I’m Here! I’m Here! Wait! Don’t Leave!

Happy Wednesday, five people who read my blog! Hey… Looks like I have a couple new blog followers… There may even be SIX of you by now! Holy cats!

Anyway, I bet a lot of you are wondering where I’ve been. I know, it’s probably keeping you up at night. I get that a lot. Well you see, I met this handsome gentleman on Hollywood Boulevard last week, and he paid me $3,000 to spend the week with… Hang on… Is this the plot to Pretty Woman? Oh man, I get us confused all the time. However, I did sing a Prince song in the bathtub last night, so Vivian the hooker and I are practically the same person. Except I’m prettier. And I probably cook way better. And that whole getting paid for sex thing. Whatever. In all reality, I just haven’t been doing much cooking lately because I’ve been dieting, and surviving on couscous and smoothies, and those are just no fun to blog about. I’m also so weak that I can barely lift my poor little shriveled and starving hands to type this. I can button my jeans now, though, so there’s that.

(Insert cry for help here.)

I promise I’ll be back soon with lots of delicious and super healthy (Well… sorta. Maybe. Not likely, actually.) recipes, as well as stories about Mr. Ahi Tuna Man and all the help he gives me in the kitchen by watching me open things, forgetting to buy lemons, and occasionally shredding cheese for me so I don’t shred my knuckles into the mozzarella again. I’m pretty sure that’s a selfish move on his part. But PFFFFFFFFFFFT (infinite Fs)- You could hardly taste the blood in that last pizza. Such a whiner he is.

I just wanted to pop in and say I’m ok and to put all of your minds at ease. You’re welcome.

And here is a picture of my dog eating my high heel, which probably has more flavor than my lunch today.

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I Feel Like Chicken Tonight (featuring guest blogger, Buddy)

Well, I haven’t cooked anything blog-worthy the past few days, unless you count opening a can of tuna and tossing a bag of steamed veggies in the microwave (It takes skill. Shut up.), and tonight… Well… Tonight, I came home from work to this:
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This is NOT a happy Buddy face. See, he’s pissed. He’s all “Who the hell’s this Mr. Ahi Tuna Man, Mom?!?! HUH??? Do you give HIM baths and clean under his balls?!? DO YOU?! WHY DON’T YOU EVER COOK FOR ME ANY MORE, YOU CHEATING SLUT?!?”. He may be cute, but he gets a little combative when he’s angry. Seriously. When he’s out of hand like this, there’s only one thing left to do:

The recipe/non-recipe for I Feel LIke Chicken Jerky Tonight, as written by Buddy. Ok, I took dictation. He’s limited by his lack of thumbs. And he’s too short to reach the keyboard.

(Pretend Buddy is talking. He sounds a little like James Earl Jones combined with Kermit.)

1. I look adorable and beg for chicken jerky, like this:

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2. PUT YOUR OVERSIZED MITT IN THAT BAG, LADY

1977120_10154806857625551_3877370805238828601_n3. Holy shit. Here it comes. I can’t wait! OMG It’s getting closer to my face! *drool*drool*drool*drool*

1016207_10154806857570551_2392837814245437254_n4. RAWR! Next time make it snappy, woman, or I’ll take off the hand.

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I can’t show you the rest, guys. It’s horrific. The brutality. The carnage.

R.I.P, little chicken jerky.

R.I.P