I’m instruction-proof… aka I can’t process a set of instructions to murder me. It’s like they go in one ear hole, swim around in the empty brain fluid called Whitney’s cranium and then exit through the esophagus. The esophagus you say? Because if I even look at a set of instructions I automatically gain 12 pounds. Instructions ain’t calorie-free y’all! And then I’m ADD, so as if I have time to sit and concentrate on what the words are saying when there are fabulous bunnies dressed as Cher impersonators whilst cavorting with iguanas dressed as Elvis to think about. Long story really short… I’m a flim-flammed mess and a toad in a pear tree!
There was the assignment this past week where I swear to you in all things You Ain’t Nothin’ But A Hound Dog, the instructions said for me to write an essay on chocolate and how it comes to be from the cocoa bean through the Twix bar in my tummy yummy… oops… gained another 15 pounds. So I wrote about it… and it was glorious… and then I promptly inhaled 77 Twix bars because… anxiety… and subtlety in advertising. I got my essay grade back with a score less than stellar and a note saying the assignment was to write about the history of farming in ancient times. Uhhhh… I swear to you they changed the topic when I wasn’t looking. No matter… Twix bars are much more interesting than anything that they ever ate in the ancient times. Take that to the dinosaur bones, Caveman Glark.
There was the recipe I put in the crockpot this afternoon for a skinny version of chicken pot pie soup… skinny versions are definitely not as glorious as glutton gut versions, but I digress. Anyway, the recipe said it would take 4 hours in the crockpot. Easy. I’ll start it at 5:00 p.m. and I’ll have my dinners for the week done by 9:00. Done and done. I put it in the crockpot and let it slave away whilst I drooled out my pie hole reading psychology textbooks as if I were Freud but with less ear hairs. Fast forward to 3-1/2 hours later when I’m supposed to chunk up the chicken, add the frozen veggies, and then let it cook for another half hour, I realize the chicken is still pink, the potatoes hard as rocks, and I know to immediately re-read the instructions… cook on low for 8 hours… high for 4 hours. I had it on low planning for 4 hours. My soup was done at 1:00 a.m. Who the Bobby Flay’s fanny pack cooks at 1:00 a.m. I couldn’t deal with trying to store it in a bowl or some such nonsense, so I opened the frig, stacked all of the food 8 feet high, and shoved the whole crockpot into the refrigerator. I’ll deal with it tomorrow… Seeing as I still am not so much fond of chicken, I’ll probably take issue with eating it anyway.
Whomever writes instructions… aka technical writers… could y’all just come to my house and walk me through it step by step? Either that or electroshock therapy amidst a herd of sheep impersonating Britney Spears will do. Hit me up if you have an opening.
I’ve been waiting all dagnabbed spring to catch a rainbow… seeing as it’s rained every single day all dagnabbed spring you’d think we’d at least have had one by now. The first rainbow I catch is a wimpy wimp one… a partial one. The other side of it? Even jokier!
What is that!?!? It’s a spaceship. I’m going to need a full brilliant triple rainbow with at least 3 pots of gold by the time fall hits or else I’m not going to be pleasant when it snows this winter. You hear!?!?
P.S. Mary Poppins is less than 2 weeks away… uhhh… if I read the instructions right, that is. www.fourseasonstheatre.org