Pan Plundering & Marker Misdeeds

There are a few things in my life that are absolutes.  It's my personal addendum to the Ten Commandments.  "Self-evident truths" for a quality well lived life.  And thus far, I've always optimistically assumed these tenets were basic ideals readily held by all non-cave dwelling peoples. But sadly, it has become apparent that some folks just never got my memo. And the ones that did, they like to vex me with their feral misdeeds.

Here's my little list of absolutes:

• Chocolate will make anything better.
• Never put Ketchup on your eggs.
• Never use the words "Jello" and "Salad" together.
• Plastic cups are for camp-outs.
• Forks are the superior utensil for eating everything.
• Corelle is not fine china.
• Never, ever, label your kitchenware with your last name.
• and ALL pets should be released into the wild--most especially Edward Scissorhands, our cat.

I get made fun of all the time for these simple standards of truth (mostly by cave-dwelling ketchup people), but no matter how badly I get mocked, I never budge. [And yes, it does seem odd that most of my ideals have to do with food or it's consumption, go figure.]  Immoveable as I may be, sadly it is my fine moral standards that have resulted in a series of serious pan persecutions. 

Over the years I have brought serving dishes or cookie sheets full of homemade something-er-other to some event and because I didn't label the pan with my name, I got back the most wretched baked-on greasy pan that ever existed.  And yes, I know that if I'd just abandoned my ethics and succumbed to the pressure from that do-gooder pan-labeling coalition, I'm certain I'd still have my lustrous well-cared for pans. 

It appears that everyone is under the false impression that their pan is the next cover model for a Williams and Sonoma catalog, and the end result is that I always get stiffed with the one from hell's kitchen.  It's happened so often that I am now the owner of eight of the most dodgy looking baking sheets you've ever seen:

A crust-ridden crisis to be sure.  My poor sister-in-law has suffered through my fowl cries over this awful plight of pan-handling far far too many times, but still I refuse to label them.  I think she's had enough of my ranting because recently someone with her EXACT handwriting tried to help me out and slyly grabbed a marker when I wasn't looking and did the unthinkable...

Clearly, HER handiwork.  A nice and kind sister-in-law to be sure, but a violation of my absolute #7.  Poor Wendy knows me all too well and surely won't be surprised when I scrub it all off with a Magic Eraser and then keep on complaining when I end up with an even crustier looking pans, if that's at all possible. But it guess things could be worse, it could have sparkling pans with my name on them.  Ewww!

Sometimes, when I have trouble sleeping at night, it's because I know somewhere in a kitchen nearby, some pan-plundering homemaker is making a jello salad in one of my pristine shiny pans! [shutter]

Two Sisters on Holiday

Last year, due to a wedding reception, our yard looked like it could grace the cover of a garden magazine.  This year however, it wouldn't even find itself eligible for even the back cover of "Wilderness Weekly", if a magazine such as that exists.

The day before my birthday I decided that I'd been ignoring the yard for too long.  I was determined to enjoy a care-free summer birthday on a weed-free lawn so I donned my garden gloves and got to work.  Unfortunately the sun went down before I finished eradicating all evidence of the jungle theme that had long overtaken the yard.  I had managed everything but a small stretch in the very front of the house, which was naturally the place where the hardest most aggravating weeds were lodged.  This meant only one thing--
cussing my way to the finish line...on my birthday.

All night I dreamed of pulling noxious weeds.  And when morning broke I was exhausted.  Suddenly my eyes opened with great alarm sensing that my sister, who was in town for a visit,  had gotten up and finished the weeding.  THE REALLY HARD NOXIOUS WEEDING.

I sprang from my bed and looked out the window and indeed the weeds were gone!  I quickly got dressed and headed down the stairs and out the front door to scold her...she was supposed to be on vacation!  Not weeding the hardest part of my lawn!

As I stood on the grass and inspected her incredible handiwork I suddenly realized the wrong sister had weeded my yard.  The telltale signs of my SISTER-IN-LAW'S peculiarities revealed the true identity of the birthday weeder.

All the weeds had been eradicated except for a small untouched patch of rapscallions.  A little "weed holiday" I call it.

You see my sister-in-law has this peculiar habit [I call it a disorder].  Whatever project she's in the middle of, be it painting a wall, or sewing, or cleaning, or whatever venture she's aptly engaged in, she suddenly skips a spot in a highly noticeable place and then keeps going as if nothing was wrong.  In the painting industry they actually refer to this as a "holiday", I call it "perplexing", while she considers it "amusing".

As you can see below, there in my FRONT yard, she'd weeded everything but a little spot.  She completely skipped it over and continued weeding.

Now I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or judge a birthday weeder's good intentions, that is unless I'm trying to discover just who to thank for weeding PART of my lawn, but not all of it.

Then, I couldn't resist adding a little  yard sign...

Then I went and thanked her for a job almost well done!

Meanwhile, my real sister, the one on vacation, was doing just that...sleeping in on her much needed summer break.  Apparently they're both good at enjoying a nice holiday.

Baggie Snob

I love my sister-in-law.  Dearly.  Severely.  Oh-So-Clearly.  In fact, she's so great that I'd even upgrade her to the title of SISTER and leave off the hyphened part altogether.  She's just that good of a sister (especially since she recently spent a sunny Saturday afternoon helping me weed my lawn!  Which, by the way, is a hot tip for any of you currently having sister-in-law troubles.  A surefire way to get back in her good graces.)

But as all sisters do, she has her quirks.  Lots of them.  Mostly endearing, sometimes bewildering, and altogether amusing.

Yesterday our quirky-quirks squared off and went head-to-head when she came over to drop some stuff off at my house.  The "stuff" was of the loose variety, the kind that needs to be collected and zipped into a baggie. At the time I didn't notice anything peculiar about what exactly she had dropped off.  It wasn't until I needed it and went to get it out of the baggie that I noticed with much dismay her particular fondness for frugality. With great alarm I noticed the baggie itself...

 

For those of you who've never seen such a thing,
this is called a "Twist Tie".

I call it "A Relic".

 Later when I saw her again I couldn't help but comment on her baggie. 
"Who uses those anymore?" I scoff with my most incredulous tone.

To which she flatly replied, "You're a baggie snob."

And she's right.  There's no doubt about that.  You will never catch me wash them out and attempt to reuse them, nor fiddle with twist ties.  You also won't catch me using the folding kind with the flippy hibbidy jibbidy lip.  In fact, the store I usually buy my baggies at, they just quit carrying the brand I love so much.  And, being the proud baggie snob that I am, I simply refused to buy the cheapo kind...

I think she'd die if she found out I solved my dilemma by upgrading to the zipping TAB kind:

Added to which, I also admit that I'm also a kook about:

• Brand of Paper Towels
• Brand of Toilet Paper (AND rolling from the top down.  I will even change yours if it's amiss.)
• Old School Toothpaste Tubes with the Screw-on Caps (Won't buy those)
• Down Pillows
• Using Butter never margarine
• Banning Ketchup on eggs
• Labels Facing Out

Honestly, there's a lot of things I'm not so fastidious about, like my messy piles of books or making my bed every single day, but I guess the above list may mean that I've got a few bewildering/amusing quirks myself.  Okay, lots of them.  But who's counting? (8)