You know that feeling of total and utter relief? The one that says “Damn, that could have been me if I left 30 seconds earlier”. Yeah. That happened to me today on my way home, when the car in front of me got totally smashed up. Those mini Coopers are cute, but I sure do lurve my gas-guzzling SUV. That little thing took a hell of a beating from a Honda Accord, while I, the safe driver that I am, and having left plenty of room in front of me, avoided the crash entirely. I will not, however, get back the next 45 minutes spent giving a statement to the cops. BTW, it was totally the mini Cooper’s fault, and nobody was hurt.
Today, I am thankful for my husband. I am thankful for our families, and for our dogs. I am thankful for our friends who have become our family, and for their families. I am thankful for the strength that God gives each of us, and I am thankful that He can be depended on to see us through hard times, and to remind us of His grace every day through little miracles like sunsets. I am thankful for the love that surrounds our hearts and our home.
Oh, yeah. And I’m thankful for turkey and champagne.
Dear Little Shits that live in Amarillo Slim’s yard:
I realize that you have a complete loser for a father and a doormat of a mother, but could you please refrain from throwing all your fucking toys in my yard? It’s not cute when you chuck your baseball(narrowly missing my dog), and then run inside giggling, waiting for me to come out and throw it back at you (I could have hit you, too, but I didn’t want your dad to shoot me). You are both the brattiest children in the known universe, and I hereby pledge to burn all of your army men, because I’m tired of tripping over them. It will be my mission in life to stockpile the vast load of shit that ends up in my yard (that pink frisbee? it’s mine now) and proudly display it just out of your reach. You’ll never see those Nerf balls again.
P.S. There really is a monster under your beds, and he’s just waiting to chop you into kiddie-bits and feed you to his puppy.
P.P.S. Santa hates you, and will not even be bringing you coal. Oh, wait. Did I forget to tell you that there is no Santa Claus? And no Easter Bunny. There is a Tooth Fairy, but he said he’ll never leave you a dime. Oh, and he can kick your ass.
So I get in the car today to head home from work, and because I was too lazy to fish my ipod out of my purse, I decided to listen to the radio. I hit the “seek” button, and much to my horror, the tuner stopped on the one station that is playing……CHRISTMAS MUSIC!!!!!!! All day, everyday, through Christmas Day. It’s 83 frickin’ degrees outside. I really didn’t need Feliz Navidad for my drive home.
But I secretly listened to it anyway.
It’s a party kind of weekend here on the Mound, because for the first time in a long time, everybody will be around. Tap the keg and fire up the grill, cuz it’s gonna be a wild weekend.
Yep. I voted. Now bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land.
Sure, I could sit here all day and scribble random musings, but there are brownies to be made. Nothing is as soothing after the ass-kicker of a week that I’ve had than baking. Plus, my husband’s co-workers have pressured me into it. So, on the menu today are truffle brownies, mint chocolate truffle brownies, chocolate cake, and fried chicken (that’s for dinner). If I get really motivated, I might even make cookies.
In other news, there is something so wrong with the fact that I would rather bake today than go and get my nails and toes done. I just really want to be home today, forgetting all about the ass-kicker of a week I just had. Did I mention that my ass was sore from being kicked?
See? That right there is why I need to be baking, not blogging. The whiny lament will never end otherwise.