Bill Clinton called me today. I was so excited. Well, it wasn't so much Bill Clinton as it was a recording of Bill Clinton in which he told me to vote for certain people. I am going to do just as he told me because if a former president of the US of A went out of his way to call me and tell me what to do, I am sure as heck going to do it. It's called respect people. I am nothing if not respectful. And try not to be too jealous of the fact that he didn't call you. I'm told he has a preference for girls with dark hair. And yes, I still think of myself as a girl.
The whole thing reminded of the time President Barack Obama called me, except for he wasn't the president yet and again it was just a recording, which was a real shame because I wanted to ask him if he truly was a socialist. I wasn't even sure what the word meant, but I knew a lot of people were telling me he was one and they seemed pretty upset about it and I was wondering if I should be upset about it too. I thought I could pin him down and have him tell me once and for all if this description of him was accurate, but he just rambled on and then he hung up on me. It almost made me not want to vote for him. Almost. But I thought he was cuter than the other guy so I really had no choice. Then I saw a picture of him with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and I wanted to vote for him even more. I think the picture was meant to detract people from liking him, but it had the opposite effect on me. I've always been a sucker for a bad ass and he looked like one in that photo. I figured he was just the guy to keep us safe from all the evils of the world.
By the way, I'm still not completely sure what a socialist is, but I think it may it have something to do with being able to have fun at a party, like, "My best friend Sue is such a good socialist. Whenever we go out she is the life of the party!" If I am correct about this meaning, and I think I am, then I cannot figure out why people are having a problem with the whole thing. After all, we are constantly reading articles and hearing things on TV about how important it is to socialize and a have a big network of friends. People who are socialist live longer, happier lives, they are healthier than their unsocialist counterparts, and yet we have half the country upset about a socialist being in office and now they're going to send a message. Everyone who supported this socialist is going to be run out of office, so I guess we are going to have one miserable country on our hands. Well, if you are against having a good time, go ahead and vote for those fuddy duddies, but not me. I like socialistizing and having fun and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
Now after clicking on spellcheck I realize that socialistizing is not a word (although it should be) and I fear I may be confused about this whole thing, but the elections are just two days away, certainly not enough time to figure things out on my own, so I am going to just go ahead and stick to my original plan of voting for who Bill Clinton told me to vote for. Fingers crossed people. If the country goes to hell in a hand basket, don't blame me. I voted for the fun people.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Know thyself
I decided to do a health and wellness experiment this week to see if sugar really is as bad for you as all the "experts" claim, and I only decided to call it an experiment after it was all over, because that made me feel better than just admitting I'm a pig with no self control, which is closer to the truth.
I bought seven boxes of Black Crows last week and proceeded to eat two entire boxes within a matter of about twenty minutes. After consuming somewhere close to 2000 calories of pure sugar, I mysteriously got a throbbing headache and crushing stomach pains. I ended up spending a good portion of the afternoon alternating between running to the bathroom, laying on my bed sweating, lamenting my gluttony, and figuring out ways to keep my husband from knowing why I was feeling so lousy. I must have done something right because he was convinced it was my "allergies." Before it was all over a good twelve hours of my life had been wasted due to my overindulgence.
By the way, if you're wondering why I only bought seven boxes of Black Crows, it's because that's all that was left in the store. They were in the sale bin and were marked down to sixty four cents and the sign on them said, "last chance." I wasn't really sure if "last chance" meant that they would never be sold for that low, low price again (as opposed to the normal and much higher price of one dollar and forty nine cents), or if "last chance" meant they were no longer going to be sold at all. I feared the later may have been the case, as I'm quite sure I'm the only person alive who eats these little licorice flavored gum drops, and so I felt compelled to buy every available box. Before you judge me too harshly I do have a perfectly valid reason for behaving like this and once you hear it you'll understand my predicament.
Years ago, my little brother, who had just turned 25 and was not so little, was extremely sick and in the hospital. It was early November and so of course all the Christmas candy was out on the store shelfs. There was a CVS right across the street from the hospital, so every time I went to see Christopher I first made my way to CVS to pick up treats for myself. I really felt I deserved it as there is nothing quite so boring as sitting in a hospital room waiting for someone who is deathly ill to get better. I kid. My brother's room was actually quite a happening spot.
A particular candy company put out one of the best tasting treats ever that Christmas. They were a jellied candy with the perfect combination of vanilla and marshmallow flavoring and were softer and fresher than any other jellied candy I had ever tasted. Oh, and they didn't even get stuck in my teeth. During this particular holiday season, my sister (who appreciates sugar even more than me) and I snacked on this until we made ourselves sick, but back then my stomach was much stronger so even after making myself sick I could go back for more.
After several weeks, my brother got better, Christmas came and went, and so too did the marshmallow flavored jellied concoction. My sister and I had now gotten as attached to the candy as we would a person, so we were of course crushed about the season ending. We pined away and every once in awhile one of us would go to the store hoping to find a forgotten bag stuffed in back of the shelf. We finally resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have to wait for several months before indulging in these tasty treats again.
This story has a sad ending. The following Christmas came and went with no sign of the candy. We were crushed. There was talk of writing the company to find out what happened and even now, fifteen years since we last tasted them, we still mention them affectionately when talking about candy, which we do quite a bit. I'm sure someone is reading this and thinking I am exaggerating our obsession with this particular treat and candy in general, but that would only serve to prove that you don't know me or my sister too well.
When I saw those last seven boxes of Black Crows this past week, with the words "last chance" written on them, I panicked and thought back to that other candy that never was heard from again. I knew I was obligated to buy every box I could, just in case. I'm not sure I needed to eat two full boxes in a matter of minutes, but I have been known to be powerless in the face of temptation. Plus, I admit that I never really was fully on board with the whole, "sugar is evil," bandwagon that's been going around for the past couple of years. That's just other people's say so and I've always been the sort of girl who needs to learn things on her own. Now I can say with certainty, through my own experience and no one else's, that sugar is definitely brought to you by the devil.
I threw away the other five boxes of Black Crows that were stashed under my car seat, because honestly, as lousy as they made me feel, I know myself and there was no way I wasn't going to repeat the whole episode again if given the chance. And thankfully the garbage men came and took away the bin so there is no way I will rummage through the garbage can to pick them out, which I also know am not above.
I bought seven boxes of Black Crows last week and proceeded to eat two entire boxes within a matter of about twenty minutes. After consuming somewhere close to 2000 calories of pure sugar, I mysteriously got a throbbing headache and crushing stomach pains. I ended up spending a good portion of the afternoon alternating between running to the bathroom, laying on my bed sweating, lamenting my gluttony, and figuring out ways to keep my husband from knowing why I was feeling so lousy. I must have done something right because he was convinced it was my "allergies." Before it was all over a good twelve hours of my life had been wasted due to my overindulgence.
By the way, if you're wondering why I only bought seven boxes of Black Crows, it's because that's all that was left in the store. They were in the sale bin and were marked down to sixty four cents and the sign on them said, "last chance." I wasn't really sure if "last chance" meant that they would never be sold for that low, low price again (as opposed to the normal and much higher price of one dollar and forty nine cents), or if "last chance" meant they were no longer going to be sold at all. I feared the later may have been the case, as I'm quite sure I'm the only person alive who eats these little licorice flavored gum drops, and so I felt compelled to buy every available box. Before you judge me too harshly I do have a perfectly valid reason for behaving like this and once you hear it you'll understand my predicament.
Years ago, my little brother, who had just turned 25 and was not so little, was extremely sick and in the hospital. It was early November and so of course all the Christmas candy was out on the store shelfs. There was a CVS right across the street from the hospital, so every time I went to see Christopher I first made my way to CVS to pick up treats for myself. I really felt I deserved it as there is nothing quite so boring as sitting in a hospital room waiting for someone who is deathly ill to get better. I kid. My brother's room was actually quite a happening spot.
A particular candy company put out one of the best tasting treats ever that Christmas. They were a jellied candy with the perfect combination of vanilla and marshmallow flavoring and were softer and fresher than any other jellied candy I had ever tasted. Oh, and they didn't even get stuck in my teeth. During this particular holiday season, my sister (who appreciates sugar even more than me) and I snacked on this until we made ourselves sick, but back then my stomach was much stronger so even after making myself sick I could go back for more.
After several weeks, my brother got better, Christmas came and went, and so too did the marshmallow flavored jellied concoction. My sister and I had now gotten as attached to the candy as we would a person, so we were of course crushed about the season ending. We pined away and every once in awhile one of us would go to the store hoping to find a forgotten bag stuffed in back of the shelf. We finally resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have to wait for several months before indulging in these tasty treats again.
This story has a sad ending. The following Christmas came and went with no sign of the candy. We were crushed. There was talk of writing the company to find out what happened and even now, fifteen years since we last tasted them, we still mention them affectionately when talking about candy, which we do quite a bit. I'm sure someone is reading this and thinking I am exaggerating our obsession with this particular treat and candy in general, but that would only serve to prove that you don't know me or my sister too well.
When I saw those last seven boxes of Black Crows this past week, with the words "last chance" written on them, I panicked and thought back to that other candy that never was heard from again. I knew I was obligated to buy every box I could, just in case. I'm not sure I needed to eat two full boxes in a matter of minutes, but I have been known to be powerless in the face of temptation. Plus, I admit that I never really was fully on board with the whole, "sugar is evil," bandwagon that's been going around for the past couple of years. That's just other people's say so and I've always been the sort of girl who needs to learn things on her own. Now I can say with certainty, through my own experience and no one else's, that sugar is definitely brought to you by the devil.
I threw away the other five boxes of Black Crows that were stashed under my car seat, because honestly, as lousy as they made me feel, I know myself and there was no way I wasn't going to repeat the whole episode again if given the chance. And thankfully the garbage men came and took away the bin so there is no way I will rummage through the garbage can to pick them out, which I also know am not above.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Life lessons
In other disturbing news (I know that isn't a great way to begin a story in which there hasn't been any other news, disturbing or otherwise, but who cares - I got your attention, right?) Our neighbor, who is only eight, and her mother, who is more than eight but one year less than forty, asked Jack to buy a rooster, which he did. He immediately showed the rooster to Maggie and Maggie immediately loved the rooster. She named him Tom, although Lenny would have been more appropriate.
Maggie woke up the past couple of days and couldn't wait to go feed Tom some grass. She talked about Tom quite a bit and I think she may have even dreamed about him. Then Jack, after witnessing the sweetness of this relationship, got really nervous and confessed to me that he got himself into a jam and didn't know what to do. The jam was that our neighbor and her daughter only wanted Jack to get the rooster so he could kill it and fry it. They thought this would be "fun".
Now this posed some problems. One was that Maggie had become attached to the rooster, even though Jack only had it for three days. Another was that I began to think my neighbors were sick freaks and I truly don't like thinking things like this (okay, I like it a little). My thought was that it would have been somewhat simpler, and much less disgusting, to drive the two miles to the local Publix and buy a chicken that had already been properly slaughtered.
Another issue was that whenever my children kill lubbers, the little girl member of this disturbed family tells my children that they are horrible for killing one of God's creatures. So there was a bit of hypocrisy going on. Kate immediately picked up on this, said something about it to the girl, and the reply was, "well, God put us in charge of animals and chickens are for eating," and then Kate said to me, "this is why people can't stand Christians. They make no sense." To which I agreed. It should be noted that there are many people I can't stand. I don't stop at Christians.
Anyway, we went off to church on Sunday (that's what good Christians do)and while we were there, the other Christians stayed home, killed the chicken, and then hid all remnants of it so that Maggie wouldn't know what had happened. When we got home Maggie ran over to see Tom and they all lied and told her that they brought Tom back to the farm because he missed his mommy. Maggie cried for several minutes.
Things were getting ridiculous and the humor in all of this had reached a level that was crossing over into the insane. I wanted to say, "Oh so while I was receiving the body of Christ, you were all butchering an innocent chicken," but I have found that sometimes people really don't appreciate my sense of humor, especially when it concerns religious matters, so I let that one go, but I did say, "well, you wouldn't have to lie if you believed in what you did." And they all looked down shamefully and my mission was accomplished.
Then I decided to turn the whole thing into a life lesson, because if there is one thing I know for sure it is that my children love when I turn everything into a life lesson. Trust me - they adore me for this. Go ahead and try it on your own kids and you'll see what I mean.
Anyway - Life lesson? My life is somewhat boring and I'm glad I have sick freaks for neighbors or I would have nothing to write about. Maybe if I'm lucky one of them will want some fresh beef real soon.
Maggie woke up the past couple of days and couldn't wait to go feed Tom some grass. She talked about Tom quite a bit and I think she may have even dreamed about him. Then Jack, after witnessing the sweetness of this relationship, got really nervous and confessed to me that he got himself into a jam and didn't know what to do. The jam was that our neighbor and her daughter only wanted Jack to get the rooster so he could kill it and fry it. They thought this would be "fun".
Now this posed some problems. One was that Maggie had become attached to the rooster, even though Jack only had it for three days. Another was that I began to think my neighbors were sick freaks and I truly don't like thinking things like this (okay, I like it a little). My thought was that it would have been somewhat simpler, and much less disgusting, to drive the two miles to the local Publix and buy a chicken that had already been properly slaughtered.
Another issue was that whenever my children kill lubbers, the little girl member of this disturbed family tells my children that they are horrible for killing one of God's creatures. So there was a bit of hypocrisy going on. Kate immediately picked up on this, said something about it to the girl, and the reply was, "well, God put us in charge of animals and chickens are for eating," and then Kate said to me, "this is why people can't stand Christians. They make no sense." To which I agreed. It should be noted that there are many people I can't stand. I don't stop at Christians.
Anyway, we went off to church on Sunday (that's what good Christians do)and while we were there, the other Christians stayed home, killed the chicken, and then hid all remnants of it so that Maggie wouldn't know what had happened. When we got home Maggie ran over to see Tom and they all lied and told her that they brought Tom back to the farm because he missed his mommy. Maggie cried for several minutes.
Things were getting ridiculous and the humor in all of this had reached a level that was crossing over into the insane. I wanted to say, "Oh so while I was receiving the body of Christ, you were all butchering an innocent chicken," but I have found that sometimes people really don't appreciate my sense of humor, especially when it concerns religious matters, so I let that one go, but I did say, "well, you wouldn't have to lie if you believed in what you did." And they all looked down shamefully and my mission was accomplished.
Then I decided to turn the whole thing into a life lesson, because if there is one thing I know for sure it is that my children love when I turn everything into a life lesson. Trust me - they adore me for this. Go ahead and try it on your own kids and you'll see what I mean.
Anyway - Life lesson? My life is somewhat boring and I'm glad I have sick freaks for neighbors or I would have nothing to write about. Maybe if I'm lucky one of them will want some fresh beef real soon.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Friday thoughts
I've fallen back into my caffeine addiction. I did so well for months, and then a few weeks ago I went nuts and had a whole pot of iced coffee. I blame it on the weather. It was cool and crisp and I felt obligated to have a drink containing something with the flavor of pumpkin in it. Even though it left me feeling horrible and jittery I decided to do it again the next day, because that's the kind of person I am. If I'm going to do something unhealthy I'm going to do it big. What's the point of moderation? I mean you might as well not be doing it at all. I tried to make myself feel better by drinking a huge glass of water after each cup of iced coffee, but I was spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom so I cut some of the water out. Yesterday I only had two iced coffees and today I am hoping to cut it down to one and just be done with it.
After complaining about homeschooling yesterday I feel obliged to say that we are having good day so far. I'm always torn about whether or not I should even express any negative feelings I am having about homeschooling, or anything at all for that matter. Sometimes I think if you go through life pretending everything is perfect you actual start believing it, so I may try that for a while. And honestly, my life is pretty cushy. I mean here I am sitting in front of a computer being completely self-absorbed. Does it get any better?
Greg took Jane bathing suit shopping last night. I'm happy that my husband releases me from this horrendous experience. I hate shopping. I especially hate shopping with 14 year old girls. I bond with Jane over many things, but shopping is not one of them. Shopping brings out the worst in me, so not only do we not bond, but I am pretty sure that I have damaged her beyond repair during some of our shopping experiences. Anyway, they were gone for two hours, but couldn't find anything. This would have sent me into a rage, but Greg just came home and said something about going out again some other time. He wasn't the least bit annoyed about wasting two hours of his life. Are you waiting for me to tell you my guy is the best? I'm not going. I hate when people say their hubby is the best. I always want to say, "You mean the best for YOU, make sure you say he's the best for YOU, not for every other woman." I actually stopped reading Pioneer Woman because she was always writing in a way that made me think she almost wants everyone to covet her husband and his butt, which really is not that hot. Sometimes all the ways you adore your husband should just be kept to yourself, especially if it includes the way you think he has such a great butt. I'm sorry, but I speak the truth. Women should not want other women lusting after their hubby. It's gross.
Wow. That second cup of iced coffee I wasn't going to have, but just finished, is really working it's charms on me! I bet you all just love my previous rant. Whatever - I'm not taking it out. I'm sick of worrying that someone may be offended by something I say, or that someone may think I'm insane for making such observations.
There must be a bad accident somewhere because I've been hearing sirens for awhile. Every time Maggie hears sirens she says, "Oh no, someone hit a bag of puppies!" I have no idea where this is coming from. We reassure her that's not what just happened, but she keeps saying it.
My girls are done with their assignments so I need to go finish up the rest of our work. I want to be done early today because this is the best weather day ever and who wants to be wasting it inside? And tonight is going to be even better. I love a nice cool evening - there's something so romantic about it. Maybe me and my fab and luscious hubby will take a midnight stroll!! And I'll tell you all about how wonderfully romantic it was in my next post.
After complaining about homeschooling yesterday I feel obliged to say that we are having good day so far. I'm always torn about whether or not I should even express any negative feelings I am having about homeschooling, or anything at all for that matter. Sometimes I think if you go through life pretending everything is perfect you actual start believing it, so I may try that for a while. And honestly, my life is pretty cushy. I mean here I am sitting in front of a computer being completely self-absorbed. Does it get any better?
Greg took Jane bathing suit shopping last night. I'm happy that my husband releases me from this horrendous experience. I hate shopping. I especially hate shopping with 14 year old girls. I bond with Jane over many things, but shopping is not one of them. Shopping brings out the worst in me, so not only do we not bond, but I am pretty sure that I have damaged her beyond repair during some of our shopping experiences. Anyway, they were gone for two hours, but couldn't find anything. This would have sent me into a rage, but Greg just came home and said something about going out again some other time. He wasn't the least bit annoyed about wasting two hours of his life. Are you waiting for me to tell you my guy is the best? I'm not going. I hate when people say their hubby is the best. I always want to say, "You mean the best for YOU, make sure you say he's the best for YOU, not for every other woman." I actually stopped reading Pioneer Woman because she was always writing in a way that made me think she almost wants everyone to covet her husband and his butt, which really is not that hot. Sometimes all the ways you adore your husband should just be kept to yourself, especially if it includes the way you think he has such a great butt. I'm sorry, but I speak the truth. Women should not want other women lusting after their hubby. It's gross.
Wow. That second cup of iced coffee I wasn't going to have, but just finished, is really working it's charms on me! I bet you all just love my previous rant. Whatever - I'm not taking it out. I'm sick of worrying that someone may be offended by something I say, or that someone may think I'm insane for making such observations.
There must be a bad accident somewhere because I've been hearing sirens for awhile. Every time Maggie hears sirens she says, "Oh no, someone hit a bag of puppies!" I have no idea where this is coming from. We reassure her that's not what just happened, but she keeps saying it.
My girls are done with their assignments so I need to go finish up the rest of our work. I want to be done early today because this is the best weather day ever and who wants to be wasting it inside? And tonight is going to be even better. I love a nice cool evening - there's something so romantic about it. Maybe me and my fab and luscious hubby will take a midnight stroll!! And I'll tell you all about how wonderfully romantic it was in my next post.
Friday, September 10, 2010
bookcases
I read this book over the summer called Bird by Bird, written by Anne Lemott. I'm not a big fan of her, which is why as soon as I saw the book sitting on my sister's table I picked it up and decided to read it. I figured it would give me something to complain about. The last time I read something by her I spent most of my time trying hard not to throw the book across my bedroom. But alas, Anne surprised me this time because once I started reading Bird by Bird I realized I loved it. In fact, I couldn't put it down and went about ignoring everyone for a full day just so I could get through it.
The book was about writing and all the reasons we should write as much as we can. I was inspired to come home and write everyday, but obviously not that inspired because I've barely managed to get out one blog post a week since I read that book.
Since the truth is that there is no chance of me writing everyday, or even once a week, I decided to write a really long post about everything that has been going on over here. Back when I was writing daily I would have taken each one of these things and stretched them out into their own little post, thereby boring you on a daily basis (and really, who is "you"? Does anyone read blogs anymore? They seem so passe, don't they?), but now I have done you the favor of reducing it all down into one long post. This saves everyone time. Here goes.
I finally bought some bookcases. They were cheap and not at all easy to put together. I had been wanting to get some for quite a while, as our books were just stacked precariously all over the place. Maggie spent everyday kicking and throwing them around and I spent everyday picking them up, until finally one day a couple of weeks ago I just decided not to pick them up and they were left all over the living room floor for everyone to trip over, and there they sat, not seeming to bother anyone. I kept telling my children that we should apply for a spot on Hoarders, that's how bad it looked in here. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would be shaking her head disapprovingly and yelling out, "she's a Loatman." (Loatman is my dad's surname.)
When I opened the bookcase boxes I found that there were close to one million screws and nails and other things that need to be put into the bookcases in order for them to stand upright. It was very disappointing. The first one took over two hours to put together. I wisely sent the kids over to a neighbor's house because I sensed I may drop one or two f bombs in the whole process. I was dripping with sweat and maybe even some tears, but when I finally saw the first one put together I was so proud of myself that I forgot all the bad stuff that transpired beforehand. It was just like childbirth. Caught in the emotion of it all I wanted to rush into opening that second box.
And then I looked at the one I had just put together and realized that part of it was put on backwards. It's hard to describe but the unfinished parts of the wood were facing out. I was reminded of the motto I made up for myself months and months ago - "Ann Marie - doing things half-assed since 1969." Thankfully I buy paint on an almost daily basis, due to my love of painting and repainting everything in my house every other week, perhaps in an effort to get high off of paint fumes. I found some black paint and hurried up and painted the area that needed it and hoped Greg wouldn't notice, which he didn't.
The second one was put together much quicker and with much less sweat and tears. Jane was even allowed inside to help me, but three minutes into it she claimed to be very ill and ran in her room, only to come out when the phone rang and saw it was a friend of hers. I reminded her that she probably shouldn't talk on the phone, what with her feeling so ill, but she told me it just turned out to be gas. I know I shouldn't tell everyone that embarrassing tidbit about her, but in this case I think she deserves it. I'm vindictive and proudly so. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would smile and say, "She's a Michele." (her maiden name)
Now my house is lovely and organized and I just know it will stay that way forever, because if there is one thing I know about my family it's that when I work hard at doing something around here they completely respect me and do their best to keep things tidy. Well, maybe not their best, but they will talk about how nice the house looked for that one week when we decided to be organized.
My plan to recap all the events of my recent days into one post has proved futile. No matter how you slice it, I have a knack for taking what could have been a two sentence remark and turning into a long winded, pointless post so now I am forced to finish this post and not relay any of the other things I was going to tell you about.
The book was about writing and all the reasons we should write as much as we can. I was inspired to come home and write everyday, but obviously not that inspired because I've barely managed to get out one blog post a week since I read that book.
Since the truth is that there is no chance of me writing everyday, or even once a week, I decided to write a really long post about everything that has been going on over here. Back when I was writing daily I would have taken each one of these things and stretched them out into their own little post, thereby boring you on a daily basis (and really, who is "you"? Does anyone read blogs anymore? They seem so passe, don't they?), but now I have done you the favor of reducing it all down into one long post. This saves everyone time. Here goes.
I finally bought some bookcases. They were cheap and not at all easy to put together. I had been wanting to get some for quite a while, as our books were just stacked precariously all over the place. Maggie spent everyday kicking and throwing them around and I spent everyday picking them up, until finally one day a couple of weeks ago I just decided not to pick them up and they were left all over the living room floor for everyone to trip over, and there they sat, not seeming to bother anyone. I kept telling my children that we should apply for a spot on Hoarders, that's how bad it looked in here. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would be shaking her head disapprovingly and yelling out, "she's a Loatman." (Loatman is my dad's surname.)
When I opened the bookcase boxes I found that there were close to one million screws and nails and other things that need to be put into the bookcases in order for them to stand upright. It was very disappointing. The first one took over two hours to put together. I wisely sent the kids over to a neighbor's house because I sensed I may drop one or two f bombs in the whole process. I was dripping with sweat and maybe even some tears, but when I finally saw the first one put together I was so proud of myself that I forgot all the bad stuff that transpired beforehand. It was just like childbirth. Caught in the emotion of it all I wanted to rush into opening that second box.
And then I looked at the one I had just put together and realized that part of it was put on backwards. It's hard to describe but the unfinished parts of the wood were facing out. I was reminded of the motto I made up for myself months and months ago - "Ann Marie - doing things half-assed since 1969." Thankfully I buy paint on an almost daily basis, due to my love of painting and repainting everything in my house every other week, perhaps in an effort to get high off of paint fumes. I found some black paint and hurried up and painted the area that needed it and hoped Greg wouldn't notice, which he didn't.
The second one was put together much quicker and with much less sweat and tears. Jane was even allowed inside to help me, but three minutes into it she claimed to be very ill and ran in her room, only to come out when the phone rang and saw it was a friend of hers. I reminded her that she probably shouldn't talk on the phone, what with her feeling so ill, but she told me it just turned out to be gas. I know I shouldn't tell everyone that embarrassing tidbit about her, but in this case I think she deserves it. I'm vindictive and proudly so. If my Nana Devito was reading this right now she would smile and say, "She's a Michele." (her maiden name)
Now my house is lovely and organized and I just know it will stay that way forever, because if there is one thing I know about my family it's that when I work hard at doing something around here they completely respect me and do their best to keep things tidy. Well, maybe not their best, but they will talk about how nice the house looked for that one week when we decided to be organized.
My plan to recap all the events of my recent days into one post has proved futile. No matter how you slice it, I have a knack for taking what could have been a two sentence remark and turning into a long winded, pointless post so now I am forced to finish this post and not relay any of the other things I was going to tell you about.
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