Jill

Yesterday was Angie's 25th birthday. Amanda and I decided to throw her a little party. I had recently gotten some fresh rhubarb from my father-in-law's garden and decided I'd try to make some kind of cake out of it for Ang.

Tuesday night I dug around in my recipe book cupboard and found two recipe books I could use: one from the Catholic church in Rogers my mom gave me when I moved out, and one from Tim's relatives' hometown that we got as a wedding gift. I found five different rhubarb dessert recipes in these two cookbooks. I did not have all of the ingredients for any one as a whole.

Tim said I should go to the store, then, and buy the ingredients. I said no. That would involve leaving the house and I was done with leaving the house for the day. Instead, I tried to make do with what I had in the house.

Phone conversation snippets with Tim:
J: "What is sour milk?"
T: "I think it's just milk and some lemon juice."
J: "That sounds weird. I don't think that's right."
T: "Why don't you go on the internet and look it up?"
J: "Because that would involve leaving the kitchen. I don't feel like leaving the kitchen."

I get very lazy and curmudgeon-y at the end of the day, as you can see.

J: "This baking powder says it has corn starch in it. Can I just use it instead of corn starch?"
T: "No."
J: "Can I use it instead of baking soda?"
T: "No. You know, if there isn't any cake left after the party, that's OK. You really don't have to save any for me."
J: *digs in cupboard some more* "Wait! I do have baking soda!"
T: *sigh*

We hung up for a while as I worked. Later:

T: "I looked it up on my phone. Sour milk is milk with lemon juice. I was right."
J: "Ok. We don't have milk anyway."
T: "I think you could also use buttermilk."
J: "You know we don't have any of that, either."
T: "I know. I just wanted you to know that I was right. Like usual."
J: "Well, I suppose it has to happen once in a lifetime."

The end result is more of a coffee cake with a little bit of rhubarb flavor in it rather than the traditional rhubarb pie or bars that are a lot more gooey, but it's tasty. It's just a touch dry, so I've tried putting honey on it, but I don't think that flavor really works with it. I think I'll try a piece at lunch time with some butter instead. All three of my guests last night said they thought it was "really good" so I'll take that down as a success.

So funny thing.

princess_nicci is up visiting this weekend and last night we went over to Angela's new apartment.

Ok. Two funny things.
Er, maybe three...

1. Angela's new apartment is #205 in a building that I lived in just before I moved in with Tim. I lived in apartments #304 and #206 in that exact same building. Huh. Small town.


2. Angela has pet rats. She previously had three female rats. She then bought two more - one male and one female. This week she became a "grandma". Now she has 15 rats! They are so little!!!


3. Finally, the really funny thing. So, at Nicci's wedding, my husband Tim was sitting at a table with some of Nicci's friends. He had a few more than a few drinks. He gets really friendly when he has a few more than a few drinks. He gave this couple his phone number and told them that if they were ever in St. Cloud, to give him a call and we'll go out and have a few beers.
   
   They later asked Nicci if we were swingers.

Apparently, they couldn't figure out why else he would be so friendly and give out his phone number!

When Angela heard that story, she then informed me that her friend Krystal was also questioning why my husband gave her his phone number after the party the cops broke up.

Apparently he hasn't lost his touch. I guess he needs to figure out how to change his former man-whore-hitting-on-chicks-at-the-bar attitude into more of a non-sexual chummy attitude. But who can really blame these people for being unsure? The man just reeks of hotness. *grin*

So, funny thing happened last night.

Tim and I were down in Kimball at my friend Angela's house having a good time playing board games, eating fried food and drinking beer and root beer schnapps shots.

At 11:30, I get a phone call from my mom.

Ok, now my mother lives in Florida. It was 12:30 her time. My first thought is that my grandmother just died (they just put her in a nursing home two weeks ago).

"Hi Jill. How are you? Are you guys having a good time?"
"Hi Mom. What's up? Why are you awake this late?"
"Yes, it is late. Apparently your dog is going crazy and the police are trying to get a hold of you. Can you please call Officer XXXXX at XXX-XXX-XXXX. I think that is the dispatcher so you'll have to specifically ask for Officer XXXXX."

!!!!!

Ok, #1. How is it that my mother in Florida is the one the cops get a hold of first?!? We don't share the same last name anymore and Tim's dad just lives a couple miles away from our house.

And #2. Sorry, it's still the same as #1 because I'm kinda in shock by that and I feel really bad that they had to call my mom in the middle of the night.

So, luckily Angela's friend James was kind enough and sober enough to drive the thirty miles from Kimball back to our house so I could speak with the officer, pick up our crazy barking dog, and drive back 30 miles to Kimball.

The police officer was very nice. He stated that the city ordinance is that dogs cannot be barking for more than three minutes straight and he'd been sitting in the alley for almost an hour listening to her bark. He said he appreciated that I came home to get the dog and he's glad he didn't have to take her anywhere for the night. On the phone he asked if she was a nice dog because then he would try to pet her to calm her down or something, but she's wary of unknown men in her home/yard, so I didn't think that'd be a good idea.

He was a very nice officer and didn't give us a ticket or anything. I think he was just glad that I came home.

But anyway. So that is the story of how we got the cops called on us.

She's never done this before. I don't know what's up with her. We bought a barking collar for her on our way home this morning and decided to try crate training again. This time we put her bed inside the crate and she went in there quite happily right away. She's voluntarily taking a nap in it right now:

She went in there all by herself. I'm not sure how much she'll like it after locking her in it tonight for the first time, but we'll see. *shrug* She chews on stuff too much to let her have free reign of the house while we are gone.

Oy. The questions that go through my head are: If its this hard to have a dog, how fucking hard is it to have kids?!?