I'm glad you guys like my stories. It really helps me to rant them, and then let them go....
Caryn has a really awesome solution for my dog poop crazy neighbour: poop in a box and leave it on her doorstep, and videotape her opening the box. Replay on days where people are mean to you and need a laugh.
CHECK! Will be done tomorrow!!! WOOOOOOOOWEEEEEEEE, would I LOVE TO SEE HER FACE!!!!!!!
I'll post the video here so you can all enjoy it with me. I promise I won't videotape myself pooping in the box.
So I had a close call today, of the non-life-threatening variety. I was at the grocery store line up around dinnertime with Riley in the cart and a conveyer belt full of groceries. I was wearing one of Brent's t-shirts, jeans that are too big for me, one pink sock and one blue sock, and a fuzzy ponytail. When it rains, what's the point of doing anything with your hair? It just fuzzes anyways. Unfortunately it rains like HALF THE YEAR here, so a fuzzy ponytail is pretty much my hairdo du annee as opposed to du jour. It was grungy and dumpy and made me look about 15 lbs heavier than I am, which is about 30 lbs heavier than I SHOULD be, but who cares, it's just the grocery store, right?
Well, I'm standing there when in walks MY EX BOYFRIEND. Not the one I had before I met Brent, but the one before that. The only one I would care about seeing me at all, because he was the only one I respected one single iota by the time the relationship was over. This particular boyfriend was meticulous about his appearance. He had this thing about dignity in public, which I was so obviously sorely lacking with my baby-lugging-grocery-shopping-30 lbs-too-fat-looking-fuzzy-hair motif, and which made me want to be Harry Potter with his invisibility cloak SO BADLY.
Not that I want my ex. Seriously, he and I were poison together. PUH-oison. But I do want this ex, if he ever sees me, to think "Shazam! She's looking great!! She's so pretty. I really liked her. Oh, how lucky her husband is to have such a great wife." I don't know if any of you can relate to this, but I want this reaction pretty bad. Especially because when he walks in the store he is dressed perfectly. Expensive black pants, funky and stylish yet very high end dress shirt, cool fluevog shoes, expensive black pea coat, and perfectly messy-yet-professionally styled hair. Urk. Have I ever felt more frumpy in my life? I think no. I use my spidey senses to watch him stroll over to the floral department and pick out a large bouquet of flowers (while listening to music on his iphone) and then come over and STAND BEHIND ME IN LINE as I hike up my pants and try desperately to suck in my gut and look 115 lbs. Ohmygoshohmygosh will he recognize me? Will he say anything to me? What will I say? I'm going to go all red and stutter, I JUST KNOW IT!
I turn around to face him and say hi, and I realize it's not him. It's not my ex boyfriend, the one with all the dignity and all the coolness and all the"Her husband is so lucky!!!"
Whew. That'll teach me to go to the store in my frumpy clothes and fuzzy hair. I want to cry with relief. And laugh out loud at myself, getting all worked up about NOTHING!
I bought a roasting oven recently. It is supposed to be for roasting turkeys and roasts, but I use it for turkeys and pasta sauce and APPLESAUCE in large quantities! I had an assembly line of child slave labour in my kitchen this afternoon: Matthew washed , Riley played in the washing water, I cored and peeled, and Ayden sliced and took out the hard bits that surround the seeds, which often get left behind by my corer. Suddenly I smelled something burning and realized that Riley had turned the roaster on to 450 degrees with just a few apples in it and no water!!! Yikes! I managed to save them without stepping on the underfoot dog, or swearing, or knocking any kids off their chairs.
Another 9 jars of applesauce, done! I have only 105 lbs of apples to go....
Wish me luck!