Thursday, June 9, 2011

Your Un-American Ways Shouldn't Make Me A Murderer. Just sayin'.

Big V always leaves the microwave door open just a crack.

I have no idea why.

I've asked.

He has no idea why. At one point he tried to reason, "That way it's ready for when you want to put your food in."

Except then I pointed out that you still had to use one hand to swing the door all the way open since it is not left open wide enough to squeeze a whole plate through so it's technically not ready at all. I also pointed out that it drives me absolutely crazy to walk into the kitchen and see the door to the microwave open just a crack like someone wasn't strong enough to shut the dang thing.

Then he pointed out that it doesn't seem to bother anyone except me and he's pretty sure there are other families across America who leave their microwave doors open and perhaps I'm just un-American.

And I took those to be fighting words because I am most certainly not un-American. I joined the Army, remember? And then I pointed out how he has never served in the military so maybe he's the un-American one in this relationship and then he asked me if I remembered whether or not to pay Lawnmower Timmy which had nothing at all to do with the fact he un-American-ly leaves the microwave door open so I scowled at him. And he is getting really good at masking his fear because it seemed like he didn't even notice.

So, I decided to take the high road. Now every time I walk into the kitchen and see the microwave door open a crack I sigh in an obnoxiously loud and exaggerated fashion, walk over, snap the door shut and then shake my head slowly as if to say why must my life partner hate his country so much?

As if things couldn't get worse, last night the door was open again. Someone is obviously not very skilled at picking up non-verbal hints, are they? But since no one was home to sigh-snap-shake to, I simply grabbed a frozen burrito, tossed in on a plate and nuked that sucker for 2 minutes and 22 seconds.

And then I removed my plate with the wonderfully cooked burrito on it that I was actually looking forward to eating and had to BRUSH OFF A DEAD SPIDER that I apparently murdered after it had wandered innocently into the microwave. I was left with an empty stomach and a guilty conscious. And a scowl.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

and the HOW TO DO IT winner is....

Since I had such an enormous a manageable response,
I printed the names of all
the commenter's on a slip of paper.
(I also made note of the books I will never, ever
read because they were so bad they traumatized all of you.)


I asked Dotter to assist. Which she was super excited to do.
I directed her to fold each slip of paper exactly the same way.
Then she got a phone call from her friend and decided to multi-task.

Still on the phone, and occasionally telling me to shush,
I had her draw one single slip of paper.....


CONGRATULATIONS TO TINA!
The winner of the HOW TO DO IT Attic Journals Giveaway!

Tina: Please message your mailing address to me at bridget0625@yahoo.com

Thank you all for playing along! I hope to have more giveaways in the future. And if you haven't already, take a minute to check out the Attic Journals website. Their stock is ever-changing and FUN! Great gifts for those who love to write and even those who don't. I think it would be neat to give these to that person who seems to have everything or someone who is older as a reminder of "books of our past."

Attic Journals are fun, unique, great conversation starters and a wonderful way to pay homage to books that otherwise would end up in the dumpster, discarded and forgotten.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Sometimes it's just easier to do the killing yourself.

Every year we get ants. Little ants. Lots of them. And they travel up through the earth and onto my kitchen counter and it is gross. And every morning there are two or three ants zipping around my counter waiting for me to smush them. Which I do. But then their buddies come back to search for the missing bodies. And I have to smush them. As you can see, it's a violent cycle.

So every year I buy ant poison. The liquid kind that looks like Karo Syrup. And I put dollops on tore up pieces of wax paper and hide them from the baby place them strategically around the kitchen. And then I also buy these Kill Sticks that you put in your garden or, if you're like me, in the area around your home where you might have a garden if you knew how to grow things.

And in a couple days the ants disappear.

At least that's the way it works when I handle things.

Except I was busy watching a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon exhausted after a hard day of work and sent Big V to the store instead. I handed him twenty dollars and said, "Please purchase the Kill Sticks and the Karo Syrup Poison and all will be well."

Except all is not well. Because he returned all giddy and proud after making an executive decision, deciding to purchase some super-duper ant trap instead. "This was the most expensive thing they had so it's got to work!" There is so much to teach him.

Three days later and I had twelve ants greeting me in the morning and the recovery squad showed up wearing berets.

I decided enough is enough. It was time to take matters into my own hands and buy the stuff I know actually works.

But then I had to watch the last episode of Real Housewives of Orange County research bone marrow donation last night and wasn't able to get to the store.

This morning I woke up and went into the kitchen. The moment I laid eyes on the bowl I knew there would be trouble....

.... and then I called Big V who was already at work:

Hey. Um. Did you happen to have ice cream last night?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he doesn't trust me.)

Did you, um, happen to leave the bowl full of sweet, sticky ice cream residue on the counter?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he knows I'm on to him.)

Did you happen to leave it on the counter where we have the ant problem?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he knows I already know the answer.)

Don't worry; I took the bowl over to the sink and commenced drowning the thousand ants that were feasting on your leftovers. I don't think they suffered. They were in a sugar coma and had no idea what was happening."

Uh..... thanks?  (It's like he doesn't appreciate my sarcasm.)