Meat Loaf

1 lb ground meat (I used taco turkey meat)
½C quick-cooking oats
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 celery stick, chopped
8 baby carrots OR 2 carrots, grated
any seasonings you want (I went with garlic, chili powder, cayenne pepper, hot sauce and cinnamon)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Precook vegetables for soft texture, or leave as-is for crunchy. Line a shallow pan or cookie sheet with foil; spray foil with nonstick spray. Mix all ingredients; form into loaf and place in pan. Bake for 45 minutes. Enjoy.

Grilled Meat Loaf: All ingredients the same. Preheat George Foreman grill. Mix all ingredients; place on grill. Cook for 15 minutes. Enjoy.

( And now for something completely different. )

So, Pattie says I should blog. But what about?

Normally I just blog when I'm in the mood to, I'm pretty streaky with it. Last time was the 12th, that doesn't seem like that long ago to me. Also, sometimes I blog when there's nothing else to do, but she's pretty much taken care of that. Not that I'd want it any other way.

Work is pretty much the same -- too much bullshit for too little money. The purple people-eater is running fine, it's weird seeing my old car with Michigan plates -- did I mention the brake job that Midas quoted as $940 only cost Jerry $30 to do? C'est la vie.

As an aside, I'd like to say that I hate Pattie's keyboard and mouse, although the way things are set up here I don't think wired would work well.

Pattie and I are getting married, I know I haven't mentioned that. April 26, 2008 seems like such a long time away. While I'm generally looking forward to it -- even if it is just making official the love we already have -- methinks the logistics are eventually going to become a nightmare. Mom pitched a fit when she found out we were planning on kilts, Mike threatened to pitch a fit if I nix the kilts, and Pattie just wants me to keep the peace but sooner or later one or the other is gonna wind up being pissed anyways. I know what I should do -- set both sets of demands aside, sit down with Pattie and decide what we want, and then invite them to be a part of it. And I guess I've committed to doing that, 'cause it's not like Mike can't read this.

But I'm not going to look at anything tonight. Mentally tired and physically awake is never a good combination for wedding plans. Or blogging. Pattie may kill me in the morning, even though she kinda asked for it.

I think part of the problem is that I always figured when the time came, I'd elope -- I can't say as I really have a "dream wedding". All I know is that I don't want shotguns at the ceremony (clay pigeon-shooting at the reception is fine), I don't want a cerberus shooting bees from its mouths, and we can't have lilacs or lillies or else Christy's face will swell up.

I know I just said that it seems like a long ways off, but when I cross-reference it with how badly I tend to procrastinate -- and with how many things can go wrong -- it really isn't.

Boy, for not having anything to blog about, I certainly am burning up the keyboard tonight.

So I, of the mutant immune system that almost never ails, haven't had more than half a voice for two weeks now, going strong into a third. No pain, no fever, nothing to indicate I'm sick except extra phlegm and a voice that sounds like I'm 90 years old and smoked for 70, as a coworker put it. It's certainly put a damper on the Karaoke Revolution, which is much more fun than I thought it would be prior to playing it.

Oh, I LIED to you! Work hasn't been s^2 d^2 -- as of Saturday night when I left, this week's schedule still wasn't posted. Gotta love that. So I'm assuming it's the same as it has been, and if anyone says anything they can die in a fire.

I don't get heartburn. I don't get acid reflux. I don't get sour stomach. I can eat or drink anything I want, whenever I want, and it doesn't bother me.

And about once or twice a year, regardless of what I've eaten or drank -- last food was Arby's roast beef 5ish, drank my last pop 7ish -- I channel Hendrix and wake myself up choking on stomach acid. If there's a merciful God in heaven, he let Jimi stay asleep for his fatal aspiration. I'd almost consider taking something for it, but it's so infrequent.

And now that I've coughed it all up and eaten a few Tums -- IN THAT ORDER -- I'm fine. Pissed off at the world, but fine. See you in six months to a year.

...just hope it isn't terminal.

Months without sleep. No wonder it's fatal. Makes BSE look like fun by comparison.

One must wonder, though...what if a sufferer of fatal familial insomnia were to contract African sleeping sickness?

---

And no, I lied, I'm not done playing with my journal yet. Deal with it.

=P