Out with the old…

This past week was a rough week for SS and I. When things go wrong, our relationship is really tested. Thankfully, we have enough love and respect for each other, to know where our limits are, and what buttons we can and cannot push.

Last Sunday, our washing machine broke. Right in the middle of a full load, it stopped and wouldn’t continue. When SS called about it, they said nobody could come until Tuesday. This made me super irritated, but there really was nothing I could do about it.

Tuesday came. SS took the morning off so that he could be home when they showed up. I think he secretely loved being able to sleep in and play video games while he waited. They came, fixed the machine, and back to work he went.

I came home from work and immediately started a load of laundry. Much to my dislike, the machine stopped working right after filling up with water. Grrr! Were they serious? Was this machine STILL broke? Now I was so mad, I was screaming at the machine. I knew that if I called them back to tell them the machine wasn’t fixed, I’d end up more aggrivated because I was going to have no problem telling them that their technician was an idiot and they were stupid for hiring him. So, SS called them. They promised to come back out the next day.

(Quick backstory - something on this machine breaks every few months. They have to come out and fix it a few times a year, so my frustration is from constant, reoccuring problems.)

Wednesday came. SS took the morning off AGAIN, lucky dude. They came and fixed it. It’s been working fine since, although it doesn’t spin the load before it’s done. I have to wring the clothes out before putting them in the dryer. I pick my battles with these people, so wringing out my own clothes is fine. At least the washer is working.

Keep in mind, all while this is happening, there’s that strange poop smell permeating the house that is also making me crazy.

Thursday when I came home from work, there was a large puddle in the middle of my kitchen floor. I didn’t think anything of it, at first, and just cleaned up the water. About 30 minutes later, I opened the freezer to see what I wanted to pull out for dinner, and EVERYTHING WAS THAWED!! I stuck my hand inside, and there was no cold air blowing. I opened the fridge and the light came on with no problem, but there was no cold air inside. I left it all closed, thinking that whatever coldness was left inside, would stay trapped until SS came home and could assess the situation. He immidiately knew the fridge had finally broke. It was about 30 years old, so actually surpised it lasted that long.

We grabbed everything from the freezer and took it over to SS’s folks house. At least we won’t lose all that stuff, then went to dinner to discuss what our next plan would be.

Option 1: Find a used fridge, rent a truck and dolly to haul it, find someone to help carry it upstairs into the house, THEN have to bring the old one down and dispose of it somewhere.

Option 2: Buy a new fridge, have them deliver it, carry it upstairs, and haul the old one away.

We talked it over, then slept on it. 24 hours later, we both knew the best option really was option 2. So, fridge shopping we went….

They deliver it on Sunday.

Little Girls

There’s just SOMETHING about little girls, that makes me uncomfortable.

Back in 1999, when I found out I was going to have a baby, I prayed for many, many hours that it would be a girl. I begged The Ex to find tricks that people might have done to force one sex over the other, but he just laughed at my naiveness. Once I got used to the fact that I was having a boy, I was beyond happy that I didn’t have to deal with ponytails and dresses. I wasn’t a ponytail and dress kind of little girl, so I knew I wasn’t about to raise one. I needed someone who would play Army Men with me, and shoot guns, and play with toy cars, and get dirty in the mud. And that’s what I got. A little boy who likes being a boy.

Yesterday, SS and I hit up the local swap meet. Every time we walked past a booth with girlie clothes or fun kid toys, SS’s daughter was first in line to look.

After we left the swap meet, we headed over to the mall to use a few gift certificates she received for Christmas. And do you know which store we spent most of our time? This one….

Have you been in this store? It’s a store I’ve never even HEARD of, let alone been inside. We spent over an hour in there. She went through every single piece of clothing, looked at every single piece of jewelry, and touched every pair of fuzzy socks. She tried on one item after another, all while SS wondered if any other man ever accompanied his daughter to this store. Or was this a Mom thing?

After standing in line for 25 minutes, we finally left, vowing to NEVER go back to that store.

Lesson I learned: if I ever have any more children, they must be boys. girls will be sent back.

Busy.

Hi Readers. How’s things with you?

‘Member how I told you RM#2 was in France shooting a movie? Well, RM#1 has decided to go visit him for ten days. Guess who gets the house to herself for that time?

Me.

Cool right? Well, with that comes responsibilities I don’t normally have. Like…

Feeding and giving water to the hawk: (who at times, scares the crap out of me)

Feeding and giving water to the raven: (who ALWAYS scares me cause he tries to attack anyone that isn’t RM#2)

Feeding and giving water to the three parakeets:

And I can’t forget…

Feeding, taking care of, and picking up after, these three brats:

Watering the flowers in the front and back yards by hand is tiresome, but they sure are pretty looking.

Around the house, I’m doing the job of two other people. Two other ANIMAL people. It’s exhausting, but I’m not complaining.

 

I’ve gotten myself into a food funk lately. Been eating processed, fast-food for a loooooong time. I eat drive-thru, normally, three meals a day, five to six days a week. The other times, I’m eating warmed up hotdogs or tv dinners. Enough is enough.

Went to the grocery store the other day and said, “I’m buying food with sustenance. I’m finally going to ‘cook’”.

I walked up and down each isle, slowly studying the items on the shelves. I was secretly hoping I would look at an item and immediately know what I would cook with it. Unfortunately, the harder I tried to do that, the more frustrated I got. My plan to buy healthier food was unraveling.

I enlisted the help of Sis. One of the few people I know that loves to cook equally as much as I love to watch NASCAR. I dragged her back to the store with me, and told her to “help me shop for foods I’ll cook, keeping in mind my now busy schedule and lack of desire to cook.”

We walked up and down every isle, just as I had done before, but this time, menu items were jumping at me. One idea after another was laid before me, with little or no effort. I was amazed.

I started to get excited, thinking about all the things she was telling me I could do with this or that. It was as if I was learning to live independently for the first time. It was if, I was growing up. Again.

Two hundred plus dollars later, I had a refrigerator, a freezer, and my cabinet, filled with food. And I was anxious to start doing something with it.

The bbq grill (the one that belongs to Rhondi), was calling my name. So, we stood outside and grilled up stuff for me to take for lunches this week. Yay for exciting variety and SUSTENANCE.

Perhaps maybe now I will put on a few pounds. We’ll see…

It’s time to turn on NASCAR. Bye!

Fuzzy throw

I have absolutely fallen in love with these throws. I’d like to have one, please. (*hint - birthday next week)

Go check them out here.

LOL @ Kyle Busch shopping.

Why do I get so surprised to see famous people doing things normal people do?

Medication: Shopping, Yoga or Smiling

I’ve heard that shopping can be real good therapy for some. I don’t know first hand, but I’ve heard. I’m not a shopaholic, so it’s not the first thing I do when I find myself down in the dumps or depressed.

If in fact that is true, here is where I will start. I saw this adorable top online a few weeks ago. I am certain think I saw it on the Charlotte Russe website, but I’ve second guessed myself now a few dozen times since I can’t seem to find it on there anymore. Quite frustrating, frankly, since it’s not often I get excited about something so feminine.

People have suggested yoga, as a way to relieve some of this stress/anger, but can you really see me doing this? It’s just not realistic. If I could show up in sweat pants (or swishy’s, aka track pants) and a baggy t-shirt, I’d consider it. I do not, however, think that is the appropriate attire to get into some of the difficult and/or compromising positions one needs to get into to “relax”.  Did I just say that? Did I just say you have to get into difficult positions to RELAX? WTF? Who thought this up? I watched RM#2 do a few yoga techniques one day at the ranch with one of our fellow WE’s who is also a yoga instructor, and there is absolutely no way my body could do that. It just wouldn’t. There’d be no “trying”. I already know.

I had someone suggest smiling. Can you believe it? Smiling? Good idea, but it didn’t work. If I smile, it’s not genuine. Why should I be fake? Why would you want me to be fake? You can see right through my ridiculous attempt at a smile. Is that better than the alternative, though?

I read that asking a friend for a hug is good, but what if the only friend you can get a hug from (or that you feel even remotely comfortable getting a comforting, supportive hug from), is the one that’s contributed to your stress and/or depression? What do you do then?