Since there were so many icky combinations, I decided to put some of them to a taste test because I’m nothing if not adventurous. Or stupid.

The ingredients:

• Cheerios cereal
• Pre-cooked bacon
• Peter Pan peanut butter
• Italian bread
• Minute Maid orange juice (concentrate)
• Sweet pickle slices
• Breakstone’s cottage cheese (Eek! I’m gonna eat it!)
• San Georgio elbow macaroni
• Welch’s grape jam
• Whole milk and spaghetti sauce (not pictured because I’m a dumbass and forgot to put them out)

For my journey, I started with the combinations I thought were gross, yet intriguing, and moved toward the ones I thought were sure to make me hurl.

First up, whole milk and orange juice concentrate, suggested by Babs Beetle. She says "I used to half fill a glass with orange juice, the kind you have to dilute with water, then top it up with milk and wait for it to curdle - about 10 seconds. Once it was all lumpy I would gulp it."

I put about 2ozs. of concentrated OJ in a glass and then filled the rest with whole milk and stirred.

This stuff is delicious! It reminds me of a place that may still be popular in shopping malls called Orange Julius. I’d forgotten all about it until I drank this. My recommendation is to make sure you do use full-fat, whole milk and perhaps add crushed ice. It’s extremely rich, though. You have been warned.

Grade: A

Next items: Orange juice and Cheerios cereal, offered up by Jenny, who wrote: "I guess I discovered this next thing when one day I poured a bowl of Cheerios and then discovered we had no milk. So I put orange juice on top and … WOW! IS THAT EVER GOOD!"

I took the rest of the concentrate and diluted it to make regular OJ. Poured it over the Cheerios and dug in. It was a fairly enjoyable sweet treat for breakfast, but the OJ gave it a biting aftertaste. Think of it as a candy bar in a bowl. With a kick.

Grade: C+

Next, we have the peanut butter-related combinations.

First, peanut butter and sweet pickle slices. Heather says, "I like peanut butter & pickle sandwiches, but the pickles have to be hamburger dill slices."

I have to admit I thought this was pretty high on the gross scale. To me, pickles should only be eaten straight up or on a burger. Let me tell you, this stuff was divine. The savoriness of the peanut butter, mixed with the sweet and tart flavor of the pickles, makes for a surprisingly good combo. And who doesn’t want a little crunch in their sandwiches?

I took a good four bites out of it, but had to discard it because I had a lot more to eat. If not for the calories, this one would have been completely finished off.

Grade: A+

Our second bacon-related combination is the one I believe was mentioned most often in the comments — bacon and peanut butter. I had such high hopes for it. I think you’re all familiar with my bacon addiction. What could go wrong?

Here’s what can go wrong. Apparently my bacon addiction is so bad, I now need 10x the bacon to get the same delirious reaction to it as I once got. I couldn’t taste the bacon! Did I make it wrong? How many slices should I have put on? Five are pictured here. All I tasted was the peanut butter. I’m so depressed.

Grade I wanted to give it: A+

Grade it got: D

Damn.

Now here’s where I encountered my first feelings of trepidation. The very idea of mixing grape jam and macaroni is so completely bizarre to me, and when I combined them in a bowl, I wanted to throw it out before tasting it. But I soldiered on.

Just look at it. Think about it. Does it look appetizing? No. Would you want to eat it? No. How did I like it? I didn’t. IT. IS. NASTY. Grape jam belongs on only one thing. Toast. Period.

A woman named Kathy suggested this and I wish she had a blog so I could link to it, and you could all go over and tell her she needs to have her head examined. Or her stomach.

Grade: F

For our last test, I spread my culinary wings. I don’t recall ever having eaten cottage cheese in my life. Why? Because to me it looks like yogurt that’s a year past its expiration date.

SewDucky suggested this concoction: "… cottage cheese, heated, with either pistachio pudding or spaghetti sauce mixed in. Everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind."

Everyone is correct.

I still have the aftertaste of this dish, and not a good aftertaste. I would characterize the flavor as sort of like manicotti filling, without the benefit of being enveloped in a blanket of pasta and being flavorfully-seasoned. Couldn’t take more than two bites. Warming it up did not help.

Grade: D

I hope you enjoyed my little taste test. You’ve all been so good waiting patiently for me to announce a winner.

******* Drumroll please *******

Winner in the category Worst Food Combination I Never Thought I’d Like: Peanut Butter and Pickles

Winner in the category Word Food Combination I Wouldn’t Eat Again For Any Amount of Money: Grape Jam and Macaroni

I’ll contact the winners shortly. As soon as I clean up my kitchen and explain to my husband why the garbage is full of half-eaten sandwiches and mushy things.

Today’s post is short and sweet. I recently told a friend how I love the taste of uncooked instant oatmeal combined with a fruit yogurt.

That fact made her sick and it got me thinking about things people eat, specifically, foods we combine that have no business fraternizing in the same cup, bowl or dish.

So let’s have it. What foods do you put together that you love, but that make others ill when they see you eat it?

Grossest combination wins a Junk Drawer magnet.

Oh, and if you remember the circumstances under which you thought to put the foods together, include that too!

Go!

I love to mow the lawn. It’s good exercise. But there’s one problem. I suck at it.

While my husband Dave is recovering from shoulder surgery, I’ve taken on the chore of mowing every weekend. He feels bad he can’t do it, but that’s not the reason he should feel bad.

He should feel bad for the mower itself and everything it touches.

Herewith are the things I’ve done to the mower or with the mower in the last year:

1. I took out part of a tree he planted in the front yard. I don’t know how. All I know is when I motored past it, an entire branch broke off and got stuck in the hole that keeps the pull string attached to the mower. I threw the branch to the ground and mowed over it a bunch of times –the equivalent of hiding the body.

2. The first time I mowed alone, I got too close to a curb and the mower tipped over into the street. I heard a horrible propeller-type banging. That’d be the blade striking concrete at 3,600 RPM. I didn’t turn off the mower for a really long time because — all together now — I’m an idiot!

3. Dave likes to remove the metal rainspout extensions that run parallel to the ground before mowing. You know, so the grass is cut evenly. Why move perfectly placed rainspouts when you can run right over them? That’s mowing the efficient Kathy way.

4. Those big gashes at the base of the mailbox post? Sorry.

5. Remember, honey, how nice the front yard used to look when I would take the time to make nice diagonal lines through the yard? I know it looks like a child hopped up on Jujubees mowed it now, but really, can’t the grass just be short? We’re not going for design points, are we?

6. If the azalea bush doesn’t blossom next year, well, let’s just say I was getting tired and I had to take it out on something.

I love mowing! It’s so easy my way.

Dave, you’re not reading today’s post, are you?

I’m about to show you what the Friday What’s That? item is. Lots of you were really close, guessing it was some kind of nest, pod or cocoon, that if poked, would ooze spiders, bugs or other crawly things.

The correct answer is much, much worse.

The object pictured was part of an owl pellet. According to Wikipedia, a pellet is the mass of undigested parts of a bird’s food that some bird species occasionally regurgitate. The contents of a bird’s pellet depend on its diet, but can include the exoskeletons of insects, indigestible plant matter, bones, fur, feathers, bills, claws, and teeth.

Teeth!

Still with me? OK. The woman who took the picture was alerted to its presence by the keen eye of her daughter, who recognized it from a lab she took in grade school. Apparently she sends her daughter to a school whose teachers don’t mind their students blowing their lunch having to dissect these.

Yummy!

You might ask yourself where you can get one of these find specimens to dissect yourself (or not). If you do, you can order a variety from Pellets, Inc. Now don’t rush the site all at once!

I’ve had my fair share of school lab grossouts. In high school, we dissected frogs and I was glad to not be part of the group who discovered that their frog was pregnant at time of death. I remember someone screaming. I don’t know if they continued on with their dissection, but I’m very sure no one ate the rest of the day.

Sorry no one guessed this edition of What’s That? But I promise next time I’ll go back to regular household items that don’t have teeth and hair in them. Promise!

Today we have something very unusual. This picture was taken by my colleague Heather. The only detail that I’ll give about it is that I think it looks like a face. That won’t help you guess what it is, since I’m not inclined to help you in any way. Ha!

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a mystery prize.

Go!

I have a little tip for some of you. If you are irritated that people make guesses well ahead of you, consider following me on Facebook. My new posts automatically appear there when I publish, so if you’re on Facebook more than your blog reader, you’ll see them sooner.

UPDATE: OK, folks! Here’s a hint from Heather: "It is organic material.  It has not been processed by a human in any way.  And it is indeed gross."

So, OK. I’m going to the BlogHer conference in Chicago where I’ll get some good tips on blogging and blog marketing, meet up with bloggers I only know online and see the sights in a city I’ve never been to before.

I’m also going to see my girl JD of I Do Things puke up her lunch because she got accepted to read one of her very best posts in front of a million strangers. Please pray for her.

I knew the conference was Friday and Saturday, July 24th and 25th. I knew I bought a two-day pass that covers admission for both days. I knew I wanted to book a flight the day before the conference so I can get settled, meet up with JD and be well-rested before the start of the conference.

The day before the conference would be Thursday for those keeping count.

When did I book my flight? For Friday morning, of course. Well after the conference is underway.

How much did this mistake cost me? One hundred smackeroos. Frack it all! I booked my flight and hotel through Expedia and they do allow changes at no cost, but the airline charges its own fee for dumbasses like me.

The good news is that the Expedia rep first quoted me a fee of $100, but came back a few minutes later to say it was really $150. Since she misquoted the fee initially, she offered to give me a $50 credit on the extra hotel night I booked.

I believe that’s what you’d call pity for the dumbass.

Oh, and incidentally, JD won’t be the only one puking. This flight will be my first flight going it alone. I’m petrified. I plan on bringing my blankie and teddy bear and I don’t care what that’ll look like.

To recap, you are praying for JD to get through her reading on Friday, July 24th and you are praying for me to get on the plane on the 23rd. You should also get out the rosary beads on the 27th when I fly home. I leave out of O’Hare Airport, where I will get lost as soon as I step foot in the door.

If you don’t see a post from me soon after, it means I’m probably still at the airport, riding a luggage carousel, sucking my thumb and crying like a baby. I want my Mommy!

This isn’t a humor piece, but I’ve been bothered by an event that happened this morning and felt better writing about it

I wanted to share it with you because it reminds me of the fragility of life as I know it and how one fraction of a second made the difference between me having a normal day and my husband getting a dreaded phone call.

Friday began like every other work day.

Cup of coffee, feed the cats, some blog stuff, shower and jump in my car. The most remarkable thing about my ride to work was that I got an early start. I would soon wish I hadn’t.

Somebody else was heading to work, too. Someone who should have had his eyes on the road instead of his head in the clouds.

I know people get distracted while driving and cause accidents.

I know that 40,000 people die on U.S. roads each year in car crashes.

I know lots of unlucky people before me have found themselves in the path of an errant driver and never lived to tell about it.

But it’s always other people.

Today I was almost one of them.

On a green light, I approached an intersection near work. As I pulled through and made a left turn, I saw a pickup truck to my left. Coming on fast. I’m not a sitting duck. I’m moving, thank God. I know I’m moving, but am I moving fast enough?

I hear his tires screeching. Might not be enough time. I see the grill of his truck. It’s close. Very close. Are we gonna hit? I start to think this is my unlucky day. God? You there? Help me out here.

In a moment that lasted an eternity, I could see the face of this distracted man, who is now no longer distracted.

He looks at me, and I at him. Our eyes are wide. Our mouths agape. I clear his front bumper by mere inches. I scream and lay on the horn. I glance back. I see he landed askew in the middle of the intersection. I quickly check to see if he still had a red light. Was it me who screwed up?

No. His light was redder than red. And he didn’t even see it.

I consider if I had entered the intersection one moment later. A single second later and someone would be calling my "in case of emergency" number.

I wanted to pull over, get out and scream at him. I wanted to let him know that someone almost had to peel me off his truck. I wanted to tell him to pay attention next time. Every time, dammit, because all it takes is one moment of inattentiveness to change someone’s life.

But I didn’t. I drove on. Slow and shaky. Nothing happened. No harm, no foul.

Except it could have so easily been different.

If not for ONE. SPLIT. SECOND.

Though my husband Dave is recovering from very painful shoulder surgery, I consider myself the one who had the real major medical problem of late.

I had a wart. On my forehead. For any woman, a crisis of epic proportions.

After a day of searching The Google for wart remedies, including wearing duct tape on it (not kidding), I came to the conclusion that I really ought to ask a doctor about it before I go making things worse.

So I called my sister Ann. Ann is a nurse. Fact: If you work in the medical profession in any capacity short of the janitor in a hospital, you are the doctor in the family.

I asked her what I should do to get rid of Walter the Wart, who I’d gotten so used to seeing every day that I named him. Yeah? What of it?

She gave me a quick reply: Vitamin E.

Every night before bed, I pricked a capsule of Vitamin E and spread the miracle juice all over Walter and then put a Band-Aid on him. We slept like babies.

The next morning I would remove Walter’s bandage, wash up and go out in the world with a big wart on my face.

To my co-workers, thank you for not wondering aloud why I looked like a Cyclops for two weeks.

Gradually, over about ten days, Walter got smaller and smaller until he disappeared and I returned to looking normal, which isn’t saying much.

So there you go. Vitamin E, the wart remover and scar preventer, brought to you by my non-doctor sister. If you’re absolutely sure you have a wart and not something scary like skin cancer, give it a try.

Footnote: In my research, I learned there are several causes for warts, among them stress. You know what causes stress? A giant wart on your forehead.

The effects of a grueling work week washed away in an instant following this exchange with my husband as I loaded the dishwasher tonight.

I called out to him in another room:

Are there any dishes out there?

No. Just you, Kathy.

He may need his eyes checked, but if he sees a dish then so be it. God bless that man.

I decided to bring this situation to my husband’s attention and it was only then that I found out he surreptitiously planted sunflowers.

Sunflowers?! How could you?!

I know. I should be glad. Sunflowers are…. well, sunny. And happy. And yellow and bright.

But they scare the crap out of me.

Why?

Because Dave planted them at our old house and at night, in the faint glow of a street light, they looked like PEOPLES!

Big, swaying heads of PEOPLES in the darkness!

So now when these things grow right next to our house, I’ll be jumping out of my skin every time I look out the window.

Would it be bad to call 911 because I think flowers are breaking into my house?

OK, let’s hear it. What irrational fears to you have?

The first person to guess the object correctly was Maya, who said it was part of a Brita water filter.

Congratulations, Maya! I’ll be in touch with you shortly about your prizes.

In other Junk Drawer news….

I spent Thursday in a hospital with my husband Dave, who had rotator cuff surgery. Despite an annoying four hour delay, all went very well and he’s coping OK with the pain, thanks to some delightful Percocet.

Commence mini-rant.

There is perhaps no greater annoyance in hospital waiting rooms than a too-loud TV mounted on the ceiling that you can’t turn down or control the channel. That is why I spent most of my waiting time in the cafeteria reading a book in peace and quiet.

After playing nurse and not getting enough sleep last night, I had a doctor’s visit myself this morning. While sitting in the waiting room, I was subjected to the horror that is early morning TV news, complete with inane chatter and all-too-chipper people for eight in the morning.

Is it just me, or wouldn’t people who are probably not feeling well rather just sit quietly waiting for their names to be called? Instead, we had listen to a performance by the Dave Matthews Band outside the news studio. Since when did morning news shows involve screaming loud music before people have had their coffee?!?!

For all the people who hate this sort of thing, I’m pleased to tell you that I risked getting yelled at by the office staff, stomped over to that TV and MUTED IT!

That’s right. I’m a badass. Fear me.

Next up in waiting room annoyance reduction? Throwing my shoes at loud cell-phone talkers.

You’re welcome.

This is one of those times where I think the object will be either incredibly easy or mind-numbingly hard.

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a bacon-related mystery prize.

Go!

What’s is that?

In case husband laughs at wife’s misery, post on blog.

But after enjoying a delicious meal at the home of Kim and Bryan, the bloggers I met last weekend, I decided I might like to try my hand at it. You see, Kim made homemade manicotti, including making the pasta shells from scratch!

I thought it would make a nice birthday dinner for my husband, Dave, and so I slaved away in the kitchen making my own pasta. You do it by pouring a thin mixture of eggs, flour, water and oil in a saute pan and swirling it around like you would a crepe. When the top dries, you simply pop it out on a plate and instant pasta!

I made 15 of those beauties and confidently went on to make the cheese filling and meatballs. Didn’t they turn out nice? Thanks for the recipe, Kim!

I basked in the glow of knowing that if I apply myself, I can pull off a decent meal and no one even has to go to the emergency room to get their stomach pumped.

And then God said "Get over yourself. It was a fluke."

The very next day I made a grilled cheese sandwich in the brand new saute pan I’d bought to make the pasta in, but didn’t wind up using.

When the pan heated, I started smelling something. I chastised my husband for not cleaning some burned food off the stovetop.

But the smell wasn’t exactly burnt food. Oh, no.

It was the smell of stupid.

We had a good chuckle over it, took this picture for proof a moron lives here and I ate my grilled cheese sandwich.

The very next day I was making an omelette in the very same pan.

Hmmmm. What’s that smell?

That’d be the smell of short term memory loss.

You’ll be happy to know I finally took the paper off the bottom of the pan and my house doesn’t smell like burning barcode anymore.

Is this universe’s way of telling me to get the hell out of the kitchen and leave it to the experts?

Yeah, I thought so.

Three weeks of sheer torture.

I wake up to it.

I shower with it.

I cook with it.

I go to work with it.

It’s with me right now.

It haunts me.

It’s sneaky. It’s merciless. It’s painful.

It may never leave.

But I don’t want it.

And I can’t take it.

I want peace.

I need to quiet the voices in my head!

The voices of ….. The Pointer Sisters.

Yeah, the song I heard over a grocery store speaker three weeks ago.

They’re. Still. Here.

Someone once told me the best way to rid yourself of an earworm is to give it to someone else.

Else, it’s all yours: