Monday, February 23, 2015

When Murphy's Law attacks

Some days it's just safer to stay in bed. Some weekends, too.

Friday night I got together with some friends and wound up having a lovely time at the pub. There was beer and laughter and a walk home on a glorious spring night (...or possibly morning. By that point in the festivities, my recollection of events is somewhat fuzzy.)

Needless to say, when I woke up Saturday morning, I was not exactly at "bushy-tailed" levels of energy, and my eyes were only bright in the sense they were an alarming shade of bloodshot red. I had made plans to drive out to my parents that day, so hiding under my blankies until the day ended was not a viable option.

I actually got my shit together and got down to the car ahead of schedule. (I would realize later that was because I'd forgotten to bring the laundry, which was still sitting in the hall.) I turned over the engine, glanced down at the dashboard, and realized I had forgotten something rather important the night before. Gassing up the car before driving all over town. 

This is the universe's way of telling you it's going to be a long day.

No problem, right? All I had to do was get to a gas station before the warning light came on. I had a few liters left in the tank, and there were several gas stations in the area. I headed for the one I used most often...and that's when the fun really started. It was being refilled. The gas station was also on empty, and that meant no fueling up for me. Crap, says I, and do a fast bit of (slightly groggy) thinking. I could double back to the other stations behind me, or I could keep going and stop at one of the stations in the suburbs, before I hit the highway. I check, no warning light, hot damn, highway here I come. 

I got a few more kilometers along the way, watching the needle drop with trepidation, and that's when I see the road closed signage. I can't get to the gas stations, because they are several clicks down a road that is torn to hell and closed to all traffic. Panic is now my passenger. I have to detour back, and end up more or less back at my condo before I find a gas station. For the last three kilometers my knuckles are white and the little fuel warning light is a bright yellow flash on my dashboard, reminding me that I could be seconds away from having to get out and push. Did I mention I deliberately left my cell phone at home to "Unplug?" Oh yes, I did. So if I ran out of gas on the side of the road, I was phoneless. I blame the lack of sleep for that decision.

I did make it to the gas station by the skin of my teeth, and there was much rejoicing. The rest of the day went by with a minimum of chaos, and I thought that Murphy had moved on.

I was wrong.

Sunday I had plans. I was going to write. I was going to clean. I was going to make low carb cauliflower tots. I was going to be productive and stuff! 

The cat kept me awake all night. She howled. She pounced. She did feline flyby's over my head. I didn't crawl out of bed until nearly eleven Sunday morning, and I was so far from "productive" that I couldn't have spelled it correctly without having a cup of coffee first. 

I did get some things done, but it took coffee and Red Bull to make it happen. By late afternoon I was ready to try the cauliflower tots recipe, though, and I had dreams of tasty, crispy, low carb success.

Not even close to what I got, but hey, it was edible.

Did you know that assembling a food processor is not as easy as it sounds? Especially when you don't use it often. Did you also know that if you don't assemble the blades etc correctly, then the accursed thing will not work because it's unsafe? I didn't. If I had, I would not have placed all the ingredients into the bowl until AFTER I had ascertained that the bloody thing worked. Instead, I pushed the button, expecting magic, and got...nothing. 

Eventually I had to remove the caulflower, cheese, spices, raw eggs and other delights from the bowl, take the satanic device apart and rebuild it four times until I finally got it right and the damned thing worked. By this point, I had destroyed my recently cleaned kitchen and was wearing enough raw egg and Parmesan cheese I could be considered an appetizer. I even had garlic in my hair. I don't know how, but I did. At least I was vampire-proof for a bit. 
In the end, I did manage to make the fritter-tot things. They were tasty, and I will be making it again...but this time I'll test the damned food processor first. That, and I'll sacrifice a cupcake to appease Murphy, the modern-day household god of chaos.