Wednesday, February 29, 2012

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And really ticked off.

Someday I'll tell you about the last couple of days.

Not today.
It's way too raw.

Instead I'll tell you that I had the Best Pizza Ever made and delivered for me by the owner of a local restaurant even though they weren't even open today.Gluten free crust. Pepperjack cheese. And pepperoni.

And know that THAT is the only reason I'm still functioning.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Blogger's Index: A Numerical Explanation

Number of homes I lived in as a child: 2

Age when I first got glasses: 10

Number of times I have almost seriously drowned: 3

Number of times I have been washed off to sea: 1

Number of times I have been bitten by a horse: 3

Number of times I have had braces: 0

Age I first moved out on my own: 17

Number of places I’ve lived in the past 21 years (not inluding moving back home with the parents): 13

Number of times I moved back with my parents: 2, +/- 10

Longest number of years, as an adult, spent living in the same house without moving: 5

Percentage of time in any given day I think about moving to a different house: 36

Number of military branches I served in: 1

Number of guys I dated named Tommy: 3

Number of times I have consumed mussels: 1

Chances I’ll ever eat mussels again: 0

Number of jobs held in the telemarketing field: 1

Approximate number of days spent on that job in the telemarketing field: 6

Chances I’ll ever take a job in the telemarketing field again: 0

Number of people I’m related to who are prohibited from entering a foreign country: 1

Number of times I have successfully opened a box of rice by the “push here then pull back” instructions: 0

Number of abusive babysitters I’d like to hunt down and stab in the chest with a pitchfork: 1

Years since I completely blew off my scheduled audition with the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in Manhattan: 21

Number of times I spontaneously drove to the airport and purchased a ticket for “the next flight that lands in LaGuardia”: 2

Number of times I swam in germ infested flood water: 1

Number of times I got drunk and threw up on Brendan Fahey’s shoes: 1

Number of times I found out I was completely wrong about what I thought my grandfather’s name was: 1

Number of sisters who also thought my grandfather’s name was the one I thought it was and therefore also found out she was completely wrong about what she thought our grandfather’s name was: 1

Number of hours since we found out my grandfather had a different name than we thought he had: 16

Number of moles on my face which I absolutely despise: 14

Approximate number of times I have made hard boiled eggs without looking up how to make them first: 1

Approximate number of times I have called my mother to ask her how to make hard boiled eggs: 14

Number of times I lied about who I was to get backstage access to a concert: 1

Number of times I walked out on dates without actually notifying them I was leaving thereby leaving them to sit waiting for me to return (of which I cannot forgive my appalling, selfish behavior): 2

Number of times I dove off a pier in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a lime green thong: 1

Chances I’ll ever wear anything in public again that shows more than my knee caps: 0

Average number of times in any given month I’m called by the wrong name by fellow co-workers and/or customers, thus reassuring me none of my racy past will ever catch up with me: 6

Amount of money I plan to save in a 12-month period: $10,000

Amount of money currently saved: $752.86

Months left to reach $10,000 savings goal I set for myself: 3

Probability of actually reaching the $10,000 savings goal in 3 months: 0

Percentage of my brain screaming “call the police! This scuzzy guy is about to murder you!” while sitting in the back of an ambulance with Ted Nugent: 112

Number of times I was hugged by Ted Nugent: 2

Realization of who Ted Nugent actually was: 0

Number of books I read on average each year: 30

Number of times I’ve said I wanted to get paid for writing: 687,371

Number of times I’ve actually submitted my writing for paid consideration: 0

Probability of actually getting paid to write if I never submit anything: 0

Number of times I contacted the police to report a dead body on the side of the road: 1

Likelihood I will tell you I have the best life stories ever (in percent): 100

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Doubt: A Parable. And a Mother's Love


At first we assumed she wanted to be a monkey. But, no. She insisted that what she wanted to be was a monk. She had just watched a documentary about the Dalai Lama and was infatuated with Tibetan monks. She was also infatuated with dingoes and whether or not they actually ate the baby.


My daughter announced she wanted to be a Fortune Teller when she grew up. This was a grave concern and required the immediate attention of myself, her teacher at the parochial school she attended, as well as the prinicpal of the school, because only God can know the future of one's life and we ought not to fall into Satan's trap by buying into witchcraft and false prophecy. When I turned and asked my daughter why she wanted to be a Fortune Teller she explained that she wanted to wear long flowing skirts and to hear the sounds of bracelets clinking together. She was 8.


This meant conversations were strained, riddled with angst and frustration, shadowed with distrust, and completed in tears. Mostly on my end.


It was a risk to take her to the theater. By myself. With no one to help moderate the conversation between us. With no witnesses in the car. I doubted it would end well. I imagined her rolling her eyes. The way my lips would pinch together and my eyes would narrow in direct reaction to her incredibly obvious unappreciation and lack of respect.

As we sat awkwardly side by side, waiting for the show to start, I wondered why I had even bothered. She will hate this. It's a play called Doubt: A Parable written by John Patrick Shanley. There are only four actors in the play. It is simply described as:

It's 1964 at a Catholic school in the Bronx, Sister Aloysius believes that Father Flynn may have engaged in sexual misconduct against Donald, the only black student at the school. Father Flynn angrily denies and wrongdoing.

I doubt she will enjoy this.

I doubt she will appreciate this.

I doubt everything about this night.

And yet, I am wrong.

90 minutes later the lights rise and she looks at me with a look on her face I can't describe. That's it? It just ended? That's not fair! We'll never know what happened - if he really did it or not!

I'm surprised to find out she was listening. Paying attention. Hanging on to words.

I hate cliffhangers, she mumbles as she exits the row.

We fight our way through the crowd.


Why do you need your ticket stamped? I explain how college kids can earn credit for attending shows. They must watch the show, get their ticket stamped, write a report. I'd like a class like that!

It's cold outside. She's wearing flip-flops. They're cute, but impractical. I swallow the urge to point this out. Instead I ask what she thought of the show.

I liked it. But I can't believe the mom was basically Who Cares? He's gay - just let him graduate. What kind of mother does that?

I think for a minute. She's right. What mother would just "let" their child be abused... just so he can graduate from a respected school? To better his chances at a future? But then... I am a mother. I doubt she'll understand when I say that maybe this is the only way she knows how to protect him. She said the father abuses him. Beats him because he's gay. That if word got out the boy would surely die at the father's hand.

And she thinks for a moment.


It's something. "I don't think it's right, what she did," I explain. "As a mother." And even as I say it, I doubt my conviction. I've been there. Trying to fight for my child. And finding myself surrounded by brick walls all around. I know what that woman feels like. That feeling where you hand it over and do the best you can and just pray that everyone just makes it through.

There's more silence in the car. It's so cold! she says. My feet are freezing! I laugh and point out the flip-flops. But at least they're cute she giggles. Yes, that they are.

We drive.

I really liked that play. It made me think.


Everything. It just always made you think. Like, I don't know for sure if he did it or not. He acted like he did - by leaving, but then, maybe he just left because he couldn't take it anymore and nothing happened.

I don't know what to say because she's said so much. I don't want to come across preachy. Or like a know-it-all. I doubt my words. I doubt the sureness of my voice, so I say nothing.

We're surrounded by silence.

I liked what they said about the pillow -- that gossiping is like opening up a pillow and letting all the feathers fly away in the wind. You can't ever get all those feathers back. You can't ever fix things completely.

I smile in the dark.

I don't doubt her. Who she is. I worry about her. I want the best for her. But I don't doubt who she is: my wise beyond her years child with the sensitive heart and the logical soul.

I do not doubt my love for her.

Monday, February 20, 2012

There is no Newsflash if I've already flashed you the news.

Being that yesterday I did all the laundry and folded it downstairs, in the basement, away from the children, and that I spent the last part of my evening glued to the television set watching the Downton Abbey, not blinking, and therefore became too lazy to go back down to the basement and bring up any of my clothes I might need to wear, and also because I began to read a book called The History of Love  by Nicole Krauss - which immediately lives up to its description as 'hauntingly beautiful' and made me stay up too late so then I was tired this morning and woke up late and therefore did not have the time to run downstairs to get any clean clothes, I was forced to wear the absolute last pair of clean underwear I had in my drawer; that being a mauve colored pair I wore when I was pregnant. And these suckers are HUGE. But surprisingly comfortable. And also, my sternum now has an extra layer of cotton protection which will probably cut down on my chances of contracting a chest cold. Who knew maternity underwear could stretch so high once one became unpregnant?

The fact I'm wearing underwear that could easily fit a wooly mammoth was going to be my little secret. Except then it got to be lunch time and I didn't bring any lunch, yet I wasn't actually hungry so I just kept working. But then I got hungry. Really hungry. Except the day was almost over so what's the point of leaving now to go track down lunch? Plus I can't really go through the drive-thru anymore because having Celiac Disease does that. Where's your gluten free buns, Burger King? Huh? And so I opened my drawer that houses my emergency stash. Which included exactly one small box of gluten free Cream of Rice.

Even with 5 packets of sugar stirred in it's still nasty. Trust me. Nasty enough where I just ladled up a spoonful and swallowed, praying nothing grazed a taste bud. And that worked for awhile. Up until I hit the center of the goopy glob and accidently swallowed alarge spoonful of 487-degree Cream of Nasty. And my esophogus started burning. Bad. And then my stomach. And I'm pretty sure my stomach lining suffered 2nd and 3rd degree burns. And I could hardly breath. And I had nothing to drink on my desk. And I swore I was about to die.

But I couldn't die! Not while wearing these ridiculous underwear! Seriously? How utterly embarrassing would that be? Not on my watch, thankyouverymuch. I'll be passing on a day when I'm wearing an overpriced matching set from Victoria's Secret. Or else in my sleep wearing my comfy pajama pants and long sleeved t-shirt with the frayed collar. Go Badgers! Either of those scenarios will be acceptable.

Anyway. The reason I'm telling you now is because should something accidently happen to me today that is beyond my control, I don't want my granny panties to be the talk of the town. I'd rather just burst the rumor bubble before it starts.

And for the record - these are surprisingly comfy. I might have to run out of underwear more often. Sorry, Big V. Mama's getting comfortable!

Friday, February 17, 2012

We went and saw Shakespeare and no one got rabies.

Please ignore my double chin. It normally isn't that pronounced.

On our drive to the theater to watch a performance of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors, Big V asked, "So, is this a rotation of different comics? Or skits? Or just one guy doing stand-up?" And I knew I had to tweet that right away. Because this guy had no clue what we were about to go see. And that made me laugh. Hard.

Do you know who Shakespeare is?

Yeah, the guy that did Romeo and Juliet.

Right. And, do you remember how he talks?

You mean all those thee's and thou's and come hither's?



Wait. Is this play going to be like that? Thee and thou and come hither?



I hope I don't fall asleep. I only got 4 hours of sleep last night.

Look, if you stay awake for the entire first act I'll buy you a drink at intermission.

"Where's Shakespeare for Dummies in this thing?"

Once we found our seats I suggested Big V read the synopsis of what the hell is about to happen on stage. Except there was no such thing in the program. There was a cast of characters. And a note from the director. But the best thing we could come up with was a 2-sentence description. I hadn't read The Comedy of Errors in years and there was no way I was going to remember all the twists and turns. As for V, well, he'd just have to hold tight for his halftime cocktail.

But then that's when they announced there'd be no intermission because it's only a 90 minute play and Big V actually groaned and gave me a How Will I Ever Survive look. Then I reminded him that he had the ability to watch back to back Rocky movies without ever twitching a muscle, surely he could sit through this.

Always a positive guy, Big V noted we were surrounded my college students who were obviously given this opportunity for extra credit so at least they'd all clear out at intermission leaving us with plenty of room to sprawl out. I'm not entirely sure I've ever sprawled at a theater before, but it sounded pleasant.

And that's when a freaking bat started swooping and dive bombing the audience. Yes. A bat. Probably one with rabies. And of course I immediately posted that to my Facebook and Twitter accounts because it's not every day you go to the theater with wild creatures. And someone replied with "sounds like they go all out on the props" and another replied with "Ha! There's an 'error' for ya!" 

And I sat wondering what would happen if the bat started attacking the actors on stage while they were performing; how long would it be before people realized it wasn't part of the play? And would the actors break character?

Me thinks the flying rodent hath infected mine flesh with poison!

Come hither! Cloak thyself in darkness 'fore thy ravin monster doth partake in thine blood!

And then I thought how freaking awesome it would be if I could write a play about actors being attacked onstage by a horde of bats except the audience doesn't realize it's not part of the play because they don't speak Shakespeare and then I thought I'd probably have to write the play in regular English and see if Google Translate has an English to Shakespeare option.

And then the guy came out and told us to stop texting because the show was starting and Big V looked over at me as if I was the only one currently partaking in my mobile device. Puh-lease! We were in the student section. Everyone was using their mobile devices.

And then it got quiet, as is the custom when a show is about to begin. Except the lights did not go down. But then we heard what sounded like a loud, singular drop of water. And then another. And another. And we were all looking around in the brightly lit theater wondering what the hell was going on and that made me think that if we were confused already this show is likely to bomb. Because no one is even talking yet and we can't follow.

And the loud dripping water noises continued and people started snickering because, let's face it, as Americans we're uncomfortable with complete silence while still being able to clearly see the people next to us. Awkward. And the dripping got faster and faster and some college kid said I'm tired of this already and I prayed Big V hadn't heard that because I was kind of liking The Loud Water Dripping Yet No One Knows Why experiment. And then I wondered if the bat was part of the social experiment, too, but then I stopped thinking because the lights suddenly went out and the water went silent and there were two men on stage, one in shackles who started talking. A lot.

And I understood maybe every third or fourth word.

And I glanced over at Big V who had his eyes closed.

And I thought maybe more people would come watch Shakespeare if they translated the words on a big screen above the stage, like they do for foreign films, so we could figure out why that guy just chuckled. Because if it was a joke, no one else got it.

And then I got kind of sad. Because 90 minutes is a long time to be sitting in a theater not knowing what people are saying while worrying about whether or not you'll be bitten by a screeching bat.

And then....



I'm not even sure how it happened, I just know that one minute the whole section was fidgeting and sighing and stretching and the next minute we're all captivated by the stage and it was SO FUNNY and so awesome and exactly the best place anyone could be.

First of all, the actors did not use microphones. Let me explain to you how awesome that is. It is awesome because that is how actors were first taught. To speak to the back of the house. To command the emotion in your voice let enable it to be heard across rows and rows and rows of people. This takes talent. Real talent. And also, as an audience member, we don't have to deal with the dreaded the mics went out debacle where, due to uncontrollable technical difficulties the microphones fail and actors are seemingly unable to speak loud enough to be heard past the first two rows. The rest of the audience suffers through seven minutes of missed dialogue.

Since this was a play about two sets of identical twins one worries about how spot on the casting was - not in this show! The casting was phenominal. I cannot say enough positive things about the casting! The two Antipholus-es (or would it be Antipholi?)... uh, the two gentlemen that played the Antipholus twins were very similar... but the undeniable casting expertise was evident in Sid Solomon and Joseph Midyett as the Dromio's.

Photo Credit: The Acting Company
 The energy these two guys brought to the stage was incredible. They were incredibly physical actors - not only did their gestures and movements help lead the audience to understand what was going on - they were like the John Ritter's of stage comedy; but their quirky style was perfectly mimicked, one against the other. How they're not broken and bruised I'll never understand. They were cute and loveable and I may have developed a crush on both these guys.

Photo Credit: The Acting Company
Most of the show was like that: physically, off the wall funny. The energy is infectious and impressive.

There is a marvelously funny sword fight scene that had the audience rolling on the floor laughing; something straight out of Tom & Jerry. Hysterical! But it also got me wondering if a sword has ever been accidentally flung out into the audience before. So I made a mental note to always sit in the balcony if there were weapons involved because as bad as it would be to be eaten by a rabid bat, it would totally suck worse to be skewered in the eyeball by a flunging sword. (See how I did that? I totally made up flunging... it means "that which has been flung." Flunging: make it go viral, people.)

The jailer was splendid even though he had few lines. I about died when he whipped out a book and started reading while the other actors around him were busy fighting and accusing and yelling at each other. There he stood patiently reading. It was a wonderful moment.

Thespian Zachary Fine channeled his inner disturbed Gary Busey and mixed it together with his version of a drunk Nick Nolte for an unforgettable interpretation of Dr. Pinch that will stick in my mind forever! I scoured the web for a photo but was unable to find anything - which is a shame, so you'll just have to see the show in person to experience it. Which you absolutely must!

For all the deserved praise I give the show overall, there was, however, a tad bit of a downer. And that would be the drab acting of the sister (Luciana). She fell flat. I suppose I should give her the benefit of the doubt because perhaps Shakespeare wrote the character in such a way as to make us wonder whether or not the poor girl had lost a bet and was forced on stage against her will.

As we were driving home, Big V mentioned he also disliked the "slutty girl" and thought she made it too obvious that the rest of the cast was having fun and she wasn't. I looked in the program and quickly realized it was the same actress playing both roles. My unsolicited advice, dear girl: pep it up. Make us remember you in a way that does not include stifling our yawns. (Thank goodness her roles were small.)

Overall, Big V gave the show two thumbs up. Origionally, he was only going to give it one and a half (because of flat acting girl) but then a cute, perky blonde co-ed flirted with him on our way out and he suddenly felt the tides shift. Or, something shift in him. Either way, he actually said he would go see the show again now that he kind of gets what it's about.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

And THAT is why I love him.

Last night, Big V played basketball while wearing two completely different shoes. And when I say different, I mean one was an athletic high top and the other was a black reffing shoe similar to those tacky styled orthopedic shoes. Seriously, we can send men to the moon but no one on the face of the planet can successfully bring together style and function for diabetics? 

If you've ever wondered why I love Big V I'll tell you exactly why: because he actually called me to tell me he was wearing two different shoes.

Any normal guy would have faked a sprained ankle and hobbled out of the gym, but not Big V. No, sir-ee. When he unzipped that duffle bag and stared into the humiliation that greeted him he threw his head back laughing and started lacing up. And then, instead of swearing all the other players to secrecy in a vain attempt to pretend this never happened, he picked up his cell and dialed my number.

You are so going to wish you had come to watch this game!

Uh, probably not. I've got both kids in bed and my own private bowl of popcorn smothered in a stick of melted butter.

Oh, no. You're really going to regret not coming... my shoes don't match. At all. I only have one of my basketball shoes in my bag and the other is the shoe for my referee uniform. You sure you don't want to come get pictures of this? 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am in love with Big V. And also why I'll be dressing him before we go out together in public. 

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Stay Tuned for the Real Comedy of Errors....

Tomorrow, Big V and I are going to the thee-ah-tah. He's awesome at supporting my interests (theater being a pretty big one) and doesn't mind going .... but he may be in over his head this time.

When the season dates came out and I was busy circling every event I wanted to attend, Big V was busy making himself a sandwich. He uh-huh'd and mm-hmm'd and oh yeah'd and then I asked what he would like to go to.

And he scanned the page and saw the words Comedy of Errors. Except I think he skipped over the 'of errors' part and just saw comedy.

You know that's Shakespeare, right?

"What's Shakespeare?"

Oh, boy, is he in for a treat.

Feel free to come with! We can giggle at Big V together over cocktails during intermission....

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Obligatory Valentine's Day Post Complete with Hairy Lips and Crazy Socks

Thanks to my new obsession, Pinterest, I scored an idea and was able to create these lovely Valentine's  for Dotter's class. The minute I showed her the Pinterest version she was like yes! I must do this!! We taped various styles of mustaches on the back so every kid in class will be lucky to sport a furry lip if they so choose. I think they turned out awesome. (Unfortunately she suffers from the same disorder I happen to have, which makes taking an I am Awake and Seemingly Normal photo nearly impossible.)

In other news, yesterday was Crazy Sock day at Dotter's school:

This is what I love. Right here. Zany, crazy, unique, express yourself the way you want to kind of kids. Somewhere between this and adulthood so many people lose that. Sure, there are adults who claim they never lost it, but the truth is, they're just slapping away getting older by acting like idiotic morons. Remember, there is a huge difference between keeping your childlike spirit alive and acting like an ass others would find no greater pleasure than driving a pitchfork through your skull to get you to shut up. Immature idiocy is not cool. Don't be an immature idiot.

This kid here? This kid is cool. And I hope she's always keeps her zany, crazy, unique way of expressing herself.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

We All Do Better When We Work Together

The last company I worked for were completely those Rah! Rah! Go Team! kind of companies. There were employee appreciation lunches, contests designed to spice up the workplace with fun and a lot of thank you for your hard work heartfelt thanks from the Higher Ups. The genuine feeling was our employees come first; if we treat them right, they'll work hard, pump out tons of awesome work and our company will flourish. If they kept our morale up, we wouldn't notice they were driving Escalades while we were rocking the hand-me-down Cutlass Supremes from our parents.

Not so much where I work now. There's a lot of backstabbing and finger pointing and blame and disrespect and an overall climate of who's getting shoved in front of the bus next. The only thing we do as a team is watch each other with an air of distrust and suspicion. I've never heard a thank you from a Higher Up, other than a sarcastic one, or the goaded version: of course you're appreciated but I still think you suck.

Personally, I liked my former company's philosophy better.

That's why I think it would be a swell idea to do a Team Building Exercise. And by that I mean compete in the local gentleman's club Pole Dancing Contest because the winner gets 750 bucks.

There are five of us in the office; 3 girls and 2 guys. Obviously, we'll need a girl for the pole. And I pick not me. Mostly because I'm not that flexible but also because I get dizzy pretty easy and from what I've seen on late night Showtime there's an awful lot of upside down, whipping your head back & forth and side to side action going on. I think it's safe to say that puking in the laps of a bunch of drunken horny perverts is not going to clinch the $750 prize.

So, I figure we'll need at least two bases to heft the Pole Girl up because, let's be honest, the most strenuous physical activity any of us do in the office is raise our cup of coffee. There's no way any of us can haul our own body weight up and hold it in an attractive position.

If we have two Bases and one Pole Girl, that leaves two of us to help manipulate body parts and spin Pole Girl around. Spinning is very important when pole dancing because drunk people like to be amazed. The easiest way to amaze them is by quick movement. Did you see how fast she moved? She was awesome! Shoot, a girl sneezing would be awesome if she were naked. Did you see how fast that snot flew out? I think I'm in love.

Of course, we'll need costumes. I'm opting for one of those large oversized t-shirts that have the sexy body screen printed on it....

I'm sexy and I know it.

Also, I might have to invest in legwarmers because I get cold easy and ain't nobody going to be checking out my ankles.

Experts say that by being forced to work together as a team people will learn to trust each other. I was in the military and we did all sorts of things like that. Once we climbed this super tall tower and you basically just had to pray to God that the people reaching their hand down to you would continue holding on as you were left dangling over the edge, ready to drop to your death at any moment. I wouldn't say that particular exercise made me trust anyone better, but it sure taught me to make sure my hands are dry at all times.

More than anything I'm thinking about what we could do with 750 bones to help build morale in the office. We could host a paid lunch for the employees once a month for an entire year. Or longer if we settled for Subway Party subs and those $5.00 Monday Only Special pizzas.

Or we could just save the money and use it to buy envelopes and letter head in November. Because we always run out towards the end of the year, usually around the same time it's noticed that we're over budget, and so a No Mailing or Letter Writing rule gets issued. (You'd be amazed at the amount of correspondence that doesn't get printed or sent until January. And how crabby it makes people when they can't print anything because there's no paper.)

Either way, I say it'd be a huge improvement if we can work together for the big win.

Friday, February 3, 2012

10 Things I'm Going To Do When I Grow Up And Get My Own Apartment

1. Enjoy crunchy, non-stale crackers because all food packages will be properly sealed according to the Pantry Re-entry System.

2. Buy new underwear since I no longer have to pay additional $150 surprise teen fees on my cell phone bill.

3. Block the Disney channel using the parental control system on my brand new television set. (My brand new television set that has all its buttons and does not have a permanent marker doodle in the left hand corner of the screen.) And I'm also blocking Nickelodeon.

4. Never, ever, ever put my hand in a crusty, grungy sock to turn it right-side-out in order to effectively wash the sucker. People who leave their balled up socks in my living room will not be allowed over to play.

5. Enjoy meals that include dishes like mashed potatoes with goat cheese and kale, or tandoori chicken or spicy black bean soup in the absence of whining.

6. Go to the bathroom. by. myself.

7. Read in silence. And actually recall what it was that I just read.

8. Walk barefoot through my living room without threat of severe injury or impalement. (No matchbox cars.)

9. Enjoy the fact the dish rag is effectively wrung out after each use and not left in a wadded sopping mess shoved between the kitchen faucet and the wall.

10. Buy really good shampoo and conditioner now since the only user has a keen sense of portion control.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The One In Which I Realize The Very Real Possibility I May Be Completely Outwitted.

On December 1st, 2011, I retrieved a jar of treasured spaghetti sauce from my pantry and handed it to Big V with explicit instructions to put the remaining sauce in the refrigerator so it was not wasted. I then exited the residence confident in his compliance.

However, he did not put the jar in the fridge.

The freaking jar sat on my kitchen counter for days.... weeks, even... because we are both incredibly bull headed and stubborn, if not also incredibly cute.

On December 24th, 2011, as we prepared dinner for my parents, I noticed Big V had finally thrown the stupid, nasty, moldy jar of sauce away. And I had won.

Or so I thought.

Readers, I present to you January 28th, 2012:

It should be noted that in order to place the jar next to the bird seed in the garage one must walk past not one, not two, but three large garbage cans and two recycling bins.

When confronted with my discovery, Big V calmly pointed out that he never said he had actually thrown the jar away, that I had simply assumed so when I realized the extent the counter was cleaned, nor did he feel compelled to correct me while I was jumping around the kitchen singing you threw it ou-out! you threw it ou-out! I knew you wo-ould! I knew you wo-ould!

Well played, Big V. Well played, indeed.

The One in which I take my Father for his Covid Vaccine

I got a voicemail the other day from the hospital saying ‘since you’re the contact on record we just want you to know your Dad can get a Cov...