the number 13

Cake Diet February 1, 2010

Filed under: Eat Me,Tales of the Weird — numbr13 @ 10:54 pm

I am going to eat this fucking cake.

Yesssssss. The cake.

As I sit here waiting for a movie I have illegally downloaded to finish illegally downloading, I am staring at a chocolate cake thinking that I simply shouldn’t eat the thing but knowing I’m going to anyway. I have zero self-control when it comes to matters of cake and coffee and such. None whatsoever.

The southern roots I have invented for myself require that I eat a lot of things that are dipped in batter, deep fried and then slopped in either real butter or a healthy dose of mayonnaise. I am fully aware that this is going to give me a heart attack and, more obviously, make me huge. I’m usually quite okay with this up until the point where I actually see myself in a mirror and then I flip right the fuck out.

I’m a genius. I just want you to know this because I know it and it is because of my status as an élite intellectual that my first thoughts when I discover my huge-ness are to find the problem areas and then come up with a reasonable solution.

I am giving up the fancy, fattening coffee and am replacing it with this chocolate cake here.

Before you start to worry that I might go withering away or that I might have developed some sort of risky eating disorder stemming from intense, underlying social issue or a more politically acceptable Daddy complex I want to place your weary minds at ease and tell you that this cake has icing on it. Gobs of it. Just shitloads. I have even added extra icing to make up for the lack of flavored creamers I might normally indulge in. So… all is safe.

For the record, I have no inclination to puke this cake up once I’m finished annihilating it. It will stay safely tucked up in my intestinals until my morning coffee forces it out of my body. Did I just say “coffee”?

Because I meant bottled water.

Do you like bottled water? I can’t stand the shit. Honestly, I cannot muster up a desire for the ghastly junk. Perhaps if it were deep friend or slathered in mayo then I’d give it a spin across the dance floor. Bottled water. Yech. I tend to prefer my water with a teensy bit of high fructose corn syrup in it. Maybe add a little squeeze of synthetic coloring. Perhaps a splash of carbonation. Littttttle bit of cherry flavoring. That’s a mighty fine tasting water right there.

Maybe I might even add some extra water to my water, say… some smallish, frozen chunks one might nibble on?

And some grenadine.

I’m gonna get skinny quicker n’ shit, I tell ya.

Watch out, world.


Spicy Dog Shit July 3, 2009

Filed under: Eat Me,The Littles — numbr13 @ 8:15 am

As a single mother of four small children with loads of extra time on her hands to spend in the kitchen cooking seven course gourmet meals I might occasionally take a break and produce something a bit…. simpler… for our evening sit-downs:

This is not steak and potatoes. It isn’t roasted chicken with fresh vegetables in a lemon-herb sauce. It’s not stuffed pork-chops with garlic roasted asparagus. It’s not even spaghetti.

It’s Hamburger fuckin’ Helper.

I feel like a dirtbag when I feed my kids Hamburger Helper so I feel the need to church it up a bit. This particular dish consists of Three Cheese HH and is topped with Frank’s Hot Sauce, jalapenos and, um, crushed up Doritos.


What truly blew my mind about this creation is that my freaky ass kids LOVED it. “This is the best meal you’ve ever cooked, Mom!” they proclaimed. Friggin’ outrageous. I have spent countless hours in that kitchen attempting to cook them dinners that most would consider to be like fine dining (*snort*) and they always have some sort of complaint. So, I prepare them something that looks like straight up dog shit and is almost too spicy for them to consume and they Five Star that motherfucker.

I swear to God, I do not understand my kids. I love them… but I do not understand them. I’m not even going to try to pretend to. What I do know is that, tonight, when I cook them steak and mashed potatoes and sweet peas they will probably bitch to no end until I put all of their food in the blender and grind it into a paste, top it with gravy and ketchup and crumbled up Fritos and serve it up. I’m sure the reviews will be positive.

I was so not like this as a kid. I held my mother to some very high standards. Her cooking better have been some restaraunt quality shit. I remember when she began serving cheesy Rice-a-Roni and I was appalled. How dare she raise four children and work a full time job and come home and try to feed me this garbage? Oh, no. That was completely unacceptable.

My children are weird. Matthew will only eat food that is white: milk, bread, plain noodles, eggs… I consistantly remind him that his lack of vegetables will cause him to develop scurvy but my threats do nothing. Owen is a full blown vegetarian… the polar opposite of Matt. Owen would be happy to eat salad for every meal of every day. Olivia will eat anything so long as it isn’t overcooked in anyway. If I accidentally burn the bottom of something she refuses to eat it. Emi is a guppy and will eat until she explodes. Doesn’t matter if it’s off the floor, out of the trash, found next to a dumpster, on the toilet seat of a public bathroom or if it is actual food. She will eat it.

I like my food to be un-contaminated and looking very pretty. Like it’s chef. (which is me, retards) I prefer it to never have seen the cardboard inside of a box (unlike me) and I like it to have at least three ingredients. Then, I like to disguise any and all flavors produced by the three+ ingredients by smothering the entire lot of it with hot sauce.

Simple. Easy. Edible. (also like me).

I am so sick of my kids’s high expectations with ther food. Although I must admit… that Hamburger Helper shit was off the hook…. I fear that my children will try to feed it to their children and their children’s children causing it to be some kind of recipe passed down for generations and I will be shamed and humiliated for generations to come when, one day, someone informs one of them that Hamburger Helper is NOT gourmet.

OMG. I’m never making that shit again.


The Leftover’s Bandit June 30, 2009

Filed under: Eat Me,Tales of the Weird — numbr13 @ 6:36 pm

This is a Three Hundred Pound Meatloaf.

Someone stole a three pound meatloaf right out of my oven. I have puzzled over this for days and then the perpetrator struck again on Waffle Night.

Here is how this all played down. Because you really need to know.

So, the other night, I made meatloaf (really?) because I’m all domestic and shiz. Really, I could easily feed my kids Ramen but I like to cook them dinner every night regardless of whether or not they will actually eat it (they won’t.) I have some pretty picky kids and they shoot out requests at me like this is a friggin’ Olive Garden or something and it drives me crazy.

One thing they will eat is meatloaf provided that it is MY meatloaf. They know it, they trust it… they have no idea what is in it. But, this is what they requested the other night for dinner. Off to the store I trotted to get some hamburger, which anyone who lives in Washington State can testify to, costs about a million dollars a pound.

What my meatloaf doesn’t cost me is time. I know a lot of people who spend countless, um, minutes chopping celery and onions and carefully putting in the perfect amount of spices and flavor and I used to do this until I wised up. I changed my meatloaf recipe to the most ghetto recipe on earth and since having done so, I have achieved critical acclaim for this nonsense. Don’t believe me?… try it. I challenge you to make this ridiculous meatloaf and tell me it’s not delicious and easier than YOUR meatloaf.

Everyone puts bread or breadcrumbs or some other nonsense in there to soak up the grease and add zat certain sumtink to it.  I toss in… a box of Stovetop Stuffing.

Hey, it’s bread. AND, it already has seasoning and onion and celery and all that junk. Meat, couple of eggs and a box of Stovetop and into the oven it goes. Then, there is the matter of topping it with ketchup, which I find most people do for the last few minutes. Not me… I use tomato sauce. Not spaghetti sauce… just plain ol’ tomato sauce. It’s yummy.

It was going to be yummy on Friday until someone broke into my house and stole the thing.

I made the meatloaf. I made some cornbread (there is NOTHING finer on this planet than cornbread). I made the mashed potatoes and the friggin’ gravy. I made the sweet peas. Then, I took Emi outside to call the kids to come in for dinner.  When I entered the house again, the meatloaf was gone.

Someone abducted my friggin’ meatloaf. And… I want it back.

I am not kidding. My meatloaf was gone. Who in the hell steals a three pound meatloaf???

I have been haunted by this for days.

Then, the other night, the perp struck again only this time we actually got to eat the food and he merely pilfered all the leftovers. It was Owen Waffle night which means I madeabout forty dinner-plate sized waffles. The kids had a friend over for dinner and after they ate they all scampered off to play outside and I took Emi upstairs to give her a bath as she was covered in maple syrup. I had left the waffles in the oven to stay warm because the kids had asked me if, later, I would deep fry them and sprinkle them with powedered sugar for a late night snack. When I returned to the kitchen to do this, I cheerfully opened the oven to retrieve the waffles only to discover that they were gone.

Damn it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have televisions in every room of this house! I have a Wii and Playstations and a five hundred dollar electric guitar and amp right there in my living room! Who keeps breaking in and stealing food???!!!!!

I have a theory.

I am thinking that one of the neighborhood kids is a victim of human trafficking or something grandiose like that and clearly his keepers are not feeding him, leaving him forced to come to my house and steal my delicious cooking. I am beginning to think I should just leave food outside for him or something because God knows, he’s probably covered in body lice or something and I really do not need to de-louse my entire home and family. Four kids accumulate a lot of stuffed animals, ya know.

But I simply cannot let this poor slave starve to death. It’s my duty as a human being and a Christian to feed the hungry. I will simply feed the hungry…. outside.

Either that or I’ll be forced to start making disgusting food so that he’ll look elsewhere.

Sigh. I miss my meatloaf.