ETA: Please, NO COMMISERATING.  It usually just makes me feel worse because no two people with mental illness are ever in the same place, and I need to be working through my own shit instead of comparing myself to others.  However, rooting for me is totally acceptable and is encouraged.

They tell me that eventually this drug is going to work like a charm, and in the meantime it’s just going be a bit “activating.”  Where activating = sitting curled up on the corner of the couch, sobbing, convinced my life is a crumbling wreck of a life, not even able to laugh at Alec Baldwin on 30 Rock who is FUCKING HILARIOUS.

So here’s the deal for tonight: The captions will tell you what you are actually look at.  The text and title will be drawn from the rich, rich trove of google searches.  Tomorrow, when, hopefully I will be sane at some point, I may go back in.  Hopefully. Lame? Yes. But I’m lame right now.  I promise make-up cake this weekend, and we all know make-up cake is the best kind of cake.

So, above: herb-roasted lamb loin chops with goat cheese and zinfandel sauce from Susan Spicer’s Crescent City Cooking, an excellent book that has (1) never led me astray and (2) has a lot of recipes involving cheese. So +2 on that count.

Prepping the sauce:  On the left, zinfandel reducing with rosemary, thyme and shallots.  On the right, boxed chicken stock being doctored.  Eventually, the stock was strained into the wine and the whole thing reduced into some syrupy deliciousness that was further en-delicioned with butter.

Counteracting jalapenos in my nose? Habanero inhalation? Fuck the chicken!

Alternatively? Monkey ass clam.

Pancetta.  Is it better to have sub-par pancetta or no pancetta at all? I err on the side of pancetta.  It was diced and cooked up until nice and crispy.

My mother in law is a fucking psycho, boob face.*

*I don’t mean to be cruel, but there is it.

The crispy pancetta went into a bowl with the goat cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, olive oil, fresh thyme, garlic, salt and olive oil.


Look at these peppers oh yeah, we’ve got motherfucking peppers. Goddamn green ones, and fucking yellow ones.*

*This was one full search string, punctuation included.

Mixed all together.  It looked like this. Yum.

I hate this worm inside me. So, I usually wear an apron.

There was no side dish suggested, so sauteed spinach always fits the bill.

All the party people in the house say…

my ass burns when shitting.*

*Not a party I want to attend.**

**A great many people seem to have this problem.  You all may want to have this looked at.

Lamb chops.  Brian, resident non-beef meat cooker, seared them to medium-rare perfection.

Ho ho fucking ho, what a “croque” of shit.

How can a frilled lizard walk?  Hot pear salad.  (Everyone knows that.)

The grand finale: lamb, cheese, sauce, spinach, deliciousness.

I always like to fuck chickens on Thursdays.


Anyway, I’m sorry about all that.  The weekend cake will be really good, I promise.  Name your flavor, most votes win.