20 – my olive oil’s not virginal, but neither are the voices in my head

If Cor isn’t around to cook, I just don’t care about food at all–but if you’re interested in whether your olive oil has baggage, click on this link from Lifehacker about whether or not your olive oil meets the standard for being virgin, extra virgin, extra extra virgin, and so on.

Finding out your olive oil doesn’t test well appears to me to be much like questioning an 18-year-old girl who wants to reset that particular clock when she gets to college. Seriously? Are we actually going to throw out that eight-ounce bottle that we paid nine bucks for just because it was a little too frisky? Ha. 🙂 And that’s where I stick my hand up in front of my husband and tell him do NOT explain what it really means, ’cause then it won’t be funny at all.

Seriously - don't try this at home (I know that sounds stupid) but here's an instructable for making a frozen corn dog crunchy on the outside by using a toaster.  I happen to like the outer shell soft, straight from the microwave. Remember, it wasn't me who told you to do this--it's the crazy person who wrote the instructable.
Seriously – don’t try this at home (I know that sounds stupid) but here’s an instructable for making a frozen corn dog crunchy on the outside by using a toaster. I happen to like the outer shell soft, straight from the microwave. Remember, it wasn’t me who told you to do this–it’s the crazy person who wrote the instructable.

I love being married to a foodie, but I’m honestly just discerning, not completely crazy.  Truly, while the husband was working 14-20 hours a day the last two weeks, I wasn’t even discerning; my idea of cooking for myself is sticking a corn dog in the microwave.  The last couple weeks went slow, not just because of his absence, but because we got exactly one station through the digital antenna, and then only when it was cloudy.

So we broke down and got satellite TV hooked up yesterday, on a tripod, so the dish can be thrown in the back of the truck and go with us… The rest of the afternoon was, bless that man’s heart, a food porn extravaganza. It’s a meme, or social construct that is legit these days, but seriously, be really careful what you click on if you put “food porn” in a search engine.

He missed the cooking shows while he was working, but that wasn’t why he resigned on Thursday. He was working for a really great guy, who honestly needed the help–but the drive alone was about two hours each way, and the suicidal deer population are a little freaky at 3 a.m.  The job itself was two hours of boredom, 15-20 minutes of activity, rinse and repeat that five to seven times, six days a week. Of those six days, half were 14 to 16 hours, the other half about eight.  Add four hours of driving, and I wouldn’t have lasted a week and a half.

We really want to stay in Fort Stockton. Why? Because it’s the same as when we were here before–but this time, I’ve got the program and know a lot of the players… The same people that got mad at everyone at one time or another are still mad, only the objects of their snits have changed. Those who gossiped before still know all the best dirt. A lot of the buildings have changed (and they opened a Super Walmart like a week after we left last time), but the people are still the same.

Everyone we’ve seen who knew us three years ago has shaken Corey’s hand, hugged my neck, and been glad to see us. And that makes me feel if I’ve come home.

The last few years have honestly been an interesting journey, but will someone make Brittany hush? She’s in the back singing the “Circle of Life” from the Lion King, and now I’m never going to get that song out of my head.

Regards,
Lisa

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