The last couple years I’ve scored an honest to glob wild turkey breast from a hunter friend who also does the dressing out and butchering. It’s got no fat, so it has to be baconed up a bit, but it is delicious. Tastes like turkey instead of cardboard.
No, no, no. A tablespoon of sugar, tops, buttermilk, bacon fat instead of margarine, and cooked at 450 in a 9-inch cast iron skillet. That abomination you linked is NORTHERN cornbread, which might as well be a muffin. Southern cornbread is crunchy and NOT sweet.
I have both— a Le Creuset and a set of Lodge in 6, 9, and 12-inch. The Lodge pans get used a lot more due to the fact that cook more evenly and have built up a better nonstick surface. I don’t know if it’s the enamel or what, but my Creuset has a couple hot spots.
Y’know, I am 42 and have been married for 20-some years. I have stopped being polite with the answers to that question. “Nope, no kids. Seemed like a really bad idea. I don’t like them- they’re too sticky and don’t litter-train.”
Louis likes to sleep with one ear flipped inside out.
I am way, way more worried that another damn squirrel has gotten into the walls when they do that shit than I am about ghosts. Squirrels are pure chaotic evil.
I’m really allergic to fleas, so . . .
I kinda wanna see Hillary enter by punching down through the ceiling and landing in the 3 point pose:
I don’t like people in my physical space that I don’t know well. I’m pocket-sized and get picked up and spun around by my good friends, which is fine, but the rest of the world has to settle for fist-bump/sparkle fingers. Little kids love the fist-bump/sparkle fingers.
Seriously, does he not understand the process of discovery? You’d think he’d have some vague grasp given the many times he’s been sued, but maybe Justice flinches away from his clammy paw like ever other woman.
The only ghost presences I have ever felt have been these half-asleep departed kitties. And I can tell in the dream just by their little feet which cat it is. It’s just like: “Hey mama, doin’ fine, just gonna nap a bit with ya.”
I experience it if I decide to go back to sleep in the mornings/take an extended afternoon nap. I am always completely aware that it’s sleep paralysis, and my hallucinations nearly always revolve around one of my cats that have passed on curling up on my legs. The ghost cats are soothing. Knowing I’m trying to wake up…
They didn’t know who he was. Once the word “bluegrass” left my mouth, (along with my bitchy eyebrow work) they deflated like they’d dropped their ice cream into a ditch. Basically, anyone that they suspect of being a godless babykilling liberal.
Yeah, the cops aren’t gonna do anything in west-by-god Virginia. There’s a 50-50 chance officer friendly and jimmy-joe asshat are huntin’ buddies or in-laws. They just used public funds to put ‘In god we trust’ on the back of all the cruisers.
God, this. I (a diminutive middle-aged white woman) have been aggressively approached in parking lots by men getting ready to get their hate on over my ‘Dr. Ralph Stanley for President’ bumper sticker.
Every one I’ve ever been in is a hoot— I’ve nearly peed myself because I was laughing so hard. I have a hard time with suspension of disbelief, but haunted houses were totally worth the comedy value.
Have you seen kittens, or puppies, or rabbits or fawns? All of them naturally sleep just fine without parents. After a certain point the kid is torturing you, not the other way around. I had chronic insomnia as a little kid. I stayed in my room and read. Made it through the Bible, Heidi, and the entire Little House…
My friend and I attend a 5- day yoga conference every year, and since we’re stuck at the hotel for at least breakfast and lunch, we split the grocery list and pack: