DISCLAIMER: No one should eat anything I am about to talk about. And I am super sad that needs to be said. 

Okay, obviously, one doesn’t eat a rubber chicken.

I guess you could try, but damn, the amount of chewing that would require makes me exhausted just thinking about it. But there are other types of chicken you shouldn’t eat.

I had no idea I’d have such a strong opinion on such things, but we don’t get to pick how our days go, do we?

Today, I treated myself to a massage. I’ve been painting walls. Again. Because that is my fate. My muscles are sore. I’ve been stressed. I went for a little “me time”.

The massage wasn’t great. I like a heavy touch (that’s what she said) and I don’t want to talk.

The therapist had a wispy touch and she was extra chatty. And she loves the lord.

I told her I like a firm touch, so she accommodated me by continuing with a wispy touch.

She was super nice, though. Still better than being in a cubicle, but I think I’m going to get a do-over on the massage thing. It’s been years since I had one. I kinda need to get it right.

Anyway, I get back to my cubicle after taking a two hour lunch and immediately checked Twitter. Because I am a responsible cubicle dweller. Twitter isn’t going to check itself, you know.

The trending news story was the FDA had to issue a warning saying to not cook chicken in NyQuil©. Because it’s dangerous.

Who the fuck is cooking chicken in NyQuil©? Who? Because they are why we can’t have nice things.

Women’s rights are being stripped away. Governors are kidnapping migrants and sending them to Martha’s Vineyard.

The world is on fire. And what do we do? We marinate chicken in NyQuil©.

Which is so stupid, because obviously, baby Tylenol© would make a way better marinade.

I mean, if we’re going to cook with over the counter medications, why stop with NyQuil©?

In addition to NyQuil© chicken, you could have mushrooms with a Neosporin© glaze.

Make Hors d’oeuvres with Preparation H©. You can make little Prep H© rosebuds on wheat crackers!

A good dry rub for the chicken? Crush up Flintstone vitamins© and Centrum Silver© which will appeal to kids and adults alike!

You really can’t go wrong with an aperitif made with a simple syrup from melted Ricola© lozenges.

Or, and I can’t stress this enough, just eat food. Don’t cook with over the counter drugs just because TikTok says it’s a good idea.

Life did take a dark turn when people started eating Tide pods©.

I guess cooking with NyQuil© was inevitable. Wonder if the Food Network will get in on this? It won’t be long until brunch menus include NyQuil© chicken and waffles.

Also, we really are on fire. Please encourage people around you to vote. Our very lives depend on it.

I wrote this Beer Granny post once already.

Then, my laptop did this thing and I lost every single goddamn word.

I’m going to recreate from memory. I wish I could see the before and after, because quite frankly, my memory isn’t what it used to be. I’ll just choose to believe this is the better version.

Anyway.

Randy gave each of our children a name that he would call them when he wanted them to fetch a beer for him. Beer Bubba, Beer Girl, Beer Boy and Beer Baby.

On the occasion that I would get him a beer, I was always thanked as Beer Diva. For a decade, I have been Beer Diva.

So, as I am a considerate and observant wife, I noticed that Randy was working in the office, but had left a full glass of beer in the kitchen.

Me: You left this in there.

Randy: Thank you, Beer Granny.

Me:…

Me:…

Me: What the fuck?

Randy: I don’t know, I think it fits.

Me: The number of times I shall ever fetch a beer for you again is zero.

I don’t normally talk like that, but we had just re-watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail which is why that had the slightest “hand grenade of Antioch” feel to it. Probably. 

I grabbed my laptop to write this post to tell on Randy. Beer Granny?

Randy: You better not. You know that term means something else.

Me: You’re thinking of “Granny juice”.

I already get traffic to my blog from fucked up search terms. This is only throwing fuel on that particular fire. 

Back when I was writing articles and submitting them for publication, I used the term “granny juice” instead of booze. I was informed by the editor that “granny juice” is a porn term. I mean, I guess it’s fairly clear what it means? But I never looked it up. I took their word for it. Also, what the shuddering fuck? Humans are weird.

I guess, in the big scheme of things, being called “Beer Granny” isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s just that I’m exhausted by the big scheme of things these days.

Sometimes, you just need a pointless and silly conversation with someone you love.

Photo courtesy of Lothar Dieterich.