It’s Recipe Time Motherfuckers!

A while back I wrote a post about a recipe. It was pretty popular. I guess. Heh, I just went back to that post so I could link it and I wrote that one during my birthday season.  It’s my birthday season NOW you guys!!! READ MY BANNER!!!

Ahem.  Anyway, after I wrote that recipe a friend of mine (yes, I have friends!) kept bugging me to write a book. So I am. It’s a slow process writing this goddamn book. So be patient. Look for it sometime in the year 2060.

Recently I posted a picture on The Facebook of a delicious dinner that I had started in my slow cooker. Crock pot to you lay people. The photo got “likes” and “yummms” and then one jerkface had to ask me for the recipe because apparently he likes to create work for me.

I have known Josh since I was about seven-ish. He was one of my brother’s friends when we were growing up out in the toolies of Western Colorado and to this day I still think of that fucker as a brother too. So this little gem of a recipe will go in my book, but because Josh is an impatient fucker I’m posting it here now. You’re welcome, Josh.

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PORK CARNITAS

(or Mouth Fiesta)

• Pork Roast of some kind (I really don’t think it matters. I actually added two boneless pork ribs to this because I fucking love it had a few extra people joining us)
• Onion – I don’t care what kind
• Jalapeño(s)
• Bunch O’ Fresh Cilantro
• Tbsp of Garlic Paste (make your own if you’re a sucker or just buy the lazy man’s shit in the tube)
• Tbsp of Ground Cumin
• Tbsp of Oregano Leaves (the dried kind is fine here because we’re gonna rehydrate the fuck out of it anyway)
• Coarse Salt
• Ground Black Pepper (If you’re not using a pepper mill we are no longer friends. You’re an adult.  Grind your shit fresh)
• Some Olive Oil.  Like a shot glass or two amount?  Shut up.  It’s how I measure things. Unless its liquor.  Who measures that shit?
• One Large Orange

-Make your husband leave the kitchen because he’s a raw meat germaphobe.
-Slice one half of onion like you’re making onion coasters. Dice the hell out of the other half.
-In a small dish combine garlic, cumin, oregano, salt, pepper and olive oil
-Mix that shit up really good and give your pork roast the massage of its afterlife. Happy ending not necessary. Really.
-Take the onion coasters and make a nice bed on the bottom of your slow cooker
-Place your freshly massaged roast on it. Whisper to it that everything is going to be fine…juuuust fine
-Dice the jalapeño – if you like spicy, leave the seeds and white rib in. If you’re a pansy, take it out.
-Consider calling 911 when you forgot you just handled a hot-as-fuck pepper and rubbed your eye
-Abandon 911 call because you don’t like being laughed at by emergency services…for the 8th time
-Make ANOTHER mental note to wear latex gloves when handling peppers
-Toss diced onion and jalapeño on and around the unsuspecting roast
-Rough chop the cilantro and toss that in there too. Don’t get crazy with too much. It can be overpowering n’ shit
-Cut the orange in half, squeeze its sweet goodness all over the roast then toss the whole (halved?) thing in
-Put the lid on the slow cooker set to low.

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You now have about an hour to find yourself some prison grade sedatives to put your ass to sleep for the next 8 hours because that shit is going to make you crazy as fuck with how good it smells.

Or go outside and do something constructive for the day. Whatever.

When you come to or come home, lift the roast out of the slow cooker and into your mouth on to a large cutting board.
Shred the fuck out of it. Two forks or a big ass knife work best if you don’t want to burn the bejesus out of your digits.
Remove the orange and any other large debris from the slow cooker (cilantro stems, onion coasters, etc)
Add shredded pork back to the heavenly drippings in the slow cooker. If you didn’t lose total control and drink it that is…
Turn slow cooker to high and cook pork in drippings for as long as you can stand it. About 30 minutes to an hour should do it.
Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a large skillet on medium/high heat on the stove top.
Add pork to skillet evenly and press down with spatula.
Cook it for a few minutes so that it browns on one side. Or pour some boxed wine, go smoke a cigarette and forget that you were cooking and burn it slightly.
Remove from heat.

Now I’m not going to tell you what to do with your precious after this.  But I like to warm some white corn tortillas in the oven (or you can fry them if you’re a health nut) then add some pork and top it with some Cotija cheese, sliced avocado, Crema Mexicana Agria, a squeeze of a lime wedge and some fresh pico de gallo that you made one of your guests prepare because you just spent all fucking day making the important part.

~

Enjoy!

Cheers ~ SF

How To Draft A Letter Of Resignation With The Utmost Level Of Professionalism

I did it.  I gave my two-week notice to resign from my shit ass job yesterday.  You remember my job don’t you, Internets?  Of course you do. I’ve been bitching about it for months.  Of course I’ve been the world’s worst blogger as of late and maybe you’ve forgotten about it like I’ve forgotten where the apostrophe is  on my keyboard.

Perhaps we should have a refresher.

Or not.

Let’s not.

If you’d like, and I mean if you’re a sucker for a painful read, you can read about it HERE and HERE and HERE and HERE and HERE and HERE and HERE.

Just fucking with you, Internets.  Those aren’t actually links because who wants to relive that shit?

With a twist of fate (or whatever you want to call it) I was suddenly and surprisingly unburdened with the guilt I was plagued with in regards to my willfully being unemployed.  My employers made a move that shifted those dreadful feelings of my being a quitter off of me and squarely on to them for being assholes.

Fuck yeah for swinging levers.

So, I gave my verbal notice yesterday, but as a Human Resources Specialist I know I need to put my resignation in writing for my file.  I thought I would share my drafts with you here in case you find yourselves in a similar situation, you’ll have some ideas on how to handle it.  You know, from an HR professional.  So it’s like gold really.

You’re welcome.

DRAFT ONE

Dear Fuckers,

Well that’s no way to start a letter, is it?

DRAFT TWO

To Whom It May Concern,

That doesn’t work either because no one is concerned.  Not about me as it turns out.

DRAFT THREE

(read this one like a valley girl.  It helps. Is it still called valley girl?  Probably not.  I’m old ‘n shit) 

Hey Guys!  What’s uuupppp??? O-M-G how was your recent time off?  I’m super stoked to see your office lights off and your doors locked, on like a totally regular basis!  You go the fuck ON with your salaried exempt bad selves!  WooHoo!!!  But sadly, you so need to hear something you guys.  Remember that time you hired me and then promoted me at a less than desirable wage but then I totally took it anyway because you gave clear parameters of what my job would be but changed shit on a daily basis to suit your needs and you worked my ass to the bone ‘n shit and I was never so much as thanked or recognized for one thing ever even though I know that you are capable of speech and current communication methods that the world of technology affords us as human beings living in the 21st century ? Remember?  Yeah, that’s sooo not working out for me anymore and I’m totally gonna have to bounce, K?  Catch ya on the flip flop!!!

Way, way, WAY too High School/run-on sentence/lack of punctuation style.

DRAFT FOUR

Time to get serious and use first names ‘N shit.

TO:  The Bobs 

In light of your recent decision to not conduct my annual review and discuss my  performance whilst pushing through staff increases on the sly and disgusting (generous as they were) I am officially giving you my resignation.  

I get it.  You want an explanation.  And I shall give it to you baby birds.  I shall give it to you honestly even though your explanation of my pay increase was less than so.

You see, Bobs, my pay increase showed up on my last check without discussion or warning and if you’ll recall from our talks, I felt blind-sided.  Shocked really.   I know, I know.  There are so many reasons I should appreciate the EIGHT CENTS AN HOUR pay increase you blessed me with but I’m afraid you are just a little out of touch with what things cost in this world these days.  Tsk, tsk.  I thought you to be smart people who were constantly abreast of the changes happening in our world. Clearly, you are not.  Because the price of hookers and cocaine have REALLY shot up recently and this paltry increase simply will not do! And have you priced out dead hooker disposal fees recently?  Because let’s be real with each other here Bobs; sometimes things do NOT go as planned over the weekend and Sunday evening rolls around and I’m trying to focus on what I can do for YOU fuckers come Monday morning, but now I can’t do that because I have dead hookers piling the fuck up in my basement because EIGHT FUCKING CENTS just doesn’t take care of what it used to when it comes to dead hookers.  Are you with me here, Bobs? Are you fucking with me???  

Also, the price of Fruity Pebbles has gone up like $0.32 a box and I need my nutrition and colorful rainbow milk so I really have to draw the line somewhere, don’t I?

In closing, I would like to remind you not to bullshit your Human Resources Specialist.  Because in case you’ve forgotten, I have access to the very information you are trying to bullshit me with.

Eight cents?  Really?

Go fuck yourselves.

Regards Two Middle Fingers ~ Heather 

Tell The Lady What She’s Won! (Heh. Lady. Me? AS IF!)

I can’t believe I didn’t win the goddamn Powerball because I am on a winning streak, Internets!

First, I entered some of my photos and a crappy Crayola drawing in the fabulous Mynx’s art contest at LizzardHappy.com and totally fucking won a piece of her amazing original art.  When I got the email from her saying that I had won I immediately texted my buddy P who had also entered some of her photos because we both decided that photography is totally art.  She texted me back that she had won as well and I was all like, “Fuck yeah, bitchez!  Photographers rule!” and then I went to Mynx’s blog and realized that everyone who entered won something because Mynx is hella awesome like that.  Then I pretended I never said that “Fuck yeah, bitchez” thing.

This is what she sent me and I fucking LOVE it, Internets.

Thank you Mynx!  I am honored to have this in my home!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then, I left a comment on the hilarious blog GoJulesGo declaring my thanks for boxed wine so that I could maybe win some wicked-awesome Sun Stache glasses and I won that one too!!!  Because boxed wine humor always wins, you guys.  Always.

Behold.  The Awesome.

WHISKER GLASSES!!! (that’s me grooming my awesome fur hood with my ‘paw’) My husband says if I start crapping in a box the glasses have to go. He’s no fun at all.

Killer, right?  But I live in Seattle and it’s fucking dark up here you guys.  So I popped those lenses out and took this picture:

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The alien effect in the photo booth thinger on my computer really makes this photo, don’t you think?

As if the whisker glasses weren’t enough, the packaging they came in was totally worthy of some photos.  Jules, you fucking kill me!

CHIPMUNK!!!

It seems as though someone else enjoys some boxed wine as well…

No, thank YOU for recognizing the lush awesome.

Who doesn’t have stickers like that just lying around? Boring people, that’s who.

Yes. Yes I am.

.

Thanks Jules!  I love my glasses and in my ongoing attempts to get fired from my job I’m totally wearing them to work tomorrow!

~

Now go check out the blogs of these amazing women.  You won’t regret it.  Swearsies.  And you can see a picture of my spectacular Halloween Pumpkin.

Cheers ~ SF

Giving 100%

My job still sucks and though in my last post I made definitive plans to resign after the holidays, I have waffled back and forth from that, to just not showing up again FUCKING EVER to walking in (yesterday) and giving my notice.  Guess who showed up at work today having NOT given her notice?

Yeah.

The crushing guilt of not having an immediate job to go to; leaving Bruce to be the sole income bringer-inner and the fact that I know my leaving will totally-fucking-hose some of the people I work with that I consider to be my friends has made me begrudgingly show up and suffer  through the shit-show.

Fuck.

We had a manager’s meeting the other day.  I was less than enthusiastic about it because A) I had to listen to shit that had nothing what-so-ever to do with ME and B) because I was already about four fucking hours behind schedule processing payroll for OMFG SO MANY PEOPLE due to a sudden and horrible HR investigation that had to be done by yours truly.

I drew a picture during said meeting while NOT listening to people yammer on about… you know what?  Who fucking cares?

~

That’s right. It’s a shitty drawing of my cat in her litter box because that’s how I feel about my job and this stupid fucking meeting. Above that is where I was so enthralled with the meeting I drew an outline of my cell phone.

~

Cheers ~ SF

Best. Aunt. Ever.

When my niece was born my brother got custody of her because he’s amazing and we all knew he would be a great dad.  However, my brother worked all over the place building golf courses and shit.  So, it was a collective effort by the family to help him raise that little bundle of…what’s the word here…joy?  Yeah, bundle of joy.  (FYI Internets, babies are bundles of scream and shitty diapers.  That’s what they are bundles of)

I was going somewhere with this.  Oh, so sometimes when my brother was away on jobs in the mountains of Colorado I had that little baby in my possession to incompetently take care of because some jerk made a rule that people can’t take infants on heavy machinery with them.

My niece and I had this lovely conversation on The Facebook the other night.  This is why people should never leave their offspring in my charge.

The text below is copy/pasted from The Facebook.  I thought about correcting spelling and grammar because I love you, Internets, but then I remembered I was lazy.

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Ashley’s Status: Hmmmmmmmmmmmm I love you!(: — with unnamed boy

Me: Ashley you are freaking me out with this love shit! Go back to being five will you? No! Five was horrible! Eight! Well that wasn’t great either but at least you could fetch the remote when it was out of my reach.

Ashley:  Ahaha come on auntie I have to grow up at some point!(: and I know how much you loved me when I was five! Thts prob why you have such a love for screaming babies to this day!(:

Me: Oh. Thanks for ruining my peaceful sleep tonight. Now I’m going to dream of screaming babies. They’ll probably all have your face.

Ashley: That’s mean!!!!

Me:  I know! But it’s just speculation at this point so that makes it ok. However, if I do in fact dream of screaming babies that all look like you that makes you the mean one for mentioning it in the first place. I’ll let you know tomorrow which one of us is the asshole.

Ashley: Omg I love ya crazy! Wish you could come to my last show:/ that would be the best b day present EVER! But your super busy with work and all:/ but I’m glad I get to see you at Christmas! Your the best auntie EVER!!!!!!(:

Me:  Wow. That is not how I expected this convo to go. You derailed me with a compliment. Well played, Ash. Well played.

Ashley:  Haha I know I’m good like that(: iv learned from the best havnt I?

Me:  This is totally going on my blog.

Ashley: Lol why?

Me:  Don’t worry about it. And stop asking questions. You did enough of that when you were 4 – whatever age you are now.

Ashley: IM ALMOST 16!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me:  Well you don’t have to yell! I was close. I thought you were 12!

Ashley: Omg auntie

Me:  You’ll appreciate a misjudgement in age like that when you’re older. Trust me on this. Actually, don’t trust me. Ever. I’m out of my mind. It’s most likely your fault.

Ashley How is it my fault! Unfortunately I probably get ALL my crazy ( and then some) from you! After all you did part take in raising me! ( my poor child hood!) (;

Me: Poor childhood? You actually are quite rich from being partly raised by me. There was a swear jar when you were younger. I filled it. As in you could probably go to Harvard because of my potty mouth. I’d say that you should ask you’re dad where your riches are but he probably had to spend it on meds to stay sane. And while we’re doing the blame thing, thanks for the wrinkles.And you’re welcome for the crazy.

Ashley: Lol yea where the hell did my swear jar money go!!! Good question for dad later…. ANYWAYS I only gave you the wrinkles cause you called me Ashley lucifer! Haha

Me:  Well I really thought that’s what your middle name was! What else could it be what with the way you behaved? And on that note, I’m away to bed because I’m elderly. Or because I’m tired of correcting my typing because I’m using my phone for this nut-job convention. It’s probably both. Love you, Asher!

Ashley:  Love ya too auntie! Haha

What the fuck is with the “haha” after the “Love ya too auntie”???

I don’t trust her.

I made this outfit for her. Now it seems a bit wrong that I fashioned her something to wear that made her look like she was on fire. Or it’s perfect. One or the other.

Cheers ~ SF