Travesty

This happened a week or so ago, before school started. But I'm sharing this story now.

My coffee machine decided to die that morning. I don't know why or what wasn't working, and I didn't care to know why or what either. What I did want to know was who I had pissed off that the coffee gods decided to hate me that morning. And how could I make amends. Because this no coffee thing? Not cool.

Due to my general morning fog which was only increased by my lack of caffeine, I crashed my bare foot into the oven. And promptly yelled "F*CK!" Very, very loud. My car was at the mechanics then. And Bailey wasn't putting any weight on her back leg so it was time for another round of vet visits. (she doesn't "do" the annual appointment thing. She's ridiculously needy).

This was not shaping up to be a good morning at all. And I was getting stabby as a result. Somewhere in there, I knew the solution was to take a shower, put on pants, take the gimpy dog for her morning walk across the street and get a cup of coffee. Then call the vet, make an appointment, pick up my car, and get a new coffee maker. Because that's what a grown up would do.

But instead, I sat and sulked and pouted like a bratty 4 year old.

Addiction

I admit I'm addicted to caffeine. I get headaches if I don't have a cup of coffee in the morning. But it's legal and fairly harmless. And it's not like I need a steady stream of it to function throughout the day. Well I did when I was in studio senior year, but those were extenuating circumstances. When you loose almost all (about 88%) of your work two weeks before it's due, other classes/eating/resting/sleep is no longer an option. My 30 minute full blown panic attack was the only time luxury I had.

But besides then (and other project weeks, though none were ever as stressful as that), my caffeine intake is one cup of coffee every morning. Regular drip, full caff (because decaf is for sissies and preggos). Sometimes I have a coke or another type of pop (I hate diet pop btw) a few times a week, and maybe twice a month I indulge in a foamy decadent fancy coffee in the afternoon (though I prefer it iced and not foamy in the summer).

So really, this isn't that big of a deal. When I want to have children I may have to reevaluate, but that's a few years off. And I don't drink enough to for it to be a huge concern (the general consensus of an acceptable level during pregnancy is 200 mg a day. That's just under 3 cans of coke. Course it really just depend on what your obgyn says). And if I do have to give it up completely because my doctor makes me, I will forever guilt my child. (What? I want to be a mom, but I never said I'd be an altruistic one). My ex and I had a conversation about my caffeine intake. He informed me I was giving coffee up completely for the sake of our unborn children. I said: No. ::pause::sigh:: Fine, I'll consider switching to decaf if the doctor tells me too, and only when the time comes. But you will never speak such evils to me ever again.

Why is it though that my non-coffee drinker boyfriends want me to get of the stuff though? I don't have a problem with a non coffee drinker, because that means more of it's heavenly elixir for me. But getting me off the stuff, that I don't want to be off in the first place, is a fail plan. I mean seriously, don't they understand that me with out caffeine is far scarier than me on a caffeine overload jitter high?

Corn hole

I. HATE. Corn hole. Reasons why:

1. It sounds dirty
2. It's boring with a capital Ugh.
   
3. I don't play sports with balls or teams. This has teams (balls/bags, whatever, something you toss)
   
4. When you live smack in the center of 4 frat houses and all you hear is thwap, thwap thawp routinely perforated with that quasi-drunk frat boy yell/cheer/growl/groan (it's yell with a gargle mixed in there somehow) for a solid week from all directions known as rush week, you get really annoyed, really fast.
5. It takes for-ev-er to play one (one!) game. It sounds simple enough, 21 points wins. Point for getting a bag on the board, 3 for in the hole, something like that. But noooo, it's not get to 21 points first, it's a 21 point deferential. So in other words, bull sh*t. You score 2 for getting two bags on the board, but your opponent gets a bag in the hole. So instead of you getting 2 points and your opponent getting 3, opponent (who btw, apparently has better skills then you), gets 1 point of their rightful 3 because your bags take away two of their points and you score a huge fat zero that round anyway. For -f*cking- ever.
   

I went to the Woodland Arts Fair last weekend and there was a corn hole game going on. I briefly ran through the above explanations to my friend and she agreed with me. It's stupid. Right after I mentioned the frat guy growl/yell/war cry, someone playing the game kindly demonstrated it for me. So I had a total ah ha! moment and proceeded to point and screech at the game as if to say: see! see! That's what I'm talking about!

Seriously, I hate corn hole.

32 years

My parent's have married for 32 years today. Thirty. Two. whoa.

You would be surprised the kind of looks you get when people find out your parents are still married to each other and that their marriage is years older than the oldest child.

Happy anniversary! Congratulations!

Promise You Won't Be Mad

Those are never comforting words by the way.
I made zucchini bread the other day, and as the smell wafted through the house, it reminded me of the first time I made it back in my college apartment (which is different than my college house).

My roommate (Alison) and I were having friends come into town, so I was in hostess mode and making baked goods for our inevitably hung over asses. I decided to try my hand at a zucchini bread for some reason. When the bread came out of the oven, it smelled wonderful and it had risen enough that it cracked along the peak. I left the pan on the stove to cool and then left for work.

When I come home that night, I called out a "hi" to my roommate as I walk in the door. But instead of the normal "hi" back, I'm greeted with a sheepish:

A: "Promise you won't be mad at me."
Seeing she has all her limbs I figure this can't be too bad honestly.
But I still say, "what did you do?"
A: "Promise you won't be mad."
Me: "What did you do Alison?"
A: "Promise you won't be mad..."
Me: Well, I can't really promise that until I know what you did. But ok, I promise I won't be mad."
She leads me into the kitchen
A: "I, umm, sorta ate some of the zucchini bread..." ::voice trailing off::
I'm thinking oh is that it? And then I see why.

She had been nibbling on the bread by picking at the crack on top (I had too before I left though). And kept picking at it until there was a huge gully dug out. And once she realized there was a huge hole in the bread, she figured f*ck it, and just cut a slice.

I laughed so hard I cried.

She felt so bad though that she quickly made the cinnamon topped mini loves we had stored in the pantry shelve for months. But at least we had tons of baked goods for our hung over asses. And it was, indeed, awesome.

Hunting

Anyone else starting to get sick of all my boy related talk? Because I am. Seriously, the default crush, the name change, the boyfriend list, fraternity boys, the cheating one, the breaking up, all posts within the last 2 weeks.

And all this talk about "getting" a husband, makes me feel as if I'm literally hunting. Like I'm an adversary in the single jungle thrashing through swamps of bad dates and stealthily setting traps to ensnare my prey. Undercutting other woman through thickets of hot spots armed with high heels and an arsenal of Cosmo tricks.

And let's be honest, this is looking a little desperate.

SCREW THIS. I'm done. You men can hunt for me.