Snickerdoodles and a Box of Meat


I needed to come up with a list of things I love for this week’s column.

And can I just…you know what? Ryan Murphy can blow me. For real. I love you, Murph, for AHS season one, and I forgive you for AHS Roanoke, which isn’t an easy thing to forgive, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.

And I love 911, for a lot of reasons, mostly having to do with Connie Britton and how you clearly based that character on my pathetic future but gave her, like, a fun, acceptable version of it. But I cannot forgive you referencing Lupercalia after I so diligently worked to come up with an original take on the typical Valentine’s Day saltiness of feminist commentary written by women over a certain age.

You dirty rat bastard.

I had Lupercalia cornered but no. You had to go and reference it on Wednesday so that had I referenced it on Saturday I’d have looked like the plagiarist even though you clearly, clearly have some kind of parasitic telepathic connection to my brain.

I hate you.

Burn in hell.

But make Connie and her fireman cub get married first. Then, straight to hell with you.

I had to rewrite my column after Ryan Murphy stole Lupercalia from me.


So. I needed a list of things I love and of course, of course snickerdoodles were on that list.

So now I’ve been spending all day thinking about making snickerdoodles. The kids are going to the trampoline park tomorrow and I have to go in to process photos and write a little something from the event I covered today, but then I’m totes coming home to make snickerdoodles.


I love me some warm gooey doodles.

Mannie got ahold of me Wednesday and told me I needed to come to the salon on Thursday because there was a box of meat in her car she wanted me to get.

I know.

I had that same look on my face.

That’s my WTF face.

It gets lots of use.

Anyhow, Mannie explained, she signed up for Hello Fresh. I’ve been thinking seriously about it for a while. But I’ve remained unwilling to commit to a subscription service for something as important as food without a dry run.

I don’t have the money, I don’t have the time, and I don’t have the emotional resilience for wasting either on shitty food.

I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke anymore. Food is all I have left to enjoy (besides watching Connie Britton sexually frustrate young, fictional fire men).

But Mannie said she messed up. She meant to switch her deliveries from Wednesdays to Saturdays but she accidentally ordered a second box of meals for this week.

And did I want to try them?

So that was a mighty fuck yeah.

I do so much cooking, and throwing out leftovers after my attempts to predict what my kids (1) like and (2) will willingly ingest this week routinely fail.

Like, if they could just eat grilled cheese and Spaghettios until they die they would be in heaven.

And you know what? I’m tired of Spaghettios and I’m tired of the damn fighting. So fine.

Imma make them grilled cheese and Spaghettios every damn night from now on. Because you know what? The first meal I made from the Hello Fresh samples?

Seriously one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. And what I loved most about it was that it was novel and interesting.

I promise you that there is no universe, real or imagined, where I have ever, ever gone shopping for fig anything other than newtons. But the fig chutney I made on Thursday night? By far one of the tastiest things I’ve ever had.

The ingredients are perfectly interesting, but not so artisanal as to be unpalatable. The portions are perfect, perfect, for one meal and a lunch the next day (assuming my kids won’t want any, which they won’t, because despite the fact that I have done everything right in exposing them to new foods and insisting they eat their damn vegetables, they are gastronomical cowards), and the best thing about it?

I don’t have to make any decisions except which meals I want to try each week.

The cost of the boxes is less than I would spend on groceries for a week, and I don’t have to work a grocery trip into the work week either.

Grocery trips are hard for me. I get very overstimulated very quickly in a grocery store, even when I’m there for literally one thing. I can manage it in most contexts most of the time, but something about Tops…that place is just a black hole for my executive functioning. I can’t do it.

I’m getting stressed just thinking about the grocery pit of hell and frustration.

Just the amount of brands for one item, the number of flavors. Comparing volumes and cross-referencing them with prices to make sure I’m getting the most product for the least amount of money.

Some of that comes from my marriage, where I was trained to squint and scrutinize the total square footage on every single toilet paper pack, to ensure I didn’t make an emotional decision, one based on bears or quilting patterns, and instead made the best financial decision on the toilet paper issue. And then I did the same for every single thing afterward, so that I wouldn’t have to hear about it again later.

I can spend three hours on a quick household basics run. Mainly because it takes a long time to force myself to get the fabric softener that smells like Satan’s asshole because it’s cheaper when I have within my breast a powerful lust to be extorted for Gain original. I spend a lot of time gazing longingly at brand names and then forcing myself to leave.

If you ever meet me in the dishsoap aisle, just be prepared to be made to feel wildly uncomfortable with the way I’m leering at the original blue Dawn.

Anyhow, yeah. I think what I love most about the Hello Fresh situation is the amount of wasted time and impulsive spending I’m going to save letting them narrow my decision-making responsibility.

Normally I do not advocate for giving control to other entities, but in this case, if it keeps my ass out of the Tops, it’s a good choice. The only wise choice to make, really.

I can easily rearrange the money to allow for necessary Tops shopping and still put the majority of my food budget into the boxes. Mannie was able to send me a free box of my own, too, so the subscription doesn’t even start costing me anything until next week.

And budgeting is important.

When you have a new car payment.

Betsy actually literally fell apart when I pulled her into the dealership lot. Like, I fully expected her to explode in a fire crash when we hit the state line.

Our new chariot shall be called Dell.

As in “Dell, From Perverted Justice.”


It sucks to have a payment. And it sicsu a little to be going from the Toyota to a Chevrolet. I know that I won’t have the reliability in Dell when it comes to being just a completely abusable workhorse of a car. But the trade comes with some fun bells and whistles.

Like a backup camera and the ability to turn the entire vehicle into my phone, which I can answer and control from the steering wheel.

There are always silver linings, is what I’m telling you.


Today was devoted to getting the interior covered in plastic wrap, to protect it from my children as much as possible, and then going to the art gallery.

The girls loved Vernita’s mixed media installation.

And that is that.

Imma post pictures of snickerdoodles tomorrow.

I wish I could post the way my house is going to smell when they’re baking.


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