Dear husband

If you insist on leaving the downstairs bathroom with only three sheets of toilet paper on the roll, that is fine, I am used to that.


Can you PLEASE PLEASE store the refills a little closer to my reach so I don’t have to stand up, waddle to the cabinet and drip pee down my leg just to change the toilet paper.





Your wife!

Blow your mind basil chicken

First off SERIOUSLY I KNOW THE PICTURE RIGHT! It doesn’t look good. But y’all have you ever tried to make green sauce look good on film? Good luck with that. But trust me this taste fucking amazing and if you don’t try it, well you will spend the rest of your life having never tasted the best basil creamy chicken ever on the planet. And then really, your life would be void.

This recipe was an accident. A few years ago for Christmas my mom got me cooking classes at this quaint little school here in Reno. The final class we made real tempura (not powder out of a box) then tempura’d (so not a word) some chicken. After that we made this raging good green curry and coconut sauce. We Then put the tempura chicken in the curry sauce. To offset the heat our final recipe was the most amazing basil sauce ever. Unfortunately in the move I lost my recipe books from there. Anyway Sunday night I’m at the store and I see this bag of basil. Right now basil is mostly shitty so when I looked up and saw these HUGE GIANT leaves of organic basil for an amazing price I nearly shit myself. I opened it, smelled it and it was like sex in a bag. I fucking love basil. Right away I said I wanted to make that chicken. I knew my husband wouldn’t go for curry so I figured I would just make the basil sauce. Problem was I had no idea what was in it. So I winged it.

Anyway if any of you are wondering how I really honestly cook I’ll tell you now. FIrst I threw about a cup of basil in the blender with about a cup of spinach. I used the spinach because it would keep the green color and it’s healthy. I was chopping garlic to marinate the chicken in so I threw in about a clove of that. Then I tossed in some salt, pepper, and a half cup of water. I pushed blend but it wasn’t enough water. In went another half cup. During this time I was also instant messaging my friend Mathers here is our conversation:

Shannon: the sauce needs something and i can’t place it

Mathers: nutmeg

Shannon: im thinking lemon juice

Mathers: that was my next thought some acid
a dash of vinegar may be good too
beause of the spinach

Shannon: mmm good…i might have got heavy on the vinegar but good

So. As you can see I added in a splash of lemon juice and a dash of red wine vinegar. It was good but something was still missing. I thought perhaps some cream. I threw it in a sauté pan, let it reduce, tossed in some cornstarch because I was inpaitient and mulled over it. After getting all mad that my verdant green turned to a pee soup green I thought MILK! Normally I would use heave cream or half and half but I had neither so whole milk it was. Then I thought, what would Pioneer Woman do? So I did the only logical thing. I dumped a pound of cream cheese in there (half cup). Added in some milk, whisked it up and HOLY SHIT THAT SAUCE WAS BLOWING MY FUCKING MIND!

So now you know. When I cook I just wing it. I taste and discuss it, and then when all else fails…I add toss in some good ole cream cheese (or butter, or bacon or… know FLAVOR).

My husband devoured this. And he doesn’t like fancy food. I poured my sauce over sautéd mushrooms and then spent the night upset that my stomach got full because I had to stop eating, but oh man am I counting the hours until lunch tomorrow.

With out further ado, the worlds best basil chicken ever in the world!




I feel lost with out the music on my blog.  I have this great song stuck in my head, it goes with everything going on in my mess of a life right now, and all I want to do is share it with you all.  However, I’m being told that I shouldn’t have music on my blog now that I have a big girl blog.  So.  I guess y’all never get to hear my great song!

Fuck it here it is anyway

He is one smart cookie

(Brandon speaking to me)

"Mom, I love food, I love all kinds of food.

I love beans, and all kinds of fruit.

I love Apple Jacks. 

I love Cheetos.

I love pancakes.

I love meat.

I love chicken nuggets."


Well, at least he knows Chicken nuggets aren’t really meat huh!

Say what now

So, I finally get in to see the ultrasound lady she is a really nice older lady with a sweet grandma type voice. I mentally remind myself not to cuss or call anyone a slut for the 20 minutes I’m in here. I lay back and she hands me the wand to insert. That is my least favorite part. Having to put this long dildo thing inside myself…very weird. She grabs a hold and starts looking at various girl parts on the monitor. There is your uterus, there is an ovary, oh look your follicles are bigger on this side (follicles are eggs…which means I’ll ovulate on that side next which means OUCH MOTHERFUCKER PAIN!)

She keeps looking around and then glances down and sees my tattoo.

“Oh who did your tat?”

I laughed in my head because she said tat, I thought it was soooo cute how she was trying to be hip.

“I go to Aces they have done all my work since I was 15, that tattoo there is 12 years old.”

“Wow, that has held up so well for being that old. My son in law owns a tat shop.”

I was shocked, I couldn’t imagine this sweet old lady having the kind of daughter that would be married to a tattoo artist. We start chatting more and she shows me more of my follicles. I was telling her how I had done all this before back when Rob and I were going through fertility treatment. She asked what we did and I told her how we had tried 3 IUI’s. Then she starts telling me about her friend who went to my same doctor and did invetro, and how she got pregnant with twins. I thought that was nice. She goes on to tell me about how after the kids were old enough her friend and her husband went out for Halloween. Her friend wore a slutty cop outfit.


Sweet ultrasound lady said slutty.

“Anyway my friend has on her really short tight outfit and her CFM* boots and can you believe after all that invetro stuff she got pregnant that night?”


Is this lady really talking to me about CFM boots? I’m too stunned to speak.

“I thought it was so cute she got knocked up that night and we can’t wait to tell Boots about how he got his name.


“Umm, Boots? Is that is nickname?”

“No, they named him boots, because she said her CFM boots are what got him pregnant that night.”


I was speechless.  ME speechless.  I couldn’t come up with any kind of response.  I grumbled something like "err umm err" and that was that.

I changed the subject then. Can you even imagine naming your fucking kid BOOTS. How are you going to tell your child later in life that your mommy got knocked up because she was wearing her CFM boots? Not to mention, what kind of sweet old ultrasound lady even knows what the fuck CFM boots are??????

So here I am, on my back, a wand inside me listening to this lady talk about her friends sexy boots. Weirdest appointment of my life! How was I supposed to react to that entire conversation?

Boots. I’ll never in my life get over that name. I’ll also never ever think of my CFM boots the same. Poor kid.

*CFM=come fuck me