Anyway, last night Girl had an away basketball game. By the time the bus got her back to the school and I picked her and one of her teammates up it was 8:30 and I didn’t have anything prepared for dinner. In a moment of…idiocy…lunacy…extremely poor judgment…I offered to take them to the Golden Arches.

“Really? For real? You’ll take us there?”

Sheesh. You’d have thought I’d offered tickets to Disney.

I continued to compound my brain fart. I hadn’t had one of their burgers in well over a year so I thought “what the hey” and ordered a Big-n-Nasty sans mayo.

I pretty much have a cast iron stomach and strong constitution but at 2:30 this morning I’m awake because my meal, and I use that term very loosely, is sitting in my gut like a big lump of blech. I still feel nauseous now.

Never again.

99% of the time he’s still in bed when I get out of it. We had a gentle *discussion* yesterday that he could make the bed when he gets out of it seeing as how it’s nearly impossible for me to make it with him in it.

This morning I made my side when I got up and he made his…after a fashion. Actually, he yanked up the covers and tossed the pillows in random fashion to the top. This makes me crazier than if he’d done nothing. He’s former military. He was an Army Ranger for crying out loud. He knows how to do things to a standard.

So, here’s the question, do I:

1) Laud him for making the bed (he likes to be lauded for damn near everything he does)

2) Thank him for making the bed but point out that he did a half-assed job (but then I look like a *itch )

3) Say nothing

I’m having difficulty with option 1 because I don’t believe in applauding mediocrity. If you’re going to do something, do it right. The real me is begging to go with numero 2, but he’ll just say that’s why he doesn’t do it because it’s not going to be right (I do think it’s a deliberate ploy on his part to get out of doing it at all). I think I’ll probably just opt for 3 and keep my yap shut either way.

What say ye?

It was so therapeutic and mindlessly gratifying. Far more forgiving than paint. I just stained away while my little brain wheels were turning. It’s going to be another warm day with no rain and I’ve got lots of un-stained deck remaining. Guess you know what I’ll be doing.

“Let me take a look.”

Two minutes later I’m connected.

“How’d you do that?”

Pity gleamed in his eyes. “I unplugged the power from the modem box, waited twenty seconds and plugged it back in.”

I’m glad I didn’t call the Comcast boys out.

I’ve always known I wasn’t crafty. Anything crafty tends to settle a knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach because I’m pretty sure my craft is gong to turn out looking like crap. Girl wanted us to make a Santa cake to take to her Meme’s for Christmas lunch dessert. I gave it the old 1-2 try. It did give us to something to laugh about and it tasted okay, but here’s why I don’t do crafts:

I ran out of red food coloring so his hat was pink rather than red. They suggested using black gel icing for the eyes. It was hideous. The eye icing started to run into the other icing and Santa looked as if he’d filled in as an extra on Hitchcock’s The Birds. I had to scoop out his eyes and go back in with sugared candies. It was gross and traumatizing.

I warned everyone before we got there that Santa looked like he’d had a round or two of recreational drugs.

Somebody just needs to keep me away from crafts.

Oh, yeah — HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!