Corndogalicious

Alright. I’m fucking addicted to Pinterest. Of course I “pin” all this shit I wanna do, but never end up doing it. I just waste four hours oooohing and ahhhhing over crap that I’m all “hell! I can do that.” And these corn dog muffins were one of them. So, today I said “fuck it. I’m making these bitches.”

My four year old thinks that corn dogs come straight from the hand of Jesus. But I imagine that like with most kids, you put something on a stick, they’ll eat the hell out of it. Deep fry that shit and dip it in ketchup and the world stops. Think they could do that to Brussels sprouts?

Shit you’re gonna need:

1 box of Jiffy corn muffin mix

One egg

1/3 cup of milk

4 ¼ hot dogs (I’ll get to the Algebra on this shit later.) (And no, I didn’t buy the organic all natural bullshit ones. I bought ballpark. Deal with it.)

Shit you’re gonna do:

Preheat your oven to 400. Mix your corn muffin stuff, egg and milk. Now when I say “mix” I mean just stir until it’s moistened. Those little bastards of lump will cook out. Trust me like you trust Charlie Sheen. Wait a minute…

Moving on. Now spray your muffin tin down with kitchen ky. And a lot of it my friend. Then add the mix about ½ way in each tin. This shit is gonna puff up when you put the hot dog in and it’ll rise a little when baking. It’ll make about eight muffins. Not enough to feed the fucking neighborhood, but enough to where one of your best friends’ kid comes over and his eyes pop out of his head at the site of a hot dog in the shape of a muffin wrapped in corn goodness. Best. Feeling. Ever.

So, once you’ve got the mix in the tins, you’re gonna have to call your old trigonometry teacher and ask her what the fuck I mean. I say that, but honestly, I never took trig. I barely passed basic math. Failed Chemistry and barely passed geometry because me and my friend Megan would skip class to go to Taco Bell. Fucking miss high school. Damn those were good times.

Where the fuck was I? Oh, pouring my third glass of wine…

So, you’re gonna need to cut your hot dog in 4ths and put two of the 4ths in each muffin tin. I have no idea how else to explain that. Can’t figure it out, tough shit. The picture will work. And if you did it right, you’ll have 3 ¾ of hot dogs left. Did your head spin off yet?

Bake for about 15-19 minutes. I baked mine for about 22 and they were a bit crumbly. So, I think undercooking them a smidge, would help them stay together better. It didn’t stop all of us from shoving them in our pie holes and eating with a fork now did it?

Enjoy!

Action oven shot!
Done!

Chicken Bog

Conversation between myself and the woman who birthed me and never lets me forget how much it hurt…

“Mom, what the hell does ‘bog’ mean in chicken bog.” “Well, it means thick, dense, heavy, weighs you down…kinda like a man.” Oooooookay.

Paula Deen has a version of this. Mine’s easier. No offense to the Butter Goddess…bitch is a genius, but I got this shit down.

Shit you’re gonna need:

3 chicken breasts (I’m sure three breasts are better than two. Ask a man.)

1 of those horse shoe shaped sausage thingys (I use beef flavored. I like beef. But you knew that.)

1 stick of butter (hells yeah)

Lawry’s (Like, a teaspoon maybe? Shit, I don’t know.)

2 chicken bouillon cubes (Just like Worcestershire, I have no fucking idea how to say “bouillon”. Is it boo-yawn? Fuck. Who cares.)

4 cups of instant white rice (Instant. Like the shit that cooks in 5 minutes.)

Water

Stock pot

Shit you’re gonna do:

Cover your breasts with about four inches of water. Think of the times you’re soaking in the bathtub. You don’t want your nibbles popping out and getting cold, so make sure they’re good and covered. (Cold nipples…no bueno). Put the lid on and start bringing it to a boil. Add your stick of butter, Lawry’s and boo-yawn cubes. While this is boiling, cut up your sausage in about ¼ inch slices, then cube those into quarters. For those of you who are members of MENSA, that means four. Once it comes to a boil, take the lid off and let all that shit get to know each other for like, an hour or so.

Take out your breasts, add your rice, put the lid on and then shred the chicken. It’ll take about oh, five minutes. Add back your chicken, stir and stuff your pie hole. Amen.

Grocery Store Drama

There isn’t a mother in America who says “Oh glorious day! Let’s bundle up our little joys from heaven and head to Publix!”

I’ve had complete strangers offer to buy me wine when they see what I go through with my monsters. Everyone at Walmart knows my kids’ names. Not because they’ve told them, but because I’ve screamed it down every fucking aisle I go in. I’ve started calling ahead to SuperTarget to warn them of our arrival. The manager thanks me and then sets up a cute little old lady in the wine section for me to “sample” the wines. Now THAT’S customer service.

When my babies were little, hubs didn’t get the need for me to go to the store by myself. Dumb new dad; no fucking clue. Two kids later, he understands. It took a good beating but it finally sunk in. So, when I do get to go by myself, I tour that shit like it’s a fucking museum. I can tell you the unit price on pickled beets and I check the schedule to see which stock boy will be working that evening. I get all dolled up in the last t-shirt I own that isn’t stained, squeeze into jeans that used to fit and pretend that I really am going to get that pedicure and slip on flip flops and hope that I don’t run into one of hubs’ ex-girlfriends. See people, we live in the city hubs grew up in. Usually when I’m looking my worst is when some stick figure who probably airbrushed her tinted moisturizer on says “Oh my! It’s so nice to see you! Tell hubs I said ‘hi’ as I’m off to New York for another photo shoot!” It’s like an imaginary bitch slap and she knows it. I squeezed two watermelons out of my kiwi, top that shit you twat.

When I don’t get to go alone it all starts out with good intentions. I give the kids that one hour warning of going to the store. Then I listen to them bitch and moan and ask if they can get something while they’re there. “Like what? Food to eat? Consider it done.” I think I repeat “Get your shoes on; we’re going to the store!” 37 times before I actually have to start screaming and then wrestle them into a worn out pair of crocs. Because I don’t want anyone bitching about their fucking socks and how they’re bunched up at the toe.

Then getting my kids into the booster seats is like putting socks on a cat. And you better believe the drive to the store is just as fun. “I don’t wanna go. It’s sooooo boring. Are you just getting a few things? I don’t want you to take forever. Why can’t we stay home with dad? Can we get the free cookie? I hate going in the cold section of the store. Did you bring my jacket? I don’t want cinnamon waffles this time, I want chocolate ones. You’re the meanest mom ever to make us go with you.”

We pull up; get out of the car by me saying “Get out of the car. Get out of the car. Get out of the car.” (I usually say things three times before screaming it. It’s a rule in our house.) They’re now out of the car and running into the street. Fucking great. I hope I get hit by a bus. It would feel much better than the migraine that’s starting.

Can anyone out there actually maneuver the “Race Car” grocery cart? That thing is a bitch, yes? I’m all of 5’2” and I don’t have the body strength to turn corners with that beast. So, I usually have to argue with my kids so I can get the regular cart. But of course the one I pick is the Nascar cart. You know…the one that keeps trying to turn left the entire time?

I’m not sure if you knew this or not, but cashiers have a PhD in child rearing. True story. I’ve gotten more advice from the bitch sliding my kraft American cheese slices across the scanner than I have from Dr. Sears and Supernanny combined. “Wow, really Ms. Cashier lady? I should put them in time out? You’re a fucking genius. Now go clean up the 14 push-up pops that my kids just spilled onto the floor and make my $20 cash back all in ones; hubs and I have date night at the strip club.”

After I’ve grown 19 grey hairs and I’m about to pee my pants because I haven’t gone all day, I hear this…

Older son to little brother: Omg. What’s that smell? Did you fart?

Younger son (hollars out to the entire store with his hands up): Sorry everyone! That was my big fart for the day.

And then I pee my pants. Someone shoot me.

Bag Boy: Do you need help to your car?

Me: You bet. I’ll ride on your shoulders while you steer.

Bag Boy: What?

Me: Did I stutter?

Kids in the car, pull in the driveway and scream 982 times for the kids to stop playing with the sunroof and get out of the car. “Get in the house! I’ve got cheese to put away!”

And then…

Hubs: What took you so long?

Me: (throws the grocery bag with cans at his head)

Hubs: What the what? What did I do?

Me: Got me pregnant. Twice.

When I want to go by myself, this usually happens…

Wife: Honey, what time will you be home tonight? Gotta run to the store and I'm not taking the monsters.
Husband: 'bout 5:30.
Wife: Which time zone?
Husband: Ours. Smartass.
Wife: a.m or p.m?
Husband: (click).

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Being married to me is no fucking picnic. Neither is taking kids to the grocery store.

What the Fluff?

Conversation with my seven year old…

“Sweet mother of mine, I would be ever so grateful if you took the time this evening to bake up some delicious cookies. Would that be an inconvenience for you?” “Oh, my darling sweet child that I birthed from my loins, I would love nothing more than to bake you the best cookies in the world!”

But what really happened…

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM, MOOOOOM!” “What in tar nation are you screaming at me for?” “Will you make brownies?” “I ain’t got no brownie shit, but I’ve got a pack of cookie mix. Is that cool?” “Yeah, that’s cool. You rock woman.” “Word.”

Shit you’re gonna need:
One of those Betty Crocker packs of peanut butter cookie mix (And don’t you sit on your couch reading this judging me for using a prepackaged mix. Sandra Lee has made millions from that shit, so get off your soap box.)

The stuff you need for the cookies; egg, water and oil

½ to ¾ of a cup of semi-sweet mini chocolate chip morsels (You really don’t even need to put these in. My kids just happen to think if you put chocolate chips in something, that Jesus for sure made it and they have to eat it. No CLUE where they get their drama from.)

Fluff (See picture below. It’s the stuff you make a Fluffer Nutter sandwich with. Never made one? Go back to 1974 and ask your mom. That shit never goes bad and you don’t need to put it in the fridge. It’s a win win people.)

Other shit you’ll need:

A Ziploc baggie

Shit you’re gonna do:

Preheat your oven to 350 and cover a baking sheet with aluminum foil and spray that bitch down with some Kitchen KY. Nope, didn’t use a silpat. Nope, didn’t use a baking stone and nope, don’t plan to. Ever.

Mix together your cookie mix with the ingredients that it tells you to use. Stir it up and then if you’ve got the balls to put the chocolate in, this would be the time my friend. Stir it all together and roll up palm size balls, then flatten them a little and then put them on the sheet about an inch apart. I fit eight flattened balls on the pan. I live in a house full of boys. I don’t stress myself with more balls than I can handle.

Now, here comes the fluff. Scoop about ¼ cup of fluff into the bottom corner of your Ziploc bag. Don’t go get a measuring cup you brown noser, just use about two big spoonfuls and you should be fine. Once it’s in, snip off a tiny bit in the corner of the bag. Not too big; this shit is runny and you want control over this crème, not that controlling the amount of crème and when it comes out is all up to you, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t end up with a handful of it. (bah!)

After you’ve got control over your fluff, squeeze a little squiggly line on each cookie and then bake for about nine minutes. And yes dumb ass, I know they’re not going to look like they’re done. They’re not. There’s enough sugar in one of those little shits that will continue to bake long after you take them out of the oven. I suggest you leave them on the cookie sheet for about five minutes before transferring them to a cooling rack. Yes, I have a cooling rack. I have just about everything that Pampered Chef has ever made. I’m not saying I use it all, because that’s damn near impossible and would be WAY too many things to pull out and use and then have the hubs wash, so it’s best to use a little bit here and there.

Back to the cookies. I highly encourage you to eat these warm. If you haven’t shoveled these into your face ten minutes after they’ve baked and you actually have leftovers, you should heat them up in the good ‘ol micro to get back that warm feeling in your mouth. Yep. Went there again.

Before cooking...
After...
(insert picture of me shoveling these into my pie hole.)

Mother-truckin’ Turkey Burgers

Ok, so I’ll start this recipe off by telling you a few things.

1. This will be one of the best things you put in your mouth since Spring Break in Cancun circa 1994.
2. This burger has vegetables in it, if you don’t like vegetables you’ve got to think about growing up. Or, if you don’t like vegetables, don’t email me all like, “dang D2 – what about a turkey burger with NO veggies.” I’ll just tell you to run to your local grocery store and pick up the ready-made ones.
3. This burger is low cal and doesn’t contain eggs or breadcrumbs. I promise you that its fucking delicious… but it doesn’t have the ingredients in it that you think belong in a burger, it just doesn’t so don’t ask me where the ‘crumbs are. They’re in the pantry while we’re watching our carbs, k?
4. I’ve been dieting on and off since I was 4. I know a thing or two about how to GET down with some fattening ass food (how I got to be a fat ass) and I also know a thing or two on how to lose weight effectively. D2 note to self: don’t eat everything in sight and then sit in front of the TV or your size 18s will start to give you camel toe.
5. I’ve lost 60 lbs over the last year. HOLLA!

Shit you’re gonna need:
· 1 lb of lean ground turkey meat. I believe this shit only comes 93/7, but get whichever ya like.
· 3 or 4 celery stalks, cleaned and the ends chopped off.
· ½ of a large red onion
· Salt and peppa, but not Spindarella.
Yup, that’s it.


Shit you’re gonna do:
Make sure your turkey meat is fully defrosted. I *hate* it when the middle is still frozen, fucks the whole process up, wouldn’t you agree? Take your celery and your red onion and get to choppin’. I like mine in small pieces and I have a wittle machine that does this for me, it’s all kinds of awesome. If you just have a knife, that shit’ll work too. Chop to your desired size. Like I said, I like ‘em small. This will likely be the only time you’ll hear me say THAT. Snort.

Once everything is all chopped up, throw that shit into a mixing bowl with the turkey meat and some salt and pepper. I pinch out some sea salt and grind in some pepper from a pepper grinder so I can’t tell you measurements. But you guys are smart, you can do it I just know it.

Then take off your rings and get your hands dirty, get in there and mix ALL this shit up. Once its thoroughly blended, make you some patties. Preheat your frying pan or indoor grill or shit, even your BBQ, grease it up with some kitchen KY and grill these little bad boys. The vegetables will cook along with the meat. Let them grill on each side for like 10-15 minutes. Keep an eye on them and flatten with your spatula and make sure that clear liquids don’t run out. Are you surprised that they stayed together with no egg or breadcrumbs? Me too.

Now, you can eat this like I do these days… just like it is with a side of green beans or some other veggies. If you’re skinny or don’t mind the calories… slap this little bitch in between a potato bread hamburger bun. Yummmmmmmmm. You could put some mayo on it, or ketchup, some lettuce, whatever it is that you eat with a burger. Get crazy with the cheese whiz people.

And voila! A healthy turkey burger that is sock-knocking and panty-dropping. I know it sounds weird, but if you try it I SWEAR you’ll agree. Its surprisingly, ridiculously delicious beyond words.

Fake N Bake Brownies

This is by far the easiest fucking dessert to make. When I didn't know how to cook...wait, let me rephrase that...when I was too lazy to learn to cook, I used THIS to fake it. Girls are good at faking things.

Shit you're gonna need:

Your favorite boxed brownie mix (Sure. Use the homemade one where you have to double boil the chocolate and sift the flour. Won't make you a better person. Just a stupid one for taking all the time to do that shit when Betty Crocker did it for you.)

1 big ass bar of Hershey's Symphony Chocolate (The picture below portrays the almond toffee version. I normally use the milk chocolate version. They didn't have my usual and this almond shit was on clearance for $1.5o. And this shit ain't cheap. I think it's normally about $2.99 each. But I assure you that it's worth every fucking penny you spend.)

The ingredients you need to make the brownie mix (oil, eggs, blah blah blah)

This chocolate is like angels landed on your tongue and poured this deliciousness down your throat. It's THAT heavenly. And yes, another symphony of angels plays while you're devouring it so maybe that's why the marketing department chose that name. But that's just a guess.

You'll also need a square pan to cook this in. This is an 8x8 or a 9x9. I have no idea. The mistake pampered chef made on their shit is that they don't put the fucking size on the bottom like Pyrex does. Damn them.
Holy shit...yum.
Shit you're gonna do:

Preheat your oven to 350. I'm assuming that's what it says on the box. Then stir your brownie mix ingredients together. The thing about brownie mix is that you don't need to stir the hell out of it. Just stir until your ingredients are combined. You get all american gladiator on this shit with stirring and your brownies are gonna come out all rubbery. (Learned that shit from Alton Brown. Holla!)

After your mix is...well, mixed. Put it in your pan that's been sprayed with Kitchen KY and then spread your brownie drama around.

Now, open up your chocolate bar. You'll see that it has 16 little pieces. Play your cards right and line that shit up like the picture below and you can celebrate with that last little piece. Because my little loves, you only need 15. Totally planned it that way. I always tell the hubs I don't have any leftover. That's not a lie. Because after I eat that last piece, there isn't any leftover.

Bake it for the appropriate time on the box and then my little peeps, stick your tongue way out and lick the top of that pan and tell everyone you did that so nobody else will touch this shit. Enjoy.

Before baking...

After baking...voila.

Copy Cat

Alright. I’ll admit it. I have an addiction that only Lindsay Lohan and Liza Minnelli can relate to. It’s Chipotle. I get a hiney tingle and my jaw locks into a smile that can only compete with a 16 year old boy that just lost his virginity. You promise me Chipotle and I’ll pretty much do anything. True story.

Cilantro and Lime Rice – Chipotle style

Shit you’re gonna need:

1 cup of basmati rice (You could probably use cheap ass rice like I normally do, but live on the edge people.)

1 tbs. of Goya’s Cilantro cooking base (“Wait. What? You mean you’re not using fresh cilantro.” “No. No I’m not. I don’t buy fresh herbs, because this shit lasts forever. AND my ‘other’ dad, who happens to be D2’s dad, Coco, would be extremely proud that I used this. So there.”)

3 tbs of lime juice (Yes, I used the bottled shit. Why? Because all the fresh limes I had were used in my vodka. Deal with it.)

Salt (you’re gonna need a shit load. True story.)

Shit you’re gonna do:

This isn’t hard people. It’s really not. If I can’t fuck this up; neither will you. So, you boil the rice just as it tells you on the package. Bring salted water to a boil, add the rice and then turn it on low for 17-22 minutes. Fluff it up with a fork and then add your cilantro base and your lime juice and fluff again. Now, taste it. You’re gonna open your pie hole, shovel this in and say “Shit needs salt.” Exactly. This is where you’re gonna need to salt the hell out of it. I don’t wanna tell you how much because it’s your arteries, your preference. Once it’s stirred up, I want you to sit back and pretend that you didn’t have to stand in some long ass line at Chipotle. If you want to be a fucking rockstar, feel free to add more cilantro base or even some fresh cilantro to it. Again, my fridge is stocked with fucking squeezy yogurts, juice boxes and wine. I don’t have room for fresh herbs. Let me know if any of you use the cheap ass five minute boil rice. I’m curious. Not like Andy Dick curious…those were my college days, just sayin’.