Author: Big Mama

I had all sorts of plans for what I was going to write about, including but not limited to the fact that I have now been freezing cold for the last three days. Like the kind of cold that has caused me to go take a hot shower just to get feeling back in my extremities. I’m not sure what the problem with Mamaw and my internal temperature is, but it’s causing my bursitis to flare up.

But instead of having the time to craft a riveting post about how I’ve been wrapped in a blanket for three days straight, I spent my evening entertaining some dear friends.

It all started on Sunday when P remembered that he had meat from a 650 pound elk aging in our outdoor refrigerator and it needed to be cleaned up, wrapped, and frozen in meal-size portions. He began carrying large plastic containers full of raw meat into the house to begin this process. And, oh, he was proud of his meat.

Occasionally he would hold up big slabs of meat for me to admire and then we had several discussions about how we needed to cut the meat and what sort of things I planned to cook. Elk kabobs, elk burgers, elk stroganoff, elk cheese macaroni helper, and chicken-fried elk.

We decided to invite our friends Stew and Hannah over for some chicken-fried elk. P actually set them up on a blind date over a year ago and they’re still dating. See why I love him? He’s an elk killer with a sensitive side.

While I was prepping the stuff for dinner, P asked me if I needed to shower. I informed him I’d already showered earlier in the day in a desperate attempt to ward off the chill. Then he asked, “Are you going to change clothes?”

I glanced down at my outfit. Hot pink velour sweats tucked into my Uggs with an oversize black fleece that I inherited from P a few years ago. Add in hair thrown back in half a bun and you’ve got the whole picture.

“No, I’m finally warm. Do I need to change?”

He laughed out loud. “No, you look fine.”

Long pause as he realized I wasn’t kidding.

“Do I look that bad? It’s just Stew and Hannah. They’ve seen me look bad.”

“Well, they haven’t seen you look like a bag lady.”

In light of that harsh judgement, I changed out of the one outfit that had finally brought me some warmth. However, in my defense, I don’t know too many bag ladies who wear Uggs.

After our friends arrived, I began to chicken-fry the elk steaks in our cast iron skillet. It was my first experience and I learned the hard way that elk meat is denser than beef. Those babies were golden, crispy brown on the outside and nearly raw on the inside.

Hello. Welcome to our home. I’m a bag lady and will be serving up some delicious elk tartare.

I put them back in the skillet for a little bit longer and cut them in the hope it might help them cook all the way through. Meanwhile I began to formulate Plan B, Tyson Dino Nuggets with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy.

Afraid I was going to fry them to a consistency resembling the texture of a nasty, old boot, I placed them on a cookie sheet and decided to throw them in the oven for a few minutes. As I turned around to open the oven with the cookie sheet in my hand, that’s exactly what I did. I THREW them.

Two of the four elk steaks went flying off the cookie sheet right onto the floor.

The guys were outside in the man cave looking at weaponry and, thankfully, didn’t see it happen. P would never forgive me for treating his elk that way.

After Hannah was able to stop laughing, she helped me pick up the mess and we decided that no one needed to know. Besides that, the heat from the oven would totally sterilize them.

The good news is dinner actually turned out delicious. Apparently you can cook the heck out of elk for over an hour using various methods and it won’t dry out. It’s a very resilient meat.

And, Stew and P, we totally gave you the pieces that fell on the floor.

Never trust a bag lady.

Oh and the good news is that after all that excitement in the kitchen, I actually broke a sweat.

Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the windows. Actually, that’s not true. I woke up to my cell phone alarm going off and then shortly thereafter heard the rain coming down outside.

Normally I love nothing better than a cold, rainy morning, but yesterday I was running carpool and I had to have our dog Bruiser at the vet by 8:15.

So I was all like “WHY? WHY IS IT RAINING TODAY OF ALL DAYS?” And, granted, we desperately need the rain because according to the weathermen we’re in the middle of a DROUGHT! THE DRIEST YEAR ON RECORD! THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HAPPENED TO NOAH! IT WILL NEVER RAIN AGAIN AND THE SKY IS FALLING! ALSO, THE STOCK MARKET STINKS AND MY 401K IS DRYING UP FASTER THAN THE RIVERS THAT RUN THROUGH SOUTH TEXAS!

Oh media, I do love your frenzied, fear-inciting state of mind.

Anyway, I ended up dropping the girls off late because who knew that the carpool drop-off line is so long on rainy days? I guess if it ever rained, I would know that.

I drove home very sensibly and at a moderate pace to pick up Bruiser before we were to late for drop-off at the vet. At some point last week Bruiser incurred some type of injury to his toenail that began to look infected. Of course we couldn’t tell for sure because anytime we got anywhere near his paw, he would begin to growl at us to indicate we needed to back off. Kind of like me when I have PMS.

There’s nothing as pleasant as loading a wet, muddy dog into your Volvo unless it’s digging a large hole in your backyard for no reason at all. I dropped him off at the vet where I basically told them, “Something is wrong with his right front paw but he won’t let us look at it. He’s very sweet unless he decides to bite! Good luck and God speed!”

Then I went to Starbucks to reward myself for dealing with whiny, cold kids, rainy weather and a muddy, ill-tempered dog all before 8:30 a.m.

Around noon they called to let me know that Bruiser was ready to go. His toenail is split, he needs antibiotics and he weighs 64 pounds. That will be $100.00.

Fare thee well plans to stock up on a surplus of Gap flannel pajama bottoms at the bargain price of $9.97 a pair. The important thing is that my dog has a healthy toenail.

After I paid the bill, they handed me a brochure and a bottle of pills. They brought Bruiser out and he and his 64 pounds of solid muscle practically pulled me off my feet as we went barreling out of the vet’s office.

Once we were safely in the car, I put the pills in my purse and glanced at the brochure to see if it was something I needed to keep. I am understandably thrilled to learn that our vet clinic is now offering acupuncture and water treadmill therapy sessions.

Meanwhile, I can’t even get my doctor’s office to return my calls.

Maybe I’ll see if I can get in with my vet. Water therapy sounds delightful.