Guys, remember Mouse? (If not, check here, here, here, and here– man, Mouse is a BG star!)
Well, he hasn’t called or FaceTimed me lately, but he did add me on Snapchat. And it’s everything you’d expect it to be….
I also received a slew of Snaps a few weeks ago that one would not expect from Mouse… the build-up and content of a Kid Rock concert. Yes, that happened. Oh, Mouse, what will he be up to next? (stay tuned)
-Bev
P.S. I just can’t talk about Mouse without thinking of my favorite text I’ve ever received…
A friend of mine sent this to me from a St. Patrick’s Day parade and I honestly thought they made it for me because it’s the most accurate sign of all time.
Well, guys, I just want you to know I’m here. Bev just hasn’t been feeling very Bev lately, and I 100% chalk that up to the fact that I have significantly limited my champagne consumption in 2018 and we all know Bev performs best when she has a slight buzz (her body’s version of homeostasis) and she just hasn’t had many buzzes lately. (*Smoke and Mama G rejoice*)
But have no fear, BevHive- this particular cleanse ends this coming Friday when Bev hits a happy hour with coworkers which is really just the beginning, as next week is my spring break. Which includes a trip to Mexico, and then a 35th birthday for one certain shitty blogger who apparently no longer blogs. Add in a likely Easter Sunday Funday (you’re welcome, Jesus, and, yes, I will wear my Jesus shirt), and Bev should have some content ready to roll out to you guys. I’m also dedicating my flight to Mexico to sorting through my Spot Sue pics and getting those bitches photoshopped up and ready to rock and roll for some #SSS to be revived. (Keep in mind that I have eight Southwest drink tickets that I plan to use on this Mexico trip, so I give myself three Spot Sue pictures doctored before I’m happily bumpin’ Lil’ Wayne and Beyonce and forgetting I even have an aunt named Sue).
As always, thanks for reading, BevHive, and I also just want you to know that I went to Fawn’s for dinner last night and she gave me my birthday gift early. And when I say birthday gift, I mean champagne bottle straws. Champagne Bottle. Straws. So, ya know, look for those in action soon.
Happy (sober) Sunday to all and to all a fast upcoming week so Bev’s Whole30 can end and she can potentially vomit off a few more pounds before spring break good night.
Well, guys, I wanted to wait to post this until I was sure Anastasia & Co. didn’t get food poisoning from my pie. Because that’s literally the only thing that hasn’t hit them. But I wanted to share the pictures of the cooked pot pie because it looks like a muppet…. see the text conversation with Anastasia’s husband below…
Now, maybe I’m tooting my own horn a little here, but I feel like I had to prove to you that the potpies are actually good. And now I want you to go back up and take a closer look at that baked pot pie. Then see the comparison below.
I mean, is that pot pie NOT Fozzie Bear? And if it could wave, it would totally wave like this.
In addition, I was Googling Muppet character pics to share with you all (wild Saturday night here, guys), I stumbled upon this:
I mean, what?
Did we know that his name was Swedish Chef? I don’t even know. But I do know that Mama G had a Fozzie potpourri basket that we put under our Christmas tree every year until like four years ago. Not even kidding. I swear to you, Maude or I got like a Happy Meal or some shit with this Fozzie in a green velvet basket with a bag of wrapped potpourri in it and we put it under our Christmas tree for close to thirty years. Maybe it was Big Mac-scented potpourri? WTF? Maude and Mama G- where the hell did we get the Fozzie?
Fozzie in a green velvet basket with a bag of wrapped potpourri in it and we put it under our Christmas tree for close to thirty years. File that one under, “Did I just write that?”
Well, guys, I’m just going to go ahead and spare you the “I’m busy” spiel, because while, yes, I am busy, the reality is that I’m probably not actually any busier than any other average nearly-35-year-old basic bitchwannabe housewife with no husband working professional. So, lots has happened since ‘Nam I last posted. I mean, I successfully completed a Whole30, which I think many of you would assume would be worth a whole slew of separate posts, but honestly, not really. While I spend a lot of my time drinking more beer than the average college student, being on a steady quest for the best (fried) cheese curds in MyCity, and missing Casey’s breakfast pizza, I actually spend a lot of time eating kale, beets, spinach, chicken, etc. So while I will never say that doing Whole30 is easy, I’d also never say it’s super hard. I had a visit from Smoke and MamaG (definitely another post, as usual #SmokeIsTheOnlyReasonPeopleRead), closely followed by a visit from bestie Melva and her hubby (holy shit), I successfully completed a lot of “honey-do” projects (#SoberEntertainment #IAmMyOwnHoney), and I recently became a subscriber to my hometown newspaper (which Mama G affectionately refers to as a “wipe”). So fear not, BevHive- posts are coming.
I’m not sure if I can crank ’em out as quickly as y’all want ’em (#ThirstyHoes), but I promise they’ll be coming soon. Oh, and Uncle Bart and Aunt Sue are on their annual trip ’round the globe, so you know what that means! #SpotSueSaturday (for those of you who may be new here, those are just screenshots of Snapchats Uncle Bart sends of Aunt Sue drinking beer around the world. She looks just like the does in the Snapchats he sends of her drinking beer in Mayberry, except there may be an exotic dish in front of her, and there’s probably a filter with the name of some place I can’t pronounce).
Anyway. Inspiration. I’ve been waiting for it. And tonight, I got it. Before I show you a pic or two of my inspiration, you need some background knowledge. 1: Bev makes a mean-ass pot pie. Had a baby? I’ll make you a pot pie. Someone near and dear to you died? Pot pie- comin’ atcha! In the hospital? I’ll sneak a goddamn pot pie in to your room in one of those hot/cold bags like Mama G keeps in her trunk. It’s world-renowned, and I have to give credit here to Maude, who gave me the recipe. Nobody likes a recipe-stealer. (and, no, I won’t give the recipe to you… you’ll have to contact Maude. This is my goddamn go-to, and I ain’t sharing!) 2: One of Bev’s besties, Anastasia, has had a rough go of it. Think, like, nine months of a completely miserable pregnancy (including an ER visit and plenty of meds to control nausea, followed by a diet of, like, saltines and applesauce? Something horrible. Anastasia, feel free to elaborate in the comments), followed by a husband and 2-year-old who get ravaged by a nasty stomach bug while Anastasia was in her hometown nursing her own mom back from knee replacement surgery, followed by a husband who gets some kind of freak infection in his leg (another ER visit), followed by a so-quick-you-can’t-have-an-epidural birth, followed by typical new-sibling 2-year-old assholery, followed by 2-year-old bringing home daycare germs which put your newborn in the hospital for a week, followed by we’re home for a week, and Mom has influenza A. I’m sure there’s more, but just reread that last (really effing long) sentence and you tell me Anastasia & Co. don’t deserve a friggin’ pot of gold pie.
So, I offer to make one. It works out best for all of us for me to bring over tonight, so I stop at the grocery store on my way home from work. The store only has organic pie crusts, which is sort of a problem for Bev because she believes that organic food is for rich people from cities. But there’s no other choice, so I spring for the crust and update Anastasia on the situation. (voice text in full effect as I NASCAR it home, so ignore my odd wording)
I get home and finish up some work and get to assemblin’ some pot pie… which starts with the (organic) pie crust…which I open, slide out of its plastic sheath (sheath), and begin to unroll for the bottom crust, LIKE I’VE DONE AT LEAST 30 TIMES BEFORE, WITH MUCH SUCCESS. But as soon as I had that dough in my hands, I could tell things were about to head south. It looked too dark and I had to double check the box to make sure it wasn’t some whole wheat bullshit on top of being made from the magical, chemical-free wheat grown in the fields of underground Pompeii. It wasn’t, so I continued to unroll. Until the whole goddamn thing ripped in half. The whole. Goddamn thing. Ripped. In half. I swore on everything holy and opened the second crust, hoping it stayed put to be used as the bottom layer to this glorious dish. Being the very smart and savvy pot pie chef that I am, I noted that the original crust (now in pieces on my counter) seemed almost frozen (though I can assure you it was not) so I put the second crust in the microwave on defrost for a short amount of time. (I would tell you how long I defrosted, but I have no idea how to use defrost on my microwave and I always just hit buttons until it gets to come kind of acceptable weight and time and then just watch my shit until I think it’s ready #BevLyfe) Anyhoo, the defrost works like a charm, and we are back in biz with the bottom crust! I pour in the (secret) pie filling, and stare down that dumbass first crust that I hate more than Kylie Jenner (now, there’s another post!) and I slap on the first half-piece, which is really easy. Because it literally broke EXACTLY in half. Then I put on about four pieces (each about the size of 1/12th of the total pie crust) before deciding to defrost the rest of this piece too. Except, again, I don’t have one shred of a clue how to use defrost on my microwave and I ended up melting the final 1/4 of crust and could barely scrape it off the glass tray of my microwave. (Remember when I said I made a mean-ass pot pie? Melted shards of organic pie crust is not the secret ingredient.)
I honestly considered throwing away this pot pie and moving to one of the countries Uncle Bart and Aunt Sue are visiting, but Anastasia & Co. were counting on me. So, I sent a warning text, threw the pot pie and the open cookie dough (there were actually two rows of dough missing… don’t ask).
Anyway, if you’ve made it this far, you deserve this final piece I leave you with tonight. The Holy Grail of life advice. A word of wisdom. The “life lesson” you thought you were learning much faster than you have.
That lesson?
Don’t judge a pot pie by its cover.
Literally.
I mean, it looks like a swamp creature. Here’s hoping it doesn’t taste like one.
Thanks for readin’, y’all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have cookie dough to eat.
-Bev
Oh, and here’s another thing that happened during this 30-minute time span:
Yes, yes, that is an egg lying in a pool of its own blood in my kitchen. Because of course it is.
Oh, and before I leave you thinking I’m some jank-ass cook who thinks she can throw down, I leave you with this gloriousness:
And, no, that ain’t some “Pinterest” DIY project. That’s a BevvyG pot pie, BevHive. From my camera roll. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find one, and I considered searching my photo stream for “pot pie” but I was too scared it would pull up a bunch of pictures of my face, so I scrolled through all 5,715 of them to find this pretty lil’ bitch.
Yeah, I do use leftover chemicals crust to make hearts. Or the initials of your new baby. I haven’t done a cock and balls yet, but I think that’s up next.
Me, for the last six months or so (due to not watching a ton of TV and the miraculous invention of DVR, rarely sees full TV commercials): God, why is everyone so afraid of It? I mean, clowns aren’t even scary and there’s a red balloon flying around. Big whoop.
Me, tonight, after watching (between my fingers) a 2-3 minute trailer for It before my Redbox movie starts: *pisses pants, forgets name for half an hour, anticipates not being able to sleep until 2021.*
-Bev
P.S.- Welcome to 2018, guys! I know it’s been a while since I posted here, but I’ve been working hard on my New Year’s Resolution, which is to become a lipstick wearer. Yes, you read that right. And, no, I haven’t actually been working on it, but that really is my resolution. More on that to come. Anyway, I’m off to watch my movie. I know you might be thinking, WTF, Bev hates movies. And you would be correct, but we’re hangin’ tight on Day 12 of Whole30 and Bev needs activities that don’t involve obsessively organizing her home and/or planning vacations. Also, more on that to come.
Merry Christmas to all my dear readers. I wanted to pop in today for a quick update.
I hadn’t written about it, but due to some unforeseen circumstances, I was a visitor to the ‘baby unit’ at my local hospital four times in less than two weeks (two times, smuggling in champagne) before heading back to Mayberry on Friday. I was getting worried that I was going to be placed on some sort of baby unit No Fly List, but then I came home, and now won’t be able to head in to the baby unit again until at least January 3, so hopefully they clear that creep list after a week or so. (Also, I wasn’t arrested at the airport) But then yesterday, I went to church twice in one day and now I’m worried Jesus has me on some sort of Kiss-Ass list or something. Especially since I didn’t shower and was wearing second-day makeup for the first church trip, then wore my largest pair of gold hoops (which are large) to the second service. Nothing to see here, Jesus.
Here’s hoping I’m able to stay out of jail (regular jail and Jesus jail)1, but just in case there’s an unexpected Christmas arrest, here are the highlights from Smoke and Mama G’s Christmas cards…
*“Susan canned more salsa than she ever has in the past.” -family friend
*“Suppose you heard I am moving to Senior Living in Feb. I don’t have to cook anymore! I will keep you informed.” -Smoke’s great aunt (You go, girl!)
*“I just baked jello cake for church tomorrow and muffins for my breakfast next few days.” -Mama G’s prayer partner
*“And you can imagine- Sue’s mouth was agape, When we saw that baboon jacking off on the Cape.” -Uncle Bart
I love these Christmas anecdotes so much, but they pale in comparison to the best Christmas letter of all time- from my bestie, Alice’s great aunt, Lois. Oh, dear God, how I wish I still had that letter, guys. I won’t even try to recant it here because it was just literal Christmas gold, but I will tell you that there was a detailed section about her husband’s ingrown toenail surgery. Alice ended up sending it to me because I literally asked her to read it to me every time I talked to her on the phone, but that was at least five years ago (before BG.com), and it’s been misplaced… Here’s hoping (for all of us) that I stumble across that piece of paper stuffed in one of my storage boxes someday.
And, with that, I need to sign off- I have to go get ready for Christmas brunch at Maude and Jasper’s, then back home to “help” Mama G prepare her dishes for Page Christmas tonight, and there’s been a special request for “no hangover of any kind” tomorrow for our “family Christmas” here at Smoke and Mama G’s.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good (day) night!
-Bev
1There was a apparently a high-speed chase in Mayberry around 1 am and I’m feeling a little uneasy. If I hear of anyone looking for a serial baby snuggler, I’m headed to Zihuatanejo!
P.S.- Smoke received a ‘Merry Christmas’ text while I was writing this post. He’s trying to reply. Here’s hoping that he’s just writing Happy New Year back because that’s when he’s going to finish.
Bev is back in the Mayberry area until early 2018 and so far, I have…
-consumed one slice of Casey’s pizza. Also known as one percent of the slices of Casey’s pizza I will have in the next thirteen-ish days.
-heard one of my aunts exclaim that the mountains on her can of Coors Light were “so goddamn blue, they’re purple.”
-gone to bed at 8:00 pm (after a 3:15 am airport wake-up call) but forgetting that Mama G has candles up in the windows and that sleeping in my bedroom is equivalent to sleeping on an airport runway from late November until late December in any given year.
-completed a workout. (which is only notable because my body has basically turned into an intoxicated grilled cheese since Thanksgiving)
-chotzed around Smoke and Mama G’s house in these:
Because I forgot we bought them on our fateful shopping trip in the Smokonut hotel room, where I didn’t think I had any socks (turned out I did, which is why I forgot about these beauts) and Mama G was convinced I would get gangrene if I walked around barefoot. I mean, ’tis the season, I guess…
-wrapped all of my Christmas gifts. Poorly. Very, very poorly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. My present-wrapping is like that of a drunk four-year-old wearing gloves and a blindfold.
But no matter how badly my gifts are wrapped, there’s still at least one under the tree that’s got me beat (or… the opposite of beat?). I won’t reveal the name of the bad wrapper, but I will tell you that it rhymes with toke. Which is what he must do before he wraps.
You guys may or may not remember a pretty abhorrent hotel stay that Mama G, Maude, and I had. If you don’t remember it, you can check it out here, but the quick recap is that there was a ripped chair, trash in the bathrooms, and the whole place smelled like a coconut cigarette.
After said hotel stay, Mama G was (obviously) not pleased and we began the process of getting our money back. Expedia and the hotel were both very helpful and apologetic and the process was actually fairly smooth. Next year, Mama G, Maude, and I will be splurging for a nicer hotel, but for now, I just want you all to see the beauty that is Mama G’s hotel review on Expedia.
Everyone has their favorite old family recipes that have been passed down through the generations. You know, Great Grandma Agnes’ chicken-n-noodles, Aunt Carol’s meatloaf, or Great Aunt Em’s caramel rolls.
Well, Bev got a little nostalgic in the kitchen last night as I whipped up Aunt Sue’s Rum Chata shots. Now, thankfully, Aunt Sue is still with us, but when she goes, she’ll leave behind a Rum Chata, whipped cream and vanilla pudding-induced legacy.
I mean, check out these little dreams.
Bev whipped up her first batch of heaven in the only way she can imagine Aunt Sue does- with a fresh cocktail (Blue Moon for Sue, Chardonnay for Bev) and some gangsta rap.
I just know these little gems are going to be the hit of the party I’m attending tonight, and it’s all thanks to good ol’ Aunt Sue. (if you’re not sure about who Aunt Sue is, go ahead and just search “sue” in the search bar at the top right and you’ll find some real treats!)
Have you ever gone to an evening movie and (against your better judgement) consumed a 986 ounce Diet Coke?
Have you ever then come home to sit on your couch by your Christmas tree, drinking a glass of wine (ya know, to counteract the aforementioned wine) and sitting up way past your bedtime on the “RhymeZone” website, trying to come up with creative hashtags for some of your upcoming trips?
Because I have.
#ThelmaAndLouiseTakeTheKeys (comin’ atcha, March 2018)
