So… thanks to some good folks in my world, the last harvest gold appliance has been ejected from Casa de Wellman. It’s glorious.. stainless steely looking stuff everywhere! The only remnant of the 70’s in my kitchen are the formica counters, which are only still there cause the idea of ripping out the cabinets and counters and paying for new ones makes me weak in the knees. My mother innocently suggested that we get Home De(s)pot to replace them, after which I reminded her of the Saga of the Flooring. So yeah, counters are going to be a hot minute.

Now, replacing the dishwasher was traumatic because I learned that when it is done doing the voodoo it does, it sings to me.

The effin appliance sings to me.

Is it a stereo?

No, it is not. It is a damned dishwasher and all I want is quiet.

Knowing that this is my outlook on appliances, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I found that the damned stove also sings at me.

And it has an app I can install so it can talk to my phone.

Fuck. Me. Running.

Is it too much to ask to get a stove that just cooks food? I don’t need it to tell me when it’s hot or when it’s done or have long involved conversations with my phone about what is Ari’s deal anyway.

I don’t want a refrigerator I can check the contents of from space. It also does not need to turn clear to show me the contents if I tap the fuckin door. Or order me more groceries from Amazon.

You know what all this fancy shit is? It’s more shit to get reliant on, so when it breaks, you feel like you OMG HAVE TO HAVE A NEW ONE THAT DOES ALL THE THINGS.

It’s alright, Stovey McStoverson. I know you’re reading this. I know you’re already planning on how to overthrow my benevolent dictatorship and rule the kitchen. I’m wise to your little game, sir.

And it won’t work. I’m putting things in when I want to put them in, not when you decide you’re preheated. And I’ll figure out when things are done by using the damn nose that tunes in to everyfreakinthing on the planet.

And once I find your soundboard and speaker, it’s over, Stovey.

Stoves. Shouldn’t. Sing.

Stovey lying in wait.

Thought I’d share along what works and what doesn’t… I’m currently trying to stick to 1200 calories and under a day with an hour of hard cardio and another 30 minutes of light activity.

1. Sweet n Salty Angie’s Boom Chicka Pop- 140 calories for 2 cups, and OMG what a 2 cups it is. Think of it as a grown up’s Cracker Jacks, without the peanuts, and without such a heavy hand on the sugar. Honestly, out of all the stuff I’ve tried so far, this is far and away my favorite. I found it hiding out in the organic/healthy food section of my local supermarket, and picked it up with extreme trepidation that quickly turned to “Oh hell yes!” It’s earned a place on my snack shelf forevermore.  Grade- A+
2. Brownie Brittle– I love brownies. I mean love love love love… so when I found this on the shelf next to the popcorn with peanut butter chips in it, I figured I had a winner. Let me tell you, I was as wrong as this product is… it goes under the heading of scientists being so caught up in if they could that they forgot to ask if they should. Yes, the flavor is there, but it’s sickeningly sweet, and the texture (which is vaguely potato chip-ish) completely kills it. Unless you’re so jonesing for chocolate that you can’t take it anymore (and if that’s the case, I’m going to point you to the two Special K entries), I’m going to say don’t do it! Grade- D
3. Special K Double Chocolate Meal Bars– Stuffed with protein and all that, this quickly became my go to when I needed some food and didn’t have time to mess with putting something more substantial together. It’s kind of a chocolate dipped granola bar- just make sure you get them fresh. The ones that have been on the shelf awhile get really hard and less edible. Grade- B
4. Special K Fruit & Nut Snack Bars– It’s exactly what it says- if you need a little pick me up midafternoon, this almost subs in for a candy bar, and I’ve never had one that was on a shelf for so long that it got staleish. Grade- A
5. Jimmy Dean’s Delights Sausage, Egg, Cheese Croissant– It may be intended for breakfast, but 90 seconds in the microwave and it works just as well for lunch. If you overnuke it, the eggs are going to get slightly rubbery, so be careful about that. But definitely foodish. Grade B

 

List of things I’ve given up in this quest-

Drinks that aren’t iced tea or water, barring my morning low calorie RockStar (so that means soda, alcohol, etc), laying around like a bum on my day off, and putting things in my mouth before I know how many calories they are.

I love our girls… all three of them are little cuddlebugs who make us smile every single day.

But Bree, the corg… she’s my shadow. She’s completely unlike any dog I’ve ever had or ever met- and I swear, she understands every damn word I say to her. And she really wants me to talk to her. She waddles, she’s sleeps 20 hours a day, she doesn’t like the heat, and she wants the TV to be on and for us to be on the couch, chilling. All the time. Snacks are good, too. Oh, and cheese? Cheese is best.

Bree might be the living embodiment of my spirit animal.

I do have to admit though, this time of year, there’s a facet of Bree that does make me sigh.

She sheds. Don’t let that lack of feathery floof fool you… there are corg tumbleweeds traveling through my house that no Roomba will ever be able to capture. Floofdrifts gather in the corners every day, and corgglitter covers my clothes after cuddletime.

I brush and I sweep and I Roomba and I bathe… and still. So. Much. Hair.

Even after doing all these things, Bree will come park herself on my lap, and I’ll see a little tuft of hair, like a cowlick, not quite laying flat. If I give it a tug, out comes a pound of hair, like she’s a teddy bear giving up her plush and going bearbald.

Inevitably, she’ll turn and give me that steady look that says, “Bitch. I was saving that for your pillow tonight. And could you please change the sheets? I’m tired of all the dog hair.”

 

 

Me: “I’ve decided I’m not going to be answering stupid questions anymore.”

Rick: “So we’re not talking anymore?”

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Me: “What are you doing?”

Rick: “Putting something away?”

Me: “Why?”

Rick: “So it doesn’t fall in the crack.”

Me: “To do what, then?”

Rick: “What do you want to do?”

Me: “Bree, go bite your daddy.”

Bree looks at me, earnestly.

Rick: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Aren’t you paying attention? I’m trying to teach Bree to bite you.”

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These are the things that happen with Rick’s home sick.

The work in the great outdoors continues!

Thanks to a very dedicated and helpful young friend, the work continues on for the front yard. A new planter is being put into the front, along with the mint flowerbed being dug out and planted, and the sandy walkway that I’ve twisted my ankle on too many times is now being bricked over.

We found out lighting the firepit won’t harm the canvas we put up (yay!) during a date night in, and my little surviving rosebushes are finally abloom again.

And a few obligatory pics of Bree being a selfish little corgbrat… we wouldn’t have her any other way, though.

Next on the agenda- find something to plant in the new planter that can deal with full sun. a climber might be good.. I may just chicken out and go for more morning glories.

Yesterday was a pretty weird day just in general.

Holiday week means a quiet day for the most part- work was work, stepdad was getting a new dialysis port installed, so I was keeping an ear out for anything the folks needed. When word came in that some prescriptions needed pick up, we headed that way.

Cue a long wait time just to drop off the script, plus the extremely unwelcome news that everything on the list was not available at the pharmacy and the morbid/pitying look of curiosity that I hate to see at any point in time in regards to any situation and my teeth are starting to grind. Add in some more annoyance when picking up dinner (you can’t order that, it’s not on the menu, we don’t know what you’re talking about, you know, as I’m pointing at the item on the menu) and back to the pharmacy I go, hi ho hi ho.

Pharm tech of the curious look hassles me because I transposed my folks street number on the address. My strained patience snaps. I’m not picking this up as a lark, I’m trying like hell to hurry because it’s a pain med that is very much needed. I ask to make sure we have ALL the scripts, and I am assured we do, undoubtedly because this guy wants to see the back of me quickly and get on with his day.

Errands run, meds delivered, we head home, and find out that the pharmacy called, there were two more scripts to be picked up.

Argh. Stupid guy. Do you need them tonight? No? OK, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.

Last night, there was a complication with the new port that was a lot scary, but hey, all is okay now, but can we pick up the scripts?

Of course we can. And when we drop them by, stepdad says it’s a real good thing he didn’t have them last night.

It was for sleeping pills. Meaning if he’d had it and had taken it, that complication could have been way more serious.

So you look at that chain of events, of things that don’t normally happen, and you start to wonder.

I have made a terrible error.
You might even call it a grievous error, except he’s not on the shower curtain.
Since Rick and I are back to just Rick and I in the house, we’ve been slowly working on redoing the rooms… the guest bathroom has been the last one on the list. The last clearance sale ThinkGeek had, I managed to pick up a spiffy Star Wars shower curtain and some Empire and Rebel hand towels. Cool, I think.
Until tonight.
I was hosting a game night, and was alerted to the issue by a guest… it seems Luke stares a little intently, creepily so if you use the facilities sitting down. If you are of the persuasion to use the facilities from a standing position, Grand Moff Tarken and Obi Wan Kenobi are seemingly passing judgment on your equippage.
After every trip to the bathroom, each guest remarked upon one or another of these issues.. and since opposite of the shower is a wall mirror, there really is no escaping the stares of Luke, Han, Obi Wan, and Tarkin.
You know what? I don’t care. I’m going to print out Luke staring intently and hang it on the damn door so you catch it from every possible angle and on the way out.
Maybe I’ll put a legend beneath it- ‘Luke asks, did you wash your hands and put the seat down?’
Or I could just move it into my bathroom and replace it with the nice neutral silhouette shower curtain with X-wings and crap.
But I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. So creepy Luke and the gang may get to stay.

 

The title almost kind of says it all… I decided that the part of Facebook I was enjoying most were the little snips of our lives that I was writing about. So, not Facebooking doesn’t mean I can’t do that anymore, it just meant I had to find a new place to do it.

So here we are.