My Drummer Boy

Why I can never have children...

The reason why I can never have children is because I find plants too demanding.

Bobby is quickly finding out that my "Domestic Goddess" abilities I was so vociferous about during our courtship may have just of been a bill of goods.

When Bobby and I moved into our apartment at the senior center, I asked Bobby if we could buy a celebratory plant that I could take care of... my VERY FIRST PLANT!!!

Bobby obliged and we bought this beauty:

Pretty Purple Pansies touched with Yellow Gold!

I promised Bob that I would do whatever I could to take care of it!

You know, put it outside and water it--at least once a week.

Well....Here's the same plant, a month later:

Having a plantz iz HARD!!!

Obviously, I didn't do so great this first round. This plant died of SEVERE neglect. Bobby's a little horrified of how quickly I lost interest in my first/very own plant. Lord knows what I'd do to a kid.

I mean, Bobby's basically a single parent already with regard to me. Maybe I haven't "matured" as gracefully as a twenty-five year old should have by now. For example, for dinner I fixed us a fabulous meal of Fruity Pebbles with a side of TinkerBell Fruit Snacks (DA BEST!). (In fact, I have restructured the food pyramid so "high fructose corn syrup" was the bottom/largest tier)

As for my housekeeping ability? Well, you know that awful, horrible, no good, very bad roommate you had in college. The one who was malodorous, into chicanery, ultimately nefarious**--I'm right here!!!! Yup, and I married this great guy named Bobby... and I'm just as bad as I was in college!

Oh, and let's not forget the little "ant" problem.

Domestically Disabled, indeed!

**But that roommate DID study for the GRE!!!

Mr. Wilson

This is my nephew, Wilson. He is fabulous.

The ants came marching two by two...

This morning, I woke up to see this:

Ants... lots of 'em... all over the kitchen. Not only that--but crawling all over me.

As it turns out, maybe my last blog post should have been a warning sign. We spotted a few ants in the kitchen yesterday, so we scrubbed our kitchen down and bought an ant trap. Last night--I was sleeping on the couch (which is technically next door to the kitchen). I woke up to feel little tiny insect workers crawling all over my arms. Well, I FLIPPED!!! Took a scorching hot shower--scalding enough to get me through a Haz Mat unit.

You see, I have this thing with "ants"... it all happened a long, long time ago.

My family was vacationing in Hawaii. I was eating a DELICIOUS chocolate chip muffin. I decided to save part of it for later, so wrapped it up again, but it on the counter in my hotel room, and proceeded to go to the beach with a t-shirt over my swimming suit (no one will ever see my chubby thighs that way).

Anyhoo... I returned to the room to finish the chocolate chip muffin, started eating it (as you do), when I noticed... THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS ARE MOVING!!!!

LOTS AND LOTS OF LITTLE, TINY, ITTY-BITTY ANTS AND CRAWLING ALL OVER THE PASTRY!!!

Not only that... but many had become stuck in my teeth and on my tongue!!!!!!!!!!!!


YIPES!!!!

I threw the muffin out the window, ran to the bathroom, brushed and brushed and brushed my teeth to try and rid my mouth of that "ant-y" flavor... I had to FLOSS ANTS out of my teeth--because there were so many, and they were SUPER tiny.


That's my horrible ant story.

And now you know.

Home Sweet Home.

I may have a problem.

Skinny Minnie

Most days... I wish I was thinner...

But then I realize that I would have to give up my gluttonous eating habits--and I'm just not willing to do that.

Lunch=Soft shell chicken taco, tatar tots & coconut cupcake. Dinner=Tuna & cheese sandwich, onion rings & a Diet coke.

So... damn... good.

Luckily, photoshop will help me lie to my posterity about my physique.

The Big Sleep

So... Bobby and I have an issue. We cannot sleep in the same bed--it's impossible! There's elbowing, kicking, biting, crying, gnashing of teeth, and it's a two man brawl free-for-all until dawn. It's HORRIBLE! In the morning, Bobby and I look like we've been cast in a George Romero movie.

Therefore, I've come to the conclusion that people (especially the married kind) are not supposed to share a bed. It's unnatural and against God's will.

I have also concluded we need two separate backs--just like in Hay's code era of Hollywood where marital couples must sleep in two separate beds on camera (a la Lucy & Ricky Ricardo).





I now renounce anything that has not been approved by the Motion Picture Production Hay's Code of old Hollywood: That means Bobby and I must sleep in two separate beds, never ridicule clergy, and avoid the topic of white slavery.