I hate to cook. I avoid it at all costs. I’ve been like this my entire life.

Last night I was surprised when Elle decided to pull out her journal from a few years back. She’s 10 now, so she would have been 8 years old when she wrote it.

She decided to read something out loud to me.

Elle’s journal entry:

It states:

Last night my mom made the best dinner and she is not a chef at all. She made chicken, carrots, and potatoes. It was like my dad made it and he’s a chef. YUM!

I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

If I *must* cook, it’s rarely good enough for a journal entry. This makes me think Elle exaggerated. By exaggerated, I mean lied.

But I really think this story is a lie because I HATE COOKED CARROTS. I’d never make them as part of a meal.

With my birthday approaching I’m clearly making this is self reflection week. But isn’t that what blogging is all about. It’s always about ME!  It’s all self absorbed bullshit. Well this post is no different.

There are plenty of people who hate me. Rather than dwell on the negative let’s flip this bitch around and think about the upside. It’s what I do.

I am blessed to have great people around me. Seems like people like me. After some deep thinking, which is a brief scuba dive for me I realized some people might even LOVE me.

Here they are. And here is the reason why.

My housekeeper because I make her job easy. Hell, that big stainless steel gas powered box stove (I googled that shit) never needs to be cleaned.

Alcoholics because I make them look sober.

Skiers and golfers because I make them look talented. But I’m a hell of a lot of fun to bring along. Promise.

Grocery stores because I buy everything in duplicate only to throw out 1/2 only to purchase again the following week.

Friends who cook because compared to my talent in the kitchen they are the equivalent to Julia Childs, even if they only cook mac & cheese.

Kids because I can relate to them and function on their childish level.

My family (who, besides Elle, are all in Texas) because I live at a safe distance where they don’t have to accept my phone calls if I’m bugging them so far away.

The wine store because I buy wine by case (who am I kidding, 3-4 cases at a time) and always ask for the back room stock so I don’t empty their shelves.

Fast drivers because I stay out of their way by driving even faster.

Custodian at work because I may be the only person to give him a Christmas card with money in it. This is out of guilt because I feel I should empty my own trash but he refuses to let me.

So if you’re not a potential housekeeper, an alcoholic, a sports enthusiast, a grocery store owner, a friend who cooks, a kid, my family, a wine store manager, a fast driver or the daytime custodian then there is a high probability that you WON’T LOVE ME. But you might like me. Or you may hate me (which makes me question why you’re reading my blog, but whatever. Enjoy). The possibilities are endless.

I’ll end by saying: I’m a lover, not a fighter. So please categorize yourself into one of these groups so I can be on your “God, I love that Susan Mercedes” list. Or remind me of another category I should add to this list. I’m always opened to adding more love in my life.

My dinner on Friday night:

My dinner on  Saturday night:

And while spaghetti may seem elementary, the sauce was made from scratch. Elle, my 10 year old, and I experimented instead doing the usual…popping open a jar of vodka sauce.

It was good. It involved sauteed onions and garlic, Italian seasoning, a can of tomato sauce, tomato paste, cream cheese, beef broth and milk. The last few ingredients were in an attempt to save what we started. And it worked.

Honestly, it sucked at first so we scrambled to find ingredients in the house to use. (Side note: I need to go to the grocery store. We had very few options to throw in.) And by sucked I mean it tasted like Chef Boyardee Spaghetti O’s. Elle was smart enough to be resourceful and read the ingredients in our jarred sauce to think of ideas. Without her, I’d starve get sick of apples and peanut butter.

So don’t go sending me fancy cookbooks. I’m not ready for that step. Plus after eating in so much this weekend, I’m ready to explore the restaurant scene again. Clearly that means, “Watch out Porcupine, here we come!”

Upside: Cooking with Elle was fun. I’d categorized that as some good quality time together.