Bacon Physics: Apparently it’s a thing


It’s time to get serious here, because if there is one thing we don’t screw around with, it’s Bacon.

Yes, I capitalized Bacon and I will continue to do so because that is the kind of respect it deserves.  This isn’t entirely about Bacon, however.  The deal went down something like this:

It’s Thursday night and it has been kind of a long day at work for both Liz and I.  She works the same place that I do and it’s the government and all that, so you understand how work can be a bitch sometimes.  I’m sitting on the couch just kind of chilling, watching some Big Bang Theory and relaxing.  Liz, having a few thousand times more responsibilities where we work, is at the other end of the couch doing more work on her computer, doing things I don’t understand and from the way she describes it, I hope I never have to.

Enter the kids.

To clarify in this particular situation, the “kids” are 17 and 23 years old.  Liz has announced to them that she is on strike tonight and will not be making dinner.

Now, many of you may not see this as an issue.  Liz, however, is one of those moms that gets the whole guilt complex thing going on if she doesn’t have food hot and ready for her kids.  Call it spoiling or good mothering or whatever, it’s just how she is.  Except tonight.  She wasn’t having any of that guilt shit because by God there is food in the refrigerator and they are capable of opening the door to it and  . . . . just find something to eat and leave me alone.

The kids, use to mom taking care of their evening meal, sort of quietly regress to an earlier stage of child development.

We’ll start with *”Girl”, the 23 year old, because the adventures with *”Boy” became so entertaining later on that I forgot what, or even if, she ate eventually.

(*Names changed because . . . well, you’ll see why.)

Just to be clear before we get started here, these are two very intelligent kids.  Girl is in college doing medical stuff to possibly become a doctor.  Boy has a very high IQ and is in all the accelerated classes in high school and Baccalaureate programs and all that kind of shit.  The world is theirs to have.

As long as they don’t aspire to being Chefs.

Without going into too much of a verbal stink about it, Girl goes into the kitchen and spots a bag of potato chips in the pantry, which she opens and eats (from the pantry) as she opens the refrigerator doors and begins the 1000 yard stare into it.  She picks a couple things up and puts them back down.  Opens a couple drawers, then closes them.  Then she closes the refrigerator, eats more chips and then opens the refrigerator again to resume the 1000 yard stare.

Because apparently, closing the refrigerator may actually change its contents to something more desirable.

[EDIT: This appeared on Twitter a couple days after I wrote this post, but it was too appropriate not to edit it in.]


Eventually she gives up and leaves, and she leaves things just like this:

It's important to point out here that although you can't see it in this picture, there is a bag clip attached to shelf just above the peanut butter jar.
It’s important to point out here that although you can’t see it in this picture, there is a bag clip attached to shelf just above the peanut butter jar.

I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she went up to take a half hour break and see if that does anything to reset the contents of the refrigerator.

Enter, the Boy.

His process is a little more complicated.  He leaves out the potato chip part, but otherwise the routine is similar with a few variants.  During his 1000 yard stare, he does actually remove things from the refrigerator and open lids.  Sometimes he even puts them on the counter to create the illusion that he might actually eat it.  Until he discovers what is in it, then he either a) puts it back or b) spills it on the floor.

(Enter Dog who cleans the floor.)

To understand this process, you need to know that Boy is a very picky eater.  Included in the LONG list of shit he won’t eat is:

  • shrimp
  • mushrooms
  • green peppers
  • onions
  • cheese

The last one caused me to blurt out “What the fuck is WRONG with him?!” the first time I heard it and the first one made me invent a new food called “sea chickens” which is what I suggested Liz should have referred to them as so he would eat them.

One of the containers he opened contain shrimp and pasta, and when he asked what was in it, I responded with “sea chickens”.

He was skeptical.

The process of removing, opening, replacing/spilling continued for a good 15 minutes.  At one point, sandwich meat made it onto the counter until he found that there was no bread.  There was bread in the freezer but that was too much like work which is ironic considering what came next.

He finally settled on  . . . Bacon and eggs.

The pans came out, the Bacon came out and the eggs were cracked into the bowl.

Then the fun began.

With a straight face and in all sincerity he asked, “Mom, how do you cook Bacon”?


(Thank you, Criminal Minds.)

Liz couldn’t speak and simply started laughing.  I think she managed to spit out a “Really?!”

You know me by now and smartass is more of a reflex than personality trait anymore.  I went with “If it’s black, it’s wrong”.

“No, I’m serious”, he said.

I don’t remember the exact wording she used, but her response to him was something to the effect of “Put pan on stove, make pan hot, place Bacon in pan, remove Bacon when desired texture has been reached”.  Through her laughter of course.

“But what about the fat?  I don’t want the fat to be wrong.” he said.

This is where I got lost because I’m still, even after having it explained to me, not sure what exactly “wrong fat” is.  Apparently it is a texture issue of some kind, an issue that Foxy Wine Pocket recently discussed in a post about chicken being a vegetable.  He doesn’t like fat on a steak at all which to me is the equivalent of not liking flavor of any kind in a steak, so the concept is lost on me.

Our input was useless at this point because we couldn’t stop crying, and with a heavy sigh, he took a stab at making his Bacon.

A few minutes later, as the heavy smoke rose from the stove, Liz said “You might want to turn the heat down”.

Boy:  “Why?  I’m not burning it.”

Me:  “The heavy layer of smoke at the ceiling says otherwise.”

Boy:  “That’s not smoke, that is the Bacon evaporating as it cooks.”

Me:  “Fuck me.  Really?!”

By the time we had composed ourselves enough to actually enter the kitchen rather than observing from over the bar, he had “finished” making his bacon and was starting to work on the eggs.  He had added a cajun seasoning (which contains salt) to the mixture, then proceeded to add salt.  Somewhere in there, Liz threw in a comment about “wanting some eggs with your salt” but it was summarily blown off in the way that 17 year old’s that know what they’re doing blow things off.

Also, the fat had apparently come out “wrong” so (I so wish I had had the forethought to bring my phone in to catch a picture of it) he had a piece of bacon in his hand and was touching the fat to the pan he was heating to make the eggs to make it “right”.  We had to leave again because once more, our composure was shot.

30 minutes and the total destruction of the kitchen later, Boy sat down to eat his Bacon and eggs.

No oil, butter or grease was injured in the total destruction of this pan.
No oil, butter or grease was injured in the total destruction of this pan.
The resulting disaster of making Bacon and eggs and the seating area in the background from which we could comfortably watch the show.
The resulting disaster of making Bacon and eggs and the seating area in the background from which we could comfortably watch the show.

(The empty pizza boxes were not a part of tonight’s episode, but have a similar story, because the previous day of work was similarly frustrating.  When Boy asked what mom was making for dinner the night before, the response was “A phone call.”)

Boy:  “Yeah, these eggs are kinda salty.”

Liz:  “No shit, right?”

Boy:  “Well, you are the one that decided to go on strike and not make dinner.”

Liz:  “Because making BACON is hard!”

Boy:  *trying to be funny* “Well, it does get kind of heavy.”

Me:  “Ok genius, now explain to me how Bacon both evaporates as it cooks and gets heavier.”

The frustration was apparent on his face at having been backed into that particular corner.  Liz was unable to speak anymore at this point as the laughter was making it difficult for her to breathe.

Boy went back into the kitchen and began to look for desert.  He settled on ice cream and pulled a bowl from the cabinet.

Being out of his earshot, I looked at Liz and said, “I hope he doesn’t fuck that up.”

Boy later threatened that this would be the “last free blog post” I’d ever get out of him.

Given that performance, I find that unlikely.

In semi-related news (and to prove Liz right when she warned me that anything can happen in this house), I woke up yesterday morning and made my way into the kitchen for my coffee as I usually do.  Right there on the stove, next to my coffee pot, was this:


Too soon before coffee for me to take any offense to it, I poured my coffee and sat down in front of the computer to see if I had inadvertently written an offensive post about someone in my sleep.  I hadn’t, and this post had not been written yet, so I know it wasn’t to blame.

Liz is spending the next week dog sitting for a friend, at their house, so she wasn’t here to do it.

Boy is at his dad’s for the weekend and he got his ass kicked by Bacon so I didn’t much figure he was going to make a cake and make it shaped like a penis too.

That left only Girl.  I have to say I was suitably impressed given the potato chip/refrigerator stare from the other night.

I was to later find out that she was attending a bachelorette party later on in the day.  She called it a “Bridal Shower” but if you’re showing up with a penis cake you don’t get to call it a “Bridal Shower” anymore.  It’s just wrong on far too many levels.  It was explained to me that she made TWO of these cakes as she was concerned that it might break when removing it from the penis pan, so she made the extra one as a backup “just in case”.  Because there is nothing worse than a broken penis.  Cake.  Fortunately? for me, neither of the cakes broke, so in celebration of my awesomeness I was gifted with the extra penis cake.

Sadly, it didn’t last long,  (That’s what she said) because I left the dog alone in the house with it for 5 freakin’ minutes and by the time I got back, this was all that remained:


After several text messages between myself, Liz and Girl, Girl came home and force fed peroxide down the dogs throat to make her, uh, expel the cake.  There was a phone call or two to the vet and more peroxide and more expelling, but the dog is none the worse for wear and doing fine.  And probably didn’t learn a fucking thing.  The event did spark this fun exchange on Facebook, however:

Click the penis to make it bigger . . . and readable.
Click the penis to make it bigger . . . and readable.

Don’t ever let it be said that life is boring around here lately.  Between work and Boy and Girl, there’s going to be plenty more to write about.

When someone asks me how my weekend was tomorrow, now I can respond with, “Well, the house didn’t burn down and we didn’t kill the dog with a penis cake, but it was touch and go there for a while.”


Kate from Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine gets the Facebook Post of the Day because of this perfectly timed post.  It’s like she knew what I was going to write about!




26 thoughts on “Bacon Physics: Apparently it’s a thing

  1. I always make my Bacon in the oven. It adds prep time while you preheat the oven, but there are no splatters. And I like my bacon shatteringly crisp. Bacon should not bend, it should snap. Also, when I saw that Liz’s son wouldn’t eat cheese, my first thought was, “…the fuck…?” just before I read your sentence. Unless it makes you ill (and I have friends that it does have that effect on), why would you NOT eat cheese, for fuck’s sake?

    1. Oh no, the child will drink a gallon of milk a day if you let him, so it’s not a dairy thing. He just doesn’t like cheese, and yeah “…the fuck…?” is exactly right.

      Seriously, the only thing better than mushrooms, is mushrooms in cheese.

  2. Growing up, I had a friend whose family owned two giant Newfoundland dogs. Two giant Newfoundland dogs that broke into two giant boxes of gourmet chocolates one year around Christmas while the family was out for the evening.

    I’ve cleaned up a lot of nasty pet messes in my day, but by all accounts the scene they came home to that night pretty much set the benchmark for the saying “things could be worse”.

    1. You’d think I would have learned after I left some leftovers on the counter to cool a week or so ago, then went outside to smoke a cigarette. There were four open containers on the counter with the leftovers in them. When I got back inside, one was overturned onto the floor and two of them were still on the counter, but empty. Apparently my cigarette didn’t last long enough for her to get to the fourth container.

      And she KNOWS it’s wrong because as soon as I walked in the house, she hid before I’d even discovered it.

      Big dumb dog.

      1. Oh, they always know. One year on my mom’s birthday, one of our dogs polished off three pieces of cake and licked the plates clean while my dad was in the pantry looking for matches. He came back to three empty, spotless plates on the kitchen counter and a dog that was hiding behind the curtains.

        Funny thing was, he was so happy the dog didn’t break our nice china that he didn’t have the heart to get mad at her about the cake.

  3. I think I get Boy’s Bacon fat being wrong issue. It needs to be crisp enough so that you don’t feel like you’re eating slimy pieces of fat–it should blend seamlessly with the part of the Bacon that isn’t the fat. I love how he tried to fix the fat problem on the egg pan, though. These “kids” are probably being pretty smart by playing dumb. My kids pretend that they don’t know how to prepare food all the time so that I’ll do it for them. I mean, if Girl can make 2 penis cakes without breaking either one of them, she’s got some skills.

    I’m not sure that the dog is so dumb, either. Who’s the one who leaves cake and open containers of food on the counter while he goes outside for a smoke?! Just saying…

  4. I have only recently started reading your blog, and I just spent an alarming amount of time trying to figure out whether the Girl is your daughter. Only because… I just think that, if I had an extra penis cake sitting around, it would never occur to me to write my dad’s name on it and give it to him! Unless I left it on his doorstep anonymously or something.

    1. No, Girl is not my daughter. In fact, 2 months ago neither Boy nor Girl had ever met me face to face yet. I should be honored that I was already blessed with a penis cake. It’s like I’m one of the family now!

      Because another fucking weird ass family is exactly what I needed!!

    1. I don’t understand how anyone can go that long and not learn how to cook. Anything. It’s not hard. I had to learn as a matter of survival in college. I couldn’t afford to eat out every meal and I DAMN sure wasn’t eating what my roommate was throwing together (that’s a blog post waiting to happen).

      Hell, I’ll cook Thanksgiving dinner for 12 and I prefer to be left alone when I do it. Don’t help me, it makes me jumpy, but DAMN it’ll be a good meal!

  5. Perhaps Girl was simply dissatisfied with the shape of the food on hand. I am sure that a Wikipedia document exists somewhere stating: “If you stare at something for long enough, it will start to look like a penis.” 😉

    I am really enjoying your blog!

  6. When the kids were little, we used to get them to eat pork by calling it “special chicken”. Worked for years. Probably would still work today if we hadn’t screwed it up by giggling maniacally every time we referred to “special chicken”. Eventually, they figured out something was up.

  7. I just want to say that Bacon is dangerous shit. The grease stuff flies out at you and tries to melt your skin off, one tiny spot at a time. And while you are swearing at the Bacon and doing the ‘shit that hurt’ dance, you end up burning it to charcoal. Just sayin’.

  8. Starting when my kids were both fairly young (probably around the 9-10 age), I started a ‘fending’ night. Basically, ‘fend for yourself’ night. I always had left overs, or microwavable shit, or peanut butter, lunch meat, or whatever. Once they hit the teen years, the ‘fending’ turned to roughly 2x a week, until finally when they were around 18, I was like ‘fuck that, I’m out’. Your dad and I work, we buy the food, but if you want to fucking eat, make that shit yourself.

    Worked like a charm, man. They know how to prepare their own meals now that they are out on their own.

    Ungrateful asswipes.

  9. I don’t know how to cook bacon either. I use my oven for storage.

    My first roommate owned a Yorkshire terrier. I worked at Mrs Fields and would bring home bags FULL of cookies. We came home one night and found the kitchen splattered in shit. It was on the walls, cabinets, and floors. Little Yogi had eaten almost an entire bag of cookies. Everytime we would pick him up, he would Fart. He was a farting squeaky toy.

  10. OHMYGOD I’m crying over here. CRYING. I have a teenage boy, this is too funny to even keep living. I had to re-read this post to my husband (it was worth the week and a half it took to get through the whole thing) because we have marveled over teen stupidity and “logic” so many times it’s starting to be Not Funny somehow. Also, that boy should put “got my ass kicked by Bacon” on his resume. Or at least his Twitter bio.
    That cake is so awesome. I’m sorry the dog ate your penis. I’m glad it didn’t harm the dog, because I’m pretty sure I heard dogs can’t digest penis. They’re like allergic to penis or something.
    This post is sold gold start to finish. Uh, eyes are still watering. I hate teenagers so goddamn much. I used to love them, until I lived with one. THEY are the reason parents get old, crabby and hate kids. THEY RUIN THE WHOLE WORLD. Poison penis cakes to all of them.

    1. Thank you SO much! It’s comments like this one that let me know my work here was done and done properly. Eliciting laughter like that is exactly the whole idea behind this kind of writing and I am glad to have been able to make that work.

      But yeah, the idiocy of teens apparently carries over into the early twenties as well, so you have that to look forward to.

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