Crisis

Yesterday morning I came upstairs.  But as I reached to nuke some water for my green tea, Coco stopped me.  

"That shiz is busted yo."

"Oh, no," I replied.  "This just has to be fixed.  There's no question about it."

When I interviewed for this job, I was entirely honest about my (lack of) cooking skills.  I told them I could cook chicken and I certainly can.  I have one chicken dish that I can make and I'm pretty sure that I could throw chicken breasts in a pan if I had to (I've never actually tried that though, so don't quote me on anything).  

Because of this ineptitude, Bobby Habibi cooks most of our dinners and he usually cooks in bulk so I can re-schlep it on the table for les bebes' lunches.  So yesterday I'm staring at a huge container of leftover chicken and rice and I'm all: "Okay, how would the pilgrims have cooked this?"

Needless to say, it was not pretty.  

So last night The Chirrens Garcia had rotisserie chicken and tonight we're going out.  Today for lunch les bebes are having Nanny Garcia's Super Duper Sandwich (the THC-free version), which is a hangover from my own ridiculous childhood.  

Speaking of my own ridiculous childhood ... guess what Friday is?  

NANNY GARCIA'S MISSISSIPPI HOMECOMING (but not the death-related kind of homecoming that the Baptists try to push on ya) !!!!

It should be pretty awesome.  I have lots of activities planned.  

1)   First up, we have my hippie sister's engagement party.  My future brother-in-law has plans for us to hide in a corner and drink from a flask all evening.  And while I would do that at a party of my peers, these are most certainly not my peers.  They're more like my parents' peers and I've fucking embarrassed my parents enough.  I'll be on my best behavior -- which is to say, not hiding in a corner.  That's really all I can promise though.

2) OPENING DAY of baseball.  The Butler and I are both really disheartened by the fact that we won't be spending this special day together.   Or, well, I feel that way.  The Butler is probably secretly relieved that his special day of baseball won't be interrupted every 30 seconds by "Do you see how fucking loose these pants are??  What is baseball coming to?  I can't even see the pitcher's junk!  I hate these uniforms.  Do you think Chipper Jones looks bloated and gross now?  I'd still do him, obviously, but geez, Chipper, lay of the whatever's making you look like that."  Instead, I will be spending Opening Day with my brother-in-law (fellow Braves fan), my future brother-in-law (Dodgers fan), and lots and lots of beer.  

3) FAT BABY HOLDING - in case you don't remember, here's my nephew: