We spent this past weekend attending a family reunion in Missouri.  There were lots of lowlights from the trip including (but not limited to), Ella’s diarrhea, Ella’s vomiting, cockroaches in the bathroom of our cabin, and a verrrrrry cranky and sleep deprived Carson.

Despite the lowlights, though, there were also many highlights.  One of these highlights was the acquisition of some homemade apple butter.

I LOVE apple butter!  LOVE!

Imagine my disappointment when we got home and discovered that the lid of the jar of my beloved apple butter had “popped.”  (You know those home canning jars with the ring and the lid…well, it wasn’t sucked down, it was popped.)

Trying to head off certain botulism poisoning, I sadly decided the apple butter would have to be tossed in the trash.

Tate WHOLEHEARTEDLY disagreed.  “NO, no, no, no, no.  We are NOT throwing it away.  Let’s smell it,”  he said, trying to convince me that this not-properly-sealed apple butter was fine for human consumption.

I have NO IDEA if botulism or any other death-inducing food disease even has an odor, so smelling it wasn’t going to change my mind.  I stood firmly behind my decision to throw out the apple butter.

Tate STILL disagreed.  “See?  It tastes fine!”  he said after dipping his finger in the diseased apple butter.  “I bet it was made just a few days ago, we’re keeping it!”

“Fine, Tate.  Keep it.  I don’t care if it was made this morning, I won’t eat it!  And!  I don’t want the kids to eat it either, because it will make them SICK.”

Very often, Tate and I disagree about food safety issues.  He has no problem (barely) reheating food that has been in the fridge for DAYS.  I won’t touch leftovers after about two or three days.  If food has been sitting out for too long, I won’t eat it, but Tate would probably eat potato salad that had been sunbathing for three hours.  He regularly gets annoyed by my “overzealous” and “ridiculous” attempts to keep my family free of food-borne diseases.

What do you think?   Should we keep the apple butter or throw it away?

(PS, I’m merely curious as to what you think.  Unless you have a Ph.D in Food Safety, you probably aren’t going to change my mind.)

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Tags: Ask Teh Internets, Extended Fam, Quirky Me, hole-y matrimony, jennifer and tate battle by Jennifer
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I’d like to introduce you to my sister-in-law, Kate*.  Everyone, say hello to Kate!

This past weekend, Kate and I got into a–I hate to call it heated, so let’s say *LIVELY*–discussion about two of my most detested movies in the universe.

There’s Something About Mary (Blech!  GAG!  Ugh!  Barf-o-rama!)  and The Wedding Date (AWFUL!).

The fact that I spent money, hard-earned money, going to a theatre to watch two turds is one of my life’s greatest regrets.  That’s $14 I’ll never get back.  When I think about the bottle and a half of wine I could have purchased with that money instead, I feel sick.  Just plain sick.

Kate completely disagrees and find these two movies delightful and hilarious.  (YUCK!  I’m gonna hurl.)

I realize that most likely, I’m in the minority on this one as I remember that when TSAM came out, it was a huge hit.  People kept telling me, “Oh you MUST go see that movie!  It’s the FUNNIEST movie EVER made.”  (Like, gag me with a spoon, ya know!)

So what do you think, are you a fan of these movies and agree with Kate?  Or do you agree with me and think they are terrible, horrible, awful, putrid movies?

(Kate would like to tell you all how lovely you look today.)

(I would like to tell you how pretty and smart you all are and how much I look forward to your visits each day.)

Looky here!  You can vote in the handy-dandy poll!

On your mark.  Get set!  GO!

*Kate is a pseudonym.  So is Tate.  My mother-in-law would like to make it known that she would never name her children rhyming names.

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Tags: it's not a blog it's HBO, jennifer and tate battle by Jennifer
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I am not the only adult in this family that sometimes has to share a shower with a very splashy two year old boy.   Most weekends, Carson pesters Tate to join him in the shower.

This thrills me, as it means I get to shower completely and blissfully alone!  However the thrill was recently completely obliterated when I learned what those two hooligans had been doing with my washcloth during their shower.

Before I tell you the horror, let me explain my washcloth “procedure.”  I have a washcloth that I use for my face.  ONLY my face.  I do not use this washcloth on my nether regions or my feet or ANYWHERE else.  ONLY my face!  *ahem*  As you can tell, I feel very strongly that this –dare I say sacred– washcloth be used for nothing other than cleaning my face.

So when Tate casually mentioned that he and Carson had used my sacred washcloth on the shower drain so that they could make a puddle for splashing, I was horrified….Especially horrified since I had just finished showering and washing my face with a washcloth, that unbeknownst to me, was contaminated.

“What’s the big deal?” Tate asked, while looking at me as if I had an alien doing the cha-cha on my forehead.

“What’s? The? Big? DEAL!” I roared.  “The big deal is that MY washcloth was on the shower floor, gathering the filth that was dripping from your body.  Hello!  Formunda cheese and ass matter!  And to make it even worse, it was touching the drain!  ARGH!  The gross, hairy draaaaiiiiin.”  (Okay, so I’m over-dramatizing, slightly, but believe me when I say I was extremely irritated and disgusted.)

In all seriousness, though, I really don’t want my washcloth touching the shower floor or shower drain or being innundated by matter that might possibly be dripping from our bodies.  Also, athlete’s face is a real concern.  I think that the only logical solution, and the only solution that would set my mind at ease, is to get a fresh washcloth before every shower.  Also, I will hide all the clean washcloths in my super-secret hiding spot to assure their sanitari-ness (I just made up that word).  And maybe consider seeking help from a professional about my obvious issues.

All right Tate and Carson, let’s get ready to rummmmbbbbbllllle!  Do you think that what they did with my FACE ONLY washcloth was gross? 

(By the way, you all look extra lovely today, my Internet friends!  So thin! And my!  How perky your boobs look!) 

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The other night at Bunco, several women were talking about French Lick, Indiana.  (Prior to this conversation they were talking about the security of their wireless Internet and keeping is protected against the eyes of PRYING neighbors.  Oops.  Thank goodness I don’t live in THAT neighborhood.) 

And we’re back from that brief tangent. 

One of the women asked me if I’d ever been to French Lick.  I shrugged and coyly said that I’d never heard of it.  “Oh?  You’ve never heard of it,” she questioned.  “Well it’s a blah, blah, blah, blah, blah place…”  I wasn’t really listening to the last part because I was thinking to myself, “Is it weird that I don’t know about French Lick, Indiana?  And I hope they don’t find out that I steal my Internet connection.”

The thing is, though, is that maybe I have heard of it.  I mean, I’ve HEARD of Hartford, Connecticut and El Paso, Texas and Istanbul, but they don’t have any special meaning for me.  The next day at lunch I asked Tate if he’d ever heard of French Lick, Indiana.  I whispered it quietly across the table of the semi-crowded restaurant because I sensed that NOT knowing about this place was like standing up and shouting “I HATE NOTRE DAME, PURDUE, AND the HOOSIERS.”  (I don’t, by the way.)

Tate gave me a most exasperated sigh and shook his head.  “It’s where Larry Bird was born.”  [imagine that he was looking at me like, YOU NUMBNUT] “French Lick, Indiana?,” he said as if repeating the words French Lick, Indiana would now somehow magically make it all click in my brain.

“Why would I care about where Larry Bird was born?”  I asked truly wondering why in fact I WOULD care about a 1980’s Boston Celtics, short-shorts wearing basketball player.

“It matters.  We live in Indiana now, Jennifer.  Basketball MATTERS,”  Tate explained.  And that was the end of the discussion.  At least for he and I anyway.  Now I’d like to include all of you in on the talks.

I have since googled French Lick, Indiana and learned that it is a resort area, but it’s also “known” (I use the term verrrrry loosely) for being Larry Bird’s birthplace .  However, I’m still befuddled.  Is it weird that I don’t know much, okay ANYTHING, about French Lick, Indiana?  Did everyone except me take a class titled, “The Low Down On French Lick…Everything You Must Know to Have a Fulfilled Life?” 

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Because nothing says “I’m gettin’ laid on Valentine’s Day” like body-odor scented burgers.

Blech.

***********

Speaking of Valentine’s Day and White Castle (which is wrong on SO.  MANY.  LEVELS), Tate and I had a little disagreement about this.   Tate is certain that EVERYONE knows that White Castle has this Valentine’s Day “celebration,”  you know, like it’s common knowledge.  It certainly isn’t part of my common knowledge, nor do I think that it is part of most people’s common knowledge.  My theory was that maybe since I (thankfully) didn’t grow up in a town with Whities , I hadn’t heard of it. 

But I hated to concede to TATE.

Luckily, his sister, who not surprisingly grew up in the same city, didn’t know about this ridiculousness known as a date to White Castle for Valentine’s Day.  So HA!  Well, maybe not HA! since it blew my proximity to a White Castle theory out of the water.  But!!  It did add a person to my never heard of this very bad idea camp.

So far, Tate 1,  Jennifer 2.

Helpa girl out, wouldya?  You’re in my camp, RIGHT?

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Tags: Huh?, Pictures, jennifer and tate battle, photoshop fun by Jennifer
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Several weeks ago, Tate came home and told me that he’d seen the most disgusting thing ever that day.

“Oh my God!  What did you see?”

“Someone had put PEANUTS in their COKE and they were….drinking it!!!,” he said with his face twisted in disgust.  “It was all chunky and nasty looking.”

Apparently he’d never heard of someone putting peanuts in their coke.  Although I’ve never actually done it myself, I have actually heard of it.  I remember my parents talking about getting bottles of coke and a package of peanuts out of vending machines as teenagers and how it was a “cool” thing to do.

Anyway, since most of our arguments are solved via the Internet, he said (all sassified like), “Why don’t you just blog about it…”

“Um?  YOU, little man, are NOT the boss of me.  I’m not blogging about it unless I WANT to blog about.  I’m my own woman.”

“No.  Blog about it right NOW.  I’m SO winning this battle.”

I guffawed very loudly.  Nobody tells me what to blog.  No. Bod. Y.

So it’s been at least three weeks, and I am finally ready to blog it.  And most certainly NOT because Tate wanted me to, but because my curiosity has been sufficiently brewed and has now piqued.

Have you heard of coke and peanuts?  Have you tried it?

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Last night Tate and I had a misunderstanding. Not a dish-throwing kind of misunderstanding, or anything like that, I just misunderstood something he was advising me to do.

See, I have this toenail malady that has resulted in the upper half of my toenail almost falling off. (Sorry, folks, no pictures, please.) Tate suggested that I put some “semen salve” on it to make it better.

Rolling my eyes and annoyed at Tate’s obviously lame attempt to get himself some action, I shot back at him, “you want me to put some sort of penis liquid…on my toe? Because this penis juice has such healing properties, right?” Seriously, how ridiculous a way to try and lure me into bed.

Tate, rolling his eyes and now annoyed with me informed that he had not said “semen salve” but rather he’d told me I needed “Sayman’s Salve.”

I was skeptical. I’d never heard of this supposed “Sayman’s Salve.” So Tate consulted with Google and found a mere 1,730 results for “Sayman’s Salve.”

Huh? I did not know of this salve advertised to be…

“a skin protectant for the temporary protection of minor cuts and burns, chapped and chafed skin. It includes petrolatum and zinc oxide as active ingredients.”

Nowhere in the list does it say anything about magically healing my toenail, but still better than my original impression of this salve as being some sort of wonky sex attempt.

Since Tate loves being right (even more than me), he told me I should “post this on my blog” where you all will surely have heard of it.

You all completely let me down on the Ovaltine disagreement, but I’m confident I’ll win this one. You’ve never heard of this stuff, right? Please tell me I’m right. I fear if I lose, I’ll have to uh, pay up (if you know what I mean.)

you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff, you’ve never heard of the stuff…..

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