Our slow cooker, our stupid crock, had three temperatures:
I know, I know…I’ve told this story before. But, there are days, and today is one of those days, when I take a good look at my life and all I can say is…really? For reals? Stupid crock.
My sweet husband tried to make us dinner. That’s all. He tried to cook a recipe that I got from a blog about Crock Pots. I know, right?! Total irony. Chicken, black beans, cream cheese, cheddar, and salsa all cooked nice and slow, flavors all blended to perfection. He wanted to make sure the whole herd had dinner when we got home. He takes care of us like that. He put all of the ingredients in the slow cooker and set the temperature to Burn-the-Freakin’-House-Down and left it to do it’s thang.
We actually owned a slow cooker that had only high and low settings, but the big guy didn’t like that crock. He liked the older one that had multiple temperature settings. All I can really say to that is…
How’d that work for ya?
It’s funny, but it wasn’t the issue. The cord shorted out. It arced. It melted. I don’t know…it burned my house down. Or it burned my house up. What do you call it when the house is still standing, theoretically, but it pretty much burnt completely? Is that burnt down? Not really. Is it burnt up? Burnt out?
I’ll go with burnt out. ‘Cause that is how I feel. Burnt out. I am stressed beyond words. My daily conversations with my husband revolve around “did you talk to the contractor/lumber salesman/ roofer/ insurance agent/ structure claim rep/leasing agent/painter/fire restoration company?” They revolve around “what is the next step and what is the resolution?” And they usually end in grief. Because nothing is simple. “We sent off that bid/statement/contract/form/fax and we’re waiting on a call/e-mail/fax/answer.” We are always contacting and waiting.
Our evenings revolve around buying stuff. I swear, everything we do requires buying something we used to own. Make Valentine’s cards? Buy a Cricut paper cutter, glue dots, scrapbooking paper, and a storage tote to keep the paper in. Bake cupcakes? Buy a muffin pan, food coloring, decorating bags and tips. Go snow tubing? Buy snow tubes. Shopping is no longer fun. It is a never-ending chore.
So I sit back, take a good look at this surreal adventure that is our life and say “all because of a slow cooker? All for chicken and black beans and rice? For reals?”
Here is the latest view of the house, from the kitchen, the scene of the fire:
|View from the kitchen|
|View from the kitchen through the upstairs|
All that from a slow cooker with a bad cord. For chicken and black beans. For a quick trip to the store to buy rice. I've been looking at it for 5 months and it is still unbelievable.
So, you know what? Kiss my arse, you stupid crock. Slow cooking? You and I are over. So over. That blog about slow cooker recipes? Over it. Slow cooked mac ‘n’ cheese? Nope. Slow cooked apples with cinnamon red hots? Uh-uh. Chicken and black beans? Hells to the no.