Shirley Sunday 2013: The Abominable Meatloaf Returns!

Let me just say that this is an appropriate time for me to return to the blogging world. First reason is that a LOT of people have been asking me to start blogging again. Second reason is that they all want me to blog about Hurricane Shirley. And I have a LOT more material!

A lot of things have changed in the last few months for me, like moving to a new town (almost literally if you know me and where I live) and FINALLY getting disability for the mental disorders that had nearly crippled me from normal life! Unfortunately, even moving 45 minutes away from the parental units did not deter them from invading my life at regular intervals.

Our old house was a bungalow of shall we say intimate proportions. We were usually on top of each other...and not in the good way! Too small for long (overnight) visits from mom and dad. Now we live in a generous two-story. When we moved, mom decided to take a course at the local community college which has a satellite location in our town. She just HAD to take the course at our town's location. Every Friday. So every Thursday night without fail, we had an overnight visitor. Because apparently 45 minutes is too far to drive for her class in one day. Mind you, the woman makes multiple trips every week to locations far greater in distance than my house. After a while, dad started staying the night as well, because he works only seven minutes from our house. That's right, my mother refused to drive 45 minutes ONE day a week and my father has been doing it FIVE or SIX days a week for 40(!) years. Needless to say, while the hubbs was still working in our old town (driving 45 minutes TWICE a week) I would be sharing MY house with the two people I specifically moved away from for more independence. OK, so that's the backstory...now onto the meatloaf.

It was the hubbs birthday. He turned 31 on a Wednesday, and we had a barbecue planned for Saturday. We had planned to walk to a local eatery and celebrate quietly. Then mom called and informed us we need not eat, she was making her meatloaf- a (very) loose interpretation of my cousin's recipe. Now look, I love meatloaf, even being a person who doesn't really like red meat. What she made most closely resembled wet cat food in sight and texture. The taste wasn't terrible, but I couldn't get past the texture. I mean, who puts evaporated milk in meatloaf? The answer should be no one. Trust me.

I ate exactly 3 bites and declared myself full (of whatever I could snack on before). I knew the horrific meal that was going to be presented and warned the hubbs that we should at least snack so we didn't go hungry. He expected bad, but was not prepared. I'm pretty sure he'll trust me about what mom can and can't successfully cook from now on.

I am absolutely terrified because she has already talked about the recipe she wants to try for my birthday in a couple weeks...prepare the airsick bags!

You know though, on a serious note, I am very lucky. I was blessed with two moms. One who gave birth to me and one who was there from the beginning. My mom means well and she's a really nice lady with a lot of old-fashioned behaviors. I think I'll cut her a break today and just say "Happy Mother's Day to a mom who constantly keeps me on my toes." Oh, and thanks in advance for never making your meatloaf again!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

I was normal....once...

So, I promised a post about my husband and furkids... so here ya go.

Mike and I were married April 26, 2003. Our marriage was on fire from the beginning. Literally. My half-brother Kody was a candle-lighter, and had one of those long metal poles with a lit wick in it. The wick fell out into a candle, which very nearly caught the whole candelabra on fire. I was behind the windows in the back of the sanctuary crying. Why?? Not because I was upset...because I was laughing so hard. Life's been full of laughter and fun moments since.

We had to learn how to be married. Somehow, just being together wasn't cutting the mustard...lol. Being a squeaky clean good girl all through high school (*snort*) and never doing anything wrong, (*giggle*) I was ready to do things MY way. Such as cooking. Specifically, an indian fry bread recipe I learned from a friend in college. And that's where things went screwy. Little miss newlywed wanted to do something cute, sexy, and fun for the new Mr. Kat Lady. I got all the ingredients together, stripped buck naked, turned up the oil (what was I thinking????) and dropped the first piece of fry bread in the pan. Not being what you would call culinarily inclined, I was flying blind. I hadn't noticed a few drops of oil hitting the ground while I poured into the frying pan. (Hey they called it a FRYING pan, how was I supposed to know that you deep fry in a deep pot? LOL) By a few drops I mean the Nile of vegetable oil was flowing down the middle of my hallway sized kitchen. Suddenly, the phone rang. Startled, I turned. And immediately I was Michelle Kwan, spinning, sliding and splitting all over the kitchen trying to find my footing. At last I found a handhold...the screaming hot frying pan full of vegetable oil! Quicker than you can blink my belly and lady parts were on fire with pain. I'm surprised no one called the cops to haul me to the loony bin when they heard "My GOD, MY VAGINA is on FIRE!" through the paper thin walls. I was able to regain calm when I went into shock. I can only imagine the scene at this point, me standing nearly catatonic, naked, and burnt staring at my burning fry bread. At this point I very calmly walked to the bathtub and ran warm water. I took the phone to the bathroom, got in the water, and called the public library for Mike. I'm reasonably sure they thought I was either (a) nuts, or (b) an idiot, when they heard what sounded like a giggling woman asking for her husband because she burnt her vagina. Well...he came home and off to the hospital with friends we went. We didn't have a car and our neighbors had a van. I'm almost certain that the ER workers laughed for a good long while about the lady who burnt her lady parts cooking.

That reminds me of the time we were told by the fire department that we couldn't fry chicken anymore...but that's a story for another post.

-Kat Lady