Just Say No

Yesterday I woke up with wicked back pain.  I haven't felt this pain for approximately 40 weeks....this was the one good thing about pregnancy.  Hormones that are like one big muscle relaxer all day and all night.  Well, that and the really thick hair.  Anyway, I limped around like a fool until I realized that I had Percocet.  Nothing like a little narcotic action to make mama feel better.  Percocet was the only thing that got me out of bed after my c section.  I liked it because it didn't make me feel doped up.  So, I figured this would be an excellent solution to my little problem.  

So I popped one in my mouth and waited.  About 30 minutes later I realized I was really dizzy.  Oh dear, I'm stoned.  Hmmmm. Unexpected.  Husband laughed at me.  Exact quote, "I told you that it would mess you up."

This was unplanned and unwelcomed because my whole day was focused on a trip to The Container Store.  Yes, my life is that dull that I planned an entire day around a modular storage store.  Shut it.  The bottom line is I'll be damned if I let a little narcotic episode get in the way of my organizing fun.

So husband drove his stoned wife and his kid to the store in Jersey.  I brought the stroller so I didn't have to lug around a 600 lb car seat.  It's a good thing, because I was all over the place.  I wheeled that kid into quite a few shelves.  $300 later, husband was busy working his magic to get all that crap stuffed in a four door sedan with baby seat.  Poor child had a clothes drying rack jammed on one side of her and a bag of crap on the other.  

We arrived home and I had the excellent foresight to pull two filets out of the freezer along with some cauliflower soup.  So I peppered up those steaks and put the oven on broil.  A quick check of my faculties told me I was still looped.  (Those of you who have ever seen me cook can attest to the fact that I don't drink while I cook because it usually results in disaster.)  After an impossibly long time in the oven I pull out the steaks and stick the meat thermometer in one.  45 degrees....

If I had half a brain I should have realized that after that much time in the oven nothing could still be 45 degrees Fahrenheit.  Of course after repeating this exercise several more times with a similar result, the only thing I could think was, "God, this is taking an awful long time to get to 150 degrees...what gives?".  Of course it didn't sink into my doped up brain that a 45 degree filet would basically be frozen.  Like I said, there's a reason why I don't drink while cooking.  At some point it dawned on me that the damn meat thermometer had somehow switched to Celsius and I was in the process of turning two very nice filets into hockey pucks.

In the infamous words of Whitney Houston...Crack is Whack.  And, narcotics make you do bad things in the kitchen.