Cereal Drama


As previously mentioned, Husband and I tried shopping together again.  I know, I swore we wouldn’t.  And we don’t, honestly, for all the reasons you already know about… but this was Costco, and if you’ve ever been then you know that it’s just not possible to do that place alone.  Sure, you walk in with a plan and you’re only going to grab bread and canned tomatoes and ground buffalo, but then the guy with the TV’s stops you and he’s not wrong—they’re huge, and the picture quality is amazing, and it wouldn’t hurt to stop and look—but you’re smarter than that so you duck down the nearest aisle and find yourself surrounded by composite flooring samples as far as the eye can see.  Where is the food?  Miles away, and you’ve still got to get past the piles of books if you want to see produce, so good luck getting out before hunger sets in.


costco alcohol section

There are worse places to be stranded.


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I Need to Meet Peter Jackson


Sometimes a Conversation is totally worth sharing, but it’s also really long and I’m afraid that you won’t understand… us.  I’m afraid you won’t understand that this is really how we are, that this is just a normal six or seven minutes in the car on the way back from Costco (where another thing happened, because we tried shopping together, but that’s just going to have to wait, you know?) and really this was just the last few minutes of the drive… but you don’t want to read about that time we talked politics, or money, or about the Offspring’s future.  And then I wonder what it is you do want to read about, and I start questioning everything this blog is about before I remember two things:


  1. It’s just a blog. Jesus, has anything in the history of everything ever mattered less?
  2. It’s my blog, so I can post whatever I want. Right?  This is not Instagram, where we’re terribly worried about impressing each other, or Facebook where we don’t want to offend anyone. *


sometimes I post photos I shouldn't

One could argue that most of the photos I post should have been kept to myself.


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Everybody Out of the Pool!


Summer has officially arrived. 

wizard of oz cast melting in summer heat

That magical time of year when I finally stop bitching about the cold… to bitch about the humidity.


I know this because my son is home all day now, which means daytime sex with my dreamy husband is but a memory.  It also means that we don’t have to deal with all his school shit, but I’m thinking now that I’d trade all that to not have him kicking around the house all summer. 


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One… Two…


I had every intention of being all better by now, but instead I keep waking up with fresh symptoms… and friends who work in health care are nodding and saying helpful things like, “Has the vomiting started yet?” so I’d like to make one last plea to all parents: please keep your children home at all times, preferably in plastic bubbles, so that they don’t go around wiping their noses on the rest of the world.  Until that day, I’ll just keep telling myself that whiskey fudge will totally work better than anything my stupid doctor gives me. 


Side note; I think I’ve finally sorted my whiskey fudge recipe.


Rory Gilmore "you go, girl"

Intoxicatingly delicious.

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