Buckle Up Buttercup Its Gona Get Ruff

Oh my gosh, I must be dying.  I found paired up socks in the laundry, my paired up personal socks in the laundry room.  You may not think this is a big deal but let me tell you IT IS A BIG DEAL, especially today.

It all started yesterday.  I cooked the best fried catfish ever, accompanied with crock pot white beans that had simmered all day long, hush puppy corn bread (like hush puppies but shaped like square cornbread).  I think the secret to a most awesome tasting catfish was the garlic olive oil I had made days earlier.  Oh my goodness, the aroma was divine.  I had never made infused oil before and had no recipe I just had a thought.  (that may be my famous last words)  I only put one clove of mashed garlic in, sat it near the stove and in four or five days it produced something out of this world.

The next day I decided I wanted all my girls (BFF’s) to have this too.  I thought why stop with garlic oil?  I will send a set of three oils.  I found awesome little empty wine bottles and cute little tops that would be perfect for giving.   I jumped on the internet to see what would go into an italian infused cooking oil.  And that is when one of the worst days of my culinary life started falling apart.  Spread across the screen in big bold letters were the words: NEVER, NEVER TRY TO INFUSE OIL WITH FRESH GARLIC N-E-V-E-R!

Wha?? But it taste so fringing good and so easy to do.  I read further to find out why..why could I not do it?  Instantly after reading the article,  my head starts pounding, my stomach is churning,  I break out in a cold sweet,  nausea digs its heels in; I am certain I am going to  become a vegetable with a droopy eye, slurred speech, and paralyzed possibly on a ventilator.  To put it mildly,  I WAS FREAKING OUT.  I called our local doc.  ANSWER MACHINE.  I called my son at ST Jude Hospital in Memphis.  I tell him to ask a doctor about it.  He says, “Mom you will be okay.  I got to go back to work.”  I called Hubs….silence. I started  SCREAMING.  It turns out he accidentally hit mute.  He gets back on and says, “You are okay just relax.”  Nothing they could say would console me. NOTHING.

You see garlic is of course from the earth.  All earth grown food has the capacity to give you botulism if not washed and prepare correctly.  Also, botulism grows at an outstanding rate when no oxygen is available.  Oil and air don’t mix.  There is no air in oil.  A colossal breeding ground for  the bacterium Clostridium botulinum.  ARRRFFF!  It said it multiplies faster when left out of the refrigerator.  It had been 4 or 5 days sitting beside the STOVE.  OMG I am going to die.  WAIT!  Everyone ate the fish!  I HAVE KILLED MY FAMILY!  OMGosh.  I got all weak inside.  I felt a fainting coming on. When will our inevitable death from mommy’s garlic concoction kill us all?  Symptoms could start as quick as 6 hours or take as long as 96.   Oh great, that is just frigin’ great, a slow death.

I head home from work and straight to the bathroom.  By the way, that is where I spent most of my working hours too.  I am convinced I have Botulism.  “Do I have a fever?”  I ask Hubs every 10 mins.  I run from one end of the house to the other checking for fevers or upset tummies from the rest of my family. Oh Lord help me. Help US.

Hubs is being very understanding and patient with me.  Patient with me?  What in the world is going on?  Are we dying  and Hubs does not have the heart to speak the words?  Does he not want me to know? This is so unlike him to be so, so  genuinely caring and understanding.  I fall asleep with the thermometer in my mouth.

Fast forward to this morning.  Hubs wakes me and ask how I feel.  I tell him my tummy is still a little queasy but no headache and I think my brain has rebooted to normal but I am still worried.  I ask him how he is.  He says fine.  He leaves early for work and I get ready too.   And that is when I see my socks.  All nicely folded.  Hubs Folded My Socks.

Back in 1991 Hubs and I had a few heated words regarding his socks.  It seems I put a black and a navy sock together and he wore them to work.  It pissed him off so bad he came home with the Yells.  I promised him I would never and I mean never put two different colored socks together again.  And I have never put two different sock together ever again to this day; because I STOP doing his laundry.  I never put anything up or together again.  And with that Hubs told me he was never doing my wash either.  In fact, I would have to be dying for him to even consider ever again doing my laundry or putting my socks together. And up until today he never has.

There it is folks.  I am dying because the Hubs folded my socks.  If I am lucky I still have 3 more days.

This my friends is a TRUE story.  There is no way to just make this crap up so laugh if you may. But please pull out that prayer chain people and put us on it.

The Southern Drawl

Country Man’s Wife‘s blog is so good this week and she added a little something at the bottom.  Two of her favorite blogger.  I fell in love with one and am eagerly awaiting the next post.  She’s a Maineiac.  Her post also gave me an idea for a post of my own.  And without further adieu:

The Maineiac made a “vlog” today.   For all us old farts, a “vlog” is a video blog.  I wish I were as brave as she.  Maineiac wondered about other people she interacted with on the computer.  Were they tall or  short?  What do they look like?  Do they talk with hands, eyes, feet or with an accent?  She got right on there and I was mesmerized.  I am not sure why.  Was it because the concept was so new and just so simple or was it the way she talked with her eyes?  Not sure.  A person’s accent. hmmm.   She talked a lot about it.  It got me to thinking about mine.

I live in the state of New Mexico.  But that has not always been the case.  I am a southern girl born and raised.  No really, southern.  I am way south, deep southern with an accent to match.  After a glass of wine, you can’t even understand a word I say.  Not due to being inebriated, it is more like being relaxed.   At that point, my accent becomes a cross between southern fried (and I mean fried) meets creole seasonin’ (I’m talkin’ gator hunters).  No offense intended, I have the deepest respect for fried chicken and gators.  Hubs has come to understand my accent and translates most of the time for me when we are  at parties, Navy Balls and family get togethers.  If it is too far out there even for him, he just reads my face.  Because not only is he an interpreter for the southern dialect he can also read facial expression, of which I have many.  I also have an infliction of sorts.  Whenever I am around folks that have a different accent or a peculiar mannerism, I tend to mirror it back.  NO I am not making fun of them at all.  I just copy what I see and hear.  I can’t help it. It only last for a little while after the encounter with that person and when ever I recant the conversation in my mind.  I don’t even know that I am doing it.  My husband and daughter hate it.  If we are at Wal-Mart and someone with an accent strikes up a conversation, they will just scoot off and leave me there.  They know my parrot-ism will kick into high gear and before you know it we will have an audience watching the show.  I have tried to rid myself of this curse but it is of no use.  Same as with my accent.  I even tried a speech therapist before I left the deep south for fear of not being able to obtain a job outside of my birthplace.  Anyone here will tell you that was a waste of money.  I guess I will be this way until the day I die.  I am just so happy I have the most wonderful boss in the world.  Did I mention she is and was born and raised in……………JAPAN.

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side note:  I love this sharing thing.  Several blogs I have visited this month, included a link to one or two favorite blogs they frequent.  Plus this Blogger Award thingy, is awesome.  I love this because I am new here, just a bit over a month.  I have no idea what I am doing most of the time and no clue how to find blogs I love.  This way I can take the ones that found me, or the ones I stumbled upon and check out their favorites.  I know what you are thinking, that is what a blogroll is for. But if the person you love to read takes the time to mention another blogger, it sets them apart and makes you want to read them.  Some I found I  loved, others, not so much.  But that is okay because there is no good without the not so good.