Fear Factor: Refrigerated Meat Edition

Wife and I have had a few interesting conversations about pork chops this week.

Not pork chops in general, but a specific set of port chops in our fridge.

Wife thawed these chops on Friday to try a new Asian pork recipe she found in one of her Southern Living cookbooks.

But by the time Friday night rolled around, a big home-cooked meal just wasn't in the cards, so I called an audible and we let the kids enjoy some Chef Boyardee and ordered Chinese after they were in bed.

(Somewhat ironically, our standard Chinese takeout dish is Roast Pork with Mixed Vegetables.)

"We'll cook the pork chops tomorrow night," I told my bride.

Saturday worked out similarly, with neither of us in the mood for a big meal since we worked in the yard all day and Wife pulled birthday party duty with Son.

We eat with my parents on Sunday nights, so we deferred the pork chops until Monday.

"They'll be fine," I told Wife, trying to sell her on the fact that the soy sauce marinade would buy us some extra time.

On Monday, we got an offer to go to my mother-in-law's house for kielbasa and cabbage. And when kielbasa is in play, everything else fades into the background. I love the stuff.

To put it more clearly, you can take my kielbasa when you pry it from my cold, dead hand.

(Let's see what kind of search results that little phrase yields.)

Last night I had school, so we didn't make plans to eat together as a family. The pork chops got dissed again, but with definite plans to cook them tonight.

"You really think they'll be okay to eat?" asked the Wife.

"I don't know," I told her.

We erred on the side of caution and ditched the pork chops today. Sorry, pig.

Wife whipped up some sausage manicotti instead. I think that was the right call.

But just out of curiosity, would you have eaten pork chops that had been in the fridge five days? Where do you draw the line when it comes to possibly-rancid, possibly-not meat? How old is too old?

From what I can tell, she's rehabilitated

I loved all the comments that you left about Daughter's little dental rage incident. It sounds like we're not the only ones who have walked this path.

And yes, our use of The Naughty Step was stolen straight from Supernanny. Because while a lot of people use "books" by "experts" with "advanced degrees" to broaden their parenting knowledge, we at the MBI Estate entrust our decision-making to the advice of a woman whose primary qualification is that she has an English accent.

In short, that's how we roll.

Anyhow, you'll be happy to know that Daughter survived her day of no TV, no gardening with Nana and no birthday party.

I'm sure in her mind it was going to be the worst day ever. Like Alcatraz, but with better snacks.

Yet surprisingly, her day of with no privileges was a non-event.

We made a run to Lowe's and to the nursery for some stuff for the yard. I marked out and prepped a place outside the kitchen for a little vegetable garden, and Wife and Daughter spent the morning planting tomatoes, squash, cucumbers and zucchini.

Son and I pulled weeds in the morning to get ready for my afternoon chore - spreading the 10 yards of mulch my yard guy delivered early Saturday morning.

We all stayed busy enough that Daughter didn't have much time to think about the assorted things she wasn't allowed to do.

By mid-day, she had also resigned herself to the fact that she'd be home with me while Wife and Son went down to the birthday party.

"Maybe I can go to Chloe's party next year," she suggested.

And for his part, Son seems to have put the whole toothy episode behind him. He even let her close enough to his tummy to tickle him yesterday.

And as we all know, nothing says, "All is forgiven," like a tummy tickle.

Crime and punishment, 4 year old style

It looks like it could be a long day around the MBI Estate.

A long day filled with weeping and gnashing of teeth. And the pitiful whimpers of a little girl whose Saturday has gone down the tubes.

You see, Daughter got in trouble last night.

Turns out that over the past few months she has developed an insatiable appetite for human flesh. More specifically, her brother's flesh.

Last night, after Son pulled Daughter all the way around the inside of our house on a tiny wagon made for Playskool wood blocks (and not for preschoolers to ride), he decided he was tired of pulling. So he quit.

This apparently sent Daughter into a tailspin. So she lost it and bit him on the stomach.

Of course, we learned all of this after the fact.

When we first heard Son's screaming and ran to check on him, Daughter told us that, "Buddy bit his finger!"

Wife and I have watched enough CSI to enable us to perform a pretty sophisticated physical exam.

After looking at his finger and seeing nothing, we used our mad crime-fighting/science skillz to locate the injury.

"Where does it hurt, Buddy?" we asked.

He lifted up his shirt and he pointed to his navel. A sideways bite on the belly button.

I quickly determined that it couldn't have been a self-inflicted bite, what with it being sideways and on his stomach and all.

So as Wife scooped up the little guy to tend to his wound ("Bubby! Ow! Ow!" he whimpered), I went to work on Daughter.

As she ran for the kitchen, I snagged her and parked her on The Naughty Step in our back hall and let her simmer there for four minutes. I conferred with Wife on her punishment.

When I went back to talk to Daughter, I was unemotional and calm. Of course, ask the Wife and she'll tell you that's how I am 99.9% of the time, even when a little excitement and emotion might be in order. But I digress.

In terms of child discipline, I believe that calm and unemotional is way more creepy and intimidating to a child than loud and angry is.

So I calmly explained that Daughter had committed two serious offenses. First, she had hurt Buddy's body. Second, she lied about it.

Then, I explained that she needed to be punished for her misbehavior.

"Oookaaayyy," she said, in a puny and remorseful voice that would have easily melted a weaker man's heart.

She got a look of sincere worry on her face as I explained that she would be losing some privileges on Saturday.

"Can I get them back?" she asked.

I told her she would get all of her privileges back, provided she kept her jaws under control.

So for today, there will be no TV for her. We're also canceling a date she had with her Nana to plant flowers. And she will be staying home while Wife and Son go to a birthday party for a friend from church.

We've got to nip this biting thing in the bud, so we're hitting her where it hurts with these consequences.

Today will be a challenge for Wife and I too. Daughter is going to test us all day to see how serious we are about the punishment we've given her.

She cry. She'll whine. She'll use her best negotiation skills. And she will flip her gourd when Wife and Son trot down the street to the birthday party.

But she'll grow through this. And we will too.

And I'm supposed to tip you for this?

Wife and I did a little traveling over the last few days.

I noticed when we went on vacation last month that the Charlotte airport kicks it old school by staffing its restrooms with attendants.

Gone are the days when you have to eat in a fancy restaurant or visit a country club to get a little company in the bathroom. Today all you have to do is connect through Charlotte.

And to me, bathroom staff in the airport makes perfect sense. In an age of heightened threats both domestic and foreign, we need vigilance in the fight against unflushed urinals, excessive paper towel use, and high-profile foot tapping.

Plus, in the bigger picture, what better way to keep your airports safe than by adding a few shifty, won't-make-eye-contact-with-you folks to the payroll?

With all that said, allow me to reveal something I learned the hard way at about 10:30 last night as we waited for our connecting flight home.

When there's no one else using the bathroom, the attendant isn't an attendant for those few brief moments. He's just the dude watching me pee.

And that's not a great feeling.

I really don't think there would have been a fundraising pitch at the end

Look out, Navin R. Johnson. Yours truly is somebody now.

You see, my Congressman took time away from a live town hall meeting to call and invite me to join in.

Because my input is important like that.

The only trouble is, I wasn't able to take the call. I was either singing my toothbrushing song to my son:

The more we brush our toofers
our toofers
our toofers
The more we brush our toofers
The cleaner they'll be

Or drying my daughter's hair in Daddy's Beauty Shop.

So I actually missed my chance to became part of my Congressman's brain trust. But he was kind enough to leave a highly personal message in which he refers to me as something like, "Dear Registered Voter" or "Dear Resident of Certain Zip Code." Both of which are old knicknames of mine.

So let this be a warning to you, kind readers. Don't make the same mistake I did. Don't let your "familial obligations" or "responsibilities" stand in the way of your shot at glory.

Or in the way of your chance to participate in a live town hall meeting. By telephone.

Your Congressman needs you. Your country needs you.

At long last...

New 30 Rock and The Office tonight.

What else is there to say?

In which I set myself up for freaky traffic

It's always fun to take a stroll through the Google Analytics and see the search terms that brought people to my little corner of the blogosphere.

For example, here are some gems from the last month:

1. sixth sense "i see dead people"
2. rambo shock children
3. investments + flip flops
4. creepiest christmas

and my personal favorite (and a little shout-out to Boodaddy):

5. troubled childhood? only if you call being 9-years old with a 35-year old girlfriend troubled

But for all the funny search terms that brought traffic to My Best Investments, I didn't quite come across the hilarious hilarity that I thought I would. So in an effort to stack the deck in my favor for next month, I'm going to list a few phrases here to get the ball rolling:

1. this toothpaste is making me cry
2. my diploma is absorbent
3. the arsonist has oddly-shaped feet
4. McCain antifreeze tax hybrid Lauer penguins
5. newborns watching CSI
6. can i do jumping jacks while pregnant
7. my husband won't mow the lawn
8. extreme makeover: frozen yogurt edition
9. j crew applesauce + forever!
10. i know where marky mark is but i'm worried about the funky bunch

Alright. That should make for some interesting searches. I'll report the best results next month.

Being cheap bites me in the bottom...again

Note to self:

Having a coupon is not the best reason to let someone new cut your hair.

Please remember this six months from now when the scalping you just received grows out.

The day I got tailed by a private investigator

As these post-writer's strike days draw to a close, Wife and I are stuck watching some things we might not otherwise watch.

Last week we watched an entire episode of The Moment of Truth on Fox, which they should really call Get Off The Couch! or maybe Ever Heard of Reading a Book?

If you've never seen the show, it's a question-and-answer show which typically features a person with a shady past and rocky relationship answering embarrassing and/or offensive questions before a studio audience.

Pretty sweet premise, eh?

Anyhow, one of last week's questions was: Have you ever hired a private investigator to spy on your significant other?

Wife and I had a pretty good chuckle about what a disappointment it would be if she ever hired a PI to follow me for a day. So I decided to give you an idea of what kind of dirt an investigator could dig up on a typical day. Here's a hypothetical report to Wife from her PI:

To: Mrs. Best Investments
From: I. Spy, Private Investigator
Subject: A day's activity for Mr. Best Investments

7:55 a.m. - MBI leaves home, drives toward office. Scans the sign at McDonald's for any breakfast specials. Salivates over 2 for $2 sausage biscuits. Keeps on driving.

8:05 a.m. - MBI arrives at work. Logs on to computer. Gets first cup of coffee.

8:09 a.m. - MBI checks work emails and client accounts. Sips coffee. Checks Yahoo! mail and reads blogs.

8:21 a.m. - MBI appears to be spaced out at computer. Drinking fourth cup of coffee.

10:40 a.m. - MBI emerges from office. Makes small talk with coworkers. Checks candy dishes in search of something to eat. Gets a fresh cup of coffee.

11:55 a.m. - MBI leaves office. Meets contractor and lawyer at a local sandwich shop. Orders a hamburger and buffalo fries. Drinks a big Coke.

1:00 p.m. - MBI arrives back at office. Considers building a George Costanza cot under his desk to catch an afternoon nap.

2:20 p.m. - MBI still in office. Has fielded a few phone calls. Has checked Yahoo! email about 40 times. Has received one email all day. From Barnes & Noble.

4:05 p.m. - MBI emerges from office. Makes small talk with coworkers. Checks candy dishes to see if anything new has appeared since morning.

4:55 p.m. - MBI begins feverishly packing briefcase like an eighth grader at the end of Algebra I.

5:01 p.m. - MBI cranks car, drives straight home.

Mrs. Best Invest, this is the easiest money I have ever made. I didn't have to snap a single photo or pursue your husband through rush hour traffic. Your husband is quite possibly the most boring man I have ever seen. It has been a pleasure serving you.

What would a private investigator find out about you?

Six degrees of My Best Investments

This is pure craziness.

Silly things can happen when you post pictures of yourself on the Netwide World Intertubes.

For instance, check out this comment from my vacation post:

Found your blog from another, and was in for a big surprise. I went to PC with you and your sweet, sweet, sweet wife. MC and I were sorority sisters. Glad to see you all are doing well!!

Emily ('99)

By completely random chance, a reader stumbled onto the blog from another and recognized me and the little lady. Pretty wild, eh?

So Emily ('99), if you happen to stop by again, the Wife wants to shoot you an email. Email me at mbiblog@yahoo.com

You say it best when you say nothing at all

Driving to a meeting today, I drove past a Taco Bell. The sign by the street contained this boastful proclamation:

AWARDED CLEANEST
TACO BELL

Upon reading the sign, I nearly wrecked my car from all the laughing.

You know, it's possible to say something without actually imparting any information. This blog is perhaps the most grand example of that.

But honestly, does "cleanest Taco Bell" tell you anything about how clean or not clean that particular Taco Bell is?

Not so much.

That would be like seeing a commercial promoting "The Least Irritating Episode of The Apprentice." Or reading about Lindsey Lohan's "soberest night ever."

Besides, how big an issue is cleanliness to you when you're scanning the boulevard for a place to get a freakishly cheap sackful of taco-y goodness?

Yes, I'm still alive

Hey, remember when I had a blog?

So it's been a while. It would seem that - after a year or so of blogging - I've run out of things to say.

Most of you are probably thinking, "You ran out of things to say a loooong time ago, but that didn't stop you from blogging!"

Point taken.

Not to worry. Things have been a little busy around our house, but there's light at the end of the tunnel. So there should be more time and brain power to devote to My Best Investments in the near future.

Thanks for sticking with me during these quiet days.