Ain't no party like a teacher party because a teacher party don't stop. Well, until about 10. Then it stops. I'm sorry. I've been totally remiss at getting these posts up in any semblance of timeliness. In case you're confused — I've been pulling the wool over your eyes and setting the date to the post to the day when the meal was cooked, but, in case you haven't noticed, I've been updating in fits and spurts. The problem with this is ...

These pillows were so soft you could sleep on them. I guess if you were a little person. And not like a midget. After the dismal Rellenosgate of 2008 was over, I figured I needed something that would restore Julie's culinary faith in me, and possibly, just possibly, not be a bunch of back-breaking labor. So, naturally, the sadist in me said "Oh! Julie mentioned that she wanted Gnocci a while ago." So self, I said, "Self, why don't you just make some? You know, ...

Shit, I mean, I can barely spell rellenos, much less make one that isn't just janky. Also, like that presentation? That's called "giving up." I learned it by watching using Windows. I'm gonna admit. Most of the time this blog serves nearly no purpose other than to blow smoke up my ass. I mean, really, this shit reads like an "I'm a genius because I made this taste better then a pile of puke" self-righteous list of things I can do better than some ...

No, Julie didn't have a whirlwind romance with Barak Obama. Although I hope Google now returns this blog as a result for "Obama cheating." That would be hilarious. Since, well, you know, Republicans HATE good food. No, it was just my Dad. Conveniently he lives in the city so we have dinner on the occasion, but usually it's Julie and myself going over to his house for dinner, rather than the opposite. You know, the whole father/son relationship. Anyway, my ...

Filet-o-Fish? Yeah. And Twinkee the Kid is my Son with Mrs. Butterworth. Although, for a syrup bottle, you gotta admit, she's pretty stacked. Somehow I just made more dishes in the past five hours making only seven things (and really only finishing three of them) than I think I made the past two Thanksgivings put together. My hands are still wrinkled (OMG dishpan hands? DAWN FTW) ...

Billy Jean is not my lover. This chicken very may well be though. Last Saturday, for about the first time in three months or so, I decided to take an inventory of what was lurking in the back of the freezer. Figured it was about time to either use it or lose it. Sadly there were some surprises (pearl onions?), a few "oh, that's where that went" (chipotles, half a can of tomatoes), a bunch of "we need to eat ...

I'm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my crust? Fuck. Wait a minute. I'm a pizza. I would just like to mention, before I say anything, that I am currently watching Point Break on Fuse. This is: fucked up since I work for MTV Networks and will probably get me fired. The only thing on since, really, if Michael Phelps isn't on the Olympics, it's ...

You know, each time I make a comment on a photo I have to type out the whole <em style="font-size: 9pt;">. You'd think I'd have made some sort of style for this, but no. That's how lazy I am. Nah. These aren't taquitos. Although I'd really like some now. Also, it's quite odd that a lot of Spanish/Mexican (I've never seen a taquito in Spain, but down in Mexico they don't speak Mexican) words that have a "q" in them also have the nearly requisite ...

You'd think that after being in the freezer for only 24 hours it'd only take 12 hours to thaw this piece of tuna in the fridge. Also you'd think the president of the United States would be intelligent. You'd think a lot of things that are wrong these days. It was my co-worker Tony's birthday on Friday, which incidentally was my first day back at work after the wedding/honeymoon. (Yes, it was a long break. Yes, I would rather still be drinking gin at noon ...