Friday, April 30, 2010
I had an epiphany today while I was making my (not really) world famous vanilla bean rice krispy treats.I think I've figured out the secret of life.
Butter.
Yes, butter. Full fat, full salt.
If you think about it, it makes everything better -
Secret to perfect red sauce? A little bit of butter.
Secret to a perfect grilled cheese sandwich? Butter.
Secret to perfect cookies? Melted and/or browned butter.
Secret to perfect oatmeal? A little pat of butter.
Secret to perfect fried eggs? Melted butter.
Think about the most amazing meal you've ever had, the meal that you felt all the way down to your toes - it probably had butter in it, right?
Sure, all of this stuff is food related, but without food you'd die, so the secret of life wouldn't matter anymore.
But isn't butter unhealthy? It has fat in it, but fat helps with the metabolism of vitamins. Now compare the ingredients of butter to margarine and tell me which one sounds healthier.
But what about vegans? Fuck vegans. I have zero interest in anyone who would voluntarily eat quinoa instead of a burger.
What about supermodels who live on diet cokes and cigarettes? Both of those items have way more chemicals than good old butter. And have you ever met one of those constantly-dieting people who wouldn't have been happier after a velvety smear of butter on a lightly toasted bagel?
What about people with high cholesterol? I mentioned oatmeal earlier, didn't I?
What about people who are lactose-intolerant? I'm sporadically lactose intolerant, but I don't let it stop me - don't be a pussy, put down the Country Crock and suck it up.
So there it is. You're welcome.
Labels: suzy fucking homemaker
the definition of laziness
Watching half of the "Public Enemies"* DVD with Korean subtitles because one can't be arsed to find and figure out the DVD remote.*I finally gave in and located it because, between Johnny Depp and Marion Cotillard, could there be two more aesthetically-pleasing people on screen at once? Oh, and go ahead and add Christian Bale in there for just a tiny bit more pretty, because, really.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
THIS JUST IN!!!!
Mushrooms are gross.Supermom senses... tingling
Last night, I'm making dinner (pizza with homemade dough, homemade sauce, provolone cheese and the cutest little mini meatballs) and The Kid sprints in from the back door.He runs over to the bookshelf, scans it for a second, yanks out a dictionary and heads for the door.
I tug out my iPod earphones. "Hold it, Mister!"
He stops and spins around, wearing the look of feigned innocence he wears when I ask him if he's put away his clean laundry before he starts a video game.
"Where are you going with that?"
"Outside."
The image of him, a couple days ago, dragging the rickety ladder over to his equally rickety basketball hoop so he could practice dunking flashes through my mind. But I can't, for anything in the world, imagine how the Webster's can be used as a piece of athletic equipment. "And just what are you going to do with it?"
"Um... look up words. I'm doing my homework."
"... Okay, then."
so... maybe after eleven years, I'm still getting used to the parenting thing. Or maybe I've watched too much "Malcolm in the Middle".
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
As it turns out, I had a pretty effed up childhood, mostly thanks (due?) to my mother.To say I don't have a great relationship with her at this point would be a ginormous understatement; at best, it's tenuous, at worst, it's contentious*.
Don't worry, this isn't going to turn in to some touchy-feely, therapizing rant - this is just how I grew up, I don't know any different - like how Amish people don't know they're missing high-speed internet and microwaves.
My
As it is, I'm not a big fan of greeting cards - $5 for a cartoon drawing of a giraffe and a canned sentiment? Wow, thanks - but the Mother's Day spectrum of cards runs from poetic schlock about what an amazing parent the receiver is to "funny" ones thanking "mom" for putting up with me. None of these do me any good.
I'm not looking for something openly passive-aggressive like:
"Thanks for smoking while you were pregnant with me, asthma makes me a better person"
or
"I appreciate you letting my brother beat the crap out of me for my whole life, it made the transition to roller derby seamless"
But can't someone come up with something that's not so saccharine?
"Hey, it's Mother's Day, hope your day doesn't suck!"
or
"Have a nice Sunday! Talk to you on Christmas!"
Is that too much to ask?
*example: she sent me an email yesterday, some rant about my stepdad (whom she curiously referred to as "Sparky") and she signed the email with her first name. Not "Mom", her first name.
Monday, April 26, 2010
By now everyone has seen that ridiculous Insane Clown Posse video (and the SNL parody... and the Glade Plug-Ins Ad...), but have you read the interviews? Because... those... guys... are... uh-may-zing.You know what that clown-faced think tank taught me? Giraffes are indigenous to Africa and Detroit*.
Shaggy 2 Dope: At the Detroit Zoo now, you can feed the giraffes. Last week, I took my kids and a friend to the zoo, and it wasn’t open. I was like, man, I want to feed a giraffe. Getting that close to some crazy-looking animal that only lives in Africa and Detroit? It’s not every day you just get to marinate with a giraffe, man.
It's almost cute how proud they are to be the official mascot of the lowest common denominator**.
*also indigenous to Detroit, some hockey team.
** read the comments on the article here, they are amazing (and, apparently, no one who listens to the Insane Clown Posse is familiar at all with any kind of punctuation. At all.)
no, really, you can't fucking be serious with this
What the fuck is that? A hybrid wasp/scorpion/spider/ant monster of destruction? A fucking Transformer? Is it even from this planet?
And why the fuck was it in my garage? (actually, it still IS in my garage because there's no way in hell I'm moving it)
And how did I not see it before I stepped on it?
If that fucking thing had Morgan Freeman's voice, it would pretty much encompass every single nightmare I've ever ever ever had.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
This is what happens when you get stuck in a male household watching EVERY SINGLE NBA PLAYOFF GAME
I had a dream I was making out with Mark Cuban.And I don't know that I'd even really consider myself a Mavericks fan*.
*Not that I have anything against Dallas, per se, they're a talented team, Dirk Nowitzki is one of the most under-appreciated players in the league, and I'm sure they're going to beat San Antonio in this round - but my basketball affection is generally split between the Lakers (because I'm a California girl and because their coach looks like my dad) and the Celtics (because they're such a scrappy team and because they have the coolest uniforms in the NBA [is that the girliest reason ever? Quite possibly])
Labels: dream a little dream
Saturday, April 24, 2010
I was going to compose a bulleted list of things the people and things that can fuck right off today
but where's the fun in that?Instead, here's a sign I saw in the restroom* of a junior college last night:
I know they say common sense isn't common, but, fuck, really? This is really something we need to be reminded of? In all-caps, in a big font, partly underlined and on fluorescent pink paper?
*You know what's weird? How not weird it was for me, in the middle of peeing, to whip out my camera and take a picture of the sign on the stall door.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Dear People in this Town
Like you, lady in the post office - I know this is kind of a small town, but I have to tell you that you're not the only one who lives here. For you to think it's okay to spend close to ten minutes monopolizing the one and only cashier while you go back and forth over which design you want for the 10 stamps you're purchasing while six or seven other people wait in line is... ridiculous. Not a cute, quirky kind of ridiculous, but a patently crazy ridiculous. No one is going to care if you send something with the Elmo stamps, the purple heart stamps or the liberty stamps. In the words of the postal employee "THEY'RE JUST STAMPS!"And you, fat, bitter, slow couple in the grocery store - the aisles in the store are fairly wide, more than enough room for at least 2 carts. When you guys spread out your cart and your asses in the aisle, however, there isn't enough room for anyone else to get through. And, yes, after I politely said "excuse me" twice in one aisle, I did heave a pretty exasperated sigh. Yes, grocery shopping mid-day would seem to indicate that I didn't have anywhere important to be, but that doesn't mean I want to spend my entire day trapped between next to the coffee filters while you guys debate whether you should buy five boxes of the hot cocoa with marshmallows, or without. For you jackasses to make some crabby comment about how "everyone here is so rude" and mumble something about "being in such a hurry for no reason" makes me want to extend to you an invitation to eat a bag of dicks at your earliest convenience.
And you, lady with the infant in the produce section - that you took nearly a minute to figure out how to open the plastic bags (that, at one end, says "open this end") makes me kind of scared that you have a baby depending on you.
And you, old man buying only a bag of chips, some cookie mix, a big bottle of vodka and a big jug of gin? Well, you clearly know how to throw a party. We are SO hanging out tonight.
bad joke
get it?(hint: you have to read it from right to left, like Japanese)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
He's a prince, he's a pal and he's freaking awesome
so, apparently the other day, this rapper/actor/producer/gun-enthusiast, T.I., as part of his court-ordered community service, came to some middle school and gave an anti-bullying lecture. He encouraged kids to stay in school, focus on their education and follow their dreams.Some jackass parent didn't like this and fired off a bitchy email to the principal about how "inappropriate" this speaker was because of his past, blah blah blah.
The principal replied - and I quote - "I thought about asking a guy who snorted cocaine and got arrested for DUI when he was 30 to come and speak to our kids, but President George W. Bush was not available."
If this school weren't in Georgia, I would totally send The Kid there.
(swear I'm not making this up - don't believe me? check the source)
In honor of Green Day... I mean, Earth Day, I present my list of First World Problems
- I broke the thumbnail on my right hand - this is the nail I use when peeling citrus fruit, so now it takes me forever if I want to eat an orange
- I feel like I'm out of sync with everybody and everything lately
- I have four or five unexplained cuts on my hands (am I secretly an angsty teenager?)
- I've got some allergy thing going on that's making me have allergic reactions to everything - seriously, I wake up itchy and red with blotchy raspberry skin and just about everything I eat makes my lips swell up to porn-esque proportions. (which, in addition to the whole pms thing has me feeling super-duper cute! [of course, by "super-duper cute" I mean [like a big sack of pajama-clad crap])
- I'm almost out of coffee
- my toes are not cute
- For the first time in a long time, I've been feeling marginally creative, but it's been windy and icky outside so I haven't been able to go hiking or photographing
- It took me several minutes today to realize that I was having trouble seeing this morning because I had forgotten to put in my contacts (it should be noted that my eyes aren't just a little bit bad, they're so bad I just about qualify for a german shepherd and a white cane. And I've worn corrective lenses, in one form or another, since 3rd grade)
- I'm so stubborn that seeing all the public service announcements with smug celebrities telling me to recycle, eat organically and reduce my carbon footprint makes me want to throw away a bunch of cardboard and electronics, microwave a whole bunch of styrofoam and cover someone's electric car with lead-based paint.
- my feet are cold right now, but I don't want to go to the trouble of finding a pair of socks to put on
- I ended that last bullet point with a preposition and I hate that
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Cynical much?
So, the people who bought the foreclosed-upon house across the street turn out to be church-y people - the husband's a pastor (priest? shaman? reverend? I don't know his actual title, I haven't seen his business card), they've always got tons of people coming to the house on Sunday afternoons bearing casserole dishes, blah blah blah.This afternoon, I'm washing dishes and happen to see their remarkably well-behaved kids scramble up one of the trees in the front yard. My first thought wasn't:
"how cool! The kids are outside, getting fresh air, not sitting in front of the tv playing video games."
my first thought was:
"sad, I bet their parents don't have cable."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Can anyone explain how the fuck I get stuck with the position of strict parent*?
Oh, right, something about how the other 50% of his DNA refuses to impose any rules or establish any sort of discipline.Who the fuck leaves that job to the parent who rarely, if ever, manages to keep her own shoes tied? The parent who has blogged, on more than one occasion, about her underwear? The parent who spends an inordinate amount of time playing with dolls? The parent who considers an afternoon downloading music and playing solitaire online time-well-spent? The parent who can't manage to keep a house plant alive?
Who gives a parent like me any kind of responsibility at all?
*this post has been brought to you by pms and a strong desire for salty snacks and dark chocolate. Anyone who would be willing to deliver to me bacon, potato chips, pretzels, a salt lick or any combination thereof covered in chocolate will earn my complete and undying devotion, forever and ever, so help me blog.
to the person who thinks this blog is about him (don't you, don't you),
I've had that damn Carly Simon song stuck in my head all freaking weekend.Thanks a heap,
xxoo
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Commercial: "You don't feed your family dry food out of a paper bag, so why feed it to your dogs?"Me: Um... because they're fucking dogs? When left to their own devices, they eat cat crap and lick their own junk for hours on end. They're not necessarily known for their discerning palates.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Because it's not like I don't already have a blog, twitter, MySpace, Facebook and Tumblr already that I don't update often...
I started a photo-a-day blog.so check it out... or don't, whatev. For the second semester in a row, The Kid made honor roll (goooooo, Kid!), and his school does this assembly thing where they honor all the
I kinda hate going to those things because -
1) I, generally, couldn't care less about other people's kids. I mean, if I know you, I care, of course, but there are only so many little girls named Megan or Bella in Uggs and little boys named Chase or Austin with 70s hair I can clap for.
2) I never fit in with the other parents because I'm not some plastic 40-year-old in full makeup and jewelery and a jogging suit, or a frumpy housefrau in a flowered Wal*Mart top and cheap running shoes.
But I show up because I adore The Kid and am thrilled beyond belief that he's not one of those kids who eats paste or smells like pee.
I sit through the ceremony and clap and snap pictures and when that part is over, the kids are given some time to mingle with the parents. The Kid and I exchange whatever small talk we've got (not much, since it's barely been an hour since I dropped him off) and then we stand around eating Oreos and drinking apple juice.
"So, how much longer do I have to be the proud parent before I can go?" I ask.
The Kid grins and offers me a fist bump. "I thought you would never ask, I'm going to go hang out with my friends."
~~~~~
Also, in case you were wondering what Billy Bob Thorton has been up to lately? Apparently, he's teaching 6th grade at The Kid's school. And he's either gay or way metrosexual, as he walked by me, I heard him tell one of his students that her coat was "Very fall in New York".
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Dear Anyone Who Saw Me Groping Myself Today When I Was Out Shopping,
It may have seemed like I was walking kind of funny and possibly doing something completely inappropriate to myself, but I promise this was not the case - I'm still getting used to this whole dress-wearing thing and, apparently, I selected the wrong knickers* to go with today's frock, so I was really just making every effort to keep from wearing my pink lace boy shorts as an anklet.Sorry about that, I promise to try to be more undergarment-conscious in the future.
xxoo,
me
*is that not the cutest word ever? It's much better than panties.
Labels: letter to
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Pro-tip -
If someone sends you a link that includes the name of a cartoon you loved as a child, like, oh, I don't know, Scooby Doo or something, and the word "porn"... don't click it.Just... don't, okay?
Because some things can't be unseen. It turns out that maybe Ambien doesn't make me as loopy as previously thought.
Normally, the morning after I revel in a restful Ambien coma is like Easter morning - I wake up and search
This morning, though, after a full night of totally non-medicated sleep, I wake up to a bunch of stuff on my desktop changed up and this:
Look at that face - if that isn't the face of guilt, I don't know what is. So if we've ever had an Ambienic conversation? It's possible that it wasn't even me.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I don't know why. I really don't.
If there was a problem, yo I'll solve it
I look like a problem solver, right? I'd probably pronounce it "prah-lum" instead of "problem". But, damn, if this many sequins can't solve your problem (or at least distract you from it), I wouldn't want to be you, yo.
Okay, y'all, I have a confession -
The real reason I avoid talking on the phone is 98% of the time, I have nothing interesting to say.In emails, IMs and texts, I can temporarily fake interestingness, and awkward pauses can be blamed on computers or whatever else, but on the phone (and in person) I get nervous when an awkward pause pops up and end up babbling like an imbecile (if you've ever spent five minutes in a conversation with me, you know how painful this can be for everyone involved).
This is why I usually pretend my cell phone battery is dead.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Tell me the truth here -
Am I committing an egregious environmental offense by not rinsing and reusing my paper towels like they show in the commercials?Do I really really really need to rinse off the cat barf off and use it for something else?
I'm all for saving the planet and all but, sorry, in my world, paper towels are a single use product. As are tissues, toilet paper and tortillas*.
*I don't know, I was just going for the alliterative hat trick
Here's yet another way that I'm like Goldilocks
(in addition, of course, to the penchant for porridge and the nasty habit of breaking into the homes of woodland animals who have scary teeth and huge claws)I need shit to be just right.
For example -
The quickest way to drive me completely and totally insane is to ignore me. I. Can't. Stand. It. It leaves my mind to its own crazy devices and I will overthink and dissect the hell out of that like a high school biology teacher on a Red Bull bender. Really. If I ever wrong you in some mortifying way, the quickest way to get me to apologize (which I hardly ever do) is to ignore me.
Interestingly enough, the second quickest way to drive me complete and totally insane is to pay too much attention to me. Like, an endless buffet of emails and texts and facebook shit. I'm not talking about when we're engaged in an ongoing dialogue, that's great, I will stay up to all hours of the night with trading witty banter with you like a vintage set of Garbage Pail Kid cards. I'm talking about texting me 752 times over the course of a week, after I haven't replied to a single one. I'm talking about emailing me 39 times OVER THE COURSE OF AN HOUR. I'm talking about 933 invitations to facebook groups or farms or quizzes. Pro-tip: I'm on the computer all the freaking time, if I haven't replied to you in a timely manner, chances are I'm either busy (probably not), not at the computer (yes, sometimes I do have to leave the house), or I don't have anything to say to you. Take a fucking hint. Also, I only maintain a facebook account so that I can passively keep in touch with people, I'm not joining your group, signing up for your cause, desperate to know if you and I are the same member of the Rolling Stones, or helping you build a virtual fucking farm.
Friday, April 09, 2010
lots of strike-thrus and links you won't click
4 years ago last month, I fell completely and totally, head-over-heels in love.With roller derby.
And like all new relationships, it was weird and awkward at first (I wanted to quit after my first practice because I was a lousy skater and no one talked to me), but I stuck with it because I
Then, like all new love, it became all-consuming. I ate, slept and drank (and drank, and drank) roller derby. When I ended up unemployed, the girls on the league were my support system and constant companions - when we weren't practicing together, we were hanging out or doing derby stuff - While I didn't love everyone on the league, we were like a family. Somehow, I got elected to be the president of that family
Shortly thereafter,
The league in Texas turned out to be
When I moved back to California, I briefly considered starting a league here because the closest league was 45 minutes away, and sometimes when you get far enough away from something you loved, you can remember why you loved it so much... But I really didn't want to take on the responsibility of being the starter of the league, so I kind of forgot about it. Of course, when I saw "Whip It", I did experience some pangs of nostalgia for the bygone days of derby infatuation.
This evening, I found out that someone took the initiative I didn't want to and started a league in town. And they've got a bout tomorrow. And I kind of really want to go, but I have a sinking feeling that if I do go, I'll feel the urge to dig out my fishnets and fake eyelashes and strap on those skates again... which might not be a terrible thing, since when I was a derby girl, I tended to get myself into a lot less trouble... And I've already got the ink.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
so, other other day, The Kid and I go to the game store (because it's either that or, you know, actually coming up with something to keep the child occupied for the entire week he's out of school) and I decided that the creepy, bespectacled, emo troll who lives in the back room of the store and only comes out when the Xbox 360 breaks was the saddest person on the planet.Today, standing in line at the movie theater behind a middle-aged guy wearing an acid-washed Planet Hollywood jacket and buying a single ticket for that Miley Cyrus/Nicholas Sparks movie, I think it's possible that I might have been mistaken.
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Accidental Olive Bread
This week is Spring Break, so I'm a full time parent* and it's been a lovely California week so The Kid and I have been running around, enjoying the California-osity.A couple days ago, after a trip out to Avila Beach, we stopped by a cute little Farmer's Market to get some farmer's market stuff and while we're getting ready to check out, I see a little basket of fresh bread, one of which is marked "jalapeno". The Kid and I had been talking about jalapeno bread just the other day, so we decide to grab it.
When I get home and am putting away my Cara Cara oranges, cantaloupe and whatever else we got, I decide to cut myself a piece of the crusty bread. I bring it out of the bag and it smells wonderful (unlike my sister, who is an unrepentant wheatist, I love me some bread) - I saw off a big old chunk of it, slather it with butter and take a bite. It's perfect sourdough bread, chewy crust, soft inside with just a hint of olive... wait, olive?
Yeah, olive. I picked up the load and inspected it - it's speckled with black olives, good black olives, but olives nonetheless, not jalapenos.
But I'd really been jonesing for jalapeno bread.
But the olive bread turns out to be delicious.
Shit like this exactly why I try not to hold too tightly to any expectations - if you're stuck on a certain plan for how you want things to be or how you think things will be or how you know things should be, you could miss out on something unexpected and kind of yummy, like incidental, accidental olive bread.
*which is EXHAUSTING, by the way - Jesus, I don't know how anyone with more than one kid does it.
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
I was going to write one of those posts where I get all ________
but instead, here's a picture of my cat sticking out his tongue.
You're welcome.
Monday, April 05, 2010
The Yin and Yang of friendship
(actual IM conversation from this afternoon)me: what's another word for zombie?
my pal: undead?
me: oooh, that's a good one
my pal: ru writing a book about zombies?
me: nope, email
me: I just don't like to repeat the same word over and over
my pal: I need to see
my pal: how could u use the word zombie over and over?
me: not over and over, I just didn't want to use it more than once in the same paragraph
my pal: why are there multiple sentences about zombies?
me: why wouldn't there be?
my pal: I cant tell you of a time where I used zombies in an email
me: see? this is how you and I are different
Labels: what about your friends
Sunday, April 04, 2010
most raandom pop culture reference of the week... month... century
So aas of this afternoon my computer haas taaken to sporadically aadding additionaal "a"s to everything I write, so unless I'm extremely vigilaant about my proofreading things before I hit enter (spoiler aalert: I'm not), it looks like I'm writing everything in the voice of "The Naaanny".(aand, yes, before aany helpful g33ks try to get aall helpful, I've pried up the "a" key to see if there's anything maaking it stick or whaatever aand there's not)
Happy Birthday, Jesus!!!
no... wait, that doesn't sound right.Happy RE-Birthday, Zombie Jesus!!!
You must be tired from moving that big ol' rock, have some peeps and a plate of ham!
Saturday, April 03, 2010
letters
Dear Polenta,Thank you for being delicious. Especially with some sauteed veggies, Italian sausage and my favorite sauce. For this fact alone, I will forgive the third degree burns you gave me when you splattered onto me this evening.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Guys Shopping with their Chicks in Cost Plus World Market,
Quit sighing and acting so put out, you're just there to hold stuff, okay? No one expects you to look cool or contribute anything. Go check out the beer selection if you're that bored.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Cost Plus World Market Sea Salt Dark Chocolate Bar,
You're like a religious/sexual/OMGDELICIOUS experience. Can we make out now? Because... really.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear My Dog,
I've never claimed to be the best pet owner in the world, but I think, overall, you've got a decent life - you've always got food and water, you get lots of treats, I don't dress you in dumb sweaters*, I buy you lots of chew toys, and I let you take up a big portion of the bed every freaking night. What I'm saying is that your life is probably considerably better than it was at the Humane Society from whence you came.
I feel inclined to inquire, however, why you felt it was necessary to nom the shit out of that white front-hook bra that I like so much, one of the only bras that I own and like because it fits properly. Do you not remember just the other day when I was bitching about how hard it is to find cute bras? I'm not saying this bra was cute cute, but it was kind of cute, cute enough anyway (not like I'm running around showing it off or anything) - the point is - STOP CHEWING ON MY UNDERWEAR. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear ____,
I kind of ___ ___, k?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Okay, maybe there was once or twice when I dressed you up, but there were no sweaters involved.
Labels: letter to
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Dear... me,
It is absolutely precious how, even though you manage to fuck up rice every single time you cook it on the stovetop, you just keep trying. Hope does seem to spring eternal, doesn't it?Just so you know, you might stand a better chance of being able to successfully make that staple food that everyone everywhere on this planet are able to successfully make if you, you know, followed the directions, or set the timer or something. It's not astrophysics.
Or just stick with the rice cooker. Or pasta (Even you can't fuck up pasta). Or salad - no one can fuck up salad, right? Toss a handful of baby spinach on a plate, add some carrots or radishes or tomatoes or cilantro...
Think about it.
xxoo,
me
Labels: note to self, suzy fucking homemaker