Author Archives: Mandi

You are a crazy professional liability…

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I need a vacation, yo.

I haven’t had what you could well and truly call a vacation since October 2004. It was a beautiful, magical week in Club Med Cancun before those pussies became family friendly and seriously stunted my ability to spend 7 consecutive days in a perpetual alcoholic haze.

I didn’t even get that kind of bliss from my wedding. At best, I get a long weekend getaway here or there, but that’s it.

So this 8 year moratorium on vacation is starting to take its toll and I’m losing the funny. Burn out is a bitch. I have 32 hours of comp time from the last year and I was just gifted with 40 hours of vacation for my year of service. It’s slower than molasses at work, so this would be a great time to take some mental health time, right? Nein. I have to be here because it’s slower than molasses at work and I need to pull some traffic out of my pasty white ass. *le sigh* When do I get my independent wealth assistance grant?

In more interesting news, I got the most random pingback to my last post from another blog that reviews products. I was mentioned as a “related link” for a review on a men’s shaver. Clearly, the author of that little spam blog didn’t bother to read my post because while I did mention an electric shaver, I also made very prominent mention (with pictures) of gas powered dildos and cocaine. I’m thinking that any reputable blogger would probably not want to be associated with that unless they are also catering to a special subset of the mentally tweaked.

That’s right. I just called you all mentally tweaked. Wear that badge with pride.

Anyhoo…As I was going through my purse the other night, I found a small notebook with some notable quotes that I jotted down from an occasion where I went out for drinks with some coworkers following a company dinner. Apparently, these people had no filter for moderation. In fact, 3 of them left work early to start pregaming, so they were already 90% of the way to shitfaced by the time we decided to get cocktails at a local lounge.

Now, I have no problems drinking with coworkers, and just hearing these things as part of bar conversation isn’t really unusual. Actually, it was all pretty funny until I started seeing some terrifying spillover into our work environment.And our work environment was apparently overrun by an incestuous little group of closeted alcholic herpes traders.

Coworker to HR & GM about the friendly darts game: “He’s your partner, right?”
HR Director channeling a flamboyant homosexual man: “No, silly! We just work together.”

General Manager: Aw, yeah! She was way warmed up before she came! *winkwink* I found out later that he (married) had been sleeping with her (also married).

Coworker 1 to GM: “Calm down, Bam Bam! Pebbles is beating your ass and you paid for it. It happens to all men at some point.”

Coworker 2 slurring to noone in particular: “He’s a lot like my husband – I think he cheated but I don’t know because I was paying attention not very much.”

Coworker 1 to bartender: “I’m not drinking anymore because I can’t feel my lips. You should take advantage of that. It’s like a Stranger, only with lips instead of hands!” I don’t think he fully understands what “The Stranger” really was, so it was no surprise when she didn’t take him up on such a generous offer.

More double entendres during the darts game: “*HR director* hit it first!” I also found out after the fact that this was, in fact, the case.

GM to bartender: This is the one without the roofie, right? *gesturing to coworker 2* She’s supposed to get the roofie.”

And this is why I prefer to work with boring, child rearing married people. But only if I can leave for a week and forget they exist.

Jedis, Dildos, and Blow – My Life on the Road

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I spent a good chunk of my day on Friday in the car, driving from one property to another, doing my best to mow down all the undergrads wearing headphones without a scintilla of an iota of an ounce of the common sense required to avoid stepping in front of my oncoming vehicle. And if it’s not the half-drunk, hungover masses, then it’s the infernal buzzing of the two stroke, gas powered dildos that hang out in my blind spot for 2 miles before cutting me off. (The rest of the world calls those mopeds, apparently.)

I see absolutely no difference when it comes to riding either of these things.

I’ve seen plenty of strange stuff driving around this mad city. I think we all remember the crazy Stepford wife who spent her entire commute telling my rear view mirror all the different ways she was going to disembowel me.

The year that I moved here, I saw Dave Thomas from Wendy’s bobbing his head at a stop light behind me. He ain’t really dead, people. He’s in deep, deep retirement in the last place anyone would ever look for him – Wisconsin.

And his fat daughter is going to be PISSED when she finds out.

I’ve been stuck behind the train and watched an entire drum solo on the steering wheel of a Gremlin. For a few brief moments, I wanted to have that guy’s greasy haired slacker baby.

Just. Like. This.

I’ve seen a jedi riding a moped, complete with light sabre tucked into a yoda backpack. And it wasn’t even remotely close to Halloween.

Lay off the recreational drugs, you must.

There’s the guy who was shaving in the lane next to me who dropped his electric shaver on his crotch and veered into oncoming traffic. It’s important to be properly groomed and all, but you should probably take your pants off to do it. And, y’know, do it at home.

I’ve seen a husband and wife slap fight in the car in front of ours (and we haven’t had our own slap fight since I realized how ridiculous we look).

But for all the strange shit I’ve seen this past 18 months, Friday was a new one. As I was heading back to the office with my pitiful little lunch salad, I pulled up to a stop light. I really need to stop getting caught at red lights because every time I check my rear view there’s something weird going on. This time was not only par for the course, this was a fucking hole in one. The guy behind me, in his rather nondescript black Honda Civic pulled out a little packet, poured it on his dash, then proceeded to cut it into lines and snorted that shit like he was suffocating and it was life giving oxygen.

Of course everything I just described isn’t really a quick, stop light sort of activity. While he was mid-line, the light turned green, but our boy was nothing if not dedicated. He didn’t step on the gas until every line was safely ensconced in his nasal passages. He made it through the light just in time for it to turn red on everybody else.

Cocaine really is a hell of a drug. I felt just like an extra in the movie Blow, only without the altered mental state or Johnny Depp, but equally disappointed. I think I’ll stick to my wine and Tylenol PM.

 

WTF Friday: Our bacon obsession is officially out of control.

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Before you start posting irrational hate mail, hear me out. I love me some pork product. When cooked properly, bacon could bring about world peace. No joke.

But then I found this. And I’m confronting the demons of my greatest culinary love.

Yes, that is a real, taxidermied piggy turned piggy-bank. For the reasonable insane price of $4000 (not including packaging or shipping), you can have a “died of natural causes” piglet hollowed out, preserved, and fitted with a coin storage pouch and cork plug. Oddly enough, it is not mentioned where said plug is installed. And I’m not sure I want to know. Half the money is due up front and the other half is due 12 months later when Pork Knox is finally complete. You know, so you can spend an entire year drinking away the nightmares of that sweet little porcine face looking deep into your eyes and consuming your soul like so much salty bacon.

Pork may be off my menu for a while.

And if that’s not enough fuckery for you this week, here are a few more love letters of doom from the walking, talking mental disorder that is my day job.

 

So you have “cash flow problems.”

Your rent was due 2 weeks ago, and despite numerous phone calls, you haven’t felt the need to pay up. So it should come as no surprise to you that I won’t be letting you make payment arrangements on the day that we filed your eviction paperwork. Given all the drugs/paraphernalia in your apartment on a daily basis, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where rent is and I’m more than reasonably certain that the judge won’t buy your sob story either. Court is really just a formality at this point. You should probably just pack your bags and call mommy to get your room ready for you.

Hopefully, she can make enough room for your tiny penis and enormous ego.

Adulthood is a bitch, ain’t it?

I know you’re all butt hurt that I just sent you an invoice for a few grand worth of damages you did to the building, but suck it. This ain’t my first rodeo, wank blanket. Having your lawyer parents call to drop hints about their legal careers and making vague lawsuit threats clearly isn’t very effective. Also, I took the liberty of emailing them police reports and photos naming you as vandals and drunken public nuisances. So now that you’re grounded at the age of 22 because you’re still attached to your parental units at the purse strings, your next best option is not to call me with fabricated work orders. I know that your dishwasher isn’t broken because I know that you don’t have a dishwasher in that apartment. And that rotten ass smell you keep complaining about? Given that nobody in the building likes you, I’m pretty sure that another resident in the building has been spraying it under your door intentionally. See, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that there’s a big contest to see who can make you the most miserable. Hell, I’d play the ultimate endgame card and set your dumb asses on fire, but seeing as how you’re Jewish, I’m pretty sure they’d try it as a hate crime.

If you’re micromanaging, you clearly don’t have enough of your own work to do.

Easily 85% of my job is to rent property, and to that end, I’ve already done a damn fine job this year. That said, it would go faster and much more smoothly if property owners would stop arguing with me when I say that the property is overpriced compared to the comps, and stop ignoring that beautiful fucking spreadsheet that I gave you outlining the proof. If I keep pushing your numbers, you will have many, many vacancies for which you will blame me, and try to deny me a well deserved raise. I will respond by setting my resignation to an interpretive dance that ends with me shitting on your desk. Then I will cite this very conversation when I’m giving you the finger on my way out. I know you have trust issues with anyone in possession of a vagina, but I also have some brass balls and I know what I’m doing. Now let me do my damn job.

Like a For the Boss.

Frustrated? Tearing your hair out? Rolled your eyes so much you’ve had an aneurysm? Lost your innocence? Let your hate flow into the comments.

Fantastic Beer Needs Good Home

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So having just blown the GDP of a third world country on Christmas, the retail/hospitality sector thinks I need to bump my spending to that of a second world country because they’re suffering winter consumerism doldrums, and so another dreaded Valentine’s Day has come and gone.

Hunkering down for the night has never been so comfy.

And yet, we celebrated it, albeit without the undue pressure to “find love” with someone you’d otherwise cunt punt the rest of the year, and without the flagrant retail idolatry.

Words fail me... it's just so perfect.

It’s a tradition that means something to Ken, so I do my best to make it pleasant while giving the church of Hallmark the middle finger. It hasn’t always been particularly memorable (I cannot remember for the life of me what we did last year, but I’m pretty sure we were home by 8:00), but it’s always proved to be a quiet, enjoyable evening, and sometimes that’s a good enough reason to celebrate.

Yes, we are this couple.

While I love practical gifts more than anything, I was ecstatic over my gift this year. For the third time in our relationship (excluding our wedding), he bought me jewelry. I found a box on the bathroom counter when I went to put on makeup, and inside was a strand of pearls from Blue Nile. I’ve wanted pearls ever since I was a little girl and saw the ones my dad bought for my mom. Now I have my own and they’re hanging delicately around my neck. Also, they’re totally real, or so I was assured when I opened the box and said, “Holy shit, are these real?” to which Ken replied, “I certainly hope so.”

For him, I went the practical route. It’s the only way I can get him to use the gifts I buy him. After Christmas this year, he admitted that it sucked when he was a kid, but socks and underwear are the gift he’s always a little disappointed not to get now. But that’s not nearly ostentatious enough for me, so I went custom with a lot of hand-made touches.

Ken brews his own beer. His first batch came from a Mr. Beer brewing kit I got him for his birthday the year we met. I seem to recall a story of him uncapping one of the first bottles and taking a shot in the eye full of hops and carbonation. But there have been some tweaks through the years and upgrades to the home brewing setup and the last couple batches have been very good. I even insisted that he come up with a brewery name for the home brew, just for fun. He wouldn’t so I did. In honor of my lushy scientist husband, I have dubbed our home brewery the Stumbling Savant Brewing Co. With the frivolous details taken care of, I moved on to the important stuff – where to store the finished product for maximum drinkability.

I bought an old Monster Energy promotional refrigerator from Craigslist that holds about 24 cans and went to the trouble of breaking it down and converting it to a custom beer fridge. I replaced the fluorescent bulb behind the sign plate, and spent 4 hours peeling decals off the side with a hair dryer, razor blade, and Goo-Gone. Then I taped it all down, draped the living room in plastic, and sprayed it down with black appliance epoxy, trimmed it out in a manly crimson color, and even had to sand down the original lexan sign plate because I couldn’t order a new one for less than $250.

  

The custom details are where all the work went. I drew a custom logo that I feel best defines Stumbling Savant Brewing Co.

I don't care what he says, it does too look just like him!

Then I ordered custom magnets for the refrigerator with that logo, a custom window decal for the fridge door, and new vinyl graphics for the backlit sign plate. Many hours were spent in Photoshop and the result is a thing of beauty… that is now sitting in the guest bedroom closet since I have nowhere to display it. Well that won’t do, because dammit, there’s a good 40 hours of work in this thing. So I ordered an “entertaining/beverage service cart” on which to display it too. I’m into this project for as much money now as I would have been to just buy a new beverage cooler, only the custom artwork and sign plate are just so damn neat looking.

He loves fridge and I love that we have someplace to store beverages that isn’t my tiny ass apartment fridge. Now if only I could find a place to store it that didn’t look so out of place in my living room…

Your “Tastes Like an Expensive Date Night” Recipe Review

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Happy Coerced Affection Day! Seriously, I hate this day for any number of reasons, but I do my best to conjur a magical evening that puts all the retail enslaved sheeple to shame.

Fake smiles, faked orgasms. I'm just sayin'.

Ken and I have only been married a little more than a year, but we’ve been putting up with each other’s shit with grace and good humor (and a lot of poking fun and fighting over the Netflix queue) for 7 years now. Really, we became the quintessential old married couple from the day we signed the marriage certificate, but that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy the occasional night out. I just don’t think Valentine’s Day was a good choice for a date night.

We had reservations to go to The Melting Pot, which is one of my favorite restaurants for special occasions or rare date nights. Then I found out that they got rid of all the things I love in favor of a simpler Valentine’s menu. And instead of being $100 for the two of us, they jacked the price to $70 per person for shit I can make at home a third of that. And so that’s what we’re doing. Ken cancelled the reservations on Saturday, I sent them hate mail for being half assed wieners, and I spent $60 on groceries last night for the most amazing Valentine’s dinner ever.

So what sort of voodoo merriment is on the menu for the evening? Glad you asked!

 Wine Course #1 (yes, wine is its own course in my house)
2009 Chateau Ste. Michelle Eroica Riesling

Appetizer Course
Sautéed shrimp in garlic butter

Salad Course
Spinach-Strawberry Salad with Candied Pecans and Balsamic Vinaigrette

Wine Course #2
2009 Fontanafredda Barbera d’Alba Tondo

Main Course
Filet Mignon with Beurre Maitre d’Hotel
Red Wine Risotto
Steamed Broccoli with more Beurre Maitre d’Hotel

Desert Course
White Chocolate Crème Brulee with fresh sliced strawberries
More Eroica Riesling

That’s right, hungry people - 4 food courses. It’s okay to be jealous. I would actually prefer it.

I spent until 11:00 last night making last night’s dinner (chicken fettucine alfredo) and getting all the prep work for tonight’s dinner done, plus making the crème brulee. All I need to do tonight is drink wine while I make the shrimp and risotto, drink a little more wine while I make grill love to the filet mignon, set some sugar to flaming (best wedding present EVER!) and then eat like Henry VIII, circa the fat years. I will then slip into a food coma on the couch until bedtime. And you know what? I find that perfectly romantic, compared to spending $140 + 150% marked up wine cost on a menu that didn’t look terribly appetizing.

So I have a few recipes to share with you folks that are actually quite easy for cooks at every level.

 Sauteed Shrimp in Garlic Butter (appetizer serving)

10-12 large shrimp (20-25/pound)
2 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tbsp garlic, minced
1/4 cup dry white wine
2 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp fresh parsley, minced

Heat olive oil in skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp and saute until pink and opaque, 5-6 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

Melt butter in skillet over medium-high heat and add garlic. Saute until garlic is soft and your house smells like heaven. Don’t allow garlic to brown. Add white wine and cook until reduced by half. Add lemon juice and parsley. Toss with shrimp and serve.

 

Red Wine Risotto

4 1/2 cups reduced-sodium beef broth
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced

If you've done it right, you can actually mold your piles of risotto into shapes.

1 1/2 cups arborio rice
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups dry red wine
1 cup finely shredded Parmesan cheese, divided
Freshly ground pepper, to taste

Heat broth to simmering in a medium saucepan. Reduce heat low enough to stop the simmer, but keep the broth hot.

Heat oil in a separate pot over medium-low heat. Add shallot and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook, stirring until the shallot is very soft and translucent. Add rice and salt and stir to coat. Toast risotto for 2-3 minutes, stirring frequently to keep it from burning.

Stir 1/2 cup of the hot broth and a generous, Martha Stewart, lushy sized splash of wine into the rice. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook, stirring constantly, until the liquid has been absorbed. Continue adding broth and wine,  1/2 cup at a time, and stirring after each addition until most of the liquid has been absorbed. The risotto is done when you’ve used all the broth and wine and the rice is creamy and just tender (think al dente), 20 to 30 minutes more.

Remove the risotto from the heat; stir in 3/4 cup cheese and pepper. Serve sprinkled with the remaining 1/4 cup cheese.

 

White Chocolate Creme Brulee for Two

3 egg yolks
6 tablespoons sugar, divided
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 ounces white baking chocolate, finely chopped
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a small bowl, whisk egg yolks and 2 tablespoons sugar; set aside. In a small saucepan, combine the cream, chocolate and 2 tablespoons sugar. Heat over medium-low heat until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth, stirring constantly.

Remove from the heat. Stir in vanilla. Stir a small amount of hot filling into egg yolk mixture; return all to the pan, stirring constantly.

Pour into two 10-oz. ramekins. Place in a baking pan. Add 1 in. of boiling water to pan. Bake, uncovered, at 325° for 50-55 minutes or until center is set. Remove from water bath. Cool for 10 minutes. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours.

Remove from refrigerator and bring to room temperature prior to serving. Sprinkle the top of each ramekin with 1 tbsp sugar. Heat sugar with the torch until caramelized. Garnish with the berry of your choice and/or shaved white chocolate. Serve immediately.