Thursday, October 11, 2007

I am just saying, is all

I'm starting with what I made for dinner last night.

Take one large-sized nonstick frying pan (or better, a sautee pan iff'n you have one of those), pour about a teaspoon of olive oil into it, and set it to heat over a medium flame.

Plop 3-4 boneless skinless chicken breasts onto the hot oil and cover the pan.

Dice up a big ol' honkin' onion into 1/2" squares and put that in the pan with the chicken. Recover the pan and let that stuff sweat for about 20 minutes, or until the chicken is no longer pink and the house smells like Little Italy at 4 p.m.

Dump in a can of diced tomaters (minus the juice) and about 2 BIG tablespoons of basil pesto. Recover the pan and cook for another 10 minutes, or until your house smells like Little Italy during the dinner rush.

Eat, and be amazed that something this friggin' easy can taste so good.


This meal can also be prepared while the chef is having some delicious cocktails. It's one of those "hard to burn" meals. I like that.

Plus which, if you pair the chicken with some lima beans, like I did, you're totally going to have great dreams.


Now that the dogs are in the house, Albert's new favorite spot is on top of the refrigerator, from whence he shall come to judge the stoopidly doggie denizens of the household with disdain.

There was a moment yesterday when I thought that maybe, just MAYBE, there would be peace in the Tiny House at last. Albert had just finished snack #56 of the day, which he eats on top of the dryer, and had made the mistake of letting his feet touch the floor with a little "thump," which woke Skeeter from nap #43 of the day, immediately setting her on high alert. Skeeter quickly sensed that there was SOMETHING in the house that needed to be herded, picked up that it was Albert, and cornered him against the kitchen cabinets with her love and attention.

Albert was like a cartoon, pressed flat on his belly, all canted over sideways, a death-snarl on his lips, eyes wide and pupils dilated. He was also growling softly.

They stayed like this, attentive dog and alarmed cat, for about 5 minutes. Nobody moved. The occasional "grrrr" could be heard from the cattal portion of the tableau, the occasional whine from the doggal portion.

It was, to all appearances, a standoff. The air was thick with anticipation. Was Skeeter about to be bloodied by the lightning-fast claws de Alber? Was Albert about to become doggie snack #1 for the day? Would one of them FINALLY break the awful tension and just say "to hell with it" and decide to be friends?

The answer to all three questions is "no," because I made the mistake of getting up from the computer desk, which captured Skeeter's attention, and at the first turn of her head away from Albert, he hauled ASS back to the laundry room and slung himself up on the dryer, his "safe (non-herdable) place."

Even safer, though, is the top of the 'fridge, where he now sits, with front paws draped over the edge, a picture-perfect casual kitty pose if ever there was one.

If cats could think (particularly Albert, who is admittedly not the sharpest claw in the paw), I'm pretty sure that he'd be thinkin' "man, am I glad dogs can't climb."

To which I'd say "dude, don't even THINK that out loud, or the Aussie'll hear you and commence to learnin' HOW." Nothing an Aussie likes MORE than a job to do.

So for now there's detente among the furry things that live in the house. It's about all I could hope for, isn't it?


That's it for today kids. I've got to go get the garbage and recycle put out. Man, I hope the garbage isn't crawling with fly-babies......perhaps the cooler (thank GOD!) weather will slow them down this week. Then it's to work, to work, to work I go, because that last lotto ticket I bought was a total dud.

Maggots and work. Yeah, it's gonna be a great day.

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