It’s the last week to put your eyes to right, click on the audio cover of SHINE SHINE SHINE and hear me read the first chapter for free. It goes poof I think July 1? Via MacMillan Code Magic? NO IDEA HOW. But it might.
SO! My friend Alison told me about this contraption that basically allows you to violate a chicken corpse with an open beer can and then set it, like a head on a stake, onto a fiery grill and torture it via indirect flame-y heat for an hour and change.
We invested seven dollars in one of these oddly shaped grill accessories and test-violated a chicken yesterday evening.
Oh. Wow. If you are wondering why a person would want to do that, you have not tasted Violated Chicken. It kicks supermarket Rotisserie chicken’s unviolated chicken cavity. It is so moist and delicious and fall apart good that it’s like eating Chickeny meat butter.
This is actually MUCH nicer than it sounds.
Best part, except for the pat where we ate it in our mouths: Scott has this GRILL THERMOMETER he got off WOOT! You stick the thermometer part in the chicken, and then tell the box part (which is in the HOUSE) a temperature. When the chicken hits your target temperature, the box in the house yells, “Your FOOD is ready! Your FOOD is ready!” The box has this rich, figgy, delighted voice. The box is HAPPY that your food is ready.
We were going to try make the chicken Friday night, but I spent 9 hours at a lawyer’s office near our old house, instead.
We got over to Marietta for the closing at 10:30 am, and then MISSING PAPER DRAMA began, and we were not going to close, and then we were (!!!) MAYBE (!!!), then NOT (^*$), then we WERE again (!!!!) Possibly (????), then I stress ate about four thousand mini chocolate bars that closing attorneys ALL seem to keep in buckets to propitiate the bitter, distraught, exhausted people who are trying to buy and or sell homes, then we were told there was ABSOLUTELY NO WAY it could close, but we could stay and sign our side of the papers in case it DID decide to close next week, which it probably would not, and I stress ate a receptionist.
Then it closed. Go figure.
I LOVE owning one house. It makes the little birdies of my heart feel as if they had been given thirty peaceful seconds to peck at the metaphorical peanut-butter and seed coated pinecone that Maisy hung in my heart’s backyard, right before a swarm of piratical squirrels destroyed it.
In reality, the little birdies of my heart would NEVER be afforded such a luxury. My heart squirrels are every bit as piratical as the swarmy shark-like beings who ate the literal pinecone. Just ask that poor closing attorney’s receptionist. *burp*
THANK YOU FOR THE SQUIRREL ADVICE. Scott has baffled them with your suggestions. We saw an ACTUAL CARDINAL get a bite or two, and a black and white pointy bird came by, too. (Not a penguin. Some other kind.)
Now I feel bad as the squirrels go leaping at my feeder only to be baffled off to the side. Morbidly obese yard sharks need lunch, too! I think I am going to go to the DUNCRAFT SQUIRREL SUPPLY SUPERSTORE, this is a real thing that exists on google, and buy a squirrel feeder, because I secretly like watching their gluttonous antics, and if they have their own peanuts and crap, perhaps they will stop trying to beat current baffling system?
Nutshell of joy: I OWN ONLY ONE HOUSE, AND IT IS MY FAVORITE!
How was YOUR weekend?