What Is Your Bitch?
Clearly, I need to vent.
I suppose most others might need to as well from time to time, and I thought this might make for an interesting thread.
Here is my bitch.
Why is it, that every time I enter the kitchen, that is the stimulus for Girl to follow? Please..., allow me my space.
Further, I have trained my dogs to not even think about entering the kitchen when I am in it (hot oil, hot water, what's not to like?). But once Girl (who apparently answers to a higher God) enters, my rules no longer seem to apply. So, now I am surrounded by not only her activities ( which are fine), but the two dogs in tow.
My best work-around has been to start a few minutes early. That of course will bring her in (and the dogs, for her persuits), at which point I back away. If I time it right, by the time she (and the dogs) are done occupying the space, I can get down to business, unincumbered and in good fashion.
I don't appreciate the added problem, but the sex is great (and the dogs get to watch). Sorry if I'm a little over the top, but it's just so frustrating (yet, I love them all).
So whether it be by spouse, pet, process or mechanical device (and otherwise), what's your bitch?
I figure you must have one or two.
Ever the voyeur, just curious.
Okay, now that that one is out of the way. My dog never comes over to be cuddled, so I love it when she is in the kitchen while I'm working there. If she comes in it isn't to follow me, she just comes in and plops herself down. But she is somehow shifty enough to know when I need access to the cabinet that she is laying in front of or when the oven door is about to be opened. She gets up to scram-a-voo. Okay, so that's not one. Hmmm, lets see, let's see, let's see...
Okay, found one! I had to cut back on the strong French Folds for a more gentle (read as quieter) set of folds. About a year ago, in the middle of my FFs, my downstairs neighbor came up to complain about me bouncing a basketball. Who knew? From countertop to cabinet through tile floor on top of concrete floor to downstairs. And this fellow doesn't even live below me, he's one apartment off to the side. So I explained that my basketball is really just a pile of goop on its way to becoming dough, and apologized profusely for the disturbance. He wound up being the recipient of a baguette as part of my kiss and make up routine. Have't hard a peep since. Okay, so that's not really a complaint either, unless we chalk it up to the neighbor's complaint. Hmmm, let's see, let's see, let's see.
Okay, found one! No no, that one just won't do, that isn't one either..there must be one somewhere around here someplace. I don't think so but I'll check under the mattress to see if I warehoused any complaints. Hang tight...
Maybe I'm just a happy go lucky guy and I like just about everything that I do when it comes to baking. Or maybe I just don't know any better and I should be miserable. Yep, that's the ticket!
Very funny, now I have truly had two good laughs in one day.
Very kind and wise of you to share with your downstair (to the side) neighbor who had a complaint. I'm sorry, but it's just so funny.
Of course, all bitchings are allowed.
Now, if a dog comes in and lies down, stays in just one place that I can therefore negotiate, I wouldn't mind so much. Scram-a-voo must be the French for get hell out of here.
As for you, as for me. The worst is when they anticipate where I am headed and thus lead me there, only to be further in the way. As if there was a pot of gold at the end of the Rainbow (meaning the drawer I want to open).
Anyway, keep looking under the mattress (all complaints welcome), but I am glad it is mostly good.
I only use the oven to bake and, when I bake bread, I pre-heat the oven to it's highest temperature. Between my bakes the oven is used for all sorts of things, amongst them are some which cause fat to splash. If I don't muck out the oven before I use it these fat splashes, small though they may be, burn at the high temperature to which I preheat the oven. This causes the oven to do a very good impersonation of a smudge pot. The eye-watering smog with the unsavoury stench which issues forth requires windows to be opened and, at this time of year, causes the kitchen temperature to plummet. I'm not a big fan of greasy stuff anyway and having to scrape it out of the oven before I can do my nice, wholesome baking is a bitch. Now bitched.
At this point I have to own up to not bitching about the delicious dishes in the name of which the damned fat gets splashed. Also to a worrying suspicion that she may only be putting up with my bread because it means she never has to clean the oven.
As for your bitch, it could be your timing. I'm semi-nocturnal, so I get the kitchen at night. Dog stays out.
If that doesn't work for you, get a door.
I understand. How savory can result into such unsavory smog, doesn't seem fair.
The thought that my bread might best be tolerated for other reasons (such as tending the kitchen), has also crossed my mind.
The last time I baked at midnight (alright, 2:30 am), there was such bitching and moaning, I will only cold retard in the future. Not worth the price.
After all, night time, is the right time (in many other ways, for many other things).
I have to deal with a German Bread Baking Apprentice 2nd Class - who only speaks Swedish - and has a weird Caribbean accent. That's about it.
Everything else is either hunky dory, peachy, lovely or possibly just way too messed up to fix or worry about.
I did not know that. Where the Caribbean accent comes from, of course, I have no idea.
Regardless, perhaps an English as a Second Language incentive might eventually get her promoted to Apprentice 1st Class.
Good to know all else is well.
There, I said it. Of course I know deep down inside it's my just having to have one more slice, but then I would be bitching about myself.
The dog comes into the kitchen but is there to evaluate my sourdough, toasted, with butter.
Are you sure it's the bread?
Those motorcycles can be pretty fattening. Especially if you don't use a low calorie oil. Hell on the teeth, too.
Altho I gave up on motorcycles years ago (after one too many near death experiences), I have noticed them to be like bread. Potentially fattening.
However, to the rest of Scurvy's interests, these are a few of my favorite things.
"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens".
I would jump on the bike to get a pack of smokes even if the store was only a block away just so I could ride... (gave those up years ago). My kick start only Triumph would burn some calories trying to start it.
Why can't I drink beer while making bread tho? Where's the creativity? Can it be I forget things like did I add salt? Did I press tare on the scale?
Interesting you should say that Scurvy.
For whatever reason (probably that they were damn near just given to me), I mostly rode Ducatis. But of all my friends' bikes that I got to ride (the Harleys, BMWs, Kawasakis, Hondas, BSAs and more) the only one I truly coveted was a friend's Triumph 500. Probably circa 1968-70. So pretty, so sweet to ride.
But I agree, beer and wine are best left until after the scales and the rides.
Ah, we're talking real motorbikes!
Like Dobie, I gave up motorbikes many years ago but one of my first was a Tiger Cub and I'd occasionally get to ride a friend's Bonneville, but usually only when he was too drunk to get us home. Lovely bikes. My Greeves 250cc Sports twin-cylinder trials bike, as ridden by the great Dave Bickers, was my favourite, though.
and electric start and it had an electronic ignition. If the battery was down you could try to kickstart it all day but you couldn't convince it to start. When the battery was charged it would start the first or second try but then why not just use that little button on the handle bar.
I still ride today, actually more than I ever have because we can now make the time to take 3 to 4 week trips in the summer.
...was it a Yamaha xs650?
You are partly right it was a 1979 or 80 Yamaha 400 Special. Kind of looked like this bike in a burgundy red. It was a fine bike for around town but not much for the highway.
You let Dave Bickers ride your bike?
My friend was gangly and six foot tall; giving him a ride home when he was drunk was not easy on the Bonneville.
Only the once, after the state it came back in. Anyone would think he'd been riding it across a ploughed field or something.
My friend was similar to yours. And particularly loose-jointed when drunk. But I was less concerned about the practicalities of getting him and the bike home than I was about getting stopped by the police. Not having passed my bike test I was restricted, by law, to bikes of 250cc or less and forbidden to carry a passenger. No insurance, either, of course.
ah but we were invincible and certainly the laws didn't apply to us back then. :)
a portion of my 9 lives doing dumb things back then as well. They seemed reasonable at the time though.
I am often amazed that I survived to be 30. Since then, I seem to have better judgment.
Of course the Law was applied differently back then, as to now. Pre-1983 (Reagan, Just Say No and stricter DWI enforcement) as long as you weren't an out of control or impolite idiot, you were more than likely to be escorted to the nearest Diner to sober up, rather than be (rightfully) arrested.
Those were the days. Of course, now that I'm over 30, I do think drinking and driving is not a good thing.
I will try to be brief with this, but I think it pretty funny. When the DWI laws were tightened up in the early 80's may Father and friends vowed to 'cut it out'. So late one night, one of my Biker friends wanted to go see his girlfriend, but was clearly too drunk to ride. So we convinced him to ride his bicycle instead, which he did.
About two hours later, the door bell rings. There is a Cop at the door with my freshly laid friend in tow and the mangled front wheel of his bicycle wrapped around his neck like large jewelry.
So the Cop says 'Does he belong to you?' And at the affirmative, that was the end of that (other than the laughs).
I've since had a friend get arrested for 'Bicycling Under the Influence' (albeit in California, not NY).
It was a different world back then.
...and fined for 'cycling furiously', an offence which dates from the early 1800s. He was clocked doing over 40 MPH in an area with a 30 MPH limit but, in the UK, the speed limits don't apply to cyclists.
As neither do drink drive laws. It is an offence to ride a bike 'when unfit to ride through drink or drugs’ or that's purely a judgement call. No breathalyser or blood tests. Keep it out of the ditch and you'll probably be OK.
It certainly was a different world back then. No one would even consider offering you 'one for the road' these days.
I think is the opinion of most. In Canada you don't need a license to ride an electric bicycle, moped or lawn tractor but if you have been convicted of drinking and driving you can be charged with unlawful operation of a motor vehicle on public roadways.
That's pretty funny. Of course, that's why we have dogs, someone else to blame.
I get it. But as long as your dog is only there to evaluate (and not hinder), all seems well.
Haven't posted anything for months, but a thread about bread bitches is perfect. My starters, San and Fran, are much like any other starters; sometimes they get a bit extra funky and strong smelling. My germ-phobic wife finds the bread making process generally off-putting on account of the starter smell and the flour that gets between the tiles that make up the kitchen counter. She really appreciates the bread and even gets me to make some for coworkers, the daycare ladies, etc. So my bitch is that the final product is greatly appreciated but the process is barely tolerated. San and Fran are hibernating in the fridge right now (sealed tight and double-cloaked in freezer bags per wife's requ...orders) while I'm traveling, and I'm hoping they don't get assassinated while I'm gone. I tried asking for a feeding while I'm away, but I may as well have asked for a shiny new Corvette 'cause that ain't happening.