too prepared.

As an example: I don’t wait until the end of the day to buy tickets for a movie Michael and I are planning to see that night. I buy them first thing in the morning. And if Michael is in charge of buying the tickets and plans on waiting until the end of the day, I try to warn him. “Maybe they’ll be sold out by the time you go to buy them. And then where will we be, hmmm?” But Michael just does what he wants. And almost always, there are good seats left. But sometimes there aren’t, and when that happens I don’t wag my finger and look at him with crooked lips, even though I could. It’s the same thing with being ready with a giant knife on a Sunday afternoon. “Maybe someone will crawl in through the doggie door and kill me when I’m home alone. And I won’t notice in time because I’ll too busy playing UNO against myself at the kitchen table. Then where will I be, hmmm? Dead. Dead with three Skips and a Draw Four card still unplayed, that’s where! And then people could say, “He should have been ready with a giant knife just in case,” and wag their fingers at each other during my funeral. Who wants that? Not me. That’s why I’m always ready: buying movie tickets, avoiding being murdered, and everything in between.

Needless to say, Michael is not fond of this paranoid quality of mine. When he’s supposed to call me at a certain time and doesn’t, I get panicky and start dialing his phone over and over, then hanging up before I leave a message, so he can see I’ve called fifteen times but won’t actually be met with the desperate voicemails I used to leave him, such as, “I need to know that a serial killer hasn’t gotten you. I’m worried. Plus I don’t understand how people are identified by dental records and I won’t do it right. PLEASE CALL ME BACK!”

Michael sighs sadly and presses his eyelids together dramatically whenever I start acting this way. Sure, I may sometimes walk down the street with my head facing the sky in case a piano is about to fall out a window. And when we hear about a trainer being pulled into the water by a whale at a marine park, I may look over at him and state plainly, “And THAT is why I want a harpoon!” I think secretly Michael belives I need help for this. But I don’t care. Sometimes, when we’re leaving the movie theatre he goes down the stairs without holding the handrail, and I say to myself, “We’ll see who gets the last laugh, buddy.”

Click here for an AMAZING Blueberry Sauce Recipe!

Martha Stewart’s Chocolate Macaroons OR “My Not So Time-Sensitive Thoughts on a 1990s Super Couple”

I know I’m late to the party on this, but Ross and Rachel WERE on a break and he totally had every right to sleep with that copy girl!

And my Facebook friends support me… more or less.

Continue reading “Martha Stewart’s Chocolate Macaroons OR “My Not So Time-Sensitive Thoughts on a 1990s Super Couple”” »

Smitten Kitchen’s Carrot Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting

Michael has been so health-conscious lately… steamed vegetables, freshly squeezed fruit juices, hummus and polenta.  My cake brought that all to a crashing halt last night.  I thought he might resent me for whipping it up.  Instead, he exclaimed, “I wanna dive in and roll around in that!”  Who wouldn’t?  Those creamy waves of maple frosting would feel so good against the skin, wouldn’t they?

I am not a good influence.  After I helped clog up his arteries and flush away that build-up of nutrients, I also kept him up past his bed time. He goes to be at ten… on a Saturday night!  He probably doesn’t want me telling you that, but I let him walk out of here with three pieces of carrot cake in my favorite piece of tupperware, so I figure he won’t kick me.

Continue reading “Smitten Kitchen’s Carrot Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting” »

Martha Stewart’s Chocolate Crackle Cookies OR “If You’re Wimpy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands”

Valentines’ Day Recipes: Cream Cheese Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies

What do you make of this situation… perhaps you’ve experienced it?  You work up a cookie recipe.  You appraise the out-of-oven results as a bronze medal effort at best.  Yet all your co-workers go cuckoo for them like you’ve brought in a basket full of free iPads.

The eaters are satisfied, but the baker is not.  What do you do… continue to mess with the recipe, or let it stand as is?

I will admit that the flavor and richness of these particular cookies increased dramatically by the second day.  The addition of the cream cheese didn’t do as much to moisten them up the way I thought they might, but a glass of milk or a little bit of coffee was enough to overcome that.  And visually, they’re certainly on the high end of the enticement scale.  But to be honest, I have an even bigger issue I’d like to share with you.

Above is a picture of the desk just to the left of where I sit at my new job.  In the last two weeks, no less than three employees have been stationed there, and every single one of them has requested to be moved someplace else on the first day.   Don’t get me wrong… I’m the kind of guy who likes to stretch out when he’s hard at work.  Example: I always choose the handicapped stall whenever available.  But I have to tell you I’m starting to take this personally.  Additionally, I now have no one to throw crumpled up post-its at for late-afternoon jollies.  My aim isn’t nearly good enough to hit that girl way over there by the wall.  Maybe with a stapler, but a post-it note is just gonna veer to the side like a housefly with only one good wing. Besides, I’m sure she could beat me up.

I think I might be slowly turning into a social pariah.  I’d talk to my therapist about it, but he moved to a new office and forgot to tell me where.  I’d talk to my sister about it, but she charges more to listen than my therapist.  This puts me in mind of the time my mom drove to my elementary school to pick me up, and then inexplicably drove off again before I actually reached the car.  Some things… the hurt just never totally goes away.

As I see it I only have one recourse: flood the office with cookies until I win my co-workers over with refined sugar or until the next person who gets that desk becomes so fat so fast that the thought of re-locating their adding machine and “I Hate Mondays” mug just seems like more trouble than its worth.

Click here to get the recipe for Cream Cheese Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies