The Tale of the Jitterbug

Oh there's no place like home for the holidays.

No, seriously. It's crazy.

Every year for Christmas, my family does the whole "secret santa" thing. For our friends joining us from Mars, this is when you draw a name out of a hat and then your "secret mission" is to figure out what the person wants and then give it to them on Christmas (within budget, usually about $20 if I remember). Christmas comes and everyone's happy.

Now imagine a strange, cruel world where all of that is backwards.

That's what a Yankee Swap is.

This past year, we held a yankee swap within the family + LavaGirl confederation for the first time. Here's how it works.

1. You buy a gift worth maybe $5.00. Something cheap. And it can be ANYTHING. (More on that in a second).
2. You bring it, wrap it, and everyone puts it in a pile.
3. You pick a number.
4. Whoever picked number one picks up a present and unwraps it.
5. Number 2 picks a present and can then choose to keep it or swap it, and the swap MUST be facilitated. Then, that person's turn is complete.
6. Everyone goes through in order; you can swap with anyone who's gone before you.
7. After the last person it goes back to number one who has the last laugh as he or she can then choose to swap with anyone.

This is all well and fun, unless of course you have someone like me in the mix. Then it's anarchy.

Enter the Jitterbug.

No, I'm not kidding. This thing actually exists.

When I saw this thing, I knew I had to get it. This was the Yankee Swap gift. This terror that some woman in Idaho made simply to scare kids into therapy was perfect.

And, naturally, the results were amusing.

I had a field day. It was simply too good, and I lucked out in the Yankee Swap, so I didn't get it.

Or so I thought.

Sonuvabitch. My family sent it to me. While I was in college.

When my roommate saw this thing, he nearly had a damned heart attack.

Of course, it didn't help that I planted it in his bed first, but still.

For the next three months the Thing™ went everywhere.

It's still out there, somewhere.

Waiting.

Watching.

And Upon this Bacon I Shall Eat More Bacon

My brain is ceasing to function right now, so today is all about one thing.

BACON.

Congratulations. You are now a full member of the Church of Bacon (fully compatible with most religions). Welcome aboard.

To fully appreciate Bacon, however, it is clear to me that there need to be certain rules...

And now, onto the Proper Handling and Cooking of Bacon (I'd call it "kosher," but that'd be too ironic).

HANDLING AND STORAGE

1. Always handle your bacon lovingly and tenderly, like a newborn infant.

   

   And Patriotic

2. Be sure to refrigerate your bacon if you're going to use it before the expiration date. Otherwise, put it in cryogenic stasis.
   

MOST CORRECT METHOD OF COOKING BACON.

(And yes, I said cooking. Do NOT buy "precooked" bacon. Equate "precooked" with "subpar bacon-like substance taken from the unholy offspring of a turtle and a lobster." If you used precooked bacon, may God have mercy upon your soul).

1. Take an oven-safe tray (baking sheet, car hood, etc.) and cover it with tin foil to prevent the aliens from locking onto your bacon signature (and making clean up easier). 

2. Place bacon on the tray.

3. Place it in the oven.

4. *NOW* Set the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit, or 204 degrees Celsius if you're one of those pesky metric unit people. [Special Note: This is considered "a bit chilly" by LavaGirl]

5. Set a timer for 15 minutes. Once that's up, check the bacon. If it is doesn't look done or you want it crispier, leave it in, but be careful as you approach the 20 minute mark. If it looks good, it IS good. Take it out.

6. Eat your Bacon in its glory.

Yes, I know I've been completely off-topic these past few days. It's just that my brain has been rebelling against ever attempt to wrestle it into control.

~BlueCru

Cookie Dough

As I've mentioned before, having a hobby is an essential part of life, especially while job searching. There's only so many times you can fill out applications, answer questionnaires, send in resumes, write up emails, etc. before your brain implodes.

My hobby is baking and cooking, but usually only small things: a loaf of bread, a meal...

Your arteries will explode in gratitude.

And then there's lava girl, who makes 5,000 dozen million cookies every Christmas.

I'm not even exaggerating. Just ONE recipe she's recently started using makes 6 dozen, and she tripled the recipe. (You can find it here: they're really good).

And, naturally, as BigStrongGuy™, I maintain my dignity as a man I become the human mixing machine.

But, being the silly and rebellious fellow I am, I can commit extreme acts of terrorism...

Naturally, LavaGirl is not amused.

That's alright though. I mean, everyone likes cookie dough better anyways? Besides the raw egg, what's the problem? Cookie Dough > Cookies, period.

Well. Until I am shamed into doing all the dishes for my crimes.

The following two people commented on my Facebook page, and thus I drew their profile pics.