It's time to make a change.

I'm trying to change my approach to blogging. I feel I've fallen into a trap of using my blog to entertain others rather than to express myself- which isn't necessarily a bad thing, depending on one's goals for keeping a blog. I've decided my goals, however, need to be more personal. I need a creative outlet, and writing is a good one for me. Writing is also something I'm ok at it; whereas I totally suck at making things (such as blogs and crafts) look good. Therefore, I'm done with posting just for postings sake, and I'm tired of trying to meet my own silly criteria, such as these:

1. I must be cute, cute, cute. I only feel this way because a majority of my friends' blogs are so stinkin' cute and creative that feel like I have to try to keep up. Cute blog templates. Cute fonts. Cute, chic pictures of attractive family and friends or adorable discoveries. With cute and fun things to say about said beauties. It's all very impressive and admirable, but also a lot of work. Believe me, I've tried. I've come to accept that as much as I'd like to, I just can't do cute.
2. I have to talk about something fun or exciting. My blog is titled "The Salad Days" after all, an idiomatic expression referring to my enthusiasm for these early years in my life. I feel like I'm supposed to stick to the theme... and entertain... as well as show off a little.
   
3. I have to like something. That statement may sound odd, but I feel pressure to be positive. I think about my audience here (the 5 of you know who you are) and wonder: Wouldn't people get bored if I complained all the time? Or if I were really sarcastic or ironic? (I really can be.) But then, what's the point of posting just to post? Do people really care what Amazon's top books are or if Erich bit the shape of a slug into an apple? Who am I trying to impress? And why?

All I really want to do is write about stuff - completely random and whenever I feel like it. Without feeling like I need to impress, or rate myself on the quality or quantity of comments I receive. I sometimes wonder if I should turn the comments off, and if that would relieve any pressure to post, or to impress anyone. Whether it would make writing more enjoyable and personal. I've also thought of creating a strictly anonymous blog, but I've decided that I don't really have anything to hide, and that I'd really like to keep an honest dialogue with my friends.

I'm revamping my blog. Very soon, I will no longer be The Salad Days. I may even delete some old posts that mean nothing to me. We'll see. At any rate, I hope this results in a blog that I'm proud of, a lot of randomness, and some better quality writing.

Keep it real,
Melbo

20 Reasons Why I Suck

Even though I'm not an Anderson (honestly, I don't know if I'm cool enough, and I certainly don't blog enough to even apply, but I sure do love watching from the sidelines), I've decided to join the revolution. I've made a list of 20 reasons why I suck, and in the process I've decided that I really do suck. Was that the point?

Now I don't feel really great about this, but I'm going to post my list anyway -- all under the assumption that admitting my weaknesses will only make me stronger. So here's to a tougher backbone:

1. I feel like I never come across as sincere even when I am. I just get the idea that the person I'm talking to thinks I'm full of crap. I am sometimes, but definitely not always.
2. I have a terrible attention span as a result of putting too many things on my plate. I can't finish anything quickly because I constantly feel the need to move on to and work on other projects. This is also why none of my million-dollar ideas have come to fruition. (This is also explained by the fact that I haven't put any effort into any of them.)
3. I have a lot of trouble remembering things that I don't write down. Tasks to do, groceries to buy, promises I made, lines from movies, names of movies, if I've ever even seen a particular movie, where I put the keys... And then I often forget what I wanted to write before I get to a piece of paper. I'm amazed some days that Marc trusts me alone with our child.
4. I yell at Jaeger for whining when I know perfectly well that all he needs is a walk. And on the same note, I wanted him because I knew he would force me to exercise every day, and I often resent him for it.
5. I usually don't even try to remember the names of people that I don't think I'll see again. Which makes things a little awkward when I do see them again.
6. I don't wear sunscreen, like, ever, except for the piddly amount in my face lotion. I never burn OR tan, so I don't even think of it. It's just plain stupid of me, really.
7. I'm terrible at keeping in touch with people. If you don't live within a 10 mile radius of me, consider yourself special if I've called you once so far this year.
8. I only have about 5 stations on Pandora and they all play basically the same music, but I still listen to them interchangeably because then I feel like I'm getting something new. I'm perfectly happy with this.
9. I forget to wash Erich's hands before feeding him meals most of the time.
10. I'm one of "those people" that got a Chinese symbol tattoo and didn't know exactly what it meant.* This is only embarrassing every time the conversation turns to tattoos, because you can always count on someone scoffing at "those people".
*Sidebar not intended to demonstrate my suckiness: The tatoo is really small and I got it when I was 18, but the actual meaning ("someone who doesn't fight") is very close to what I originally thought ("peaceful"). I still like it and I'll never get it removed. And rather than wish I'd never gotten one, I only wish I had gotten something else.
11. I don't like like being Poked on Facebook because I think it's a cry for attention, and I feel like I'm obliged to poke back. I don't respond well when I'm forced into playful aggression (like tickling for example, just ask my husband). But, ironically, I haven't removed the application from my page, because I still like knowing that people are thinking of me, even if they'd rather throw an Obama at me than initiate a conversation.
12. I leave clean clothes in laundry baskets throughout the house, and I only put them away when I need the baskets for more laundry. And the cycle goes on and on...
13. I'm an aggressive driver. I cut in and switch lanes at the last second. I'll even run the occasional red light if the coast is clear.
14. I can't stand basketball and complain whenever it's on TV. This makes Marc very sad.
15. I slouch while giving massages and then tell my clients to watch their posture.
16. I'm really picky about my chicken, especially in soups and Chinese food. If it looks remotely fatty or twisted, I'll pick it apart or give it to the dog.
17. I'd estimate that my grill cost $10,ooo, and yet I will still open anything with my teeth. I'm also a lazy flosser.
18. I almost always fall asleep reading something non-fiction - even when I'm not tired.
19. I don't really like listening to classical or jazz music (with the exception of live performances) and I'm afraid that means there is something wrong with my soul.
20. I censored this list. There are at least a dozen things I could've put on here but ultimately decided that they were either too embarrassing to share, or that I don't want to be encouraged to be better. Besides, now you all know about my tattoo and that's more than enough honesty for me.

There, I did it. And I dare you all to do it, too.

Bloody Sippy Cups!

And I don't mean bloody in the I-scraped-my-knee way, I mean bloody in the I'm-censoring-my-blog-slightly-from-what-I-really-want-to-title-it way.

I actually made it to Erich's music class this morning! Unfortunately, we didn't make through in the door. For the record, I've decided that this class was a total waste of money. We only made it to half the classes and when we did, all Erich wanted to do was play with the weights while I sang The Wheels on the Bus to whatever other kid was next to me. The only entertaining (and equally annoying) part was this mom that kept talking in a loud baby voice to her son - and following each comment with a guttural "Nanny" laugh. And I've never seen so many "stay at home moms" wear business attire on a regular basis. It was just weird I tell ya.

Anyway, when I pulled Erich out of the car I felt that his butt was soaking wet. I saw the sippy cup next to him, realized what happened, and decided to go in anyway. By the time we got to the building my arm was also drenched, so I put him down and evaluated the damage. The kid looked like I hadn't changed his diaper in days (or a cloth diaper in 6 hours, but that's another post). The entire butt and sides of his light blue jeans were deep blue, so I decided to go back home - fuming at those cursed sippy cups.

I'm curious to hear what others would have done. Would you go home or stick it out? I feel totally comfortable stripping Erich to his diaper or just telling everyone "don't worry, it's only juice!" in playgroup (and indeed I have), but these weren't pals of mine. And no, the Rec Center doesn't sell clothes; I checked before throwing in the towel.

And another question: does anyone know of a sippy cup that does NOT leak? I probably have about 10, and of those, Erich will only drink out of 5. They are all straw cups and they ALL leak. It drives us crazy. Marc even threw one away in a fit of rage last weekend after it soaked his pants. He felt guilty after I told him it was Erich's favorite cup, so he fished it out of the trash and we gave it a good washing when we got home. But how pathetic are we that we keep these cups that bring us so much misery just because Erich refuses to drink from anything else? I keep thinking I'd like to all of the cups with some that don't leak, and make Erich deal with it, but... do they exist? I'm doubtful.

Movie Review : I Am Legend

One word: "Blaherreguregrulah."
Translation: Creepy-nasty-grizzly-intense- yucky-yuck-yuck. Yuck.

This movie drove me out of my gourd. I'm still trying to exorcise the worms out from under my skin and the queasy knot in my gut. I've never been a fan of scary movies, and this one just barely crossed over my tolerance threshold. (I never said I was good at separating fantasy from reality.) I was literally jumping on the couch with a pillow over my face during the dog scene, and wedged into a corner during the rest of it. And in a very rare occurrence, I, the terrible woman who hates basketball, actually made Marc switch to the Jazz game about 10 times so I could relax. When it was all over, I went upstairs to cuddle with my sweet little sleeper and to feel peace again. (And to make sure he was safe!)

I'm not looking forward to my dreams tonight. And tomorrow night, I just may pack a switchblade when I take Jaeger to the bathroom.

The Most Depressing Post Ever

Does anyone else ever feel like we're living a story that is coming to it's end? I couldn't help but feel that way today as I was listening to a radio program about China's growing population and consumption of oil. The host was interviewing a scientist who believed that in 10-20 years the world would be scrambling for oil and it would cause all kinds of chaos. Frankly, I think he's right. But it's not only China that worries me, it's the culmination of everything in the media lately. It seems that all we hear about is the poor environment, global warming, melting ice, oil, wars, poverty, disease, etc. We're approaching the climax.

I think I've come to the sad realization that we can't save the Earth. We humans will never reverse our impact on the environment. We're not organized, united, or strong enough. Inevitably, our planet will capsize in our filth, and the best anyone can do is to slow things down. I only hope that we can put it off as long as possible.

So on this, our glorious Earth Day, I have to roll my eyes at the naive phrase "Save the Planet". Instead, I came up with a new motto:

Go ahead now, cry your eyes out. It'll probably make the polar ice caps melt that much faster.

No, I'm NOT pregnant. Just hormonal.

A little while ago, I registered Erich for a weekly music class at the community REC center. I missed a chunk of the first class (although SO not my fault. It was all on Marc). Then last week, my mom was visiting and I just plain forgot. Finally, this morning, I arrived right on time for a class that I thought started at 10. We walked in to every one happily packing up their bags and strollers. I then remembered the class began at 9, and playgroup started at 10, and I - completely disgusted with myself - flipped a 180 out the door and prayed that no body saw us.

I felt like such a failure that I almost broke out in tears as we walked out to the parking lot. Seriously, is there something wrong with me that I can't make it on time to Erich's ONE weekly commitment*? Also, since this is a class I already paid for, it's just money down the toilet**. I was putting Erich in his car seat when I decided that I really didn't want to go home and admit defeat. I paused and thought about going to the store or somewhere else when I looked up and saw a playground. So off the pair of us went to climb and slide and have a pretty good time.

But here's the clincher, the real point of this boring post. On my drive home, on a narrow, two lane side street, I came across a really bad accident. Two ambulances, one fire truck, and 5 police cars all with their lights on. A smashed up truck and trailer were one side of the road, and a crumpled up sedan was on the other, surrounded by a stretcher and several men prying out the passenger. While my heart goes out to the victims and I hope they're okay, my thoughts are still pretty selfish and I can't help but wonder how long it must have taken for the response team to get there and how long they had been there before I drove past.. 20, 30 minutes? The same amount of time we spent at the park? And I know it's a long shot that Erich and I could've shared the same fate, but it still makes me wonder. And it makes me feel a whole lot better about being an airhead.

*Playgroups don't count because they're free. And everyone else is late, too!
**Sure, all the proceeds go to help fund community programs, but what about ME?

Beware of this Binky!!

The RaZbaby Keep-It-Kleen Pacifier is a binky designed to shut closed when falling on the floor to, well, keep it clean. It's certainly a novel idea, so I bought one at CVS last year and decided it was pretty cool. Erich could pick it up off the floor, open the shields, and stick it in his own mouth with no hurried cleaning by mama. Plus it looked like Nemo and matched his hair. Suh-weet! Well, the honeymoon ended last week however, when I went to Erich's crib one morning to find his little security blanket shattered into 5 pieces... next to his head! Imagine my horror as I checked to make sure he hadn't swallowed anything.

I was unable to reach anyone by phone, but following is the email I sent to RaZbaby's customer service department.

Customer Service Agent,

I am very upset about your "Keep-it-Kleen Pacifier". When my 14-month-old son awoke in the morning a few days ago, I went to his crib and discovered your KIK Pacifier broken into 5 pieces right next to his head. I don't know how it broke, but the fact of the matter is, this product is too fragile and hazardous for children. I hate to think of what could have happened had he awoken and felt around him in the middle of the night or if I had waited longer to enter his room. This could have been a lethal situation had my son ingested any of those pieces. There were two pieces in particular that gave me tremendous cause for concern: the nipple, which would have blocked his windpipe instantly, and a small, sharp, metal ring. The ring is not much larger than a Cheerio, but the damage and internal bleeding it could cause is sickening. Hypothetically, if my son had ingested that ring and nothing else, I would have examined all other pieces and assumed that nothing was missing. If he began crying I would have had no idea what type of internal damage was occurring and may not have realized that he needed immediate medical attention.

The Keep-it-Kleen Pacifier that you have on the market is extremely dangerous and inappropriate for use by any child, especially infants. I plan to tell everyone I know not to purchase this product until the item has been recalled and all potentially hazardous parts have been removed.

Shattered Nemo:

Frankly, that email doesn't express the complete anger I felt, but I decided it would be more productive to portray myself as the diplomatic-yet-horrified parent as opposed to a psychotic enraged one. Well, one of the owners, Aida, emailed me back right away and then called me this morning. She was very nice and professional, apologizing profusely, saying they have never received a complaint like this, and went into great detail explaining their rigorous testing processes (these include stepping on, running over, and throwing the pacifiers against cement walls). She seemed to feel that my binky was defective and requested that I send it back to their company for testing in their lab, while she sends me a full refund. I told her I was still concerned that the nipple, ring and base weren't one piece, and that separately they still presented a choking hazard. Her response was that they recently updated the model and secured the ring into the shield so it wouldn't come out. But still... it's metal. And that nipple could soo easily block a windpipe. And, as sympathetic as she may be, after playing out the scenerio of 'what if's' in my head, my consumer confidence may never be regained.

Aida said she'll keep me updated on the labs findings. Overall, I'm glad she was so interested in examining the binky to figure out their mistake, but I still feel it's my duty to warn everyone I know about the possible dangers of using this pacifier. Sorry RaZbaby, but it's my responsibility; at least it's cheaper than your unlikely recall.

This is the only shot I could find of Erich sporting his KIK paci. (It also happens to be an excellent representation of his fly dance moves.)

My Rocky Relationship with Rachel Ray

I've never been a huge Rachel Ray fan, but I still like to keep an open mind about things, so I vowed this month to try as many 30-Minute Meals as possible. To start off, 30 minutes is a crock. My average meal meal prep time has been closer to the 90 minute range. (Rachel should try making a meal in half an hour with a dog & toddler underfoot - both looking for scraps - and The Office streaming on her computer. Now, that's real time!) I've only liked about 1/2 the recipes so far. My odds are much better with recipes from friends & fam and Epicurious, my most frequented resources. I think I'll stick with my old standards for a while and start eating food that I enjoy!

Here are my favorite "30 min" recipes so far (yes, I do love pasta):

Cauliflower Sauce with Whole-Wheat Penne

1 lb whole wheat penne rigate
Salt
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 cloves garlic, cracked from skin and sliced
1 red onion, finely chopped
1 head cauliflower, stem removed and chopped
1 cup chicken stock
4 sprigs fresh rosemary, leaves stripped and finely chopped
3/4 cup grated Romano, 3 generous handfuls
Salt and black pepper

Boil pasta. Drain and reserve 2 ladles of pasta water.

For sauce, heat a deep skillet over medium heat with extra-virgin olive oil. Add garlic and cook 3 minutes, then remove. Add onions and cook 5 minutes then add cauliflower, chicken stock and the rosemary. Cover the pan and cook 15 minutes. Uncover the sauce, add 1 to 2 ladles of pasta water and mash the cauliflower with the back of a wooden spoon or potato masher. Add the pasta and cheese to the cauliflower and toss to combine. Season the dish with S&P.

You-Won't-Be-Single-For-Long Vodka Cream Pasta

1 tbsp butter
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
12 oz fresh pasta
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil (evoo)
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 shallots, minced
1 cup vodka1 cup chicken broth
1 can crushed tomatoes
1/2 cup heavy cream
20 leaves fresh basil, shredded or torn
Crusty bread (as side)

Boil pasta. Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add evoo, butter, garlic & shallots. Gently saute garlic and shallots, 3-5 minutes, to develop their sweetness. Add vodka and cook to reduce by half, 2 or 3 minutes. Add chicken broth and tomatoes. Bring sauce to a bubble, then reduce heat to simmer. Season with S & P.

Stir cream into the vodka sauce. When sauce returns to a bubble, remove from heat. Toss hot pasta with sauce and basil leaves. Serve with crusty bread.

Welcome to the Monkey House

I'm seriously considering changing the title of my blog from The Salad Days to The Monkey House. I immediately clung to this expression when I heard Tim Gunn say it to Chris on Project Runway. After an entire season of examining Chris's wacky creations, Tim made the greatest analogy when Chris presented to him garments that used human hair as fringe. He told Chris in a very Tim Gunn way that only Tim Gunn could pull off, that he had been living in the monkey house for too long. His analogy goes something like this: So when you first walk into the monkey house at the zoo, what do you do? You cover your nose and think, "Dang this place stinks!" Then, after 15 minutes or so you start to think, "Well, I guess this isn't so bad." And then, after about 45 minutes you don't even notice it anymore. However, the place never stopped smelling like sh**; you just stopped smelling it.

If you're living in the monkey house, it means you that you no longer notice the mess all around you. If you stay there too long, then you begin to enjoy it or to make it your own. Abandon all hope if crap starts flying across the room.

I feel a lot of days like I'm living in my own monkey house. We spend a lot of time running around the house screeching and climbing the furniture naked. Besides that however, I realize that when the tasks get overwhelming, the blinders turn on. I let dog hair pile up and papers sit on the counters for weeks, my socks never match my outfit and aside from applying makeup on the drive to church (to which we are always late), I am seriously lacking any beauty regimen. I could go on and on about how often I (don't) shower, but I don't want to shatter too many positive assumptions people have made about me. Instead, rest assured that Erich gets a bath, clean clothes, a massage, and weird, organic health food every day.. while I sit in my own filth eating Peanut Butter Crunch.

Thankfully, not every day is a "monkey house" day. That is why I would never title my blog to reflect so. I certainly wouldn't want to embrace a lower standard of living than I have now! But life is an uphill battle to find balance, so I'll keep my scooper in hand and start shoveling that poo out the window. Into the yard- where it might actually do some good.

Erich = Diva

My child has lost it. Last week he started throwing temper tantrums. Where do they learn this stuff?? If he doesn't get his way or totally out of the blue he'll do one of two things: 1) scream sitting in place or 2) scream sprawled out face down on the floor.

I've decided that either the terrible twos have started early or that colic is setting in late. Either way, I have no idea how to stop it. I walk away, he flips, I tell him to come over, he flips. I pick him up, he's happy as a clam. My system isn't working.

There is one caveat however, possibly a beacon of hope. He was sick. He threw up twice on Sunday and once on Monday night (either that or I had a nightmare from 2:30 - 5:30 am). I'm hoping he's just feeling yucky these couple weeks and next week I'll have my little bubble back. And that he hasn't learned new effective ways to make mama miserable!

I've Been Duped

A long time ago, I wanted to be a star and appeared in a pilot for a TV show. Before anyone gets impressed, let me set the record straight. My venture into the spotlight was not the glorious 15 minutes I'd hoped for. The show's producer approached me at a club (I know, red flag!) and I agreed to the gig thinking I'd be some sort of background dancer. When I showed up however, the "producer/director/writer" (yeah, ego much?) shoved me in front of the camera and said something to the effect of: "Okay, now talk about what we're doing, what the show is about and be charming!" Off the cuff and no rehearsals. Ever. Let's just say it took a while for me to stop staring at the camera lights like a frightened deer, and it took several more takes for me to stop saying “um...”.

So here's the premise: I was co-host with this other guy, let’s call him "Kelly", a pretty metro-sexual type who sold himself as a 'seasoned actor'. We would trek around town, hitting Salt Lake’s hot night spots and telling all the folks at home how sensational they were. To make a long story short, the producer was an inexperienced, egocentric control freak, his crew quit and the pilot didn't pick up. I really didn't mind too much. The finished product turned out pretty choppy and although I wasn't the worst actor in the crew, my performance was definitely rough. So no, you will never, ever see it.

I only tell this story to give you an idea of why I completely flipped this summer when I casually flipped on the TV before bed and caught the very beginning of a home improvement show on HGTV. The host had just finished telling the lovely couple about the dazzling improvements he had planned. He then turned to introduce his team of professionals and HERE is where all of my assumptions about home improvement shows were shattered. I KNEW CONTRACTOR #1! There was Kelly, his normally perfect hair slightly tussled, and dressed down from his collared shirt and Kenneth Cole shoes to faded jeans and a tool belt. As I watched him deliver his lines and smile while he slammed the hammer, I was beside myself. I always thought the people on screen actually did the construction, but this man was not the do-it-yourself type. I suppose I should have known better, but truth was, I'd been duped. Obviously, the "contractors" were pretty boys who were simply fed lines and filmed pounding a couple nails while the REAL men got to it next door. So now I wonder, who are those real guys that do the dirty work and why aren't THEY on camera? Because they're old, don't bleach their teeth or blow dry their hair? Sounds to me like an episode of This Old House… Okay, so even I wouldn't watch that, but I still don’t like the pretense, fellas.

Waste Management

I recently saw this sign posted in a public restroom. (Lucky I had my digital camera with me!) It makes one wonder.... Just what should go into the toilet? I mean, does "any wastes" really mean any waste?? I certainly didn't check the trash can to find out.

...and by the way, I never did find the spider.

Did I park too close to that other car? "Perhaps," I thought the other day as I contorted my body to inch out of the driver's side door. But just how close is too close?


Well, I'll tell you what too close is. Too close is squeezing your way back to that door in the middle of the night only to bulldoze a spider web with your face. That, my friends, is too close.

The Suckiest Forward Ever

So I just got a foward from a friend the other day that I'm still fuming about. Maybe you've all received it before: the one about Asians eating stillborn babies? It comes complete with very realistic looking pictures of a man preparing, cooking and eating human fetuses. (I won't curse any of you with links to the pics, because they will haunt you. I'll let you look them up yourself if you're that curious, but I beg you to abstain.)

Anyway, the whole thing is horrible, and I'm pissed at the friend who sent it to me. Why would I want to see trash like that? The whole premise is a hoax, which is obvious if you do a little research*. And a little research is EXACTLY what one should do before passing along this kind of garbage.

I just sent my friend what I found out, not that it will make much of a difference. You can't do much to stop the sickos out there any more than you can the neurotic forwarders.

*The hoax is this: some sick bastard in China named Zhu Yu decided to put together a piece of performance art, most likely using animal and doll parts to resemble babies. He took pictures of himself eating this monstrosity and posted them all over the internet, calling it "art". This man should burn.

Why I Took a Blogging Vacation (and why it’s likely to happen again):

I haven’t blogged for a while (news flash) and the time has ripened for me to make my comeback. Perhaps now I can find the time, means and motivation to expand on the hundreds of ideas I’ve come up with. I honestly could write something every day if I made the effort. I am chock full of random thoughts, ideas, annoyances, etc. Not convinced? Well, in my computer I’ve created a Blog Idea file. Here I have a list. A list where all my grand ideas are typed, sometimes outlined, occasionally begun, and rarely completed. Marc likes to say my Blog Idea file is where all my blogs go to die. Sadly, there is immense truth in this.

My problem is this, folks: I’m a worrier. Specifically on the subject of time. This is where I have issues with blogging, an inconvenient "single task" task. Writing doesn’t always fill my voracious need to cross out "to dos". When I write I can’t do much more than eat, watch tv, or poo (not that I would ever do the latter - girls don’t poo. It’s true, we don’t. We’re always constipated.). I have admitted in the past that blogging can actually be therapeutic and satisfying, and I still believe this; however, every time I write, read or make a comment, my relief and pride in my work soon develop into a twinge of guilt over lost time. I don’t suppose they make a morning after pill for that…

I speak as though productivity is the cure, but it’s not. No matter how much I accomplish, I frequently feel like I’ve lost precious irretrievable moments from my already too short days. The cure is finding a balance - it's prioritizing - something I’m sure we all could improve on.

I suppose this post has been a good therapy session for me. Instead of ironing or doing work, I just spent a record breaking 6 hours online doing nothing of note. I was a lazy bum and it feels pretty good. I only hope I don’t regret it in the morning.

Husbanding 101

Nothing forces a pre-menstrual woman into a

Chocolate Feeding Frenzy

more than rationing her
Girl Scout Cookies!



SO DON'T DO IT AGAIN!
(You know who you are!!)

I have trouble remembering anyone’s eye color but I remember easily how messed up their teeth are.

What does that say about me?

Check it Out

Check it out -- Melbo blogged
three days in a row!!
If I were bowling, I'd get a turkey!