Easy like Sunday Morning, v2.0

Morning sex on the weekends seems to have made itself a permanent fixture on our weekly To Do list, and I'm diggin' it - especially when followed up with a shower and him making ham and eggs on toast.  Naked.  I don't care if you do hate me for the mental image, I can't imagine a better way to start a day.

This weekend has been fantastic, and I've still got most of today left to go.  AND, I technically don't have to work tomorrow, though I am planning to get up early and go in for a few hours.  I think I've gotten the break I was seeking when I decided to take a day or two off.  I feel refreshed and relaxed.  Of course, that could still just be after glow, but whatever.

Jimi said yesterday if we get married and have a wedding, we'll rent out a theater at the Kentucky Center for the Arts and put on a one-act play as our wedding.  I got super excited and turned it into like 5 acts, complete with costume changes.  I could write a hilariously awesome play about our life together - and our "how we met" story is an opening act made for the stage.

No, we're not engaged or making wedding plans, but it's fun to talk about it sometimes.  I think if we ever did get married we'd probably head for the courthouse or take off to some tropical island somewhere and make it happen - mainly because i don' t see either of us making it a priority to save up $30K to throw a big blow-out wedding party....if we get our hands on $30K, I'm getting a new kitchen and bathroom and Jimi's getting a new truck.

We're watching a rebroadcast of Princess Diana & Prince Charles' wedding now, and last night it was Four Weddings on TLC.  I don't know why we're watching all this wedding shit - or how to make you believe that Jimi really did flip to this.  (It's the rule in our house - whomever has the computer, the other controls the remote.  I always have the computer.)

And now we're going to go walk the dog.  Happy Sunday!

My soul feels happy.

(Friday)

I decided sitting around the house all day would be a complete and total waste of a perfectly good off day - I should take advantage of the freedom to do whatever I want and do the things I fantasize about when I'm stuck in the office.  So.  I took a long, leisurely, hot shower.  I got dressed up in a sun dress that I'd never dream of wearing to work (except that one Saturday when I had to go in for an hour - it was the middle of my weekend day and I wasn't changing into jeans, dammit).  I put on mascara and took the extra time to blow-dry my hair.  (No products or styling - we're not getting fancy or anything.)  I packed up the laptop and my camera and my sunglasses and I hit the road.

I spent my morning debating if I should stay put and keep watching movies on FX (I caught the end of Seven Pounds, and then the beginning of The Family Stone) or get up and get moving and go get some brunch.  (One of my Facebook friends said "brunch", and I'm very much a monkey-see, monkey-do sort, so I immediately had visions of lemon souffle pancakes topped with blueberry compote and vanilla custard dancing through my head.  And bacon.  It's not brunch without bacon.)  But I debated too long and then it was closer to lunch time and then the lightbulb came on!  It's Friday!  Lobster Bisque Friday!!!  Every Friday (and some Saturdays, too), The Bodega at Felice serves up their delicious lobster bisque, much to my delight.  Even though they have this soup every week, it's a special treat for me when I get to partake, so when it was quickly moving from brunch time to lunch time, I knew where I was going to start my day.  (Plus, they have wifi, and I wanted to sit and catch up on my reading - it's amazing how quickly the entries multiply in my Google Reader if I skip a day or two.)

The soup was delicious; the rosemary ham & goat cheese sandwich was "eh", only because I got one of those extra chewy white bites of ham (do you have any idea what I'm talking about?) and it sorta ruined the whole experience for me because I have weird food issues like that.  I've got some work I should do, but I may put that off because, well, who wants to think about IRP licenses when it's beautiful outside?  Tonight, sweet Jimi and I have a hot date in Brandenburg - to feed his brother's cat.  It'll be awesome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Saturday)

Our hot date was awesome - we played darts and had pizza sticks and corn dogs.  

I got up this morning intending to mow the entire yard before the sun got too high in the sky and the humidity made it impossible to breathe.  I'd made about 6 passes, which doesn't sound like much but is actually probably the equivalent of cutting a normal-sized yard (but doesn't make much of a dent in my gargantuan green space), and the mower died.  I checked the gas - there was still fuel.  I crouched down to twist off the oil cap - but I heard a sizzle and suddenly felt a sting on my right knee.  I jump up and back and looked at the offended appendage - there was an inch and a half long welt reddening up, and I could see a space in the center where about an inch of skin was ripped off.  I'd touched my knee to the hot part, like a jackass.  D'oh!

I was done then.  I came inside determined to sit on my butt the rest of the day, but then Jimi figured out the piece of crap mower really did just want more gas, so when he got it going again, I decided to continue my quest for a neat lawn and jumped right back on that horse.  I didn't do the whole thing, but I probably left only a third for Jimi, and then I even showered, so I'm feeling pretty accomplished for 10:30 on a Saturday morning.  

I feel pretty damn good these days.  I'm almost broke, but never quite there, even though I'm putting every extra dime toward debt with the goal of being 100% debt free by September 1st.  (Knock on wood my car or the dish washer or the fridge or something else expensive doesn't break between now and then.)  I haven't been doing any exercise, which is probably why I feel so awesome from the yard-mowing-sweat-fest this morning.  I haven't been super careful about my eating, either, so I've not made any progress on my fitting-into-a-smaller-dress-size-by-October goal - but I've got two months and I'm going to work harder and do better, I swear.  Jimi's awesome and loving and perfect as always, and the baby-making part of my brain has STFU for now, knowing that getting pregnant now, when I have to wear a size-too-small bridesmaid dress in two months, probably wouldn't be such a great idea.  Whatever works, man, whatever works.  Work hasn't made me super pissed off or cry-y for at least a week.  My family's doing alright, my friends are fine.  Life is pretty fucking good, and I have no idea what I've done to deserve this much joy.  (We didn't win the lottery last night, though.  Dang.)

I hope your weekend is fantastic and full of your favorite people and your favorite things and so much happiness you feel like you're going to overflow with it.  Happy Saturday!

Happy Friday!

I took the day off.  YAY!  My plan is to maybe buy some dirt and replant some things out front, but mostly I want to sit on my butt and not go to work.  I want to internet and blog and nap at my convenience.

It's the best example of a plan I've got, so it'll have to do.

My dinner is awesomer than yours.

Kebabs.

Steak, Onion, Green Pepper, Baby Portabella Mushrooms.

And Beer.  

This debt ceiling thing is freaking me out.

Did you watch the President's speech last night?  Did you listen to the whole thing, or did your eyes glaze over?  Did you listen to the Republican Response?  Are you freaking out about this debt ceiling thing, or do you think it'll all work out magically and be okay?

I'm a little worried, I'll be honest with you.  And not necessarily for me personally, immediately, because I don't have credit cards and I don't have an adjustable-rate mortgage and I don't rely on any government programs to pay my bills each month or to eat, but I wonder if I'll have any money left in my 401K by next Friday.  I worry about my friend who does have an adjustable-rate mortgage.  I worry about my friends and family who rely on government programs like Social Security and Medicare to make ends meet each month.  I worry about the image of our Nation, and the ripple effect that will be felt world-wide if the US defaults on its obligations.  Okay, so maybe I'm a little more than worried.

I keep thinking, surely, some Senator or Congresswoman will pull from a hat like a rabbit some magic bill that will solve this crisis in two days - well before the markets get really nervous or the Powers That Be downgrade our national credit rating.

I admittedly don't completely understand the current situation, so I can't begin to make guesses or suggestions on how to fix the problems.  I'm in awe that our elected representatives, who, I'm assuming, DO understand what's going on, aren't being more responsible.  There's a time and a place for a budget debate, but when they're holding the world, and the people who elected them, by the short hairs - well, now's not the time.  Raise the fucking debt ceiling, as previous Congresses have done without a public airing of so much dirty laundry.  Debate and cry and deadlock on a budget - but do it after you've done that one, mandatory, "you have to do this or we're all fucked" thing.

Republicans hold a lot of blame here - I will never in a million years understand how they can justify their stance on raising taxes.  You want to spend more, you need to make more, and taking away social programs that benefit the most vulnerable in our society, that's not "making more".  Hearing that a corporation, which announces billions of dollars in profit every quarter, has a zero dollar tax bill - can our Representatives even begin to imagine how that sounds to the ears of your average working-class citizen?  Or how "protecting job-creators" sounds to a person with a college degree and no job?

Ugh.  Once, just once, I'd like to see our elected officials pull their heads out of their asses and do what's best for us, the common folk.  Represent us.  Stop the petty bickering and the stupid in-fighting and do their fucking jobs.  Find real solutions and compromises to protect and ensure the integrity of the United States.

Relationships are hard.

Sometimes I feel guilty as hell for having as much happiness as I do.  I'm surrounded by people who are struggling with love - and I wake up every morning next to my version of their dream.  How did I get so lucky?  Why me and not them?  Doesn't everyone deserve their own perfect partner to live their happily ever after with? Life is so fucking hard - at the very least, shouldn't basic companionship be easier and more obtainable?

But it's not.  It's one of the hardest things, the ultimate of goals.  Finding a partner who loves and respects and adores and cares for and helps you - sometimes it seems you'd have better odds picking lottery numbers.  People are so variable - there is no right or wrong or perfect formula for success; what worked for her won't work for you, what worked for you won't work for me, what worked for me would never again work for anyone else.  There are a few things that can be learned, though.  I think we all learn valuable lessons from failed relationships - but mostly, the things we need to know to make relationships work is already within us.

That "treat others as you wish to be treated" may be old school and totally cliche, but it's one of the simplest truths that should apply to every interaction you have with every other person you ever meet ever in your whole entire life.  Bum begging for money on the corner?  How would you want him to treat you if your roles were reversed?  Give the man your dollar.  Husband left the towels on the floor, the hair in the drain, and the shower curtain pulled open for the 984th time even though you've asked repeatedly for him to please hang his towels, remove the  hair, close the curtain no fewer than 659 times?  Would you want him to scream at you and make dirty faces and refuse cunnilingus because you were running late this morning and forgot again, too?  Sigh deeply, pour another glass of wine and then hang up the towels, clean out the drain, and close the curtain yourself.  Again.

Say "thank you".  Often.  This a phrase you hear in our home almost as often as "I love you".  If you're constantly reminding yourself to be thankful for things your partner does, it's harder to focus on the shit that makes you want to strangle them.  (Plus, it's a good training tool - "Thank you for getting the hair out of the drain and closing the shower curtain and hanging up your towels, baby - want a blow job?" will help him remember that completing those chores reaps good rewards.)

Laugh together.  Be silly.  The Bloggess recently gave a talk in Utah wherein she encouraged people to be "furiously happy".  She's brilliant, that Bloggess is.

Remember that your partner, your spouse, your significant other - they're supposed to be your Best Friend Forever - the one who you chose to share your whole entire life with - be nice to them.  If you wouldn't call your co-worker a stupid bitch for forgetting to rinse out the coffee pot, why would you hurl those hateful words at your favorite person, the one you love most in the world?  If you're able to muster the strength to be polite to your boss when you're cramping and in a horribly foul mood, why can't you manage a smile for your beloved?

I'm not trying to preach - please don't get the impression that I don't lose my shit and act like a complete bitch at least three times a week, because I totally do.  I'm not perfect.  Jimi, I think he's perfect - he's a great example of patience and kindness and unconditional love.  He doesn't act like an asshole back, most of the time, when I'm being mean for no apparent reason.  I swear, he's some sort of saint.

Just be nice to each other.  The world would be a much happier place if we all remembered to be especially nice to the ones we love best - can you imagine?  No more bosses being dicks on Monday mornings because he and his wife had a major blowout about couches on Friday night.  No more chick at the McDonald's checkout crying and fucking up your order because her boyfriend was an asshole and wouldn't help get up with the baby in the middle of the night, even though she works the early shift and he doesn't have a job.  Maybe our Representatives could get their thumbs out of their asses and come to a reasonable agreement that won't collapse our economy if their spouses threw them a little extra sumthin' sumthin', just for the fuck of it, just to say "I love you".

Just be nice to each other.  Common courtesy - practice it at home first.  Let the love spread.

Oh, and choose wisely.  That's pretty important, too.

Yo!

I'm all drowsy from the phenergan I took before bed last night - I tried to wake up and get out of bed three times this morning, but it was so much easier to just go back to sleep, so that's what I did till nearly 11.  I took the phenergan because my belly was upset, but in retrospect I think it's because I drank that bottle of Exotic Fruits Arbor Mist - or it could've been the grapefruit-flavored beer I chased the wine with.  I should stick to Busch Light.

We visited Brother yesterday afternoon, and took him a lunch of PB&J, kosher dill pickles, chocolate milk, and no-bake cookies.  I'd intended to grab a bag of chips on our way to him, but I forgot and so there were no chips.  I don't think he liked the no-bakes (pretty sure I should've gone with only 2.5 cups of oats rather than 3), but he politely ate one and declared them delicious before claiming to be too full to eat the other.  He looks good, he speaks well, and seems to have his eye on the prize, despite various situational frustrations (like when they had no water or AC for 48 hours last week - in a dorm of 60 men.  Can you fucking imagine the smell?).  He's taking classes to get his GED, and should be finished by the end of August.  He's scheduled to be home by Thanksgiving, and I've got my fingers crossed that there won't be any setbacks or delays - it would be nice to have our family whole and together for the holidays.  

I was furious with him when he screwed up back in March - I just couldn't believe his ignorance.  But now I'm grateful for that back-slide; if he'd gotten away with it, he would've been back on the shit and back to the same old games within a week of being home.  He would've further destroyed himself and my family.  Now, though - now, I think for the first time in his life he fully understands that there really are consequences for his actions.  I think he gets it - I think he knows that he's an addict and that things that roll off of other people take over his mind and control him.  He wouldn't be in this wiser state had he not been so fucking stupid back then.  Funny how life works that way, isn't it?

We finished our visit and rode out to the Mall - Stacy and I had a date so I could buy her a knock-off BellaBand (I ended up getting her a black one and a white one, plus a super-cute maternity shirt).  I don't go to the Mall - to me, it represents everything wrong with the world - something about the combination of the shallow desperate need for things, the stink of too much perfume and greasy food-court food and chlorine-treated wishing-well water, and the teenage girls in bra tops and short-shorts and the boys with their Justin Bieber hair - it makes me feel anxious.  But that's where they sell BellaBand knock-offs, so that's where we went.  Jimi was content wandering around Dick's, looking at shoes and camping equipment, and I must admit I enjoyed window-shopping at Teavana (a new store they're opening that sells teas and teapots and tea accessories).

After shopping, we scooped up our friend Ashley and came back to the house to hang out and be social for a few hours.  She broke up with her boyfriend Friday night and needed to not sit alone in her apartment, poor girl.  (For the record, her boyfriend was a complete and total bag of roosters (cockbag) and I'd happily punch him in the dick if I had the opportunity.)  While she caught us up on the story, I drank aforementioned bottle of wine and beer, and by the time we were driving her home, I was on a total sugar-high and had a good buzz going, so I cranked up the 80's tunes on my mixed CD and we drove through town singing to "King of Wishful Thinking" and "It Must've Been Love" and "Eternal Flame".  And then we dropped her off and it's like she was my energy source; I suddenly was tired and my belly was feeling funny and I just wanted to go to sleep.  

Jimi and I had plans to see the last Potter movie today, but my slow start led me to ask if we can do it after work tomorrow instead - I do this crap to him all the time but he's forgiving and kind and hardly ever bitches about it.  He's going to see Captain America with Steve - I think I'm going to take a shower and spend my day making homemade tomato sauce for a lasagna tonight and watching documentaries on Netflix.  And reading blogs.  Because I'm just that fucking talented at multitasking.  

I hope you have had a lovely weekend, and that the coming week brings you sunshine and rainbows and unicorns.  Happy Sunday!

ETA:  I can't believe I forgot to mention the random penis sighting yesterday!  We were leaving from visiting my brother and Jimi says, "That's man's peeing over there."  I turned quickly and sure enough, there was an old man peeing on the concrete pylon that holds up the train overpass.  I kept watching him pee, and Jimi says, "Natalie, quit watching that man pee!"  "But I NEVER see random penis!"  I mean, it's true - how often do you see random penises?  Not very often, right?  

Thursday, Thursday, gotta get down on Thursday.

Rebecca Black had it all wrong - my understanding is that THURSDAY, not Friday, is THE day to party.  In our first year, Jimi and I referred to Thursday as High Friday - we'd fill our house with friends and laughter and junk food and watch TV or play games and drink booze and pass the peace pipe and all was right with the world.  We don't do that anymore - four years later he's got the 'betes and nights of diving face-first into cartons of ice cream had to be cut way back.

See?  I start typing and then I hit a brick wall and everything that comes into my head sounds stupid and ridiculous and I don't want to write any of it.  So I write nothing instead, which I know probably isn't the right answer, so fine, here, i'll just write it all and if it sucks it sucks.

(Usually, you'd hope an outburst like that would lead up to some awesome drama, like maybe I found out Jimi's having an affair or my boy dog used to be a girl dog, but sorry to disappoint, that was just a random outburst directed completely at myself and there's no good dirt to follow the build-up - I'm such a disappointment.)

I'm taking Stacy shopping this weekend to buy her a BellaBand - she's something like 14 weeks now (15?), and none of her pants fit anymore.  Hopefully this will get her through the next few weeks and give her a chance to collect a new wardrobe with room for her growing belly.

When we were little (4 and 5?  5 and 6? 3 and 4?), Papaw hunted squirrel and rabbit and deer on the Property.  I hated that he hunted - oh, it just seemed so cruel and horrible and awful.  Had he not seen Bambi?!  Did he not see how adorable and sweet and cuddly those little animals were?!  There wasn't even that much meat on them, and McDonald's and Kentucky Fried Chicken didn't have any squirrel/rabbit/deer nuggets to offer, so obviously it wasn't even REAL food.  The hunting and killing of such innocence was wholly wrong, and I wasted no opportunity to inform my loving, impressionable, younger cousin of my deep thoughts on the subject.  I indoctrinated her with the utter injustice of the entire situation - I secured a promise from her that she would never again eat the flesh of those innocent little creatures.

But one morning, she found herself at Granny and Papaw's breakfast table, and in front of her was set a plate piled high with piping hot fried rabbit - her personal favorite before my "Save the Woodland Creatures" campaign.  She looked longingly at the plate of meat, then at me.  "Stace, go on and have some," says Granny, getting up to lift a piece onto her plate.  "I can't," Stacy says, loyally, "Natalie says those are God's creatures and we shouldn't kill God's creatures."  Granny launched into the reasons why my logic was right and wrong, and then told Stacy if she didn't want to eat any rabbit, she didn't have to.  Stacy again stared at the plate of hot battered rabbit - legs that had once hopped along the prairie.  Finally, her restraint broke - she reached for a leg, "They may be God's creatures, but they sure do taste good."

****************

I've been at work for an hour (I started that part up there at home), and already I've apologized twice today for being a bitch.  Maybe today isn't going to be my day.  Maybe I need to chill the fuck out. 

Okay.  Starting over - do-over! 

It's Thursday.  It'll be a good day - I mean, it has to be, right?  It's practically Friday. 

Behold the Power of the INTARWEBZ

I woke up with Metallica in my head.  Thanks to the power of the interwebs, it was easily available for my listening pleasure with the stroke of a few keys.  What an amazing time we live in!  I remember being small and thinking how cool it would be if I could conjure from the air my favorite television programs or songs - my version involved a million katrillion TV and radio stations, though - for example, if I wanted to watch "Golden Girls", I'd go to channel 96548, where they show All Golden Girls, All The Time.  The internet is so much better than my idea - not so many channels to surf through and you can even pull up specific episodes, not just watch the whole series on a loop.

I can't imagine having this power as a child; I can't imagine the ways my world would've changed if we'd had this stuff when I was growing up.  I can't imagine what sort of deviant I would've become had I discovered online pornography at 11, instead of just my friend's mom's boyfriend's stash of Playboys in the top of the bathroom closet.  Oh, the plagiarized pages I surely would've turned in as my own creative works!  And the forums and chat rooms - the meanness and snarkiness I would've dealt out, the rumors I would've started, the gossip I would've spread...and then it all would've turned on me and maybe I would've ended up being one of those kids you read about who commit suicide because of horrible bullying.  This awesome tool certainly must create some new challenges for parents and educators.

I got on the internet for the first time ever the night I graduated from high school; it was late May, 1998, and I was 18 years old.  My cousin Stacy had come to my graduation, and I was so glad to see her!  I decided to skip the graduation parties in favor of spending the night at her house - we didn't see each other all that often and it sounded like more fun than getting drunk and having to sneak into the house by curfew.

Stacy had a computer.
In her bedroom.
And it was connected to the internet.

Now, today, in July 2011, the fact of having a computer connected to the internet is sort of assumed - my phone has more computing power than Stacy's old desktop did - but in 1998, it was sort of a big deal, and I was mad jealous that Stacy had something so awesome.  (Stacy always had all the hot shit - the Michael Jackson doll and the Joey from the New Kids On The Block doll are the top two examples that stick out in my memory right now.)  Stacy is a generous soul, though, and after we'd eaten pizza she logged on and showed me how to navigate around AOL.

Holy crap, it was magical.  The whirring and dinging and hissing of the modem as it dialed up and connected in - I didn't even know it was taking forever!  The opening and closing door sounds of the chat rooms as people came and left, the blip of sound when a new message appeared.  And there was a whole new language - A/S/L?  F, 18, Louisville, KY  was enough information to determine if it was worth your time to bother chatting with the person on the other end of the connection.

I ended up in a chat room in Utah.  Someone made some snotty comment about Mormons and polygamy and, feeling like I had some authority on the subject (seeing as how my best friend was the Bishop's son and all), I jumped right in, defending the innocent Mormons and telling the attacker to check his facts.  Almost instantly, a private chat box popped up - "Are you LDS?"  "What's LDS?"  "I guess that's my answer - Latter Day Saints (Mormon)"  "Ohhh..."

He was in his late 20s, married with children, and very LDS.  We chatted until the sun came up.  It was surreal and informative and fascinating.  Here I was, in my cousin's bedroom in Louisville, Kentucky, and I was having a discussion about religion with a man on the other side of the country, living a life so different from mine - it was the neatest thing I'd ever seen.  (Did Google exist back then?  If it did, I didn't know about it - perhaps our conversation would've gotten more interesting had I known then what I know now.)

I was hooked - the internet was definitely for me and I needed to have it at my disposal as often as possible.  A few weeks later, Daddy came home with a big hulking state-of-the-art desktop, complete with AOL free trial start-up disk, and I was on cloud 9.  I met my ex-husband the same way I met that Mormon stranger from Utah, via AOL Chat.  When I was married and living away from my friends and family, the internet allowed me to connect with people back home and try to keep up on local events.  When I divorced and moved back to Kentucky, I had a ready-made group of friends waiting for me - all "strangers" I'd met on the internet via a local social networking site, all awesome and fun and unique and brilliant and real and not serial killers.  (Except that one guy, but we're not talking about him today.)

Today, I get my news from the internet.  My reading material that doesn't come from the local used book store comes from the internet.  I'm subscribed to, and read nearly all of, over 200 blogs - and most of them are written by complete and total strangers; strangers who make me laugh and cry and feel warm and fuzzy all over.  I keep up with my friends not through phone calls or letters or visits, but through their Facebook pages.  If I get an urge to hear a song or watch a particular show or movie, my desire is only a keystroke away.  Any ailments that befall our household can be cured with any number of home remedies shared by experienced moms and health professionals from around the world - or they'll let me know if we need to seek immediate medical assistance.  Any recipe can be found, any mindless entertainment is there to be enjoyed, any historical fact can be confirmed or denied.  It's an amazing thing.

How did the internet become a part of your world?  How do you keep your kids from watching porn online?  Or cheating on their homework?  Do you use the internet for everything, or are you still a fan of newspapers, magazines, and television?

in closing...

We rearranged our living room and I love it.  We grocery shopped and now I have a fridge full of yummy wholesome foods, including avocados I purchased for $1.49 each (screw you, Valu-Market, and your $2.69 bullshit).  There are fresh sheets on the bed.  There are clean pants folded, and clean shirts and socks and undies are drying on high heat.  There's a mystery involving Netflix and the Blu-ray player, but that'll be worked out in time.  Jimi made a delicious dinner (mashed taters, steak and onions and peppers in a A-1-inspired gravy), and we've got a freezer full of ice cream treats thanks to my splurge/binge shopping trip last night.  Finn's leg seems to have improved with the help of a baby aspirin, a massage, a doggy ice cream, and a walk.

The world is fine, the world is good; in my little slice at least.  For now.

It's more than enough, and I'm thankful for every little piece of it.

No cohesive thoughts, just random blah blah blahs...

1.  Reese's peanut butter ice cream bars - do it.  Don't ask questions, just trust me - go to the store and buy some and revel in the glory that is chocolatey peanut-buttery cold deliciousness.

2.  Finn's got a hurt leg.  I think he and his dog-friend, Cujo, played a little too rough last night and my boy pulled a muscle.  I hope.  He's not limping or anything, but he yelped when I was feeling around on him after I noticed he had a real hard time getting up in the bed last night.  Poor puppy.  I'm going to go google and find out what sort of people pain meds I can give him and massage his little leg a bit.  If he still seems off tomorrow, we'll go see the doggy doctor.

3.  I've got so much to do, and I have very little motivation to get any of it done.  I saw a Craigslist ad the other day titled "I need a Wife!" - basically he was looking for someone to manage his household (grocery shopping, laundry, bill payments, etc.).  I need that.  Pretty sure that's supposed to be my job, sorta, but it'd sure be nice if someone else would just do it for me.

4.  Okay, so I don't have that much to do.  I need to do laundry, make a meal plan for the week, go to the grocery, and visit my brother.  None of it is all that time-consuming or horrible; it's just not the same as sitting on my butt playing on the interwebs, so it seems like a lot.  Yes, I am lazy.  Hello.  Nice to meet you.

5.  Do you guys pay your electric bills on time?  For some reason, we can't make that happen in our house.  The bill comes in, we say "oh, we should pay that", and then the bill gets lost and we forget about it until we get the FINAL NOTICE brown bill in the mail.  Then we're all "oh, we forgot to pay that" and so we pay it and everyone lives happily ever after.  I'm not the only one, right?  Right?

6.  My cousin (sister) Stacy is 13 weeks pregnant.  She came over last night with her first ultrasound pictures. She talked about how she can't wait to read books with her baby.  Holy crap, she's having a baby!  It's going to be here before we know it - January 21st is the due date.  I can't wait to meet this child; I already love him/her so much.

7.  Jimi found us a 15 passenger van that's been converted into a camper.  It would also make a lovely zombie-escape-mobile.  Now we just need an extra $24K to throw at it and we're all set.

8.  I dreamed about zombies again last night.  What's up with the zombie dreams, brain?

9.  I need to de-clutter.  I want to have fewer things.  I'm going to work on that.

10.  Jimi really wants to make some homemade pasta.  Today might be the day.  I'm hungry and it sounds good.

Happy Sunday!

Fucking housework.

I drove home thinking "I have it all; I have everything in the world that everyone dreams of having and I should remember that always and be thankful for it."

Then I got home and the kitchen was still a wreck.  There was no meat thawing in the fridge to feed our guests who are on their way.  I yelled out "Hello?" and was greeted with silence.

Up the stairs, around the corner, down the hall - he's asleep.  "Hi!" I say, hoping he can't hear the tone of pissed off that tints my greeting.  He's startled - "Huh?!  What time is it?"  "6:30," I tell him as I leave the room.  I go back down to the kitchen and start unloading the dishwasher.  He joins me and says to go find something else to do, he'll take care of this.

"You said you'd take care of this while I was gone!" I want to yell.  "You said you'd do this. And you didn't; you slept instead and now I can do it myself because it needs to get done and at least if I do it myself it'll get done!"

I don't say any of that, of course, because I love him and don't want to hurl hateful mean angry words in his face.  Oh, but I do want to.  I want to remind him of how he said three days ago he'd take care of the kitchen and still it sits, because I've refused because he said he would.  But he hasn't, and I'm so mad I could spit nails over it.

Now he's doing that and I'm doing this; reminding myself that I have it all; everything everyone wants.  Okay, so I had to leave the room and smoke a bowl and calm the fuck down, but still.

Relationships are hard.  With anyone; your neighbor, your friends, your partner.  And I don't mean to imply that I'm somehow perfect or that I always do everything he asks of me without complaint or without being asked a second time, because that absolutely is not the case.

Gah.

Even in the Promised Land, there are still fights over who has to do the dishes.

Pictures of things. And stuff.

It's been a good week so far; I hope yours has been, too.  Highlights have included waking up this morning to find Jimi'd made me some bacon for breakfast and the fact that work hasn't sucked.  And this stuff:

 My pictures don't do this justice.  The detail is unbelievable - the hands are sculpted, the breast bone is obvious, the shoulder blades are perfect, the calf and the shoe - it's just amazing.  

I almost exclusively wear jewelry with sentimental value.

These came from Momma & Daddy.

Do you see what I see?

This is a sweet potato.  I'm growing it.

Happy Hump Day!

What was I saying?

I was going to blog about the fart smelled 'round the world that woke me from a deep slumber and chased me from my bedroom at 6 o'clock this morning, but Jimi didn't want me to write a blog entry whose only purpose is to tell the world that sometimes he farts in bed and it's really stinky.  I thought about explaining to him that all of you know exactly what I'm talking about, because you've been where I was this morning - standing naked in the living room, confused, fanning your face and saying "godDAMN what did you eat last night?", trying to venture back into the bedroom but not daring until the smell has fully dissipated - you've been there, right?  You know what I'm talking about?  It's not that big a deal, just a nice little anecdote to share with your girlfriends, something to add to the "Examples of How Boys Are Grosser Than Girls" list.  So it's okay that I'm blogging about it.  Right?

His brother was in town from Virginia this weekend.  I love Jimi's family.  There aren't many of them, but they've all been nothing but kind and accepting of me from the moment I met them.  But those brothers of his...(you can't see me, but I've hung my head and I'm shaking it slowly from side to side, because that's the only way to finish that thought of "Those brothers of his...".)

In the world I grew up in, "nigger" is a bad word - worse even than the empirical evil that is "fuck".  "Fuck" is something that is said to add strength of emotion to a statement - "nigger" is a hate word and colors everything around it with meanness and spite.  Everything said before and after "nigger" is heard, by my ears, as "wah wah wah waht wha whoo wee", because you just used the awfullest word ever and I can't hear you anymore. Instantly, the person before me is changed in my eyes, altered to reflect the great big sign that just popped up over their head that says "I'm a racist".

I hear "nigger" a lot when the brothers are around.  They know it bothers me, and I think sometimes they try to tone it down for my benefit, but it's still thrown out into my living room, my kitchen, my TV nook with reckless abandon, left floating there in the air around our heads, taunting me with the knowledge that they'll never see the wrongness of their words.  They were raised with the word - it was peppered into conversation like comments on the weather.  I've asked for restraint, I've exclaimed at every utterance, I've objected passionately and argued fiercely - now I just roll my eyes and leave the room.

The older brother told me, as we sat across the table from one another at some random chain steak place, "You'd make the perfect wife, Natalie.  You're just sitting there quietly, taking it all in..."  Jimi gaffawed.  "We're just not saying anything that interests her - talk about a subject she's passionate about and she'll get going."  I'm choosing to believe that he was trying to find a way to compliment me and not that he honestly thinks the perfect wife is one which sits quietly by while the men-folk talk.

Jimi was right - when we got to a subject that interested me, I did get going.  Jimi got going too - the two of us trying to explain to the third how homosexuality is not the same as wanting to have sex with a 12 year old; gay men do not only talk about their love for cock; homosexuality is natural, fucking sheep is a perversion.  That was a fun conversation.

The circumstance of family sometimes puts you together with people you otherwise would never cross paths by design.  It forces you to seek beyond the surface, to listen and attempt to find common ground, because you're family, and so you have to.  It teaches you to agree to disagree.  It teaches you to love even though there are parts that you hate.

It was a good visit, I suppose.  We didn't do much - a few mediocre meals at bleh restaurants, plenty of beer, lots of deep conversation.  The guys visited with their Uncle Joe, their father's brother.  Our guest was gone before we got out of bed this morning, and when he called a little while ago, he was already more than half way home.  I hope he enjoyed his vacation.

Jimi and Steve are brewing beer today.  I've got a battle raging in my head about whether or not I'm going to go visit my brother today.  I mostly want to sit on my ass and read teh internets.

I'm going to go take the dog for a walk.  I hope you're having a lovely Sunday.

Unless Jesus was bi-polar...

I like it when famous people say the things I think:

I came to a realization a while back - I love Jesus.  I do.  If He was real and the tales of the Bible are even a little bit close to being right, He was an amazing man and the world would be a better place if we all tried to be a little more like Him.  It hurts my heart that the ones who claim to love Him the most...they don't seem to be reading the same book.  Their Jesus encourages them to shun those who are different - their Jesus doesn't say go and live among them and be their friends and help them, no, their Jesus says keep to yourself and don't expose your children to them and shun any who don't believe as you do.  

My Jesus, the one I love, he's all "Hey guys!  We're having a party!  Bob, bring your boyfriend and the beer!  Susie, if you must smoke the meth this time, you're going to have to do it outside, and when you pick your scabs, put them in this bowl here and I'll throw them out - no need to flick them across the room.  Johnny, I haven't seen you in years, how the heck have you been?  Still trying to decide if I'm real?  Tammy, I heard about your abortion - I'm so sorry for your loss.  I'll be over tomorrow with a casserole and some cleaning supplies; I imagine you've probably been a little down lately and could use some help."

My Jesus, when he sees homeless bums on the street corner or standing in front of the gas station - He rolls down his window and fishes out the last couple of ones He's got on him to give to the guy.  He certainly doesn't avoid eye contact and turn up the stereo.

My Jesus wants gay people to get married because marriage is a celebration of love and the world needs as much love as it can get.  My Jesus loves love.

My Jesus doesn't care if you wear flip flops and jeans to church - He rejoices that you showed up.  And my Jesus isn't so much concerned with how often you do show up - He worries more that you're remembering His examples every day.  

I'm not a Christian.  I don't claim any religion.  I know what my Granny taught me about Jesus.  I know what the Bible says.  I know what feels right in my heart.  

Ain't got nothin' to say...

But I'm gonna type, type, type away.

That is what I do, 

when I can't think of anything good to share with you.

Whoa.  I'm not a poet and I totally know it.

Instinct tells me to move to something else, distract myself and maybe later something will come to me.  Nope.  I'm staying right here!!!  Aren't you glad you're still reading?

Twitter me this...

I don't know how to do Twitter.  I figured out how to get my blog posts to automatically update my twitter feed, but that's about all I do on there.  Last friday, no fewer than three awesome women linked me in #FF - i think that means Follow Friday?  Like you're supposed to recommend your favorite blogs?  I don't know how to do it though, so I couldn't even properly reciprocate.  I'm so ignorant about this technology stuff.

Jimi got his hairs cut today.  He just told me I should talk about that:  "What are you typing?"  "A bunch of bullshit."  "You should talk about my hairs.  It's the most important news of the day."  I must say, he looks very handsome with his new hairs:

But all I can see is the crap on the table behind him.

Have I mentioned I'm a lousy housekeeper?  That's totally my beer bottle.

But yes, he's very pretty.

I like wine.  Cheap wine.  3/$10 Arbor Mist cheap "wine".  Can't you tell?

Wait.  I just re-read that.  That's totally not what I meant.  Stop giggling.

Nevermind.

I need some pie.  I baked a pie on July 4th, in honor of Independence Day because that's the American thing to do, right?  Eat apple pie?  It was all the justification I needed, okay?  And I'm going to eat some more of that pie tonight and pretend it's me being patri-fucking-otic.  

Did I mention I'm going to be in a wedding in October?  And that I ordered my bridesmaid's dress the other day?  In a size smaller than the one I tried on at the store, which fit me to a T?  Um, in case you're having what I'm having - that means I need to lose no less than one dress size in the next 4.5 months.

How long can I put it off before I have to start the starvation/laxative diet?  

No.  Wait.  I'm going to do this the right way.  I'm going to exercise, eat right, and lose so much that I have to have the size-smaller dress taken in so it'll stay up on me by the time the big day arrives.  

Right?  Right?!

Right.

I'm starting tomorrow, obviously.  There's pie in there that can't go to waist.  Waste.  Whatever.  

dreaming reality

"Where'd you get that?"  I pointed at the thing in her hand, something I'd not seen before, which isn't unexpected, as it's been years since we were in the same room together.

"Switzerland," she answered.  Ever the world traveler.  Good.

"Yeah, I saw you were at the airport with Jenny - did you have a good trip?"  In my dreams is where we meet to catch up these days.  It's obvious she likes me better there.

"Did you talk to them about me the way you talked to me about them?" I ask the question that has only just formed in my brain that moment.  I thought we were special, and her vacancy from my life has confused me greatly.  A light bulb has appeared, though.  Suddenly, I get it.  "You did, didn't you?  All the times you complained about them, how needy they were, how juvenile, how dull - you said those same things to them, didn't you?  You just changed the names."  

She's gone.  

The place changes, begins to mist away - reality is crashing in.  I'm uncomfortable and shift positions and try to go back to that place - the image is before me again, but she's not.  I can tell she's listening, though.  

"That's why you were able to walk away from me, but never from them."

The radio keeps playing, even when you're not there to listen to it.  I want to know what songs it played, but I don't, because my feelings will be hurt and because it doesn't matter.  In that order.  

And a-camping we will go...

Little Ashy Mushrooms

We camped, and it was good.

We got to camp a little after 8 o’clock Friday night and commenced with the tent-setting-up, the bed-blowing-up and bed-making, fire-starting.  Karen and Gary leave a kitchen tent set up all summer long for general use, and at some point in the last month it suffered a major malfunction; it was partially collapsed in on itself, one pole was shattered, and there was a new sunlight that hadn’t been part of the original design.  (Jimi was able to rig it up Saturday morning with duct tape and a little ingenuity; I think it’ll probably be serviceable through the rest of the summer.)  It was after 10 before K & G arrived; we had just given up on them, figuring they’d decided to wait till morning, when we saw the Jeep come bouncing over the distant hill up by the farmhouse. 

The kitchen disaster

Their late arrival reminded me of camping when I was a child – Granny and Papaw had “The Property”, 25 acres of primitive land in the middle of Nowhere, KY (or Knifely, as the town is actually known, in Adair County), and on summer Fridays, about 5:30 in the afternoons, the phone calls would start; my Dad would call Aunt Pam and say “Byron and Melissa and Sheila and Joe are going, if you don’t go you’ll be the only ones not there!”  Then he’d call Byron and say “Pam and Sheila and Joe are going, you don’t have a hair if you’re not there too!” (Whatever that means.)  You see the pattern, I hope?  Did I mention the Property is approximately 2 hours away, in the middle of nowhere?  By the time we turned off the pavement onto the tree-lined gravel road that led back to our sanctuary, it was always dark, and our little caravan would creep along under the canopy, trying to avoid the deep ruts in the road that rains always created, Stacy and I with our eyes glued out the windows searching for any sign of Bigfoot.  We’d get to the Property and the cars were lined up to aim their headlights toward the spot we’d designated as Tent City, and for the next hour the grown-ups pitched tents and set up the kitchen and built the mandatory 7-foot tall bonfire structure.  Stacy and I, our job was to find sticks for kindling and sticks for hot dogs and marshmallows.  I never remember being an active part of the set-up or take-down process when I was little; I was lazy and my parents spoiled me, I guess. 

I think maybe he was going to chop the fire?

Saturday was the best, as Saturday’s generally are; Saturday, you’re already at camp, all set up.  Saturday, you’re staying another night, so there’s no lingering “Crap, I have to take down all this shit in a few hours” feeling.  Saturday, the only items on the agenda are eat, drink, and play.  Jimi had stayed up all night – he and Gary sat around the fire talking men-talk until the sky was starting to lighten.  Gary excused himself to try to catch a few hours of sleep before he had to leave; he was due to help his mother at the Farmer’s Market where she sells veggies every weekend.  Jimi stayed up and fixed the kitchen.  I woke to a conversation between Jimi, Karen, and a male voice I didn’t know – tent-listening is one of my favorite things about camping.  Lying there on the air mattress, a little humid and sticky and damp in that way tents always feel in the morning hours, watching the bugs crawl between the rain fly and the mesh ceiling, listening to the people I love say the things they say when I’m not part of the conversations.  One of these days, I’m convinced I’ll hear Jimi talk of his love for me in ways I’ve never heard before; or that Karen will say how pretty she thinks I am; or someone we don’t like will say I’m a bitch and then get a verbal tongue lashing from the people who love me best; but until then, I’m happily content to eavesdrop on fireside chats held on the other side of the polyester while I’m trying to wake up. 

Justin was the name of the newcomer.  He was camped down around the corner near Ray’s site, and he happily told us this was his first year back to camp after being banned for the last 5 years.  “What in the world did you do to get banned from Camp?  (Farmer) Fred is a pretty easy-going guy,” Karen says the things I think.  “Aww,” Justin drawled, “cuttin’ down trees, drivin’ through the corn, things like that.  Basically breaking all the rules.”  He laughed and said, “But I’m 25 now, so he was willing to let me back to show I’ve grown up.”  I listened a while longer, then sat up and pulled on the same dirty clothes I’d worn last night to set up camp; a shower would come at some point, but dirty clothes are a way of life at camp.  I wanted to put a face on Justin – I needed to see what this guy looked like.  I wasn’t surprised by his appearance; in fact, he was almost familiar, as he looked like every other 20-something guy that grows up in the country, raised on whiskey and trouble.  He was skinny, almost scrawny, but not quite.  He wore a pair of silky gray basketball shorts and nothing else, his bare feet clad only in a little dirt, his torso covered only partially by tattoos.  He’d driven the 50 yards from his campsite to the outhouse stationed next to ours; now his business was attended to and he was ready to make some new friends.  When asked why he’d previously caused so much trouble for the Farmer, he replied “I like whiskey a little too much, but I don’t go to meetings or anything.  I’m only 25.”  He regaled us with tales of a pill-identifying service, one which you can text a description of unknown medications and they’ll respond with detailed info post haste (for all your prescription-pill thieving/re-selling needs, I imagine); he asked if we take pills.  He commented several times on how nice Gary’s Jeep is, and the scrap value of the catalytic converter attached thereto.  He asked us several times if we smoke marijuana, while raising his right arm to proudly display the marijuana leaf tattooed on the underside of his bicep.  He told us about the time he was wasted and getting a tattoo and jerked, leaving a dot-dot-dot line across his upper arm.  He proudly pointed at his armpit so we could make out the brick wall that was tattooed all the way into the center.  He told us again about how glad he was to be back at camp, now that he was more grown up and responsible, what with being 25, having a wife, and two kids.  “That’s what Fred requires to come back, you know – you have to be 25 and have a wife and two kids.” 

Justin left.  Karen eventually got Gary out of bed and they headed for the Farmer’s Market.  Jimi was crashing fast, after being up for over 24 hours, so went to take a nap.  Me?  I had my book – Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  I sat around the still-smoldering fire for a while, but it was getting hot and sticky and the river was calling my name.  I blew up the raft we’d brought, a double-inner-tube with a cooler built into the space between.  I filled the cooler space with a towel, my dry box (for smokes), and my book.  I had a small soft-side cooler full of beer and ice, and it found a nice little home in the second seat.  Once I got over the initial shock of the cold water, I tied off to a fallen tree and laid back for two hours, reading and enjoying the quiet and swatting at flying things that landed on me.  It was heavenly. 

When I’d had enough, I showered in our tarp-shower.  Our site comes equipped with a spigot, but the water comes directly from the river and is just as cold.  Brr!!!  Despite the cold, showering outside is always refreshing and makes me feel more alive.  I was aiming for a nap, but it never quite came to fruition – Jimi was up when I got to the tent and we were both getting hungry.  We had lunch, Jimi showered, and then we sat by the fire, him with his ukulele, me with my book, and we just enjoyed being still for a while, waiting for our friends to come back and the next meal time to begin. 

Jimi made stir fry for dinner and it was out of this world delicious.  We had red and green peppers, water chestnuts, baby corns, sugar snap peas, broccoli, onion, carrots, asparagus, all mixed together with chicken and soy and curry and Chinese five spice.  It was one of the most yummiest things I’ve ever had at camp.  That man of mine, he’s something else.

We were all well on our way toward bedtime – it was nearly midnight – when a woman in a van drove by on the road and stopped – “you guys haven’t seen a little twelve-year old girl have you?  She was down by the fireworks and disappeared 2 hours ago.”  Whoa.  What?  There’s a kid missing?  Holy crap!  The woman was helping to look, she didn’t even know the girl’s name, much less details of where had been searched and what we should do if we found the child.  Karen and I hopped into the Jeep and headed for the barn – “there are kittens and animals up there, maybe she wanted a closer look,” K said, and it made sense to me.  Floating to us across the corn were cries of “Sarah! Sarah!” – the entire camp was mobilized and searching.  We passed dozens of vehicles on the rutted dirt roads, clusters of children and adults wandering with flashlights pointed into the woods and cornfields.  The entrance to the farm was blocked off, we were happy to see; there was nothing at the barn but curious goats and a kitten with eyes full of puss.  We circled around for twenty minutes, stopping to get updates from every new group or vehicle we passed, and finally heard the words we were hoping for – the girl was found, and she was okay; little brat had gotten pouty and wandered off – two hours later, she texted someone to come pick her up.  Kids. 

Sunday started off promising – the sun was out, the sky was blue, the water was clear and cold.  Momma called and said she and Daddy were coming up for the day.  It was perfect.  Then about noon, Gary said, “Is that thunder I hear?”  We all stopped, cocked our heads, and listened.  “Nah,” Jimi said. “Someone’s shooting something or setting off more fireworks.” 

It was thunder, and the clouds rolled in just as Momma and Daddy did.  We had only a brief little sprinkle, but the sun was nowhere to be found when Momma and I headed for the water.  The water is cold when the sun is beating down on you – it’s downright freezing when clouds are covering the sky.  Eventually, though, the parts of you in the water go numb, so it’s not so bad. 

Momma and Daddy stayed for a few hours, and I’m glad I wasn’t able to talk them into staying the night - an hour or so after they’d left, the sky opened up.  Dark clouds rolled over us, bringing wind and rain and lightning and thunder.  We all were soaked from our efforts to rein in our things – I was nearly dry until we had to cover K & G’s trailer with a tarp; the rain was coming in sheets through the trees and I was soaked through in seconds.  We huddled under the tarp the guys had so ingeniously erected, but the rain was coming in from the sides and the dirt floor was becoming a mud puddle fast.  We’d talked all morning of possibly packing up our things and heading home a day early – drenched and freezing, I looked at Jimi and said, “Let’s get out of here.”  We spent the next two hours gathering our things and securing the things we were leaving, dripping wet the entire time.  We were on the road and pointed toward home by 9:45, home with Taco Bell by 11 o’clock, freshly showered and in bed by midnight. 

On our way home....we're going home!

 Monday, Independence Day.  We’ve got a truck full of gear that needs to be carried inside, sorted, dried out, put away; food that needs to be moved from cooler to fridge; laundry that needs to be washed.  There’ll be time enough for that later.  I had to tell the story of it all first.  And now, some pictures I took last night, in the rain, while we were trying to pack up.  Someone wasn't willing to let their fireworks go to waste:

Happy Independence Day!  Celebrate well.

     

Gotta get down on Friday.

Every time I think "YAY!!! It's Friday!!!"  I get that effing "Friday" song stuck in my head, and I'm not talking about the good version.  You know which one I'm talking about.  Rebecca Black, you're the devil.  Here, this will fix it before you get the wrong version in your head, too:

"gave her hips that pelvic thrust

don't trust a rubber cause it's bound to bust

in the oven, in the nappy

i had on two so i was happy

cause that H I V'll make your dick hang sideways

and that ain't coo' foo' 

cause it's Friday"

(They edited this version.  Boo.)

I planned to work till 10 today - I got out about 11:30, so all in all, not too bad.  I was secretly telling myself I'd be good if I got out by noon, so I'm still ahead of schedule.  My list of things to do:

1. Drive across town to order bridesmaid dres.

2. Grocery shopping for the weekend.

3. Pack our clothes.

4. Pack bedding.

5. Pack cooler.

6. Drink beer.

Lucky for me, I was able to order the dress over the phone, saving me an hour of frustration and being pissed off.  (That's how I get when I have to drive to the East End.  It is what it is.)

And packing stuff?  Maybe 30 minutes.  The grocery shopping will take the longest, but I've got all afternoon. The whole day.  I think I'm going to start on number 6 early.  Just because I can.  

I love Friday.  

This Friday, especially.  

Off work early, 

going camping, 

and I awoke to find this waiting for me on the bathroom mirror:

Say it with me now:

"AWWWW..."

How stinkin' cute is that?

AND he took the garbage out.  I'm the luckiest girl in the world.  

Finn got to go to work with me all this week, and he loved it so much.  It's going to be really hard for him next week when we're all back to our regularly scheduled programming.  Hopefully camping will wear him out and he'll sleep most of the day once we're back and won't miss us so much.  Do other people worry about their dogs like this?  Is it normal?  He's so much easier than a kid - like just the right amount of responsibility and work.  

I just got this idea in my head to go down to the Bodega at Felice and have some lobster bisque and a rosemary ham & goat cheese sandwich for lunch.  I want it so bad!  But it's kinda far and I've got all that other stuff to do...but it's Friday and they only have the lobster bisque on Friday and it's my absolute favoritest lunch ever in the whole entire world and I could eat nothing but that for days and days and days...

But I have things here to eat that are already paid for and so I will do the responsible thing and use the money I would've spent on lunch to buy beer and junk food for camping instead.  

Happy USA's Birthday!!!  Have a great weekend!