Authorrana

Slightly Intoxicated Cooking in Thirty-Seven Steps

Hay grrrrl hayyyyyyyy. You had a long day. You left the house for a 24 minute photo shoot with a photographer from the local college paper and you had brunch. It’s time to take a load off. But for three weeks you’ve been meaning to make macaroni and cheese with vegetables to bring to work and the vegetables aren’t gonna last much longer. You might be a little drunk but you got this.

Step one: Pre-heat the oven to 350. That’s probably in degrees. Honestly you haven’t even looked up a recipe yet so you’re not super sure you’re gonna use that oven. But it’s a safe bet. Most stuff goes in ovens.

 

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(step 1 part 2) ask your friend about her recipe that was pretty good but don’t ask for the whole recipe because you hate rules and directions

 

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Step two: Take that shit that you store in the oven out of the oven. Super important. It’s a lot harder to find oven mitts and get it out later.

 

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Step three: Pour yourself a glass of wine. You had a drink and a beer at brunch. You do not have to drive anywhere. If you were gonna change your mind and go out, now is the time. Ok no? Use that old bottle of wine. It’s from last week. Pour it into one of those little jars. Yeah the little mason jars. You’ve been drinking out of them since you were 3 but they are cool now and by logical extension that makes you cool now, too.

 

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step 4: Take off your bra and get out of those photo shoot clothes. You’re not going anywhere. Put on a t-shirt and bathrobe. Normally just underpants are fine but you have a roommate now. Where are those pajama pants? Why can’t you find your pajama pants. Where the fuck are your pajama pants? Maybe if you put away your clothes once in a awhile you could be a regular human who didn’t get stressed the fuck out every time you wanted to relax in some nice clean pajamas IS THIS REALLY YOUR LIFE goddammit you emptied out two bins of clean clothes and you were JUST WEARING THEM THIS MORNING. THEY ARE ALSO NOT IN THE BATHROOM. NOW WHY WOULD A ROBBER COME IN THE HOUSE AND JUST STEAL PAJAMA PANTS THAT DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL BUT IT IS THE ONLY POSSIBLE ANSWER FOR THIS BRIEF TRAGEDY. SERIOUSLY WHAT ARE THE DECISIONS THAT GOT YOU TO THIS POINT – HOME ALONE ON A SUNDAY MAKING ‘MACARONI AND CHEESE COOKING’ INTO THE HIGHLIGHT OF YOUR WEEK BUT NOW ITS A STRESSFUL AWFUL CHORE. JUST GIVE UP NOW YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS PAIN. WAIT HERE’S SOME SWEATPANTS YOU FORGOT ABOUT! They look nice. Back in business. A lot of people would not be brave enough to wear sweatpants and pink slippers and a bathrobe but your life is going great and you are rad. Take a selfie.

 

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5. you probably should have started boiling the macaroni already but it’s ok. how much water? doesn’t matter. measurements aren’t for you. add some salt to the water.

number six- make a roux. don’t be too haughty about it. you’ve heard the word “roux” and you know it’s a thing people make, but let’s be honest, you had to google it. and this wasn’t the first time.

 

(number 6.5 added later because you didn’t want to edit too much) cut up some onions. wait. you probably don’t want to use those. never mind. remember to start a garden later. onions and their onion-y ability to grow their acrid roots anywhere are really inspirational if you think about it. potatoes too.

 

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SEVEN add a little flour to the roux. you have flour. why does it have a mouse shaped hole in the side? take a little bit from the other side. and throw it away when you’re done and don’t drink enough wine that you will document this.

 

step nine – redacted

 

10) grate that cheese as fast as you possibly can because you should have planned ahead and the butter is burning

 

11- strain the pasta already, shit shit shit

 

12 put the vegetables and pasta and cheese in some pans and put it in the oven but save yourself some in case you like it better not baked then you can do a comparison just kidding. who cares. you’re hungry.

 

13- go ahead and brag about it. most people are watching the Grammy Awards tonight. you made mac and cheese with vegetables. revel in your accomplishments.

A Six Point Rebuttal to My Horrible Awful Former Friend Drew Ailes’ Article on Why Musicians Don’t Deserve to Get Paid (It’s OK There’s No Death Threats in Here)

6. Nothing sucks. There’s no such thing as sucking in art. Even if you don’t plan out your music and you never practice, you should be able to walk into a bar any night of the week and pull out your glockenspiel and get super funky and earn the equivalent of a day’s wages. People need to be challenged by art. Most people dismiss things they don’t like as “sucking” and despite the problematic nature of that word, it just means they don’t want to really think about the art. They just want it to be digestible. Sorry you didn’t have fun sexy feelings from listening to that, sheeple. Get out of your box and explore your other feelings with strangers at the bar. Feelings like hate and pain.

5. It’s the future. There are no jobs. Music should be a job that makes money. Have you ever tried to work with a musician in a service industry job? It’s irritating as hell being plied with show fliers and having them treat you like a prospective fan. We pay politicians and project managers and nobody knows what they do. Pay a musician so they don’t have to work in a cubicle next to you.
People may irrationally offer sex to musicians and artists and comedians a little too often, but if there were more musicians getting paid, maybe the supply and demand would balance out and human musicians would be able to pursue healthy relationships with equal partners or at least afford a therapist who helped them work on their self esteem enough that they don’t need to be validated by offers of stranger-sex to keep living.

4. Most people are not rich already. If they were, music equipment wouldn’t get stolen on a daily basis. Please pay musicians so I don’t have to deal with another Kickstarter and I have a decent reason to feel scorn when my inbox is inundated by requests to share campaigns. Yes, most people can eat and even pay some rent. But imagine a world where they also knew how to play their instruments or could afford a nice wig to wear onstage to distract you from their lack of ability.

3. There’s enough pain. Lack of money is just the pain people focus on first because it’s the most immediate issue unless they’re really really sick. There’s no shortage of pain to feel about everything in life. Having enough money to afford healthcare and a therapist might get you through that pain and spit you out with enough energy left to compose and perform a beautiful kazoo and drum symphony about how your whole family still hates you.

2. The world doesn’t owe you anything. That’s a basic premise that is true enough to start out with, but it doesn’t mean you have to show up at a job and not get paid. Your boss can’t be like “oh my bad, it’s the world’s problem” because citing philosophical premises doesn’t stand up in court. Entitlement is an issue when expect to get paid and rebooked after you get angry at the audience for not loving you, you’ve treated every single person you know like shit, you’ve shown up late, and you regularly drank enough to not remember your performance. With enough people getting paid fairly, those people don’t get shows. Are you reading this and think I’m talking about you? I might be. But, like, I’m thinking of 120 people right now. It’s that pervasive.

1. Hopefully you care the right amount. The number one reason people quit making music/art/comedy is because nobody likes it. Sometimes the only thing that discourages people from doing art is if nobody finds it compelling. Sometimes this is super helpful. Keep caring and take a fucking hint already (unless you’re in it to make people bored and angry). Then keep it up, you’re accomplishing your goals and getting paid. But probably not for long.

 

 

Drew’s original article can be found here

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in memoriam

in memory of lonelydad69's dog, Abraham

in memory of lonelydad69′s dog, Abraham

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

she had the voice of a drunk angel

she had the voice of a drunk angel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i made this but feel free to share it. i know a lot of people are sad about this.

i made this but feel free to share it. i know a lot of people are sad about this

The Diary of the Tiniest Cop

I have been working on a biography about Walter F. Nubbins, or “Nubbers” to his friends. He was the smallest person in America to ever become a police officer, standing at just 11 inches tall. He overcame a lot of adversity in order to use his success to successfully discriminate against other people. Some people might call him a hero. But those people are assholes. Unfortunately, he died suddenly last year when an air conditioner fell on him at Wal-Mart.

I was able to attend his funeral last fall. It was heartbreaking to see his mother place his tiny corpse in a carefully decorated half of a milk carton and set it on fire and send it off onto Lake Superior where it burned for sixteen minutes.

His sweet mother granted me access to his diaries, afterward, and has given me permission to share some excerpts.

December 4th, 2004

Dear Diary/Memoir Rough Draft,

There is something I should explain. I am eleven inches tall. When I was a baby it was no big deal but now that I am a man it’s a big deal. Other than that I’m a regular guy. Love sports and America and for the record I’m way stronger than a baby and I could even beat one up in an emergency.

January 7th, 2005

My neighbor stole my fucking firewood. I am so fucking pissed. I am trying to let it go but everything reminds me of that fucking firewood. The chair. The cabinet. The couch. There is probably even wood in the tv. I hate that wood-stealing motherfucker.

January 8th, 2005

A lot of people have stereotypes about short people. They think we did this to ourselves through negligence or that we steal or that we can all do magic tricks or we were raised by wolves. They think we get discounts on pants and prefer living underground and have special powers over the animals.

January 10th, 2005

Ok I lied in my dating profile and said I was 5’11’’ which is basically a five foot lie, but it worked. I went to meet my date at Vescios in Dinkytown but at the last minute I got scared and hid in a boot for four hours.

January 20th, 2005

Dear Diary,
I got the job, man! I assume you are a man because if my diary was some stupid lady diary that only cared about height and not feelings I’d throw you in the fire. Anyways I am a cop now. I start on Monday.

January 24th, 2005

This was my first official day as a cop and I am happy to report that most of my co-workers are so racist they don’t even notice I’m short.

February 10, 2005

I’m learning a lot of life experience and having fun, too. Today I went out to the bar with a bunch of cop buddies after work and I hid in the pool table and stole all of the solid balls so we won $100 for the Starbucks fund back at the cop office which they call a station.

February 24, 2005

The police dog at the “station” is named Shark and sometimes when nobody is around I sit on him like a horse and we zip around all the chairs in the break room. He is basically my bff here since everyone found out I am ⅛ Puerto Rican.

June 7, 2005

Dear Diary,

A lot has changed since I last wrote in you. Shark, the police dog, stopped being angry at criminals and had to retire. So he is my helper dog now. Sometimes we go to the old folks’ home and confiscate their weed just so he feels useful. Then we go out to the parking lot and sell it back to them.

August 10, 2005

Dear Diary,
This is a political rant. There need to be more scientist politicians because most politicians do not know much science or medical facts.
Also I am thinking about quitting my job and becoming a private detective, mainly because I’d be able to wear my own clothes and spend more time hiding, which is my forte, and less time on paperwork. Going to a career counselor on Friday.

September 11, 2005

Sometimes I think if I had been on one of those planes hiding in the bathroom I could have saved everyone.

October 6, 2006

Sorry it’s been so long, Diary. I’ve only had one dream for the last year. I am underwater swimming with dolphins and they bring me back to their secret city and make me their king. There’s sex parts too but they are embarrassing.

July 22, 2007

Dear Diary,

I have been writing poems but I am too scared to put them in you so I have been writing them in my journal. Here’s a few:

    Pee of the World

all you stupid people
smell like pee
pee on your shoes
pee on your boots
pee on your flip flops
you stupid pee people
have no idea
all your feet
smell like pee

    Shoes of the World

all you stupid people
in all your nice clothes
with ugly shoes
i notice your shoes
you’re not getting away with anything

    Dogs of the World

all you stupid people
with all your dogs
why is it such a big deal
if your dog is nice
my dog Shark
will eat your face off
he is the strongest dog in the world
just like a real shark

September 4, 2007

My mom always said people were jealous of me. Jealous I don’t have to use a lot of shampoo and that I can relax on a hot day in a tub of ice cream. Jealous that I don’t use a lot of natural resources and that my property taxes on my 56 square foot house were so low. I know she was right because when I started a Facebook group called “People Who Are Jealous of Walter Frank Nubbins” 1,614 people joined.

How I Spent One Thousand Dollars

Since I won $1,000 in a comedy contest last Tuesday a lot of people have been asking me what I did with the money. Well, I didn’t do anything cool. Nothing that would impress people. If you had told me a month ago that I was going to win $1000 and asked what I would do, I might have said something like “Well I’d probably split it with the other contestants because we all deserve it and that’s a lot of money”. But I didn’t do that. Now the money is gone, but I wanted to hold myself accountable, so I made a list of all the things I bought that led to the life of luxury I am living this week.

 

1. $5 plus tip went to a drink for my friend Jun. He’s a nice guy and the only person that wanted to go watch comedy the night I won. There’s nothing better than leaving a room of three hundred people who just saw you win, and going to a bar with six people, three of whom are doing comedy, and then not getting up, to keep you humble. I was worried I would just start yelling douchebag stuff like “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!! I WON A COMEDY CONTEST!” But that didn’t happen. I was relieved. Then I bought Jun another drink and realized I was too drunk to keep hanging out and left him alone at the bar.

 

2. $60 to pay back Chris. Chris made me dinner back in November and then we watched Scandal. My bank account was going to go negative the next day and I didn’t have anything to sell on Craigslist. It took three hours, and I’ve never done this to a friend before, but I asked him if I could borrow sixty dollars. He said yes and I said I would pay him back someday. Someday finally came. You’re welcome, Chris. With the $60 I also included a printed list with links of birthday gift ideas for me in the $60 dollar range.

 

3. $24 phone chargers. Two weeks ago when I was pretty broke, I had a dream. A dream that I would be so fancy that I would have a phone charger for my car, one at both jobs, and one at home. This week I was finally able to make ⅔ of that dream come true when my new phone chargers arrived in the mail but one doesn’t work. I probably won’t return it, because who am I to spend five minutes on the phone with some customer service rep over a $4 dollar off brand phone charger. I am a thousandaire. Or I was for at least one hour last Tuesday.

 

4. $104 phone bill. I was going to pay this anyway but I was able to pay it on time and didn’t have to quit smoking cigarettes for two weeks to afford it.

 

5. $98 city utilities. I was not going to pay this. Because I know for a fact they let it go until it reaches about two hundred dollars and then one day you see a weird spray painted blue line and a stake in your front yard and the next day your water is shut off and it’s another $115. So it’s best just to sit back and not worry about it too much and monitor your front yard closely.

 

6. $140 new Dansko sandals. These didn’t fit. I still haven’t returned them just in case my feet lose weight.

 

7. $36 Dansko shoe repair. I have had two pairs of my favorite shoes that have been sitting in my car for a year because I was scared of how much it would cost to repair them. Actually, I had three pairs, but I couldn’t remember what was wrong with the third pair so I took them home to wear a few times and figure it out. They were brown and I don’t wear brown shoes, so maybe I was just going to ask if they could change the color. The other two pairs will come back repaired and cleaned, so it’s just like getting new shoes that are four years out of fashion.

 

8. $6.50 for the pint tub of cottage cheese. I have been eyeing this for awhile. Cottage cheese prices have really gone up this year and $6.50 seems like a lot to pay. But I saw it, next to the sour cream, and was like “Let’s do this. I won a comedy contest.” The lady next to me was not impressed. Partly because she was waiting while I stood in the refrigerated section of Rainbow Foods holding the door open, vacillating about whether I really deserved to win that contest, and as a result, if I am the kind of person who should be able to splurge on cottage cheese. It’s fortunate that I did, though, because later that week my dog got really sick and I had to feed him most of that cottage cheese, along with rice, until he could hold his food without spraying diarrhea everywhere. He loved it.

 

9. $32 new dog treats. One of my dogs doesn’t have any teeth and the other one has really sharp mean teeth, so I have to buy a variety of different treats. This time I got some sort of Himalayan hard cheese sticks, duck feet, and soft treats. One of these gave my toothless dog diarrhea.

 

10. $40 laundry. When Ralphie, the toothless chihuahua, was sick, his favorite thing to do was pop up off the couch in a panic and run to the door. By “run” I mean a slow hunched arthritic waddle while shitting everywhere, in a long meandering trail, from the couch through the living room, through the kitchen, and out the door. He’d stop for a second and start circling and then remember he was inside, and then continue his shit-trek with the goal of reaching outside. Typically he’d be fresh out of poop by the time he reached the door. But I have two blankets, fifteen rag rugs, and two dog beds that he managed to spray on his way to the door. And my dryer broke.

 

11. $40 plus tip for headshots. Comedians need head shots. $40 is the amount of drinks it takes a good photographer to get drunk and agree to do your headshots for free. No takesie-backsies.

 

12. $70 e-cigarettes. This one is an investment because they are cheaper than regular cigarettes and I can smoke them in the bathroom at work. I’ve been spending a lot of time in there lately. A lot of interesting stuff happens in the bathroom and I have been able to identify two of the people that don’t excel in the area of flushing or washing hands. I made a list of those people and I keep it in my desk at work in case I ever have to report them to HR or the police. It’s entitled “People Who Work in this Office Who are Probably Most Likely to Start an Outbreak of Norovirus or even Hepatitis A” and there are two names and they are both highlighted.

 

I realize that’s only about $600 but the rest of the money disappeared somehow. I could go over my bank statement but that would make me feel anxious again, like I was before I won $1000 in a comedy contest.

Review of Various Salad Dressings from the Fridge at Work

Margaret’s Annie’s Parmesan and Something:
I can’t remember the full name and I was in a rush because I didn’t want to get caught drinking out of the bottle. It was really salty and way too white. It got on my shirt. I had to go into the weird shower bathroom and maneuver my neck area to get under the faucet. Not worth it. Not even for the health benefits.

The Stupid Lady from the Fourth Floor Corner Desk Who Always Makes Fun of Fat People’s Raspberry Low-Fat Vinaigrette:
I would eat all your salad dressing if it meant you were going to have a bad day but this shit was unpalatable. It tasted like the smell from the garbage when it leaks. The kind of garbage with both cat poop and hard boiled eggs. I still really dislike you for making me listen to a news story about animal violence. I threw your dressing out. You’re welcome.

Mitch’s Homemade Vinaigrette:
I know you made this at home. I would ask you how you got the vinegar and the oil to stay not-separated, but then you would know I stole some of your dressing. Seriously this one was a winner. Well-balanced – savory and sweet with maybe some garlic and lemon and spices. Thanks so much! I probably won’t get you back or help you move chairs when you ask for volunteers like every week, or tell you thanks in person, or share my food in return. Or anything.

Three Different People’s Ranch Dressing:
Is it that fucking hard to share ranch dressing? It’s the same brand even. I licked all the bottles out of spite.

Jeanie the Accountant’s Goddess Dressing in the Upstairs Fridge:
I’m coming for you. Strategically, the upstairs fridge is tricky when you are trying to steal salad dressing because it’s in a high-traffic area and the fridge door alarm starts beeping after like five seconds. But Jeanie has commented on my appearance and habit of forgetting to turn off the bathroom light a few too many times for me to not take it out passive-aggressively on you, my precious baby salad dressing who makes a normal salad an exciting meal. Tomorrow I am bringing a whole tub of greens and tomatoes and I plan to stay late. Super late. To be with you. Let’s be honest with ourselves, you don’t love Jeanie anyway. She only loves you for your low calories. She counts them like the accountant she is, measuring your math parts like a nurse taking your weight, reducing you to your boring chemical compounds. But you. are. so. much. more. than. that. She doesn’t respect your tasteful ambitions and the unpredictability of your experience. It’s up to you in the end, but if you want to be in my salad, secretly, between 4-5pm tomorrow night, meet me in the upstairs fridge area and I will appreciate you for who you really are.

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