A tutorial? Hooray!

Hello ladies and gents,

Today I have decided after a lengthy stay in the kitchen this evening, I may start doing tutorials depending on this one's rating.

Tonight's tutorial is:

"How to not suck in the kitchen in Ten Steps".

Step One:  Find recipe that you think you can make.

Step Two:  Realize you don't have all of the ingredients but make it anyways because you're just that awesome.

Step Three: Start running the water for the dishes you're going* to do while cooking dinner. (* Not really)

Step Four:  Turn on some good music on Pandora and turn the TV on and press mute because you can't hear your music over the dogs barking at their reflections in your TV.

Step Five:  Add more random shit to your recipe because you know it's not going to turn out.  Like fruit....fruit goes with chicken sometimes.  Like tonight.

Step Five 1/2:  Decide to blog about how awesome you are in the kitchen.  

Italics means sarcasm.

Step Six:  Realize water has been running the whole entire time and you have two feet of bubbles, a full sink and water all over your counters.  Simultaneously, start cleaning it up forgetting about the sizzling chicken you can't hear because there are barking dogs, music and your stream of profanity.

Step Seven:  Yell at female dog for humping her older male sibling.

Step Eight:  Forget about dishes because they probably aren't going to get done because you may not suck at dinner but you ace sucking at multitasking.

Step Nine:  Crack open that bottle of celebratory champagne because you single-handedly saved dinner.

Step 9 3/4*:  Stare out the window and gaze at how fast the weather changed and is an utter torrential downpour....then start cussing because you remember you left your dog outside because she was being an asshole.

* 'Arry Pottah reference :D I prefer to say it with an accent because it tickles my fancy.

Step Ten:   Enjoy that champagne and tell husband that you came up with dinner on your own because you're just that amazing at being a wife/spouse/slave or what have you.  Don't tell him/her you found the recipe on Pinterest because he will inevitably say "Uhh...Another Pinterest recipe? Remember what happened last time?"

Hope you enjoyed this tutorial.  Want more?  Well then I'll probably write more.  I can make a tutorial out of  anything.  Just slap my ass and call me Etsy ;)

Xoxo
Riley Writes

The Pot Roast Predicament

Some things are just better left unsaid.  However, I feel like maybe somehow, somewhere, I can help some poor housewife somewhere suck less at housewifey duties because she can show her husband this blog and say  "See honey, I'm not a total failure!  At least I can make a pot roast in the crock pot."

I feel like I should be writing this blog with a hearty class of champagne in my hand instead of green tea because not only is it that time of the day....it's also a lot easier to admit your shortcomings while drinking a carbonated sparkling alcoholic beverage with a hint of orange juice.  Also, I am out of champagne and I think my husband may frown upon me being belligerently bubbly while trying to bench press meager weights and complete a WOD without throwing up.

Okay, here goes....I can't make a pot roast.  I have no idea why.  Why not me God, why?  For my birthday this year, one of my closest friends here in Guam bought me a slow cooker.  So far, the tally for making delicious slow cooker meals is Slow Cooker: 124590 - Rachele: 2.  But only because I can't seem to follow directions which has been an issue since kindergarten and I'm basically inept at cooking a lot of things.  I've attempted a pot roast three times.  The first time was my first pot roast ever.  Epic fail. Who messes up a pot roast?  Apparently, the same person who cannot for the life of her make rice krispie treats.  

My mother gave me the first recipe.  "Oh it's simple, put 2 envelopes of onion soup, veggies, add some water and cook it on low for eight hours or even overnight!"  

Can't screw this up.  Nope.  Dry as the Sahara desert.

The second pot roast was ruined because I was socially drinking mimosas on a Saturday night alone while my husband was at a squadron Hail & Bail.  I may have exceeded my maximum to function of two mimosas and instead of flipping the top of the seasoning open, I may or may not have emptied the whole bottle (which was full of course) of seasoning into the pot roast. 

I have no earthly idea why it wouldn't turn out.

This latest one that happens to be cooking at this very moment is actually perfectly tender and moist.  I rubbed the roast *giggle, because that sounds dirty* with olive oil, garlic salt, fresh garlic and some steak rub that smells utterly amazing.  Add veggies and some chicken broth because that's all I had on hand and oh yeah....don't forget the salt.

Whaaaat?  Who said anything about salt?  Who didn't say anything about salt? Perfectly moist and perfectly....bland.

We may just do as we've done the few before and put it in a bowl "for tomorrow night"  and then conveniently forget it's in the fridge for two weeks.

It's a good thing that guy married me for my sparking personality and not my cooking abilities.
Xoxo
Riley Writes

Being married to me isn't easy

But it's rarely ever dull.  I'm crazy.  I say a lot of random and inappropriate things quite often and every once in a while, I don't think things through.  It also means having conversations like this:

R: "Ugh, Zachary Tri-Rob Riley....my bladder is completely full and I think I might pee myself."

Z:  "Babe, we literally just left the restaurant....I can see it in the rear view mirror.  Why didn't you go there?"

R: "Well....because there is only a single bathroom and the whole restaurant was packed so there was probably someone in there and I didn't want to wait."

Z: "So you wanted to wait the whole ride back home....that's about 30-45 minutes?"

R:  Well, my plan was to pee on the side of a random building outside of the restaurant but on my way over there, I saw very tall grass and that most likely means snakes plus there are people outside and even though Eryn said she'd keep a lookout for me, I just couldn't do it because I saw cars coming both ways. So, I guess I'm holding it but oh my God AVOID THE BUMPS! I'm going to unbutton my pants to relieve the pressure.  Nope, didn't work....still have to pee my shorts."

Z:  "I can't avoid them, they're everywhere and you're being ridiculous."

R: "Do you have a bottle?  I'm gonna do it.  I need a bottle."

Z: "Don't you dare..."

This whole conversation actually happened in case you were curious....but the best part comes after he dared me to pee in a bottle...at least that's how I took it.

R:  "You don't call me ridiculous, you're ridiculous and I'm just going to pee all over your face then you'll feel bad because, well, I peed on your face and you'll see just how bad I had to pee.

Z:  "You're gross and I'm breaking up with you."

R: "Fine then, break up with me....wait, for how long are we talking?  The whole way home or for the rest of the evening?  Because if you're breaking up with me for the ride home, I'm going to flirt with the guy in the truck.  He has a wedding ring on but I secretly think he's into me and we're broken up so he's fair game."

Z:  "Jeeezus.  I think for the evening."

R: "Is this because I said I'd pee on your face....because I won't actually do that.  Your foot maybe, not your face. Are you even aware of how difficult it would be to maneuver that?  But I love you."

Z: "Don't be all sweet to me, I love you too but you're not getting out of it that easy."

R: "Oh hey boy, listen, my husband and I are broken up for the evening, you wanna piece of this?  Fi dolla make you holla.  Ohhh booooy what colah you like?"

Z:  "Jeezus pleeezus what have I gotten myself into?"

Then we started laughing uncontrollably which made it even harder to contain my baby bladder.  I didn't pee myself  but I made him stop at the gas station two minutes from our house because I really don't know if I could have made it over the speed bumps.  I literally waddled into the gas station.

Maybe next time I'll just use the bathroom.

Xoxo
Riley Writes

Nothing is sacred

Amid all the dog toys, raw hides and pet fur that encases my home in a constant state of an allergies worst nightmare lies a rather terrible affliction.  One that, in all my years of having puppies, I would have never seen coming.

Licking.  That's right, licking.  They lick errrrreything.  The walls, dishwasher, cabinets, bathroom floor, people, the couches and the worst of them all....our coffee tables.  It wouldn't be so terrible if our tables weren't glass or if they licked the walls where I couldn't see them.  Both Henry and Hannah have extremely long tongues so to see them sit there and lick things like that.....well, frankly they look like they're both on a bad lsd trip, or a good one?

In fact, as I'm typing this, the glass coffee table that took me fifteen minutes and a half a bottle of Windex is being licked from top to bottom.  Just one long tongue mark from one end to the other.  Great, now I have to clean it again.

I haven't showered alone in weeks. If I leave the door shut, it sounds like they're clawing for dear life because a serial killer is about to behead them and the only safe place is with me in the bathroom.  I can't decide if I find it cute or annoying.

"Oh hey Mom, I see you're in the shower.  We should probably poke our heads in and lick the tub to make sure it's safe for you.  Well, I'll lick one side, Hannah will poke her head in the other side to lick the faucet and let all the hot air out that you've accumulated.  You know, you look pretty lonely in there, why don't I jump in there with you and lick your legs?  It will be character building and quality time even though I hate being in the shower.  You just really look like you need some company in here."

I guess the only good thing about that is that even though I consider them my babies....they don't have thumbs so they could never actually let themselves in like a real child.  Hmm....

Xoxo
Riley Writes

Anything but laundry...

Gone are the days where I would trade my sister in a heartbeat for chores.  I was the oldest so that automatically meant, hand washing dishes because I was the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen and doing the laundry rotation from washer, to dryer to couch where my sister "folded" them and put them away.   I longed for the days where she would be stupid enough to switch with me. Just so I could fold laundry and clean the living room instead of cleaning up the giant mess she made the night before when she made dinner.

Let me explain my sister's way of making dinner.  "Oh the recipe only calls for two pans....better use five just in case.   I see that we will be using raw meat.  I should get seven different spatulas so I can use a different one every time to reduce the risk of infection by airborne pathogens of the raw beef/chicken persuasion so we don't all get West Nile and die. Five people will be eating?  Better have out enough dishes for everyone to have at least two plates so none of the sides touch.  That's better.  Oh, you just cleaned the kitchen?  Sorry about all the dishes from one meal.  But look at the bright side, you get to do the same thing again tomorrow!"

Don't believe me?  Call my mom.  She didn't believe me either until I moved out.  Never has an apology sounded sweeter.

Today, I'm sitting on the couch staring at the mountainous pile of laundry that hasn't been folded.  Thinking about the laundry in the laundry room that needs to be put in the washer and wondering if I really need to put the clothes that are in the dryer back into the washer because our dryer doesn't dry completely on the first round which I seem to forget on a regular basis.  So the clothes in the dryer smell bad.  By bad, I mean they don't smell like a Mountain Breeze or Lavender and Honeysuckle....they smell like....well, wet nasty laundry.  When I remember to turn on the dryer two or three more times (doesn't matter what size the load is, it still takes forever), it's generally around bed time so by the time I wake up in the morning and kick myself, they already smell terrible.

I would rather scrub a toilet and clean a nasty bathroom than fold laundry.  I'd rather give the dogs who have rolled in something dead, a bath before I would chose to fold laundry.  I would take hot smelly trash out before folding the gigantic pile of laundry that takes up my loveseat.

"But Rachele, why don't you fold the laundry as you pull it out of the dryer?  It makes things so much easier!"

False.  No it doesn't. I hate it.

"Okay, I get it....but why would you rather take out trash or wash a mountain of dishes by hand?"

As soon as you wash dishes, it's done and over with.  Same as taking out the trash.  Folding clothes is taking them out of the dryer, folding, separating, finding a place to put all of your clothes, putting them away and then starting all over again with the next load.  It's time consuming and a thankless job because even if you fold them, they still get wrinkly.

The next time you visit and don't see any laundry on the designated Laundry Love Seat, just know it's in my room on the bed unfolded.

Xoxo,
Riley Writes

Henry & Hannah Antics

Oh Henry.  Oh Hannah.

If you haven't read the "What a Messy House" post or you don't know me, then you wouldn't know that I have two fur children that I cherish and like a lot better than most people.  To me, they are exactly like my children.  I feed them, I bathe them, I love them and teach them things like fetch, "Go Tell Daddy", sit, stay and "Get Me a Beer."  (The last has been rather unsuccessful)  I love their individual personalities that shine through and the fact that they hate being without one another.   I also put them in time out from time to time when I either need a break, or they've been bad.  Which is why they're in timeout right now.  Generally they don't know they've been bad because their dogs.  They just think it's nap time or we're leaving the house.

Today, my darling little 6 month old Hannah was stalking a fly on the wall.  They both do this quite often so it's not something I'm unused to. Henry is notorious for trying to catch flies at the sliding glass door.  Many an afternoon I have spent watching him run head first into the slider, worried it was going to shatter with the force he was running into it at.  So like I said, nothing I'm not used to.

I was watching Hannah as her cute little head went back and forth following the fly and it's flight pattern.  The fly then sealed his own fate by landing on the wall.  In the blink of an eye, she jumped at least a foot and a half off the ground and the fly disappeared.  I was unsure if she had caught it but her refusal to let me open her mouth said it all.  I watched her prance proudly around the house, excited and happy at her latest catch.  Then, she spit it onto the floor and in an instant, Henry bent down to eat it.

Within seconds after that event, I saw one more fly disappear at the paws of my sweet little Hannah. Again, she wouldn't let me open her mouth and ran to her favorite hiding spot where she chews/eats things she isn't supposed to. Henry tried a few times but he isn't as fast and agile as our spastic little lady.  Not that he hasn't caught any, on the contrary, he's caught quite a few.  He just prefers a different method.

Today has been different as it has been a lot of thunder and lightening with a side of torrential downpour.  The pups were going absolutely bonkers so I decided to put them in their safe place for a while, just until the roaring stopped.  Hannah does this thing where she jumps up and down all crazy at the slider and a few times, has locked me out of the house.  Luckily, Zach has always been home so I don't have to go around to the front door....but that option is always there.  She also occasionally jumps up and down at the front door if one of us goes outside.  Today, Hannah went a little crazy and was jumping and barking at the thunder and lightening at the back door, like she always does and she locked it....like she always does.  I didn't actually think anything of it because it's so frequent.

Do do do do dooo, I'm cleaning out the fridge and filling up the trash with all sorts of unsavory leftovers of meals past. La la la la laaaa, time to take the trash out even though it's pouring down raaaaain!  I load up the trash, put my cute little polka dotted rainboots on and make my way to the carport.  It's a process that takes about 15-30 seconds and all the while, I can hear Hannah inside, barking and jumping up and down.

That's when the unthinkable happens.

I walk back to the door in my white tank top without a bra on (because I can do that when I don't leave the house), my adorable little sweats that are tucked into my rain boots (hearing my attire is necessary for you to understand the following events) annnnnd the door is locked.  Hannah, in her jumping frenzy, hit the lock button on the door knob.  Seriously.  I couldn't make this up.

After about 15 minutes of enlisting my neighbor for help to open some windows that were all locked (which makes me feel safe I suppose), I ran over to another neighbors and called my husband who didn't answer his phone.  Luckily for me, he called them back and said I could go to the squadron to get his key.  He tells my neighbor to call him when we get there so I don't have to come inside.

Of course, you know the call didn't go through.  I had to walk into the squadron and wouldn't you know it, there were about ten people up front hanging out, you know, to see me in all my soaked pajama/rain boots /wet stringy haired glory.  I could see the disbelief in everyone's eyes when I told them what had happened.  Lucky for me, one lady was kind enough to escort me to Zach's office (because I didn't have an identification to prove who I was and I generally don't need my ID to take the trash out.).

I must say, I was pretty impressed that the world hadn't collapsed, there were no pee spots and not a single item was chewed up by the time I got home.  They were so very happy to see me, it made me giggle.

Just a day in the life eh?
Xoxo
Riley Writes

I'm one of "those" people

I sound like a broken record, I get it.  I have never considered myself to have an obsessive personality unless we're talking about Pinterest, seashells and new tv shows that I discover.

Until now.  Now I have discovered Crossfit.

I didn't realize (I kinda did but until this evening, I didn't realize the degree) how much I LOVE Crossfit.  I have tried plenty of other workouts, paid for a personal trainer, did classes, dvds, Tae Bo, P90x, Zumba and a whole slew of other workouts.  I couldn't find an interest in any of them.  I'm not saying they don't work, they just don't work for me.  I couldn't find the motivation I needed to keep myself going and I couldn't seem to find the "burn" or results I wanted either.  Until recently, that is.

I love the fact that Crossfit keeps me constantly evolving into a better, fitter person.  At first, I was only concerned with losing weight.  I am currently at my heaviest now and even though it kills me to say it, I'm no longer the young and wild one I used to be.  I can no longer eat anything I want, stay up all night, or live the lifestyle I used to without consequences.  Nor do I want to.  Who wants to stay up til 5 a.m hitting up Whataburger on the way home because you just worked an 11 hour shift with no actual break other than taking longer in the restroom than you really needed to?  Not this girl.  Scarfing down your food because you need to finish it before the next customer comes to sit at the bar?  No thanks.

One of my favorite Crossfit quotes is "I welcome you to the community of people who have decided that easy will no longer suffice - RIP".  It really is that simple.  You finally reach a point where you're tired of being sick and tired.  For me, it was not liking what I saw in the mirror every single day.  I felt frumpy, gross and definitely not beach ready, especially at the heaviest I have ever been.  Not exercising, eating pizza and drinking beer had taken it's toll.  It wasn't until Zach kept asking and asking and asking if I would like to go with him, did I finally realize enough is enough.  I guess I resisted so long because I didn't want to go and feel like I did any of the other times I have ever tried a new workout regiment.  It's frustrating to go to the gym, feel like you work your ass off and not feel any different.  Even for any amount of time.

With Crossfit, I started feeling changed almost immediately.  I felt better about myself, I had more energy and I was't the slightest bit embarrassed to be using a pvc pipe with all the other bad-asses that were lifted 200+.  Crossfit is about evolving and making yourself be a better you.  It's about helping others better themselves. It's about inner and outer strength, showing your courage to make the leap and trying to do something different to better your life.  I'm changing and using muscles I wasn't even aware I had.  It's an amazing feeling because I have progressed more in two months than I have my whole life.

I used to be concerned with the numbers on the scale because it was more than I have ever seen and it didn't feel very good.  However, now I find myself becoming less and less concerned with the numbers on the scale  and caring more about the amount of weight I'm putting on my bar.  It's given me a new found air of confidence that I have never had (even though I have always been a pretty confident person :D).  Although the number on the scale has stayed the same, I can see myself getting more toned and muscular. (Did you buy your tickets to the BB gun show? ;) )  It makes me want to do things that I have never done before and set goals I would have never even imagined.  I.E. When I leave Guam, I'm hoping Zach and I will do the Tough Mudder together.  It's intense but I think it's a great goal to have and to say "Oh yeah, I did that once."  I wouldn't mind being able to go to the Crossfit Open eventually and if that went well, hell, bring on the Crossfit Games.

Working out with Zach has been pretty amazing too.  Not only is he my best friend and husband, he's also pretty good at motivating.  He says things like "Babe you got this,"  or "Seriously?  Is that all you got?"  I respond better to motivating me by saying things like "My grandma can lift more than that."  We enjoy doing this together and I know it gives him a small boost to know his wife is over there all lifting weights and being bad ass.  It gives me a massive amount of pride to see Zach outdo all of the young bucks that waltz in there. I'm like all "Oh yeah, that's my husband.  He's basically a bad ass and he's awesome. No big deal."  We don't wear our rings to the gym so he's fair game to hit on as well.  He always says he has a girlfriend but I don't think that's true because we always leave together :)

A few other reasons (last ones, I promise)  that I love going to Crossfit so much is that it's never the same workout.  You're always doing something different and the workout is always posted on the Crossfit website.  Sure, it looks EXTREMELY intimidating but there are always scaled workouts for different skill levels.  Some days I can do a higher skill level, others, I'm still hanging out with the "puppies" with my cute pvc pipe I may just Bedazzle.  At any rate, I love it and it makes me happy.

So, while your done reading all of my pro-Crossfit propaganda, go check out the website, do a little reading and form your own opinions.

Xoxo
Riley Writes