Life Lessons

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 bitch  wannabe 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.