I hate summer. I disliked it for many years, sure. But I never truly experienced the amount of self loathing and hatred for all temperatures above 90 degrees until I found myself living in this state called "Texas". I say this as my fat ass was not prepared for days and days of triple digits. I say this as last week we found ourselves sitting in a personal House of hell Heat when the capacitor of the air conditioner was out and I had to dismantle my cheapo Summer Escapes Wal Mart ring pool because it's not really something that was agreed upon whence we signed this lease. I had to hide my guinea pigs like forbidden secrets. Seriously.
It's so hot I don't want to acknowledge that a world exists outside my front door. To prepare for living in Texas, one must sit in their bathroom with a hair dryer blowing in their face for at least 4 hours, increasing said exposure by 15 minute increments for at least 6 months. It's the only way. Trust me.
Why am I going THERE? Why am I sitting here bitching and moaning about being hot in August in Texas? Because I was in the middle of cropping pictures for my latest entry, all right in the world when suddenly it wasn't. The fan that I have heard reliably for the past two summers suddenly stopped whirring. I asked if anyone else heard that and nobody had words. I went outside to hear a buzzing where there used to be a whirr and a breeze. Instead of smelling outdoors, it smelled like burned metal.
A day of hell. It got to 95 degrees in this "house". Anyone who says the heat in Texas is "a different kind of heat" is friggen' correct.
The point is, I don't know what I was going to write about when I was doing these cards. I don't know how inspiring, witty or funny it was going to be. This insanity inducing hell heat robbed me of sanity and all I had left were these lousy Weight Watcher's cards.
My head is cooled. I have prevailed. I hear the a/c fan running as it should. I will sleep with one ear open until
December.
It's so hot I don't want to acknowledge that a world exists outside my front door. To prepare for living in Texas, one must sit in their bathroom with a hair dryer blowing in their face for at least 4 hours, increasing said exposure by 15 minute increments for at least 6 months. It's the only way. Trust me.
Why am I going THERE? Why am I sitting here bitching and moaning about being hot in August in Texas? Because I was in the middle of cropping pictures for my latest entry, all right in the world when suddenly it wasn't. The fan that I have heard reliably for the past two summers suddenly stopped whirring. I asked if anyone else heard that and nobody had words. I went outside to hear a buzzing where there used to be a whirr and a breeze. Instead of smelling outdoors, it smelled like burned metal.
A day of hell. It got to 95 degrees in this "house". Anyone who says the heat in Texas is "a different kind of heat" is friggen' correct.
The point is, I don't know what I was going to write about when I was doing these cards. I don't know how inspiring, witty or funny it was going to be. This insanity inducing hell heat robbed me of sanity and all I had left were these lousy Weight Watcher's cards.
| When it's 95 degrees inside your house and the HVAC guy was supposed to come at 3 pm and it's 3:22, you might need a little somethin' somethin' to calm your nerves. What better way than to think you are drinking sangria? You just need 3/4 tsp sherry extract, diet grape soda (pop for you up north), and some celery curls because they retain water after all. |
| Let's hope for the sake of sakes, your "company" also includes people with the same severe dietary restrictions as you have. That would be awkward. |
| This looks normal. Like fresh fish with a smattering of citrus to really bring it all together. A bit of zing and tang. It seemed that way until I looked at the back of the card and saw the second half of the Recipe is a pâté glaze of unflavored gelatin, bouillon, mustard, buttermilk. I don't see that anywhere on the front! You almost had me, Weight Watchers. So close and yet so far away. |
| Sure, I've covered tomato everything from gazpacho to aspics but I've never discussed little doggy statues staring forlornly into the cold soup. I had a beagle who liked tomato based products. He'd have torn those pooches alive to lap up all that soup. |
| There's always a part two to these cards. These baby Food balls neither sound like something I would eat, nor do they sound like something I would snub. However, the sauce is boss and it lost me. |
| When you have to flavor your sole with 2 cups of clam juice and soy sauce, you are doing it wrong. I guess the concept of eating peas with chopsticks is enough to make even the most hungry weight watcher just give up the fight. |
| I want to sit in my living room, family around me minding their own business, shouting "PAPRIKASH!" while clapping my hands. Must be the sprinkling of paprika on here that gives this PAPRIKASH some allure. Or is it Sole Epicurean because I see a recipe on the back of the card for this too. The only way to find out is to prepare these particular fish "meals", but that isn't happening. Nor does the recipe specify what type of fish is to be used in the PAPRIKASH. |
| I think there is a little faux pas with the spelling. I believe based on the appearance of tuhds, this should be called "Plopette" based on the sounds it would make as it splashes into the water. It's been a while since I've made a fecal reference. Bear with me. |
| That looks like just enough food to really piss me off. Nothing else. |
| Okay. Call it that. It wouldn't be worthy of anything if not for the 2 pimientos, cut in triangles. That makes this or breaks it. Can you imagine a world without 2 pimientos, cut in triangles added in a subgum? I seriously looked up at least 10 recipes before I posted that. Not one of them had 2 pimientos, cut in triangles in the ingredients. |
| Oh a Newburg. Yawn yay. I will say this Newburg has more sherry extract in it than the fake sangria I first posted. |
| This looks so dry. So soul sucking dry. This is how I felt in the hot hell house last week while I pondered my fate. Just dry and devoid of soul. If you ever want to know what a house without a/c in August in Texas might feel like emotionally, just look at this picture. |
| Club of what and for what? Club of Weight Watchers? All I have to say is you best have Sauces, Preserves, Dressings; Card #14 so you can make a mock white sauce to go on top of this mock sauce. Your club day can easily be ruined without it. |
| After saying "basturma", you must spit on the ground and wipe your face with the back of your hand, then shake your hand in defiance. Try pronouncing this with a Chicago/Wisconsin accent. You'll see which way is better. Basturma! Spit! Wipe! Shake! |
| I have a guinea pig named Buckey. Last year Buckey and Ranger got into a scrap. Buckey had an abscess on his back that nothing has treated. That green stuff oozing out of this tuna fish casserole looks like the same stuff oozing out of Buckey's wound. Is your day better knowing this? Male guinea pigs are assholes. |
| Buckey. Who'd hurt this little fella? Can't skewer him and turn him into Basturma because he's infected. |
| Ranger. He'd make a good pork subgum, but he's old so his asshole guinea pig meat would be stringy and gamey. Could probably stew him...I have recipes for squirrel, raccoon, opossum, rabbit, rattlesnake. What's the difference? |
| Ćevapćići. Do you know and see why this was the last card? Do you see why I waited? Becaue of all the accents. HOW in the HELL do you pronounce this? Though I give props to the food artist for somehow managing to find a squirrel on a cabbage leaf and a cloth (napkin, tablecloth, curtain, housedress) in the same colors as the food, I can't get past the word "cevapćići" and as such, I have looked this card over since I received this collection. |
My head is cooled. I have prevailed. I hear the a/c fan running as it should. I will sleep with one ear open until
December.
