Every other Sunday I reward my taste buds with seven strips of bacon. I look forward to this ritual of destroying my arteries. It’s good fun and a great way to start a Sunday feeling amazing and terrible at the same time.

I believe in my appliances. I like to exercise their ability to do things they were never meant to do. Stretch their mechanical muscles. I routinely put whole rotisserie chicken carcasses in my garbage disposal. This goes against good judgment and common sense. But I’ve conditioned the disposal and now it can take down a full chicken in about thirty seconds. I even made a video and put it up on YouTube. I believe in my appliances.

In this same vein I put fully dripping grease pans directly into the dishwasher.

First, let’s talk about tinfoil. Sure it helps with the mess, but I have a totally unfounded belief that it cripples the bacon’s ability to perfectly crisp. I don’t like it, and I don’t use it. I can appreciate that you flip foil up on the edges to catch all the grease. That’s a good thing – if you’re a total pussy who’s afraid of getting grease on a five dollar baking sheet, that is.

Me, I take the bacon, defrost it, and carefully lay the strips directly on the pan bottom. I’m not afraid. If it burns a permanent mark into the aluminum, I can handle it.

About two years ago I realized I had completely destroyed the bottom tray in my toaster oven because I put food directly on the rack without tinfoil. I went online to see how much a new bottom was going for – $7 with free shipping. I ordered three and sullied forth.

I have these SOS pads under my sink that must be from 1998. I’ve never used them. I’m not into digging around to remove every black speck that’s stuck to my pots and pans. It seems like way too much work plus the texture totally freaks me out. I can’t even handle cotton balls,  much less it’s tougher big brother, steel wool.

I cook the bacon in the oven, remove them from the pan and then place the whole burned, greasy mess into the dishwasher. No fumbling around in the garbage for a discarded can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew to catch the oil. My dishwasher can handle it.

Well, at least it could until this past weekend.

I was doing a normal clean after my fondue date and I noticed some disgusting yellow shit water at the bottom of the dishwasher. It wasn’t draining. I said a prayer to St. Joseph and ran a full cycle again. Nope. Then I ran it two more times over the next few hours. I’m sure I wasted some water, and I can understand how you don’t appreciate my conservation. I’m just being honest. Still wasn’t draining.

I thought, “Well, it’s been a good run. I regret nothing!” and reached for my plumber’s phone number. Before I called I decided to try to plunge the drain hole. I ran it once more. It drained.

I’m not 100% sure the line was clogged with bacon grease. Could have been any one of the foodstuffs that was attached to my plates. I don’t rinse before putting on the rack. I live on the edge. But I know it’s time to adjust my plans. You don’t come back from the dead twice. My dishwasher headed toward the light and God sent it back to me. I respect this.

I’m not sure exactly what to do next. Tinfoil? Soup can? Become a Muslim and disavow pork products?

Odds are that I’ll just start dumping future bacon grease directly into the garbage disposal. Go ahead and cringe and praise Allah that you’re not married to me.

Then  read yesterday’s post  for round two.

Ahem…

• @moaniecracker  – Write my cover letter for me!

I am a really super great qualified candidate for this job. I get totally fired up about stuff, which is motivating for others. I show up early and will do the late thing, too. I eat at my desk, but quietly and without weird smells. My bathroom behavior is tolerable. I don’t need WhiteOut, because I don’t make mistakes. Hire me at your own risk – I’M EXPLOSIVE.

Loving it all,
Monica

• @nicoled1130  – people that drop food down their shirts?

This must be a woman thing. I haven’t dropped  foodstuffs ever down my shirt. But I will tell you what I did the other night. I was writing in bed, naked (as people do). My laptop was on my legs and I was eating  Jujyfruits. Since I didn’t want to keep shaking the box to get to the awesomeness, I pulled out about ten pieces and balanced them on my chest. Keep in mind that I have a super hairy chest and these candies get a bit sticky. The hair, however, did provide enough resistance to where the Jujyfruits did not fall off my chest.

• @rebeccajwill  – chupacabra

It was only a matter of time before someone suggested Chupacabra. First of all, let’s talk about Mexico and all the wonderful things they contribute to society. Tortillas. Okay, now that we’re done I think it’s safe to say that there may be more credible zoologists than those of Mexico. If Chupacabra existed, Steve Irwin would have wrestled him live on television several years before his death. But even if it does exist, do a few dead goats really matter? I stopped drinking goat’s milk five years back. I should have never trusted that Mexican nutritionist who told me to drink goat milk. It gave me worms.

• @mackiedeanv– start it with, I’m a man so….

photo credit:  finnmacginty  via  photo pin  cc

• Mayonnaise  – I can handle a little, but would never choose to put on a sandwich
• Tuna fish in cans  – For some reason it makes my stomach choose to vomit even though I like the taste
• Cream cheese  – I must be the only person on the planet where cream cheese is too strong for their system.  Again, another vomit inducer, even though I enjoy the idea of it.
• Sour Cream  – This one is mostly mental.  Yes, I hate the taste, but for some reason the idea of sour cream skeeves me out.  But I’m no baby.  If it tasted good, I’d get over it.  It doesn’t.

On the way home from the airport yesterday I tweeted out that I was about to make a poor dining decision.  My flight was delayed an hour and I wasn’t getting home until midnight.  I had eaten at  this insane tomato festival  earlier in the day but nothing for the past eight hours.  Since I was still technically on vacation I decided to get something awful on the way home.

I had two fast food choices.  McDonald’s and Taco Bell.  I fast forwarded the scenario where I had eaten one of McD’s super-sized angus burger meals and how awful I would feel on my ten mile bike ride to work that next morning.  McDonald’s got axed.

Taco Bell is deceiving to me.  They have 89 items on the menu and each is a variation on a burrito or taco.  And, let me state for the record that the Dorito taco is disappointing.  Sure you get a light dusting of nacho cheese, but you sacrifice 80% of the taco shell crispiness.  It becomes a mushy mess and, let’s face it, you’re better than that.

I always stare at the menu, which, if they didn’t have enough options, now also has the entire KFC line of chicken, too.  I decided on what I wanted and yelled it to the guy on work-release in the restaurant.  After each item I specifically said, “No sour cream.”  He then repeated back, “no sour cream.”

I drove to the window, handed over my card and repeated, “Hey – no sour cream, right?”  I always smile when I say this and use an apologetic tone, like hey-man-I-know-you-already-told-me-no-sour-cream-but-I’ve-been-burned-before-so-please-forgive-me-for-treating-you-like-an-idiot-but-since-I’m-playing-the-odds-here-you-probably-are-an-idiot.

I’m a huge please and thank you guy.  I understand that’s a shit job.  The guy was really cool and even gave me an extra taco for some reason.  Then he doubled up the meat on one of my my items, no extra charge.

I should have realized this means that they screwed up my order, but I was caught up in the lottery of free food.  I peeled out of there like a getaway driver on a bank heist.  Actually, truth be told, I slowly inched away with responsible speed and checked my mirrors first.

After unwrapping at home three of the items I ordered were caked in sour cream.  One of the items had to be tossed – there was no way to salvage it.  I’m not proud of this, but…  the rest of the foodstuffs were carefully opened up and operated on removing all major traces of sour cream.

If I had better self-esteem I would have just thrown the whole batch away.

I believe only 65% at best of the population likes sour cream.  I think that it should be an add-on whether we’re ordering a baked potato at the steakhouse, the supreme nachos at the bar, or a chalupa at TB.  The person taking the order should simply say, “You like sour cream, mofo?”

Without hyperbole I have been burned at the Bell at least a dozen times in the past three years.  For a while I told them I had a serious allergy to sour cream, but I was lying and felt bad about that.

Next time I’m going with McDonald’s which literally has batted 1000.  I don’t think they’ve ever screwed up an order.  Sure I feel like death after eating it, but it’s a less stressful death.

photo credit:  docjohnboy  via  photo pin  cc

I used to plan out my posts in the morning on the way to work.  I’d draft an outline, write a bit on the subway, and then on the way home from work, try to get most of it down.  Then at home I’d add photos, links, do the final editing and publish.

My process now is that I never have an idea before I sit down.  I’m just, quite frankly, out of ideas.  So, this is a new muscle to build – can I just sit down and write something honest, funny, and entertaining every night.  Probably the answer is “no” but my batting average is decent thus far.

Tonight, I realized I had no vegetables in my condo, and I thought that was a bad sign, so I headed to the grocery.  When I got home I parked my car and then, when I got out, realized I had it sort of sideways, too close to my neighbors car.  I put my grocery bags down and  got back in the car to re-park.

Then I promptly ran over the groceries.

I had two bags, and one was completely stuck under the front passenger wheel.  I should have taken a photo then, but I freaked out and ran to the car, as if I had a kitten trapped under the wheel.

The disgusting Greek yogurt I bought had exploded all over the other foodstuffs, and we all know how great that stuff smells.

And then it hit me…

Well at least I know what I’m writing about tonight.

Here’s a few shots of the road-kill bag of food.