Nuttin' Special
2005-06-23, 11:35 a.m.

A newly-learned science fact: If you don�t vent the plastic wrap on a microwaveable S0uth Be@ch frozen dinner, it implodes. Just thought you�d like to know. I�m scraping dehydrated broccoli bits out of the folded remnants of the plastic tray as breakfast/lunch per se. I�ve been reading a library book on home decorating, bohemian style, so I think I�ll save the tray and tack it to my wall and call it art, cuz it�s kinda freeform and organic and it can�t look any worse than the stuff in that book.

And now, an open letter to the editors of S0uthern L!ving magazine:

I cordially request access to your employee expense account and a free sample of the smack your decorators shoot up before each assignment, because joyfully decreeing �Redoing a dining room on a budget� and having that budget set at two thousand dollars doesn�t fit into what I would call �budget�. �Budget� is not finding someone cheap to sew slipcovers for the fabric you got on sale for only $40 a yard. �Budget� is not wallpaper for $94 a double roll. �Budget� is not having someone refinish your roomful of great-grandma�s antique furniture. �Budget� is taking an aluminum can, a few dishcloths, a paint-by-numbers set and three bucks and recreating the Sistine Chapel. Two grand is not a petty cash renovation; two grand is more money than I have had in my hot little hands at any given time. It�s what we will scrape together over the next ten years and use to put two children through college, pay off a house, buy a car, and clothe and feed us for the rest of time. Give me something useful, like how to remodel my kitchen on whatever I can scrape from under our sofa cushions. Or put me on your payroll, so I can get a feel for what it must be like to have $2K in pocket change. Please.

We�re betting on winning the lottery. Hubby hates spending money on frivolous things, but that does not include Powerball tickets. He wanted to relax a bit the other afternoon, so he looked up the history of the winning numbers over the last few years, calculated which ones came up the most, and out of those, which ones have been on a statistical downturn. He figures those are due for an upswing. Now we just need a dollar for the ticket.

Oh yeah, he has an appointment this afternoon with an admissions guru to embark upon his master�s degree in statistics. I think he�s ready. Hopefully it will segue into the PhD program, because he�s an artist with all things Piled higher and Deeper.

Last night, Hubby and GroovyGuru took Daughter and Guru Jr. fishing, arriving home fishless after midnight. As is my sworn duty, I reminded Hubby repeatedly that he had to get up for work at 6am and I would happily wallow in bed until noon simply because he couldn�t. Therefore, once the alarm went off, I could not fall back asleep. It never fails. Daughter got a call to babysit at 9am, Son is at a sleepover, the house is MINE ALL MINE and my body will not cooperate.
So, if I have not left you a comment recently, I am trying to read and catch up but as I am sad and pathetic and sleep-deprived and partially functioning, it might take awhile.

I partook in another guarantee Tuesday night, the one where if you allow your child to have a sleepover, as soon as your house is teeming with sugar-and-caffeine-fueled children, you will get sick. You will have chills and fever and night sweats and be in no mood or condition to feed your young charges properly the following morning. Thus, other parents will think that your family subsists on pop tarts and Hershey kisses and the occasional slice of bread, because, when you�re sick, they do. At least, me being sickly hungover and grouchy, they kept their quiet distance (Daughter being the loud one) and didn�t trash the house (which is usually Daughter�s contribution, her little friends are well-behaved). I think her buddies bound and gagged her for most of their visit and released her 5 minutes before their departure. I need to have them over more often.

Hubby filled the cat�s water bowl this morning, sloshed some onto the kitchen floor, and made a clean spot. A few more mornings of that and the kitchen will be done. I love housework.

Everytime we make or receive a phone call, we're booted off our DSL connection. Hubby made this prophetic conclusion: "Something's wrong with it, then." Pure genius. And after he's done wallowing in his diagnostic glory, MacGyver will take some chewing gum and baling wire and fix the darn thing. Gotta be soon, we have to check lottery numbers. If we win, you'll be among the first (million) to know.

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