I should have a warning label

Tomorrow is Andrew's school Christmas play. Oh excuse me, Winter Holiday Play. Anyway, Steve has agreed to go (woo hoo). But first he's gonna come over & I'm gonna fix some supper. Yup. He's gonna eat MY cooking. Thank God Richie has been wrapped up in his own life here lately to give him the "speech" on my cooking. Dale being the turd that he is laughed so hard he choked when he heard I was gonna cook. I swear, you burn water ONE time and you never hear the end of it. I have been craving tacos, so I'm gonna fix those. I mean, how can I mess that up? Mama then informs me that if I'm trying to "catch" him, maybe I should forewarn him of my nonexistant cooking skills. She then decides he's so skinny that he needs a good cook and maybe I should take some cooking classes or something? LMAO.

Ok, so I'm not freakin' Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart, but I can cook. I just choose not to, for the most part. I have this thing about cooking. I know it's supposed to work like this; but it irritates me to no end: everything gets done at once. So I'm trying to grab stuff out of the oven, turn stuff off, pull things off the burner so it doesn't burn, and then you gotta make sure it's all done and not over cooked. Then you are expected to eat it? Shit on all that. I'll stick to simple things or as I have done in the past, you cook, I'll clean. Yeah, that sounds like a plan to me.
So, I have already went to the grocery store and got everything, then told various people about it, they start freaking me out.

Ok, to end this seemingly boring, gotta get it out before I explode blog, go check out Steve's blog. Steve's Famous Or should it be infamous? hmmm...either way, I think I'll keep him. Wait, maybe I should wait to make sure he survives tomorrow night...LMAO.