Why don’t I know how to cook meatloaf?

I know a lot of things, but I cannot remember how to make meatloaf, or mac and cheese (yes out of a box) or that really yummy rice and cream of mushroom soup or anything simple and of the comfort food variety. Ok, I can make spaghetti without looking up a recipe, but that’s about it. Why? Why can I not remember how to make meatloaf? I mean it’s meat, in a loaf, that’s about it. EVERY. TIME. I have to look up the recipe, every time. It’s the same with

Not THAT Meat Loaf

making hardboiled eggs. I am convinced things like everyday recipes, social security numbers, children’s birthdays (yes, don’t judge) and the time you scheduled for parent teacher conferences are never going to be remembered or stored conveniently for recall because at least for me, I know the words to every song every played on the radio. This amazingly useful skill (if you happen to be a bar singer), I’m convinced is why I cannot remember anything actually useful in life. I have to text my mother every time I want to cook meatloaf, or chili (it’s just a bunch of cans, dump in crock pot, viola! Seriously, WHY?) or the cornbread she makes with her chili. Yes, I’ve written them down but while recalling the awesome lyrics to an obscure Fleetwood Mac song, I have forgotten where I put the damn recipes. I cannot download these lyrics, I can’t seem to file them in archives in the back where I can forget about them for awhile…just hasn’t happened. Someday, someday it will be useful. I am convinced someday I will get on that show with Wayne Brady, which is probably not on anymore (we don’t have cable) and I’ll totally win. I always won at home. The kicker? I can’t sing for beans. I can’t even sing in the key of Me. It’s bad. My sister-in-law actually threw up in her mouth a little while on a road trip with me and my daughter as I croooooned away to our awesome road trip playlist. I still haven’t forgiven her, everyone in her family is grotesquely musically gifted. I married in, it didn’t transfer. My husband now at least allows me to sing at church, as politely as he can. He weakly claims I am “getting a little better..”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s